Elizabeth Howard Letters
Elizabeth Howard Letters, Maryland Historical Society
Baltimore
December 7, 1861
From Elizabeth Howard to her husband Charles Howard, prisoner
I enclose you today dearest a check for $100 and wish it may be the last as perhaps ‘the powers that be’ may be willing now to release such prisoners as you all are—at least Mr. Glenn’s unconditional release, and Mr. Brown’s parole like Mr. Glenn’s, ending in a discharge, looks like it. I hear too that Mr. Bradford has gone to Washington to beg what can be done—of course I do not believe in that—nor anything, but in an over-ruling Providence who in His own time, which will be the best, will restore you all to your own homes once more. The papers talk as if property was to be confiscated if the oath of allegiance is not taken, and all such things—they may talk but it will never be--& if it is, let it be. I had rather be a beggar tomorrow—no I would not be a beggar, for I could do something for a living myself—luxury does not always spoil people—and you could work, and even the girls—and it is astonishing how little people can live upon when they are obligated to do it. I had rather see you driving a dray through these streets than walking about released for that prison on any imposed conditions whatever. They had no right to put you there—it was the greatest act of injustice to you, and done through your own fellow citizens, who are not fit to wipe off the dust from your shoes—it was their falsity and wicked misrepresentations that made the Government do it—so it is far less to blame than those in their own midst—some of whom, it can be proved, were among those who were engaged in unlawful and disloyal acts and prevented by you all from the accomplishment of them. The fact is that these men cannot understand how a high-minded honorable man can steadfastly do his duty to the cutting off of a right hand, or plucking out a right eye—rather than forfeit his own self esteem by doing wrong that right might come out of it. I know how faithfully and unflinchingly you did your whole duty when duty was so hard to perform—and succeeded, when I now almost wish you had not;--for what have we got by it?—you suffering in a prison—Frank by your side—our other fives sons driven off to avenge your wrongs in another state;--I and the girls left at home,--the sanctity of which has been invaded, and the worst ruffians, the terror of the City two years ago—sent into our house, there spending five hours—turning it upside down from garret to cellar, & actually insulting us personally in our unprotected state. This is the injustice, and these the wrongs for which we are all “suffering wrongfully”—but yet is is that very thing that makes us endure it with patience—“suffering wrongfully”—it makes us strong—no self reproach, no wounded conscience to make us cower or shrink—so that I know that you and Frank will endure to the end come what may. I know you never will succumb to these men, who have tried, and are trying to make you bend to their will—who for their own base purposes have traduced you all, and are daily watching to see you take the oath of allegiance, or something like it, to the powers they have invoked against you. Do you remember my telling you that a man had called to tell Col. Huger (later Major General Benjamin Huger) next door that he had seized and brought down a prisoner—one of the soldiers near Cockeysville (Md.) and you had him kindly cared for and sent back to his regiment? Well, this same man, who was for shooting down that whole regiment that day—is foremost now in the cry Union! Union! And for your imprisonment—and would tomorrow if the Confederates were successful, shout the loudest for secession. The man Harvey, who signed that address the other day to the Pres:--on the 19th of April sent to the ducking point for his gun, and went around to different merchants begging them to sell no powder but keep it “to shoot down Lincoln’s minions” as he said. Now, he thanks the President for putting “incendiary politicians” out of his way—stigmatizing you as such—you who, on that day, and every day and night too after resisted him with all your might—if justice had its course, where would he be? In your cell. I hear that General Dix said the Union men of Baltimore were the worst he ever saw in his life—for once he said right. It is the truth. Now I am not for your yielding to these men in the least—they knew when they misrepresented you all to the Government that is was for their own wicked purposes. God knoweth—no us, what they were—and He will be their Judge and yours. So let men do as they will-“if God be for us we will not fear what flesh can do unto us”—no not “though the earth be moved and through the hills be carried into the midst of the sea” God is a refuge for us. Do let us try and remember this—and now that these men—your own fellow citizens—have worked out their wicked wills, they are willing enough to dispense with you poor victims of them—indeed their consciences will sit lighter in their breasts if they see you at liberty—but yet they must have something coming from you to base your liberty upon to cover their inexcusableness. I know not one of you will give it to them—Stay there until they are forced either by public scorn or (if they can feel them--) stinging consciences—to give you your rights and freedom. The time will come—and then you will come out with the respect of all whose respect is worth anything—to give you your own rights and freedom. The Govt will find these persecutors out. Should matters come to the worst—we can only be forsaken by those we do not care for, and that is nothing—or poor, and that we can bear. I can I assure you and have just as much true happiness and maybe more than I have ever had. There are things harder to be borne than poverty. I am induced to write this letter because I hear that some of your accusers are wanting to become your excusers now and yet would implicate you in accusing yourselves. This of course I know you will never allow—but they may have you annoyed by asking you to make some conditions that may seem trifling and you might think that we would expect you for our sakes to make trifling sacrifices. I assure you not one of us desire or could bear to think of it. Tell Frank (her son) that Lydia is as firm as I—and both as firm as rocks. I hope this letter will reach you—if it does contain reflections on your fellow citizens who have wronged and injured you to imprisonment under their misrepresentation—a personal matter between you and them—and I cannot think a wife will be denied the privilege of writing about it to her husband. . . .
March 30, 1862
Elizabeth Howard to Charles Howard, Baltimore, No. 24
I received your letter of the 26th dearest. No. 18. See how far I am ahead of you—but that I expect to be—it is not as hard for me to write as it is for you. The best news I have is, still, that we are all well and getting along. We have been very busy the last few days in making the prisoners taken at the battle of Winchester (Va.) comfortable. They were brought here on Thursday evening and lodged in the jail. As soon as I heard it I started out to make an effort to see them. I did not know that I might not meet our own boys among them. I met a good many on the same errand—looking for friends and relatives—but they all told me it was impossible to see or obtain any information from them. The next day they all hoped to get passes. I have given up long ago depending upon hope—and know what faith to put upon passes. So I persevered and most fortunately found a gentleman and most fortunately found a gentleman who had managed to gain an entrance into the jail as the prisoners went in, and he learned from them that they were some of Genl. Jackson’s—not Johnston’s—forces—that of course our boys were not among them—had not been in the battle at all—but that Curzon Hoffman—Mrs. Samuel Hoffman’s son, had been but was neither wounded nor taken prisoner they believed—certainly he was not with them. Accordingly Mrs. Hoffman and myself asked the gentleman (who was Mrs. Armistead) if he would not go with us and try to get us an interview with a Lieutenant Urtcher? who knew her son well. It was about 9 o’clock at night when we reached the jail and found the Warden had gone to the Marshall’s office but saw a deputy warden who after some persuasion very kindly carried us to where the prisoners were lodged, and we had a very satisfactory talk with them. Some of them are the very best of our land—a Washington among them—who said he feared his brother was dead as he was taken from his side as he was endeavoring to make him as comfortable as he could, and he feared he should never see him again. We have since heard that he was dead. There were two or three young students of Washington College, who had laid down their books and taken up arms when the troubles began—the loss in their company had been great; their Capt.’s name was Morrison and one Lieutenant was named Lyons of Richmond. They both spoke with great feeling of their lost comrades, who had been their companions in peace as in war. They chafed under their present misfortune but were full of spirit. I could hear nothing of our own, but Mrs. Hoffman heard that Curzon lead his company to battle as the Captain was at Richmond, but was uninjured and safe and well. Poor thing, I pitied her more than I can tell you. The first person she spoke to said he saw her son in the thickest of the fight order his men to lie down—which he and they did and rose up again having all escaped the firing that went over them—but that was the last he saw of him. She leaned against the doorway looking very pale and said nothing—but I said to a Lieutenant to whom I was talking—“she is Curzon’s mother” and he ran off, and directly a Captain Williams came up and said “Ladies, Curzon Hoffman is quite well. I saw and spoke to him after the battle. I was taken with a few of my men (as I believe they all were) perfectly exhausted having marched 50 miles in two days, and fought two (times). Indeed they all looked worn out pretty much—some were stretched on their cots asleep—some seemed too excited to sleep. Of course they were all badly off—one or two I saw in their shirt sleeves—some almost entirely barefooted—one or two hatless—all looked the worse for wear—but sorry as they looked, among them were many gentlemen—born in wealth and reared in luxury and well-educated. They were in the wind of the jail next (to) Belividere—as I looked at the one and thought of the other you can well guess what thoughts came into my mind—your father (John Eager Howard) at Eutaw and Cowpens in 1781—these men at Winchester in 1862!! Captain Hollaway showed me in his coat the hole of the bullet that had passed through it and as he had picked up the bullet I held it in my hand—he was unhurt. A Mr. Langthone had a slight wound in his hand which I begged him to let me dress for him, but he said it was comfortable and had only been grazed by a Minnie ball so it was thought best to leave it undisturbed. As all their knapsacks were left behind in their wagons of course they were as I have said badly off for everything. Fortunately that day about fifty ladies had met here at our house and made up a good deal of clothing to be sent to prisoners at Camp Chase; besides a great deal more, packed ready to go there which had not been sent. The next day therefore there was a full supply quickly provided and sent to them. $5,000 was also collected to supply their wants I hear. There were 222 privates altogether, and 13 officers. A fund was placed in the warden’s hands I think of $33 a day to furnish meals to the officers and I do not know how much for the men. It is well that Mrs. Hoffman and I went at night as we did, for as I expected, the next day orders were sent that no one should be allowed to see the prisoners at all. For this I was very sorry as I heard after I left the jail that I had one and perhaps two cousins among them—named Burrill. (or Burwell) they spoke of the younger one being only 15 years old, with a bright face and as having been very brave in the fight and bold in the prison. They said he fired everything that he could get to load his musket with, and when taken broke his gun to splinters. I did not see him—boylike being asleep the night I was there, and I was not allowed to go in afterwards. (Lines are scratched over with note “I did this defacing”)
