Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, October 20, 1863

October 20.

I never knew till today that "John Brown," the only son of Uncle York, was the first negro soldier who fell in this war. He was shot in a skirmish on St. Simon's Island, Aug. 8, 1862. A singular coincidence of names. No wonder our soldiers think him the hero of the John Brown hymn.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 394

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, March 19, 1863

March 19.

The provost marshal and major have been very busy today, escorting the rebel women and children to their friends. Major Strong told me that while the teams were unloading, the marshal sat on his pony whistling the John Brown hymn. As James was not permitted to talk, I suppose he had to whistle in self defense. I very much wanted to go, but could not get permission. I suppose the Colonel is afraid I shall, sometime, go over to the rebels. About one hundred and fifty have gone out today, leaving about two hundred here. The Colonel is under no obligation to force civilians out of town without positive notification from the enemy that he intends to attack.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 377

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, January 13, 1863

January 13, 1863.

. . . When I sit down at evening it always seems as if there could be but one subject to write upon, the music of these religious soldiers, who sing and pray steadily from supper time till “taps” at 8.30, interrupted only by roll-call at eight. The chaplain's pagoda-like school-house is the scene of earnest prayers and hymns at evening. I am sure the President is remembered more faithfully and gratefully in prayer by these christian soldiers than by any other regiment in the army. It is one thing for a chaplain to pray for him, but quite another for the soldiers to kneel and implore blessings on his head and divine guidance for his thoughts. These men never forget to pray earnestly for the officers placed over them; such prayers ought to make us true to them.

This afternoon, for the first time, our men are getting some money — not direct from the Government, but through that constant friend to them — Gen. Saxton, who waits for Government to refund it to him. The real drawback to enlistments is that the poor fellows who were in the Hunter regiment have never been paid a cent by the Government. Without reflection, one would suppose the offer of freedom quite sufficient inducement for them to join us. But you must remember that not the least curse of slavery is ignorance and that the intellectual enjoyment of freedom cannot, by the present generation, be so fully appreciated as its material gifts and benefits. Just think how few there are, even in New England, who could bravely die for an Idea, you will see that the infinite love of freedom which inspires these people is not the same that fills the heart of a more favored race. . . .

Before breakfast this morning I stood on the shore and listened to the John Brown hymn, sung by a hundred of our recruits, as they came up the river on the steamer Boston, from St. Augustine, Fla. Our Lieut. Col. [Billings]¹ went down last week for them and today we have received into our regiment all but five, whom I rejected in consequence of old age and other disabilities. It seemed hard to reject men who came to fight for their freedom, but these poor fellows are a hindrance in active service, and we might be compelled to leave them to the mercy of those who know not that “It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”

. . . I wish you could see how finely the Colonel appears in my dress coat. His was sent from Worcester quite a time before I left New England, but has never reached him. Very likely some miserable colonel of a poor white regiment appropriated it. I pity those who get so demoralized by association and wish they could have the benefit of our higher code. As I am less for ornament than for use here, I offered my coat to the Colonel, and was glad to find that Theodore [a tailor in Worcester] had applied his “celestial ” principle “ under the arms,” so that a Beaufort tailor could easily make an exact fit for the upper sphere. To sick soldiers it is unimportant whether I have one or two rows of buttons, and my handsome straps fit just as well on my fatigue coat as on the other. . . .

At this moment the camp resounds with the John Brown hymn, sung as no white regiment can sing it, so full of pathos and harmony. I know you will think me over enthusiastic about these people, but every one of you would be equally so, if here. Every day deepens my conviction that if we are true to them they will be true to us. The Colonel arrives at the same conclusion. When I think of their long-suffering at the hands of the whites, and then of their readiness to forgive, I feel a reverence for the race that I did not know before coming among them. You need not fancy that I find them perfect; it has not been my fortune to find mortals of that type, — even in Worcester, — but I do find them, as a people, religious, kind hearted, forgiving and as truth loving as the average of whites, more so than the Irish of the lowest rank.

_______________

¹ Col. Liberty Billings.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 344-5

Diary of Caroline Cowles Richards: May 20, 1861

I recited “Scott and the Veteran” today at school, and Mary Field recited, “To Drum Beat and Heart Beat a Soldier Marches By”; Anna recited “The Virginia Mother.” Every one learns war poems now-a-days. There was a patriotic rally in Bemis Hall last night and a quartette sang, “The Sword of Bunker Hill” and “Dixie” and “John Brown's Body Lies a Mouldering in the Grave,” and many other patriotic songs. We have one West Point cadet, Albert M. Murray, who is in the thick of the fight, and Charles S. Coy represents Canandaigua in the navy.

SOURCE: Caroline Cowles Richards, Village Life in America, 1852-1872, p. 132

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Monday, November 10, 1862

After breakfast — poor beef — went into town. Advance with secesh flag and a dozen rushed to it and showed passes from Raines and McDonald — one had taken an oath to shoot every picket, straggler, messenger or pilot he could. Citizens came in for protection. Several recruits came in with guns. 6th sang John Brown and Dixie. Got back to the Mills at noon — tired out and chafed up badly — without anything to eat to speak of but fresh beef — and that seldom enough. On a trot most of the time — tried to rest some. Letters from home and Fannie.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 43

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, June 14, 1862

Camp Near Newtown,

June 14, 1862.

After about eighteen days' absence, here we are back again in Virginia, camped on the identical piece of ground where the fight raged the fiercest on Saturday night, the 24th of May. We crossed the Potomac the 10th, Tuesday, and bivouacked on this side of the river; the next morning we started early, six o'clock, and marched to Bunker Hill, twenty-two miles, camping there that night; the next day we marched twenty miles to this place. Our march through Winchester was with closed ranks, band playing “John Brown,” “Yankee Doodle” and “Dixie,” and our old Harper's Ferry flag flying, almost torn to pieces by the bullets of the Twenty-fourth and Twenty-fifth. People scowled as we marched through town.

As I said before, our camp is on the ground occupied by us in the first skirmish of Saturday night, and what is a still more striking coincidence, our mess tent is pitched on the exact piece of ground that our skirmishers rallied on when they poured in such a deadly fire to the rebel cavalry. The last man of ours that was killed here was buried close by, by a citizen. Yesterday afternoon, I rode back to Winchester and over the battle field. The effects of the artillery were still very apparent; stone walls and fences knocked to pieces, trees cut off, etc. Near where our right was, are three graves of our men who were killed there.

I had a very pleasant visit to the hospital where our wounded are; they are mostly looking very well. It does one good to see how they brighten up when one of their officers comes into the room where they are. I believe I spoke in one of my last letters about a private named Stevens, in our company, whom I saw wounded, first by a piece of shell, then by a bullet. The poor fellow is dead; I could not find out any particulars about him yesterday, only that he died in hospital June 4th. He was a very good boy, not more than eighteen years old; he was one of the recruits that joined us last fall; he always did his duty faithfully, and was a brave little fellow. It seems sadder about him because he had an older brother in the company, who always took care of him when anything was the matter. He has been very anxious since the fight, and now the first news he has received is of his death. It is a severe shock, but he bears it bravely, and says he feels happy that his brother never showed himself a coward.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 68-9