Two or three gentlemen, Colin McKenzie and Mr. Tilghman were allowed to go in the jail and distribute the articles sent. Mr. Uryman or his wife had relations among the prisoners, and some few were allowed to see their relatives. On Friday a gentleman called here at 10 o’clock in the morning and asked if I could manage to send a dinner to the privates that day by 1 o’clock. I sat in despair for a moment quite stunned at the thought of getting dinner for 220 men in three hours. However my energies soon came back to me. I rand the bell, ordered a large fire in the kitchen—sent out Sophia to get all she could cook of beef and mutton—put on my bonnet—the girls did the same, and we all started out in different directions, and like magic we dispatched at 2 o’clock (an hour’s delay) two wagons loaded with hams and tongues and beef and mutton roasted and in chops and steaks, smoking potatoes, dozens of cans of tomatoes, preserves, and pickles—pies and cakes, apples and oranges and lemons and sugar—in fact a most plentiful supply for the dinner. A more hungry set never feasted I expect—for the jail fare that day was cod fish and potatoes—a thing Virginians know nothing about. I thought I had surmounted all difficulties when I heard there was not much likelihood of the dinner being allowed. The lying Clipper (newspaper) (forgive the word) announced the evening before that the prisoners were being feasted on wine and champagne and every delicacy, and denounced the thing in their usual style. Major Ludlow (as General Dix was absent) sent for the Warden saying this could not be allowed for me who deserved hanging instead of dainties and would not be permitted. The Warden denied the fact and when the wagons arrived at the jail he had to ask permission for the things to go in. Major Ludlow gave his consent directly—but I think it was Mr. Dodge in the office at the time who said the names of the ladies who sent it must be given. I gave mine and told them they could call on the other ladies and get theirs—which job I think they will find a hard one. Yesterday at 10 o’clock a message came from the jail to beg that I and the ladies would send them a little tobacco as they were to leave at ½ past 2 that day. Here was another desperate attempt to be made. Mrs. Murdoch was with me (and so she was the day before which was the reason we accomplished so much) and we directly went to a lady whose husband is a rich tobacco merchant here and she sent us to help ourselves at his counting room as he was out of town. We soon got as large a box as we could conveniently carry in a carriage, and we drove directly to the jail to try our luck in getting it in. This was we felt rather a bold stroke for the day before a lady here had driven up in her own carriage with a box and inquired for the Warden—Captain James—as he is styled. She was told he was not there, to which she replied that she was sorry. A lady with her asked her what she intended to do—would she leave the box? She said perhaps she had better not as she had been told to give it to Captain James himself—still she hesitated, when a policeman (the Metropolitan police is in force now you know) put a stop to it by saying—“if you do not--if you are afraid to trust the gate officers with your box the sooner you get away from here the better”—she turned and said “Sir I am not speaking to you, and you are speaking to a lady”—“and you are speaking to a gentleman” he said—“not in my estimation, Sir” said she—Upon which he put his hand on her shoulder putting her down the steps of the jail—as she went to her carriage she inquired among the crowd the man’s name, which no one seemed to know—but a man said “take his number on his hat Madam” which she did. When in her carriage and driving off another police man came up and shook his fist in the carriage window saying she had insulted him the day before by not telling him whose carriage it was when he asked and she should be arrested before night. Her husband, Mr.(Decatur H.) Miller who lives at the corner of this street and the Square—opposite corner to Garrett’s) went to the office and complained and asked McPhail (who has nothing to do with the police now I hear) if he “intended to have brutes for policemen?”—he replied “that it was impossible to get gentlemen to fill such places”—but the man should be dismissed or something of the kind. But to go back to my own story. We succeeded without the slightest trouble and were treated very civilly by Capt. James as we also called him—the police merely casting longing eyes on the tobacco that we took care they should not enjoy a quid of. The prisoners left for Ft. Delaware last evening, sending the ladies many thanks and some of their bullets picked up on the battlefield—and some buttons. Some of them expressed their thanks by notes handsomely written and expressed. One was written and sent to me but the Warden said it was of such a nature that he could not send it—it must go to Head Quarters—and as I have not got it, I presume I shall not. I hope at all events they enjoyed their dinner—everybody seeming willing to give up their own to contribute—indeed we levied contributions on all the kitchens around us. As Mrs. Murdoch and myself were buying pies and cakes for them—a poor girl was standing in the shop by my side and hearing us say what we were doing—she touched me on the arm and placed a ten cent piece and two cents in my hand saying with so much feeling that she could scarcely speak—“buy something with this for them won’t you?”—With such hands and hearts do you think it could take long to get up a dinner for hungry men? The girl looked very poor—I had noticed her little money tied up in the corner of a handkerchief, and saw how she looked at pies and cakes and only bought a loaf of bread. God bless her.
We have spent a delightful evening with Governor Morehead (of Kentucky, a former prisoner at Ft. Warren) and his wife. They drank tea with us on Friday evening and I only wish I had the time to ask more of our friends to meet them. I only could send for a few around us—but we had a charming evening. They leave here tomorrow. I enclose you a little sketch of the prison life of the ladies in Washington. (Among these ladies was the famous spy, Rose O'Neal Greenhow.) Cannot you all find a wagon and take a drive? Can you fancy our gentle lady like little Mrs. Norris in such a scene?) Mrs. Norris may be the wife of William Morris of Baltimore, the head of the Signal Corps for the Confederacy and the head of their Secret Service. He was part of the Greenhow circle.)
July 8, 1862
Elizabeth Howard to Charles Howard
Likely talking of the Battle of Seven Pines
I am afraid I have got my numbers wrong again dearest. Your letter has just come and I am very glad to see that you received my last one to you sending you an account of the rumors that were on that day exciting us all very much. Although there was but very slight demonstration—indeed, I may say none at all on the subject. Nevertheless if I had know as much when I wrote as I did in the latter part of the day I would not have told you of them. It seems that no one is allowed to speak of them. There have been arrests daily of persons who were either overheard making remarks on the news or who were detected in showing copies of dispatches privately sent or taken from the lips of persons who had returned from McClellan’s army. One of those arrested was Mr. Meyer who kept a worsted and stocking store on Market St. The papers say; oddly enough—that he was arrested for “disclosing” General McClellan’s plans. That General McClellan shout let his plans be known to a worsted and stocking store keeper is rather remarkable I think. However I suppose he must have got into General McClellan’s secrets in some way or other as he was arrested for “disclosing” his plans. The way of the story and the truth of it is—that Mr. Meyer was as ignorant of McClellan’s plans as I was. He had an order for a dozen pairs of silk stockings and not having quite enough on hand to fill the order—he went to a brother dealer … to purchase from him—Mr. Amos Lovejoy. While there Mr. Lovejoy (Union) asked in a friendly way what news Mr. Meyer had heard—he sowed him the same that I had written and sent to you exactly—the very exact copy of what had been sent to us. The Clerk in the News Sheet office was also taken up and three or four others that day for the same thing. Had I know that of course I would not have written it to you—but I am glad to see your supervisor has more sense than the authorities here. I have kept quiet about my having plunged into General McClellan’s secrets—and shall be doubly careful that I do not involve Col. D. in letting you have the dangerous information. Poor Mr. Meyer has not been as successful—he is paying for his whistle by a stay at Ft. McHenry with a threat that if not a good boy there he will be sent to the Rip Raps to work. A gentleman here went to see General Wool about him, but they say the Genl informed him that he had better look out for himself—that a rejoicing over this news shall not be allowed. “Did he not know that the heart of the north was bleeding?” and that nothing like rejoicing would be tolerated. Ft. McHenry should be filled and then he would send offenders to the Rip Raps. On the other hand some say that Genl. Wool disapproves of many things that the people here and the Government approve and desire done. I have heard that he said he did not approve of arresting people as they were doing—that Union persons here urged him to do it and he refused and then they would go to Staunton and he had it done. In many respects the regular officer has shown itself over this half military officers like General Dix. Poor Meyer again! I have dealt with him for years—he is very clever. His is indignant at being, as he was, betrayed by his friend—he went to him to share his profits with him and was betrayed. A friend of Lovejoy’s entered his store after Meyer’s departure—a man named Cowman, a dealer in the same line of business (he shall never get a cent of ours again) and he in turn asking the news Lovejoy told him what Meyer had just shown him—whereupon Cowman left the store saying that he would fix him. He soon did it. Yesterday and the day before similar arrests were made. I saw a letter from Bishop Johns this morning dated June 30th. He writes in fine spirits and reports all well among our children and friends to that date. He was in Richmond. I do not think our boys were in any of these late battles. I heard they were not—that they were too footsore and worn down by the severe marches, which were truly wonderful and the fighting in the Shenandoah Valley. I think they are now in Richmond recruiting health and strength and in reserve for other actions. Betty Post got a letter yesterday from her son John—giving a most interesting account of their movements under Jackson at that time. We got a long one from Mac too but he did not tell as much. The Maryland boys were in the advance and as they passed through the army to take their place—cheers rent the air and Col. Johnson praised and encouraged them and bade them God Speed as they passed saying “these are the boys for the work”, and they were—God bless them. Tell Mr. (Treakle S.) Wallis that he ought to have heard the prayer that I hear was made by that serpent of his bosom on the 4th July at the Washington Monument display. I mean Stockett Matthews. (Stockett Matthews had been a lawyer in Wallis's firm.) I am told that he prayed that if ever the Southern Rebels planted their feet near that Monument it would fall and crush them under it. It was a sorry affair they got up there. They hung plenty of flags but most of them were actually hung half mast.
Baltimore, July 17, 1862
From Elizabeth Howard to Charles Howard
I have a fresh cause of disturbance this morning dearest—my brother Frank (Key) was arrested last evening. Early this morning I had a note from him written at the Provost Marshall’s office saying that he did not know where he was to be sent and asking for clean clothes. He dined with us yesterday and I was distressed to see that he has given way, poor fellow, to the temptation that when he comes to town it seems he cannot resist. This was scarcely perceptible—yet the slightest deviation in that respect immediately leads him on to a worse condition—and so it was I fear yesterday. I begged him to go directly home and so he did but a storm coming up he unfortunately took shelter on the wayside—and there falling in with some soldiers of Col. Kenly’s (John R. Kenly, Union) command he was foolish enough to discuss the battle in which they were defeated with them, and on remarking that they would be whipped again if they tried it. They arrested and brought him back to town. I wrote a note to Mr. Gittings and requested him if he could to state the circumstances to General Wool and see if anything could be done. I thought that perhaps it might avail something. Frank’s own foolishness deserves his punishment certainly and I hope it will be of service to him and it was nothing in reality to demand it. I pity his poor wife and children most of all. I am striving to take matters quietly and not to fret over them so do not worry about me.
Today the papers give me the result of the bill in Congress that I sometimes thought would release you all. I have never allowed myself to build a single hope upon it. Had you been released it would have only been a temporary thing I believe—likely as not the plan was all ready—the lie concocted and every wicked machine with every tool sharpened ready for the vengeance of you enemies to put in motion against you. The cup of their iniquity seems not yet full although I often wonder how another drop can get into it. In many respects you are better off there—and taking everything together it is well as it is. I hope you will feel as I do about it. Patience—that hardest of all virtues for me to practice—I have to learn more of before I have done with her I see. I am glad I was sensible enough to view the matter as I did and did not hope to any uncomfortable interest in that bill that was shameful enough anyhow. Lydia and I talked several times and see will feel as I do I think about it. . . . .
You were all sorry I know to hear of the death of Mr. Smith. I fear it is positively true from all I can learn. When he bade me good bye he said he knew he should be killed—that he was certain of—he should go into the first battle he could and he was sure of being shot. I told him that I thought it was very wrong in him to harbor any such feeling—for a man going into battle with such a presentiment was very likely to throw his life away and he ought to cast such a feeling aside—but he said he could not help it—it was such a certainty to him. This was strange was it not? Did he talk in that way there? I am truly sorry for him, and many other have spirits like him. Do not be uneasy at my friendly conversations with my neighbors. Two nights ago I was sent for again—raspberries and cream the excuse. As I had a little business on hand with Mrs. McTavish (probably Mrs. Charles Carroll McTavish, the former Marcella Scott and daughter of General Winfield Scott) I accepted the invitation—enjoyed the cream and fruit—regaled them was a fresh supply of tittle tattle—transacted my business and left at an early hour. Do not being afraid of my coming in contact with “scrapes” of any kind—male or female. I have learned to be as wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove. Eating raspberries and cream is still I believe considered an innocent amusement—and least you should be uneasy about the matter it was simply this. Our nurse Mary you know has a son, and he enlisted in the Federal Army, and now he has been ill in a hospital here since last February. And dying by inches. Mrs. McTavish has interested herself in trying to get his discharge and for Mary’s sake and the poor boys I am anxious that she should succeed. He was always very delicate and unfit for such severe duty.
Rebecca leaves for Oakland tomorrow and my heart goes with her I can tell you. The cool delightful air there would be most refreshing to mind and body. The troops are away from there now and I expect she will have a quiet time especially under a good Mayor. We shall go to Sudbrook next week and if we like it will remain there for the rest of the summer. It would have been very pleasant if you had been released and with us there—as it is—I only look upon it as the best thing we can do. I try to bear this in mind in everything. The pleasant things to do will come some of these days I hope. I was just now interrupted to speak to a man at the door—a blessed messenger he was to me. He came to tell me that Frank was released and had gone home. It is a great relief to me in every way I assure you. I think Mr. Gittings must have accomplished it. Indeed everybody (that is everybody who is anybody) is very kind to me. I shall never forget my friends and I wish I could say the same of my enemies—but I fear I shall never be able to forget them. Can I ever forgive them if I do not? I suppose that would not be forgiveness though in its right and proper spirit if I did not remember them and forgive them too….
Ellen and Mary T. came in quite amused at a cut they gave the New York 7th. As they met two of these “protectors” as they call themselves, Ellen and Mary walked in single file between them and they separated one going close to the houses and the other next to the street to let the girls pass. For fear of getting too near them the girls passed single file between them with sunshades lowered, and herd one of the 7th to say to the other “’tis too bad when one went one way and one the other and gave them plenty of room.” As Mary cam by one or two of them a few days ago and turned her pretty face away from them, a lady walking behind Mary heard one of them say “Secesh you may depend on it.” These things will happen—women will be women while the world stands in spite of the N.Y. 7th. I shall be glad to get away from many provocatives (sic) by which we are surrounded and get to the green fields and woods where we will find safety and comfort. Geo. Pendleton has just come in on his way home. Alice had written to him to bring Ellen to her and he wrote and telegraphed to me about it. I want none of his favors but I thanked him for his offer. We have just had a young man to see us—a Confederate prisoner from Camp Chase who knows General Buckner very well. I wish you could ask the General about him.
He is a Surgeon—Dr. Charles Whilden or Wilden or some such name—a Kentuckian. I think he said his father was once a member of Congress but I am not sure. He was taken at Donelson and is now on his way to the South—released as the surgeons are unconditionally. He seems very clever but looks so delicate having been very ill with a brain fever. I begged him to stay with us the few days he is to be here. He says Gov. Tod was very kind to him.
It was as I expected Mr. Gittings got Frank’s release—he called to tell me that he had. I hope it will be a lesson to Frank and if so I shall not be sorry. …
Sudbrook
Sept. 14th 1862
Elizabeth Howard to Charles Howard
Perhaps you may hear dearest that our house has been searched again, and feel uneasy about us, so I will write to relieve your mind and tell you that we are all safely over another trial. On Friday I went to town and was persuaded to stay all night and I was returning in the morning I met Sally McHenry going in who stopped and told me that soldiers and police men were in the house—that James (Howard) and Mr. Lemon and Dr. Van Vyck (this may be the famous cartoonist, Adelbert Volk; there was no Dr. Van Vyck and the name was probably transcribed incorrectly) were with the girls—that James had refused to give them the keys without they showed him a warrant and some of them had gone to town to get one they said. When I drove to the door I found them outside of the house some lying on the lawn, others walking around with their guns. As they said nothing to me I said nothing to them (wonderful! I think I hear you say.) I asked Sally when I met her (as she told me the men were very insolent) to go to Genl Wool and ask him for protection from them which she did, and she returned bringing with her Col. Cram a senior officer on Genl Wool’s staff. As soon as he could collect the men (for some of them I believe were stealing fruit in James’s orchard) he proceeded to investigate the matter but to my surprise they refused to obey his orders which were to leave the place. They said their Captain placed them here and they did no know where he was and should obey the Captain. After a while in a very rude and impudent way the soldiers went off and some of the police, the others positively refusing to go and stationing themselves around the house. They said Van Nostrand sent them not General Wool. Col. Cram was very persuasive with them all—not commanding and positive at all. He told us that he really had no authority as the soldiers were the Governor’s soldiers the 4th Maryland Regiment. I expressed my surprise at this and asked him if General Wool did not command all the military forces here—he said it was strange but he did not. My belief that he ought but cannot. He said they had only been mustered into the service but not yet handed over to General Wool’s command. I think he was mortified at their conduct to him and turned it off in this way to us—if so it shows a great want of discipline in the men and laxity in the officers. In fact General Wool told Sally that they had to let them make these searches—it would not be helped and Col. Cram told me that he had been wakened up the night before and asked for troops to do this very thing and he refused to have them and it was done by the police commissioners and that I had better be on my guard for I was watched he, and that I had better not let my boys come home for they would be caught. I told him the boys had not the least idea of coming home in this manner—that I hoped to see them at home but would not myself consent to receive them in such a way—sneaking into their homes. I was of course anxious to see them after 15 months of absence, danger and hardships—and I had gone myself to see them, and had enjoyed the happiness of seeing their faces once more—or something to this effect. He was very polite, said he really respected me for going—that he knew you very well when you were President of the railroad company and that no man respected you more than he did—that he understood your position and my situation and he would give me some advice which he proceeded to do. I told him that I had made my daughters write a statement of all that had passed here (I did this as soon as I got here) and should take it to General Wool myself and ask him if he could not give me a writing of some kind that I could show to these people so that without an order from him I should not be molested in this way again. He said he would give me one that would secure me against it for the future. I must confess that after seeing the little control he had over the men I had little faith in his written order and told him so—but he assured me it would be respected. He left us and had scarcely gotten out of sight when the men returned and again demanded to search the house. I handed them Colonel Cram’s order but they refused to look at it—said he had nothing to do with them, that Van Nostrand had sent them here—I then demanded a warrant or order or something to show that they were sent by proper authority but they said they only had Van Nostrand’s word and should certainly act upon it. I told them that I should certainly not act on theirs and would not given them the keys at their bidding. They said they would break down the doors and proceeded to do so breaking into James’s wine cellar and and also a box of wine—likely as not helping themselves. When I saw they had really gotten in I ran to call some of the men at the stable to see they did not steal the wine but a man placed his gun before me saying I should not pass. I then called one of the men but they would not let him come. I also tried to get a message over to James but they would not let any one move—no one leave the place nor come to us. James’ coachman though when he saw them come back, mounted his horse before they saw him and rode off and told them at James and Mr. Lemon who was there and two gentlemen came over. As soon as they saw them they allowed any one to pass. A soldier with a sword on—an officer—took a little colored boy we have here and put him in a cellar and told him he would run him through and kill him if he did not tell all he wanted to know from him. Of course the boy knew nothing. The boy was quite spunky although at first terrified (as was Annette, another servant) when they threatened in their elegant language “to smash in the mouth” which she with a hot flat iron in her hand challenged them to come on and do. They told Sophia to give them the key to a curious well that is here and when she told them she had it not they said they would burst open the door which she told them she wished they would do and fall down and break their necks. So you see we were not afraid of them. Although we did not talk to them in that style yet in our own way we kept our courage up which was a disappointment to them as they thought by intimidation to frighten us and gain something. As they were going off they threatened to take us all to town and as they passed the stable said they out to burn that by setting fire to it. As Colonel Cram told us if we had further trouble to let General Wool know—I sent in a note to him last night but ‘tis nearly night again and I have heard nothing more. Just what I expected—but I thought I would try him as Colonel Cram promised us protection even if he had to send a company of dragoons—dragoons I would rather have. The same party searched Mr. Williamson’s and I am sorry to say found and arrested Harry Gilmor—very foolish in him to come here—another officer was with him. (Gilmor is the famous cavalry officer.) There they behaved more insolently than they did here—a great deal more so. When I was at our house in town in the morning Harman said that a policeman had been there inquiring where I was and where the boys were. I did not think it meant anything like this though. I am not surprised at their searching for them—but I really think it is abominable that it is not done in a proper manner. After searching the cellar they went off. James stayed with us all night and also a very clever man who lives near and they are here again tonight. Not that there is the least necessity for it, for if we were to pay them I do not believe one of the men would come here again. The soldiers were out around us all night and are picketed about the neighborhood. They went to a poor widow woman’s house and took everything she had on her little place—corn, vegetables—everything. They took all the corn from a man’s field today too—he was Union and I am glad of it. I heard lately why General McClellan left the Peninsula. He said he was surrounded by four swamps and the frogs were constantly saying Bull Run, Bull Run, Bull Run—Big Bethel, Big Bethel, Big Bethel, Ball’s Bluff, Ball’s Bluff, Ball’s Bluff—and then the little frogs took it up saying Skedaddle, Skedaddle, Skedaddle, all the time and he could not stand it. I thought that probably you might think he found out that it was not the way to Richmond—but it was only the disagreeableness of the way you see. And now dearest—this fearful war is coming to our door—has come. All day we have been listening to the heavy firing—the guns seem coming closer and closer to us as this evening the sound was louder a great deal and closer to us. We hear, but not certainly from a reliable source that the fighting is at Liberty—a little town I passed through the other day as I went to Frederick—just about 23 miles from here they say. We have also heard that the Confederates had taken Harper’s Ferry and defeated Banks badly. Also that some soldiers from here were ordered to Harrisburg and refused to go. But it is hard now a days to know what to believe. Now comes the sad part of my letter—poor ALBERT CARROLL—Minnie’s husband, we hear was killed this day week in a skirmish near Martinsburg. I can scarcely believe it but Sophia Read (Albert’s mother-in-law) does and so does the Carroll family. They are greatly distressed. We hear that it was a reckless and foolish exposure to danger—a handful of men contending with 3000 Federals. I pity them all so much. We hear that George Pendleton (her brother-in-law and a Senator) has a company in Cincinnati and is busy all day and night in the trenches. I hope and trust that our boys may not come anywhere near him. I could not bear the thought of it. COLUMBUS O’DONNELL (Harper's relative after he marries Mary Digges Lee) I hear is delighted with the Confederate Army and Mr. William McKim says that he has always been a states right’s man. The Kennedys are frightened to death.(Probably John Pendleton Kennedy, the famous essayist and novelist.) They sent all their stock from their factory at Ellicott’s Mills to Philadelphia—started it off at midnight. They went to a great and good end. We are caged birds it is true yet we can chirp a little and sing too. I used to think such birds were foolish and out to beat themselves against the walls of their cage and not sing to please their captors—but I find now it was for their own pleasure and comfort that they did—and so do we for ours. Of course care and anxiety peep at us now and then—but we soon make them draw their heads back like tortoises in their shells, and it takes a good hot coal on their backs to make them put them out at us again. So you see how brave and spirited we are in the face of all of our enemies. Mr. Wallis’s saying that I must be living in dreamland started me a little—but I think he is sleeping, and I wide awake.-- What can a prisoner in Ft. Warren know of what is going on outside its walls? Why nothing but what he sees in the newspapers and they do not contain all the knowledge in the world,--“there are things not dreamt of in your philosophy” Mr. W. and greater things than the one I mentioned have been accomplished—it was the judiciousness, not the practicability of the undertaking that I asked about. Give my love to him and tell him I wish he had only been at our little party last night that he might have had his bachelor principles or feelings or whatever he may call it that holds him in that state of being—“dissolved into thin air” and a substantial form place him in a position that would
This letter was written before the battle of Antietam, as the Confederates crossed into Maryland. Mrs. Howard had gone to Frederick to see them.
Sudbrook
September (no date given)
This letter will be a delightful surprise to you dearest—I have seen our boys!—seen Charles and Eddy! And although much disappointed at not seeing Jim, John and Mac—yet I have heard all about them and saw two of them. Now I must give you an account from the beginning. The moment I felt quite sure that the Confederates were really in force at Frederick I resolved that get there I would. To do this quietly and surely Alice and I started off alone in a little rockaway—driving ourselves. James gave us a very gentle horse (he proved to be too gentle) and we started on Monday evening dressed as if only enjoying a pleasure drive about a neighborhood. We drove with great success to a gentleman’s house 15 miles, where we received the greatest attention and passed the night and started off the next morning—the wife of our new friend ordering her carriage and escorting us through a large road about 16 miles on our journey. (large section blotted out)….she returned and we proceeded to make another new acquaintance some miles further. This you know was easy enough to do as the ladies in this locality drive themselves about in this way. We carried a little carpet bag that could not be observed and got along finely. 18 miles from Frederick a gentleman who had seen and spent a night with you as a juror insisted on our dining—“both man & beast” as the country hotels say with him. We spent two hours there for rest and refreshment and went on arriving at Mrs. Ross’s (Nannie’s grandmother) early in the evening where we were received with open arms and great rejoicing and the good news that Charles and Eddy had breakfasted and been with them that day; but a little disheartened that they had left for their respective encampments a little before our arrival.
To find all safe and well—all mercifully spared again filled my heart with too much gratitude to give one murmur for having just missed them. The Provost Marshall sent a not to them 3 miles out of town but as it was very late they did not get it that night, and before morning—at least before day the army was moving. A grand sight! I cannot describe it nor my feelings as I sat up at the window till near 6 o’clock in the morning watching it. I will say a little more about it presently. But about our children—our children! I could scarcely believe it—nearly sixteen months since I saw them looking so differently and under such different circumstances—there I stood with them in the midst of a crowd of soldiers—they dressed in a Major’s uniform both of them. To hear Charles addressed as Major Howard—Eddy as Dr.—I could not get used to it—I felt as if I was in a dream—our meeting I cannot describe—they had missed my note—but Col. Bradley Johnson who was staying at Mrs. Ross’s with me, and who I had very reluctantly turned out of his room—sent them to me and I scarcely could believe my eyes when I saw them on their horses before me. They look remarkably well. Eddy had been a little sick for a day or two—he said the duties at the last battles had been a little too hard for him—but Mrs. Potts had taken him on his arrival at her house and nursed him up and he had recovered. Charles looked very well—both of them much improved but brown as two buns. To tell you what a world of happiness I have enjoyed in the past two or three days would be impossible. We clung to each other—so much to tell, so much to hear.-- I must leave all this to your imagination. –George Howard was there—Johnny, you brother James’s son—Johnny Post—Betty’s son.—We crowded up together. Mrs. Ross’s parlor never contained such a consecrated assemblage—what a group that little corner held!—I shall never forget it. Our missing ones we felt were also very near although not visible. I wished for them and for you and Frank dearest. What a meeting it would have been!—the tears run down my cheeks as I write about it. Well, all are safe and well and a hopeful prospect is spread out before us. The Confederate army was a sight that almost overcame me—I hardly know how to write about it, especially restricted as I am. Of course such a sight was so new to me that I have no judgment to give of it.
It is the first time I ever saw a great army; I suppose I am not mistaken in so calling it. The soldiers are the greatest contrast to the Federal soldiers that you can imagine. Dirty, (I must say it) bronzed by exposure—marked by hardship and suffering—badly clad from want—yet with a look of firm patient and cheerful endurance and unflinching courage and determination—their appearance is most striking and different from any people I ever saw. I caught myself wondering what race of men they were—for they looked distinct from any other that I have ever seen. They looked to me not made of flesh and blood but stone or iron. They carry all their worldly goods upon their persons—wash them when they was their faces and dry them on their backs. As they waded to Potomac up to their waists and marched through the dust their clothing is pretty much the same colour—it never differed much anyway as far as I can see. They are dressed in anything they can get, except Yankee uniforms—now and then you see a pair of pants and sometimes a great goat altered—boots often, and arms—occasionally hats or caps. The most of them look very healthy. Their Generals are dressed some of them very little--and some no better than their men. You can scarcely distinguish them. Indeed I could not often. Stonewall Jackson, the Hills I believe and Longstreet and Early and others were all on their horses under our window for some time, but I had no one to point them out to me. Col. Bradley Johnson was to have taken me the morning after I got to Frederick to see Genls Lee and Jackson and others—but to my great disappointment the Army was ordered to leave and as I said we got up at 2 o’clock to look at it. Genl. Jackson’s division moved in the advance. It too four or five hours to pass Mrs. Ross’s—wagons and all—it extended as far as we could see but to be sure we had not a very extended view. The other divisions came in from their different encampments and followed. I went with the boys and stood to see their brigades pass and was introduced to some of the Genls and their friends. We stood two hours and during that time saw and talked with one of poor Charlie Winder’s Aides. (Charles Winder, a Confederate general from Maryland was killed on August 9, 1862.) He told me he was not near him at the moment the ball struck him but that Mac was. When he got to him he was sensible only for a moment and said, what would become of his wife and children? Charlie says he assisted in removing his poor shattered body from the field—he carried him to Orange Court house and there they buried him but subsequently put him in a vault in Richmond. He was struck by a canon ball which as his arm was bent too off his elbow and passed through his body—he lived a half hour—part of the time merely breathing. Poor fellow, if he could only have been spared—but God knows best. Charlie says he looked badly and his health was far from good and when he went into the battle he told Charles he could scarcely sit on his horse. He had dismounted when he fell. Genl. (Isaac) Trimble was wounded in the leg but not dangerously. Genl. (Arnold) Elzey is getting well. Genl. Lee has injured both his hands. One is in a sling—the other bound up. He did it with his horse in some way—broke a little bone of one hand and dislocated a part of the other. I saw Genl. (George) Steuart (of Balt.) The old gentleman says he feels himself just 16—looks very well, mounted a horse and followed the army. He is a curiosity.
I think I distinctly heard two guns just now—I fear another fight. Of course as the army was leaving Frederick and the boys going with it I had no inducement to stay and especially as we had the offer of an escort home. We availed ourselves of it and thought it must prudent to return which we did—reaching here, I did, in time to take morning nap. Poor Alice was less fortunate—we stopped to get a horse shod and she and the gentleman with her lost their way and spent the night driving about not getting home ‘till nearly 10 this morning. I waited and spent 3 hours on the road looking for her, but as I had her in safe hands I was only worried about the fatigue she would suffer. I tried to find out how large an army Genl. Lee has but was told no human being except himself knew—not even Stonewall. He knew how many he had in his division and that was all—and so with the other Genls.
A gentleman told me that he thought the head of the first column must be 25 miles off and they were still passing on and I could not see the end of the line coming on. When I got to Fred. I only saw the soldiers and officers in the streets and there seemed to be a great many. They began to move at 12 at night—by 12 they passed in great numbers and it lasted all night—all next day until I left at ½ past 4 in the afternoon yesterday and they were still going on without any end to them that I could see. I was told they were still crossing the Potomac—and that none of the conscripts had yet come from the Camp of Instruction. Where they were going no one knew. I asked many but they said to follow their leaders was all they knew. I really grieved to miss seeing Genl. Lee. I was going to find fault with him. I intended to ask him why he did not imprison COLOMBUS O'DONNELL who was up there, and get you released—I shall not forgive him although he may be right and I wrong. Columbus O’Donnell was there—he was at his farm at the Point of Rocks I think. He was allowed to go and part of my mission was to get him seized. (Mrs. Howard blames O'Donnell in part for her husband's imprisonment.) I will send you Genl. Lee’s proclamation. I brought one that was posted up in Frederick with me and one of Bradley Johnson’s too. They may be in the papers soon but I will copy it for you.
Section blotted out
The army marched out by a road that led to Middletown—it might be to Harper’s Ferry—or Hagerstown. All was guess work. I saw our precious boys mount their horses and go off. I bore it well—at least I tried to. I left directly after. They had hard work to catch up with their brigades I fear which were on the advance. I asked Genl. Early why they did not take Mr. O’Donnell. I hope yet to see Genl. Lee. If I had the slightest idea they would leave in the morning I would have gone to see him as soon as I got to F. although his quarters were 3 miles out of town—they were all from 2 ½ to 3 out of the City. I was greatly disappointed.
I did not know that Genl. Lee would leave either and thought I would after the boys left me hunt him up—(I could not spare the time from them) but I heard he had left. Charlie paid Mary a visit before he left and only came from Richmond last Friday. He left her very well—still staying with her friend Mrs. Bruce who will not part with her she says till the war is over. Charles says as he came on he passed over the battlefield of Gainesville and saw the Federal dead lying in heaps still unburied—it was dreadful to pass at times within five miles of them. When are these dreadful times to have an end! I wish I could give you some intelligence of how things are going in Maryland. I may expect too much and know very little but I am still disappointed in the people—their timidity would put to shame women. I believe it is this that keeps them back and may prove their ruin. All along it has been wait for an opportunity –can there be a better than now? I must say though that a great many have gone—600 reached Richmond Charlie says in the past few weeks and I heard in Fred. that they were going in there. Indeed I saw about twenty on the way. Some Union people spread their tables and fed the troops. I heard that many did. There was not a flag to be seen there but one Confederate one at a public hall. On the road as I went (very Union people along it)—the poles stood dismantled. In Balt. Every flag was taken in except those on the public buildings and I heard that the Union people said—what had they don? Nothing. They put out Lincoln’s flag while under his government and if President Davis came with his they would put his out. And I am sure, deceitful things, they will. I thought if the Confederates came here there would be a rush to them—but I do not see it. Some tell me it is not time. What the end is to be no one knows or can divine I am sure but like you I would like to know. Our Jim is promoted—he is Lt. Col. Of the heavy batteries at Richmond—so safe and sound. John is settling up as the 1st Md. Regt. is disbanded and looking out for those that are forming now in Richmond—he is at present in Charlottesville. Mac who lost his place when poor Charlie (
Winder) died—is trying to get up a company in Richmond to come on. I never saw or heard of more perfect order than there is among the troops at Fred. Soldiers and officers could not behave better—not one thing—not even a fence rail was disturbed—nor any body. There was an apparent dignity and order pervading everywhere. A gentleman told me that he thought and heard that a great many were quietly making their way to the Confederates—but there are many more to go. I hope you will not blame me for going to F. as I did. I could not resist my chance to see the boys. I have been most particular in telling you exactly all about ourselves that you may see how well we got on. Your brother B approved it too—though James at first opposed it. I would not for the world have missed it. I may never see the boys again, and would have gone through fire and water for the sight I had of them. I wish I had a quiet chance for writing—a little, retired nook where I would not be interrupted, but could give you a better account of all I saw and heard and some funny adventures we had, but I have to write as I can today—indeed I may say every day. I was here stopped in my letter by a not from Roslyn begging me to go over and tell them the news as there were too many there who canted to hear it to come to me. I heard there that Hazlitt McKim was calling on all who had their deposits with him to remove them elsewhere. I am going to town tomorrow and will write you all the news I can when I get back in the evening. The Confederates are at Westminster now.
Love to Frank and our friends your devoted
Wife
Sudbrook, September 24, 1862
I am disappointed at not hearing from you today dearest—I hope yo7ur cold is not showing you what it can do before taking its leave of you. I did not get back here until Monday evening, and shall on in town again tomorrow for I have agreed to let Mrs. Izard go into our house for the coming two months, and I shall go in and have it put in decent order for her. She hopes to get South by that time and as we intend staying here this month, and if possible the next with Mary—I thought I would not be the dog in the manger.
We are all very quiet here again—but they had a search at Hampton ( a plantation belonging to the Ridgely family, relatives of the Howards and friends to the Carrolls) the day before yesterday—what they were looking for no one can tell—but it is surmised for several reasons that they were hunting for Confederates—that is what we were told about our house, but as they ransacked a little carpet bag and some trunks I can hardly believe that was their object unless stealing was a part of their plan. The head man was evidently much afraid they might give way to such a temptation for he was most anxious that some one should go through the house with them. Last night we had quite an alarm. I heard walking about and quite a noise downstairs about 2 o'clock and after making myself sure of it, I went off to the back building where Sophia (a slave) slept and called her up and we both proceeded downstairs (see how brave I have become). The cause of our disturbance we soon found out—Mac (unknown) had secreted himself in the house and when he found he had it all to himself he was utterly regardless of our slumbers. I have not been sleeping much though, for I had heard some gentlemen talking about the battlefield (possibly South Mountain (fought Sept. 14th or Antietam fought September 17th, 1862.) and giving a description of what a man said he saw there. The only comfort I have is that the man did not tell the truth but exaggerated the horrors he saw—horrible enough without it I should think. I have not heard one word from our boys since, but as some of our friends have gone up there to do all they can to help the wounded ones, I should have heard if anything had happened to them. I was near going myself but did not like to leave the girls here alone and there is no one (all gone to the war) to stay with them. James McH(enry) went off last Sunday evening with a wagon load of things to the wounded—lint, bandages, nourishment and everything he could think of. Last night another wagon was sent. Large Quantities have been sent from Balt. A commission of our returned from Frederick yesterday—Mr. Norris, --he and Sudie went up. He says there are about 500 Confederate wounded. I wonder what you think of matters and things. I would give a great deal to know. I think that Genl. Lee chose as he said to give the people a chance. I had better not write on this subject, but I would like to say much. One thing is certain that I am no judge but feel a contempt for the people and pity for poor old Maryland--”land of dead heroes--living slaves”, I fear. (She is referring to the fact that the people failed to rise when Lee invaded Maryland.) I am more anxious about the war than ever—not that I am disheartened but very anxious. As I cannot write as I would like I will not, on that subject.
If it had not been for the girls I would have followed our boys—if it had not been for you and Frank I would have taken them with me. Although I cannot be with you I am near if anything should be the matter. Sometimes I think I could help the boys and can do nothing for you—and then again I fear being an encumbrance to them and giving them additional care for me. I am hesitating and doubting where I had better be—how I can be of use. I feel as if it was dreadful to be here doing nothing when I might do so much—and then again I cannot see exactly what I can do. If I could follow the boys I feel sure I could be of help to them—but when I look to see in what way I cannot find it out. The most I could do would be if they were wounded or sick—and when I take that view of it my heart fails me so that I cannot think of such a thing. I am less anxious on that score now that I was—they are less liable to this. But O! If they should be and I not with them would overwhelm me with agony. If I can help the poor wounded ones now I will. I have written to inquire, as it is worse than useless to go where I might be a hindrance. As it is we are working and doing all we can to help. I must now stop writing and go over to Sally's where the girls all are and very busy sewing and making link and bandages to send off. Everybody is busy—even on Sundays. As for you I am satisfied that you all are where you are in the present state of affairs. Dearly as I would love to see you all at home again—as matters now are, there would be no enjoyment—you would have have no privileges—no, not as many as you have there. Your bodies are confined there—here both mind and body would be. You can speak your thoughts there—here you cannot. An poor Mr. Gatchell's trouble (one of the other prisoners)--how he must feel for Helen—Frank's death was so sudden that it shocked every one. I was there the evening before and never dreamed of such an affliction. I was there afterwards twice but did not see poor Helen. Trouble and sorrow in some form everywhere—there seems no end to it. I am going to send another message to Miss Wallis (probably Treakle Wallis' niece)--it will be so late before I get here that I shall have no visit al all. I will write tomorrow and get Mr. Thomas to direct the letter when I go in town. Love to Frank and all dearest—from you devoted wife.
P. S. As I did not number my last I will do it now and make this, as I think it ought to be, 65.)
Sudbrook, October 4, 1862
Elizabeth Howard to husband Charles Howard, prisoner
Elizabeth Howard had gone to the “vast hospital” that Frederick, Maryland had become after the battle of Antietam. Her physician son, Eddy, had been left behind when the Confederates retreated to take care of the wounded men in his company. It appears he was not a prisoner of war, as doctors were sent back to their own regiments without impediment when their duty was done.
I returned last evening, dearest, and found the girls safe and well at home—but how shall I tell of the wretchedness and misery I have witnessed since I last wrote to you. No pen can describe nor any imagination conceive it—nor can I describe my feelings at seeing it—the only feeling I had, was, that I had no feeling; that I could witness such a spectacle an live or not lose my mind surprises me. I have come back weak and faint and heartsick and yet I am glad I went. I found our dear child well and at a little hospital a mile and a half the other side of Sharpsburg—out of the way and somewhat remote from the others. None of our friends who had gone up to give relief had found him. He had only 12 men in a log barn—they were either the only ones wounded in his brigade or else the others had crossed the river. He had not therefore a very great deal to do, but had been assisting he said at another hospital where there were between one and two hundred. I unloaded our wagon of the few comforts I had been able hastily to gather up. Old linen and lint and bandages—a little wine and whiskey and cordials, etc. For Eddy himself I carried underclothes of all kinds and helped his friend with them, Dr. Aikin, to some shirts. You can imagine how they needed these things when I tell you that they had not one single article with them but the clothes on their backs which they had worn since before the battle—on their rapid and long marches—through the fight, and dressing and attending ever since the poor wounded men around them. Oh! If my hands had only been as full as my heart how I would have lavished comforts upon them all. I went into the barn with a large basket of delicious grapes that Mrs. Gittings sent me for them when I started. As I distributed them I shall never forget the expression of a face that had no hands to lift the grapes to his mouth. I could scarcely bear the sight I saw around me and only glanced at the poor mutilated mass of humanity before me—not noticing the nature and extent of it—only looking at the patient and brave faces turned towards us as we entered—I therefore did not see that the only arm left him was wounded—one had been amputated near the shoulder—the other when helped to move it he could use a little. I put the grapes in his mouth at which he seemed much affected and said it reminded him of his home. I shall never forget how he looked—when I returned to give him more he had is arm in such a position that he just managed to hold the grapes in his own hand.
Eddy said they were “doing well” except one or two who would die he thought. All looked little like death to me but two. One fine looking young man was wounded in the legs and was lying with both bound up and in his hands a little red morocco testament which he was reading. Another who was remarkably handsome and to all appearance a gentleman was wounded in the same way—some had lost a leg, others an arm—some shot through the lungs, sides and other places. I am afraid they thought I looked and felt indifferent to them, but I had to strive against my feelings for fear of giving way before them. I felt as if my heart would break for them—and then came the feeling of no feeling—as if I was a stock or a stone and would never feel anything again as long as I lived. That uncomfortable state now I have got home has passed away and I can sit and shed tears for them; and Oh! What tears of gratitude we ought to shed that our own have been spared all this. As to health Eddy looked remarkably well—Rebecca thought him very grave—how could he be otherwise? His clothing was worn and soiled—indeed filthy. For the last two or three nights he had been sleeping in a house near the barn on the floor. His hardships and condition at another time would have distressed me, but I could not feel that, in the face of so much wretchedness. Adding a moral view to this picture of human woe and wretchedness—the worst thing I saw (and I grieve to say it because of the discredit it may bring on religion that in its purity and truth would have been light and comfort in that dark place)—was a man who called himself and was so called by others a Christian Minister. He was Chaplain to the Bucktail Rifles I was told. He stood looking at us unpacking the few things we had and said we ought not to be allowed to carry those things into the hospital—it was outrageous in the government to permit it—to allow the Confederates better treatment than their own men received and ladies permitted to carry luxuries into them ought not to be tolerated. I did not know of this until after we left—I wish I had—I would very quietly have asked him to go into the hospital with me. I would have taken the testament from the man I saw reading it, and I would have handed it to him and said to him that by that book he professed to live and I supposed hoped to die, and out of it he professed to teach others to live and die—and if he could show me one single sentence in it that I was doing wrong I would leave the hospital—if not, he had better lay aside his profession and not use such a holy thing as a cloak to hide what he really was. If I did not succeed I would have tried to make him ashamed of himself. Some of the people around were very kind. Eddy said that a company of Federal soldiers near had sent half their rations to them when they had nothing. How any human heart could have been a hard one under such circumstances I cannot imagine. This Chaplain had been in the barn and seen the condition of the sufferers. The maimed and wounded men were lying on the floor with a little straw under their poor mutilated and faint bodies—not even a pillow under their heads—scarcely a sheet—some of them had not a rag of clothes on—entirely naked, their only covering an old blanket that Eddy managed to get from the battlefield—he said that at night they suffered with the cold. There were scarcely rags to dress their wounds and no bandages. The only piece of clothing one young man had on was one shirt sleeve—I suppose the rest of it had gone to dress his wounds—the had to lie on one side and the arm he could use had this sleeve. I would have liked to ask that Chaplain where was the outrage in feeding and clothing these men—he could not have answered me a word. If this is the spirit that actuates the Northern men in this war against the South they cannot prosper in it—I cannot believe it. Think how dreadful if it should succeed—it can never be—in God will we trust. The Doctor at the head of the Medical Department did what he could after I suppose supplying his own men first—but then the supplies were not adequate to the wants. How many wounded men there were I suppose no one knew exactly but they could be counted I am sure by thousands and thousands. Eddy said he thought from all he could gather that there (are) about 1200 Confederates on this side of the river wounded and about as many on the other. As to the Federals wounded there seemed no end to them—he thought that they were five Federals to one Confederate killed and from all I heard and saw I should think double that in wounded. It would be easy to know—a walk through the hospitals would show—but indeed I suppose and hope the prevailing feeling was to relieve suffering and not look for this or that to do its work of mercy on but wherever it met it to do what it could to help and comfort. Naturally enough our efforts were directed to the Confederates—they were the helpless ones in the hands of their enemies—the others had everything at their command—or ought to have. The Federals helped their own first—as a Lieutenant who was bringing in the wounded said to us that he brought to Confederates but would not have done it had he known it until he had first brought in all his own. Of course, knowing this we helped the Confederates first—but would not have passed by a Federal if in the same hospital and in need. You have heard me say I would not give one of them as much as “a cup of cold water” and reproved me for it and said you knew I would—well, you were right. I had no opportunity but would have relieved them if I could. There is such a want of truth in everything. A gentleman told us that he helped to bury the Federal dead—in one trench he counted 50 and over it was placed a stake numbered 5 Federal dead. Another said he stood by and saw 150 buried and the spot marked 15. When he asked what that meant, he was told it was none of his business. The Federal loss must have been immense. When we reached Frederick the ambulances were bringing in the wounded all night. We staid at Mrs. Ross’s—a very public position. There was a hospital in front and back and one side of the house. The ambulances were passing constantly with the wounded all Saturday night—all day and night Sunday; and on Monday when we went up we met about 300 ambulances filled coming down. These ambulances (I do not think you ever saw one) are little carts made as comfortable I suppose as possible, the most of them carrying two persons stretched out on cushions side by side. Some with four horses carry four men—two on top of the other two like berths—the lower two with small side windows to breathe from. I shall never forget the agonized faces I saw at them. They drive very fast and come along in trains—we met them as many as 60 or 80 ambulances long. We must have met that day 1000 wounded men—almost every one were Federals. We could tell them by their dress and appearance. I wonder why they remove them—it seemed cruel to me to torture them by such a journey. The roads were filled with wagons, etc. and the dust so thick that at times you could not see and the poor creatures must have suffered fearfully from heat, dust and thirst, besides the roughness of the road. Then the crowded houses in a close City. It would have been so much better to send up beds, supplies, and nurses until they got better. The barns and houses in the country at this season were the very places for them, so open and airy. Indeed that a perfect rest and quiet were the principal things for them and their best chance I thought. I cannot fix my mind to give you a good account of everything but I will try and remember better by taking you through our journey and you will be better reconciled to my undertaking it when you see how I got along and I can better tell you what I saw and heard. We could not get a conveyance on Sunday in Frederick, all were engaged, but on Monday we started with a very clever man, Mr. Ross said, although a Union one in his little Jersey wagon, Rebecca (Mrs. R. A Lyon), Nannie Howard and I. It was only 24 miles to Sharpsburg but as I had no idea where to begin to look for Eddy this man proposed that we should go to a relation of his wife who lived near a little place called Keedersville in between Boonesborough and Sharpsburg not far from the main road, and remain all night, and that he and the man who lived there would go on horseback and find out where Eddy was and we could go to him in the morning. We did this, and at eleven o’clock at night they returned saying they had found Eddy. We met him on the road in the morning coming to meet us and as he rode along he was stopped and asked to go up to a Colonel at an encampment on the roadside. We went on and he followed us very soon saying that the man wanted to see his pass. He said that some of the officers had annoyed him very much. A Captain demanded his pistol of him which he refused to give up and he was taken to headquarters where he was immediately released and the officer who arrested him asked if he did not understand his duty better than that. General McClellan Eddy said behaved like a gentleman. When I got to the Hospital we all determined if possible to stay and do what we could, so after distributing what we had we turned our attention to that. And if we could have stayed how much we could have done. My heart and conscience smote me for leaving to rough hands so much that we might have done to comfort those poor men and help Eddy too. I felt as if they had been my boys and I never would have forgiven the woman who could come there and look at them and leave them. But what could we do? The hospital was a small old log barn not chinked or filled in but every part open and exposed. The soldiers were encamped around in every direction and all day at the barn. There was a small house near and I went to it to see if we could get a room there, but it was filled with men and soldiers—still Eddy and Dr. Aiken slept there and if it had been safe we would not have thought of comfort or minded anything. We could have prepared and administered the food they so much needed—Eddy bragged of the jelly he had made but we saw it was not what they required. I cannot bear to think of all we could have done for them and find ourselves away in our comfortable homes doing nothing. No one near to fan or keep off the flies or do any womanly kindness for them. I looked at it in every way and we talked it over but thought that the best we could do is hurry home and send comforts to them. This we did and by this time I hope they are doing better. We sent from Frederick blankets and pillows and sheets and clothing and linen rags and all they needed. So they are not in actual want. We had carried cold ham and bread and after a while sat down under a tree to pretend to eat dinner, for appetite was wanting to make it such a meal. A little after up rode three soldiers and told Eddy to consider himself under arrest and go with them to headquarters. He took it very quietly—got his horse and went with them to McClellan’s headquarters two or three miles off. I appeared as calm as I could but felt like a volcano. We went to Sharpsburg to Mr. Grove’s where I was pretty miserable until late in the afternoon when Eddy appeared and there he stayed all night and left early in the morning for the hospital and we for home. He said that he had not a regular pass—that the day of the battle one had been given him on a piece of paper written in pencil and a Colonel in the neighborhood said he was of “a suspicious disposition” and that Eddy must go with him to headquarters. When he found all (was) right he apologized and invited Eddy to dine with him, which as a dinner was a rarity Eddy accepted. He pocketed his pride, though for rather a poor dinner. Poor fellow, I hated to part with him leaving him alone to his painful duties but I feel that it was best. Surrounded by Colonels with “suspicious dispositions” and such a Chaplain as I have mentioned they might have stirred up ill feelings in others, or found many like themselves and it might have restricted the poor creatures and not allowed them to receive the commonest necessities—although a Colonel Fisher came in the barn and spoke to us and told us as far as they were concerned we could certainly stay and do what we could for the men. If the army should move off and leave them where they are, or indeed anywhere, we may be able to do something more for them. But I am glad we managed to do what we did. With sacks to put the straw in and sheets and pillows and shirts and blankets—all of which was sent up—it will be comfort to what they had. So although it has given us great pain to witness all this, I do not regret it. Poor Eddy too—I am sure he dipped in the river when he got back and enjoyed clean underclothes—and there was no other way of getting them then to him. He expects to come this way home. As soon as he can leave the men, or should they remove them he wants to go back by Fortress Monroe and can stop and see us all. Oh! What would I not give if he could go to see you. I said we stayed at Mr. Grove’s in Sharpsburg—he told me that he was in the convention that nominated your brother for Governor. His house was riddled with shot and shell. A shell exploded in the garret tearing it to pieces. The family servants and all spent the day in the cellar and narrowly escaped there. One of the young ladies showed us the room where Generals Jackson, Longstreet, Hill and Lee slept one night, and a note that she had received from General Jackson thanking her for his breakfast. I did not go over the battlefield—I had no heart to look at it although the revolting hideousness of it had been removed—but we passed over a part of it. We saw the marks of shell and shot on houses, trees, and barns. Eddy said the first place he took for a hospital he was driven out of by a shell, and looking at it afterwards it was riddled. From this side a little of Boonsboro the country was a hospital—barns and churches and the larger houses filled with the wounded. Dead bodies boxed up for removal we saw everywhere—met a whole burden car piled up on one on the other of them on their way to Baltimore. Graves by the road side—but not many. I do not believe there was a barn for miles around from all I heard and saw that was not filled with them. The Federal soldiers left desolation behind them wherever they went—they pillaged everywhere—went into houses and took whatever they wanted—not so the Confederates—they touched nothing until the battle began and then some stragglers took food. At the place we stayed the first night the Federals had taken every vegetable—all the hay, etc., nearly all the hogs and sheep and in some places everything—leaving the people to actual beggary who had been well off before. The man who carried us up showed us a house of one of his cousins and it was deserted everything except the bedsteads and a table taken off by the Federal soldiers. Union people, too. Of the few that I cam in contact with I saw no love for the present state of things in a political sense—they seemed more like Southern than Union to me as far as I could discover. The President’s proclamation was not to their minds at all. I really thought that many of the army after that would lay down their arms—and how they can still say there are not fighting for that and yet go on fighting I cannot understand. Yet this they will do I believe. I shudder to think what will be the fate of the South should they succeed—servile insurrection added to the present horrors—Oh! How earnestly ought we to pray to god to make bare the arm which alone can save us. When I see the might and power sent forth against the South it seems to me to be overwhelming as far as human power can go. Nothing seems wanting. Men there seems to be no end to. I never say anything like their numbers. Frederick is swarming with them. A mile this side near the depot is black with them in places. Well dressed well armed well fed—they seemed to want nothing—unless it is courage—perhaps they may want that. They taunted the Confederates in Frederick and called after them in the street and asked them why they did not dress better—they told them they did not come here to dress—they then asked why they did not fight for a government that would give them money—Just then a Colonel (Confederate) stepped forward and said quickly “take no notice my boys” and they passed along as he requested. These were some paroled prisoners. If this dreadful loss of life and limbs had settled the matter one might feel better about it, but when it has not ended the strife in the least, there is nothing to reconcile to it in any way. It was certainly a drawn battle—the Federals losing five men to one and having many more wounded—all I saw on both sides seemed to think. I heard that a military man who had been in the Crimean war saw the fight and that it was the strangest he ever witnessed. Both armies at night were left in precisely the same positions on the field and remained so all day Thursday and at night the Confederates walked off. Some persons told me that Lee waited all that day offering battle to McClellan but he would not accept. I asked a Union man why he did not—he said that McClellan was not able—he was too much cut up—and I believe it. I think they were both glad to stop. Do not think that I have lost my confidence and trust that right might will prevail—I have not in the least—but when I look at all this power and might I cannot help counting the cost it will be to put it down—and clothe men in their right minds which can only I believe give us peace once more—as for happiness—that can never come I fear back again to the majority of this generation. It will take half a century nearly to bind up all the wounded hearts made by this unnatural war. I did not go into any hospital but Eddy’s—and he only had 12 men. I could not bear to see more of the misery than I could help—so neither R. Nannie or I went to any of them. We could have done no good in any I found—I would have gone and so would they if we could. I think it must have distressed the men to see women there unless they were of use. All went I have no doubt from the best motives—but I pitied a poor man who I heard was lying on his back with an immense bouquet before him and a woman on each side. The hospitals in Frederick were well attended by nurses and although they were needed in the country much—yet it was not the kind that we would make that were wanted. But where Eddy was I know we could in many ways have been useful. I must speak of that Chaplain again. He went into the hospital as Eddy though I suppose to comfort the men, but instead of that he asked them what they were fighting for and one young man who had been shot through the lungs became so excited that Eddy ordered him out. There are a good many from Baltimore doing a deal of good both in Frederick and up above. Indeed wagons go loaded with things to the Confederate hospitals, or wherever they are. Sudie (Mrs. Richard Norris) has charge of a hospital in Frederick—about 18 men in a ten pin alley. My relations and friends in Frederick all think as we do except Mr. Richard Potts and his wife. She sent her love to me and asked me to call and see her as she was not well and did not go out—but I thought she was better than I was—happier at least—and I did not trouble myself to go. She and Mr. Potts thought all these arrests right—but when they seized upon a Potts it cam home to her—although the most she said was that she “never expected to see such a day” as that—other people might see such and it was all right—I am glad it came home to her. James McHenry is still in Frederick or further on at other hospitals. He has done a great deal—sent up two wagons and horses to carry the provision etc. from Frederick where they were wanted and given a great deal of money for the purchase of them. What a dreadful thing war is—I had no idea of it—desolation marked the track of the armies—fences all down—fields trampled upon—graves—dead horses, or the ashes where they were burned. The Mrs. Grove I mentioned had besides the injury to his house, his barn burned filled with everything—horses stolen—carriage burned up—the doors torn down at one of his farm houses and coffins made of them. He says his loss is $30,000. But this is nothing to the destruction of human life. The afternoon before I left Frederick I went to look at the grave of Aunt Taney (wife of Chief Justice Roger B. Taney) and Alice but I saw a sadder sight than that. They were burying dead soldiers—a long trench was dug and with a little space between, just enough to divide the Confederate from the Federal—they were being buried. There is an Osage Orange hedge all around the cemetery and all along the side of it runs this horrible trench—at present it seems to be that it will extend all around the cemetery—the Federal side the longest a great deal although the man told me he removed them—handing them over to their friends daily. The coffins are placed close together and a stake at the head with their names on it. Oh! It was a pitiful sight. I was surprised to hear that so few were hunting for their friends and relatives—at least they seemed very few to me. I did not go to Hagerstown or would have called on Mrs. McGill certainly. I went right on as I told you to Sharpsburg. Duncan McKim (Mr. William McKim’s son) was wounded in the battle. He was shot through, or rather across, the thighs. They all speak so highly of him. Elliot Johnson, that dreadful Mrs. Johnson’s son—was also wounded—he lost a leg. Alfred Hoffman—Owings Hoffman’s son—had a shot through his coat sleeve—a narrow escape. Only Charles and Eddy were in these battles—they went with Jackson to take Harper’s Ferry and both escaped. Indeed we have so much cause for thankfulness—but I tremble more than ever for them. Johnny Key—Virginia’s John—has typhoid fever but is better now. I tried to find out something about the Confederates coming into Maryland but all was as dark as their future plans. I received the papers you sent me and will take care of them. Mr. Wall sent me his speech—at least I received a paper, The Caucasian, that had it in it and written on it the compliments of J. W. Wall to Mrs. C. Howard. How men can hold their tongues is my surprise—not that one or two dares to speak. I am glad though to see one or two voices lifted up in your behalf—his kind appeal for me too I thank him for. I find my patience gradually oozing away from the slender supply I had at the beginning and getting very low. I find it harder ever day to bear and forbear and wait for the end as I ought. I am glad your cold has nearly left you. I enclose a note your brother Ben sent me—I do not know what he means. You see I have written you a long letter to make up for lost time and shall being my numbers again with a No. 1. Love to Frank (Francis Key Howard) and all our friends. I have just received a letter from Mac (McHenry Howard)—I will enclose it and please return it to me. I had a long one from Jim (James Howard) but do not like to send it. If it had been a man who had taken the trip I have I believe he could have written you and interesting account of everything—but my interest in it was not of the nature to please best perhaps. Gentlemen thought that McClellan was advancing and were looking out for more battles—certainly quantities of men and supplies were going up to him. Oh! What fearful times we are passing through.
Your devoted Wife
Unknown date, but from internal evidence it is clear that this directly after the battle of Gettysburg, since it was at that battle that C. T. Lloyd and William Murray died. Like some other Baltimore women, Elizabeth Howard went north to the battlefield to render the aid she could. It seems she is writing to her husband and two daughters, left behind in Baltimore. Charles Howard had been released at Thanksgiving, 1862 but might have thought he ought not to risk another arrest by ministering to the Confederate wounded. The letter is dated Friday, and it must have been Friday, July 10th, 1863, since on the previous Friday, the battle was still ongoing.
My darlings—The scenes around me are heart rendering. Poor Emily (McBlair) is in great distress—brave Charlie (Charles T. Lloyd) has died a soldier’s death with a great many more of our friends but thank God not one of our dear ones. But oh! I cannot tell you how I feel for others. I cannot bear to write the sad news. Willie Murray is indeed dead—shot in the head and also in the heart—I believe from what I can learn while gallantly and nobly fighting—Charlie Lloyd was near him. Poor Willie died almost directly in the arms of Clapham with Alick Murray near him. The fire was so murderous that Clapham laid Willie down, telling the boys around to leave him on the field and not risk their lives over his dead body—took command of the Company which was the finest in the whole army—at least what was left of it—went into the battle with 80 of the bravest and best men in the field and came out with only 16 unhurt. Many of them are here wounded. I went last night to see all of them that I could get at. Frank Steele is here wounded but slightly, only a flesh wound in his left arm and doing well and in a hospital that is the best attended. The only thing he wanted was a pillow and money—both of which I have given him—at least Emily is making it now poor thing—only stopping to brush away her tears. She is doing all she can in the midst of her grief. Last evening she went with me to distribute comforts at the hospital. Tell V. to let Mrs. Schley know that her son Willie is here wounded in the hip—only slightly and I found him sitting up in a chair very cheerful and doing very well. We gave him our mite, only a bottle of cologne and two or three pocket handkerchiefs. How I wish we had more to give. This morning I am going out of town to the hospitals—all out there are Confederates I think and yesterday for 4 days they have had nothing but a very few crackers, not enough to go around. Yesterday I was completely knocked up by our journey all day and all night—I fought against giving up but I had to lie down and rest for some hours so as to be able to do anything. If only I had the things to give how much I could do! How I wish, I cannot tell you—to witness all this misery and not be able to relieve it when it could and ought to be done. The suffering is terrible enough without want. Tell Mrs. Thomas-- ___ mother, in Howard Street—that her son James is wounded but slightly. I am going out now to see him—he is doing well I hear and with an excellent surgeon, Dr. Frazer from South Carolina. I saw Gen’l Trimble yesterday—he looks very well and is doing remarkably well but you have heard all about him. Charles Grogan too you have all heard of, he is well. I enclose a list, the best I have been able to get and the most correct. About Dan Lloyd as yet we can hear nothing. I cannot tell you the longing I suffer with to do something for all this misery—especially our own dear suffering people. As far as the people here can do, one and all are well treated—but there is much want. So far there are no restrictions—and I am careful. I am just going to make some sago (a starch from the sago palm) etc. for those who cannot eat—a Union soldier opposite to us had been shot in the mouth and I am going to send him some. Col. Herbert will most probably die and I am going to see him, he expressed a wish to see me and indeed I was going anyhow. It is so difficult to get conveyances—two or three and now looking for one for me. Nurses and cooks are so much wanted—surgeons too. Emily and I are making pillow cases to fill with hay but we can only get a little hay anywhere about here, and everything is enormously dear too. I shall give pillows to all I can. …. Mr. Cushing came for the body of his son but seemed disposed at last to give up getting it. I am persisting in getting poor Willie Murray no matter in what condition it may be. I remember her saying to me that she could not bear the thought of one of her boys being buried in a trench on the field. Charlie Lloyd died twelve hours after he was wounded. He was taken off the field at once and was given an anodyne (a pain killer) and slept well all night not waking up until just before he died and upon being asked how he felt said “I feel elegantly.” When first wounded he said he would soon be out again—he did not suffer—the wound was in the abdomen. Willie Murray died very soon—only spoke a few words—some could not be heard for the roar of cannon, what was heard I will write down. I am to see the young man who heard them and doubtless his own brothers who were nearer to him heard all. Alick, as he was leaving him, received a very slight would in the back with a shell but it only made him uncomfortable for a while and he was entirely over it and went off with Clapham who was not hurt at all but left in command of the few left of the Company. I have got my information from Willie’s comrades who were fighting by his side. They know almost the spot where he was buried and tell Sophy I will not leave here without raising every effort to get his body no matter in what condition it may be. I have every prospect of success. I have just seen Weaver and he and Mr. Cushing have gone to two young men who promised me to go and identify the body and I will even do it myself if necessary for his poor Mother’s sake. The Provost Marshall here has consented to let these young men go. They were Willie’s own men and devoted to him and will do anything to get it. I enclose you the list now and end this letter which I have been hardly able to write—all the time interrupted and busy—and poor Emily’s grief I have to try and comfort every moment. I will write again soon. I have written everything now in my own observation—so tell Maria Steele, Mrs. Schley and the Penningtons and Mr. McBlair they may depend upon it as true. W. Schley was very glad to see me and very cheerful. (is being repetitive, no doubt from stress.) I am not going to take them a pillow. How thankful I am for the safety of our dear boys you will well know. Genl Trimble says that Mac was not with him and if he had been able to follow Genl T. would have seen him. John was on the battle ground but was ordered in the rear to see about food for the men exhausted by three days abstinence. They had plenty but it was in the rear. Genl T. said he was glad Mac was not with him as he thinks he would have been killed. He had been sent off as we heard to bring up all he could to get of Marylanders to Genl T. and had got 300 he heard and waiting for more. Jim was not in the fight all say—the Genl thinks he did not get up. In Grogan’s coat and pants I counted 7 holes, but his wound is very slight. You will see by the list all I have been able to hear of—all the names I have not been able yet to get. Now I want the girls to speake to the gentlemen, Mr. Taylor and others, and say if there are no restrictions here they might send up something. I will inquire who they had better be sent to and try to let you know. I think some young men are going off tonight to see what they can do. Tell the girls to collect money and make if possible 2 or 3000 thousand pillow cases and send up some bales of packed hay—or as many as the ladies can make—send 1000 at a time and I can see how far it will go. I do not know when I will be home. If I find I can be useful I will stay—if not go home directly with Emily and poor Charlie for she will not lose sight of him and I with poor Willie. Tell S.P. I’ll do everything that can be done. Others are here too doing the same but a lady can urge them on when they might otherwise give up. I will have the trench open if human power as far as I can command it can do it. I feel as if I can do anything. I must go now. Tell Mrs. J.H. Thomas that her sons are safe. Curzon Hoffman is safe, he was not here. I hope you can read this. If I had heard of the death of any others we know well I would mention them—this is the easiest way. You may see us at any time or not for some time as we find how things are. I must not forget to say we are very comfortably lodged in a private house, but I do not care for it for the misery all around me, but you would like to hear it. E.P.H.
Richard Barnes not here well
William Giles perhaps in the navy—slight wound well
Bolton Fitzgerald not here well
Sullivans so far as I know well
Gen Archer Williams not badly wounded
Donald Smith well
All the Howards well
Post, Pennington and Clap Murray well
HARPER CARROLL well
Both of the Lyons well
Lemons well
Lurman well
Markoe not here
M. Hughes not here
I. H. Wagner well
Dick Tilghman well
Henry Holliday well
William Woodville well
Owen Norris well
Harry Sargeant well
I and R Duval well
P. and Henry well
I and M Key write to Betty well
Latrobe well
Carvall Hall well
Gilmors well
Jerris Spencer well
Daniel Emory well
Wounded
Capt. R. Archer slightly wounded
Frank Steele slightly wounded
R. Howard not here slightly wounded
E. Ives N. York badly wounded; lost leg
Bowley wounded through the hip—
Let Mr. Gibson know this
at Chestnut Hill
Samuel Duval A A Co killed
B. Lanham P. G. Co killed
B. Kenney Balt. Killed
B. Dulaney Balt. Killed
I. McWilliams Balt. Killed
Lawson, McCann, McGinn are wounded
Dr. Kennedy killed
Dr. Starling killed
F. H. Sanderson killed—44 Courtland St. let them know
Delusier killed
Lucchise slightly wounded
Blackston wounded
Pindle wounded
Zollinger wounded
Dr. Frippe wounded
Fulton wounded
Tolus? Duval P. G. Co. wounded
Lipscomb slightly wounded
Wm. Schley slightly wounded
The Gills we as far as can hear and if anything was the matter I should have heard I think
Send 1000 pillow cases as quick as possible and some hay—get Mrs. Sullivan and
the Hoffmans to collect and Mrs. Taylor and all our ladies you can make a great many--
only sew up two sides and no hem. Some wounded are going off, so that by the time
they get here no more may be wanted but I wish today we had 3000. The dead are not all
buried yet—our dear ones among them and I can do nothing to have it done: the living
wounded taking up everybody’s time they say. Some are lying about in squads,
Confederate and Federal, one on the other as if they had died in a hand to hand fight. I
feel like stone almost, as if I had not a tear to shed. Oh! I am so grateful for God’s care
to us. I do not think that Charles was here.—all Howards safe except that Ridge had a
very slight wound and went off with the others as a good many did. I will learn more
tomorrow.
posted by The Carroll Family Blog at 10:49 AM
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