1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, October 24, 1861

Camp Near Conrad's Ferry, Md.,

October 24, 1861.

My last letter left off rather abruptly, and as a series of exciting events has taken place since then, I will try and detail them nearly as they occurred. I left off just as Captain Curtis got back from Banks' headquarters with the good news that we were to join our regiment and march at once towards the river.* We didn't stop to strike tents or pack the wagons, but left a small squad of weak men to do it. We packed our trunks and other traps and piled them up together in our tent. At half past eight P. M., the regiment marched by so quietly that one would not have known that there were more than ten men on the road; no drum or any other music. At nine, our company was ready and started. Before we were off, we could see, by the camp fires, that the whole division had marching orders. Going at quickest time, we caught the regiment at a halt; the night was cloudy, but the moon made it quite light. At twelve thirty we got to Poolsville, distance ten miles; here we began to hear rumors of the fight; men on guard told us that the Fifteenth Massachusetts and several other regiments had been cut to pieces in crossing the river near Conrad's Ferry; one said the Fifteenth had lost seven hundred men; we disbelieved them almost entirely.

As we got nearer to the river, the stories began to get more probable, and when within two or three miles of it, to confirm them, we met numbers of wounded who said that the Twentieth and Fifteenth Massachusetts and the California and Tammany regiments were in the fight and were all more or less cut up. At about five A. M., we reached the river, distance twenty-one miles from the camp, a splendid march, made with very few halts, the men all carrying their knapsacks.

Here, as daylight came on, we began to hear the terrible truth; the houses all about us were filled with dead and wounded, and down the river about a mile, there was a temporary hospital with over a hundred men in it. Of course, my first inquiries were for my friends in the Twentieth; I could hear nothing definite. Shortly afterwards, Captain Curtis received a message from Lieutenant Willie Putnam, a splendid young fellow, saying he would like to see him. From the Major, Captain C. and others, I learned, when they came back, the following: That Colonel Lee and Major and Doctor Revere were prisoners and probably carried to Leesburgh; that Lieutenant W. Putnam was mortally wounded by a shot through the body; Captain C. saw him and said he conversed as calmly about the events of the battle as if he had been a spectator instead of an actor; he said the wound was quite painful, but by his face you would not have known it. (He died this morning.) Captain John Putnam had his arm taken off close to the shoulder by a round shot; he was brought across the river and is in the hospital. Captain Crowninshield had just swam across the river; he had fought splendidly, others say, all through the battle, had been unable to retreat with the rest, and had hid over night. He was unhurt. Poor young Holmes was badly shot through the body and arm; he and Lieutenant Lowell saw Charley Peirson, the Adjutant, fall, and ran up to attempt to bring him off; as they lifted him from the ground, they were all three shot down, Lowell through the leg. Holmes is likely to recover, Lowell is doing well, Peirson is a prisoner. George Perry is missing. Harry Sturgis, Harry Tremlett and Charley Whittier, got off safely. All of these that I have mentioned were down at Fort Independence in the Guards, and Putnam, Peirson and Tremlett were in the same mess with me. Captain Schmidt, I believe, is badly shot through the body. I am not certain about it.

My understanding of the affair is this: — Brigadier-General Baker was ordered by Brigadier-General Stone to take a certain number of regiments and cross the river at Conrad's Ferry, while he, Stone, was crossing at Edward's Ferry, five miles below, with his force. The troops were all landed on an island first, I believe; their only means of conveyance was one flat boat. Four companies of the Fifteenth crossed first, and, without waiting for reinforcements, foolishly moved forward towards Leesburgh, of course stirring up the enemy's pickets and alarming the country.

Parts of the Twentieth, Fifteenth, California and New York regiments now followed, making the whole force over the river about fifteen or eighteen hundred men and two guns. The fight, at first, was skirmishing almost entirely, the enemy being out of sight in the woods; their firing was very heavy, and it was evident, from the first, that they had numbers of sharpshooters lodged in the trees and everywhere else, to pick off the officers. Those who were there say that the Massachusetts men fought splendidly, making no confusion, and falling back perfectly orderly to the river, which they were fairly driven into, numbers drowning, others swimming to the island and Maryland shore. Of course, the great mistake of the whole affair was trying to cross an unfordable river with an insufficient force, unsupported by artillery and with no means of retreat; any one of these things would almost be sure to cause defeat. It is almost fortunate that General Baker was killed, as he would have been constantly reproached by everybody and could have hardly kept his commission. How much General Stone was to blame, no one can yet say; his orders to Baker were to cross in a discreet manner.

About the detail of the loss of the Fifteenth, I cannot say, as I know no one in it. The Colonel of it told Mr. Quint last night that he had lost near half of his regiment and twelve of his commissioned officers. The Lieutenant-Colonel lost his leg. To go back to our regiment. We were left along between the canal and the river. Early in the morning, it commenced to rain, pouring, and continued till night; we had nothing but mud to stand in and were wet and uncomfortable. At about ten A. M., I was detailed by Colonel Gordon to take a dozen good men and get a small flat boat there was up the river, and cross with it to the island to bring off a number of our men who were beckoning for aid from there. We got the boat and crossed successfully. The men were from different regiments and had hidden over night; they were very glad of the chance to get back into a friendly State. Not a Secesher made his appearance. The current was strong but the water was not very deep.

Towards night, our regiment moved a little ways back into the woods, where we pitched tents, built fires, got dry, and changed stockings, besides getting something to eat for a change. Next morning, we changed camp, moving back about two miles to get out of reach of the enemy's shells. Five of our companies were out on picket the whole of the night before, in all the rain, without fires. On arriving in camp, our company was put on guard. Just before supper time, I saw a mounted officer ride fast into camp and go up to a group where Lieutenant-Colonel Andrews was standing, and whisper something to him. Two minutes afterwards, I received an order to have the “general” beaten, which is the signal for every man to be at his quarters and strike tents; twenty minutes afterwards, the “assembly” was beaten, the line formed and immediately put in motion towards Edward's Ferry. Although the regiment was jaded, it moved off in fine shape, every one thinking we were sure of a fight. Getting near the river, we were surprised to see the camp of a large army about their usual duties, no signs of a movement. We marched straight to the river and halted for orders. The first I heard was, “Countermarch by file right, march!” The Colonel came by and said to Captain Curtis, “Where do you suppose we are going?” “I don't know.” “Back to camp!” An attack on the other side had been expected and the order had been sent to us to come on. The alarm blew over, our orders were countermanded, but by some miserable mistake, were not transmitted. We had marched six miles for nothing. We started back at ten and got into camp at twelve.

Our dead on the other side of the river were treated shamefully; every pocket was slit down and rifled and every button and shoe taken off. Probably our company goes on picket to-night at the island; if it does not, I shall go over to the Twentieth. Just heard that Captain Schmidt got four balls in his leg and side. He only feels afraid he will not be able to fight them in the next battle. He is doing well. You had better direct to General Banks' division via Washington.

_______________

* Company B had been on detached service as Provost guard for about ten days.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 25-9

John Lothrop Motley to Mary Benjamin Motley, July 11, 1861

Nahant, July 11, 1861.

My Dearest Mary: I write you this line only to tell you of a most dreadful and heartrending calamity which has thrown this community into mourning. Mrs. Longfellow was burned to death the day before yesterday. She was making seals for the amusement of her younger children in her house at Cambridge, when the upper part of her thin muslin dress caught fire, and in an instant she was all in flames. Longfellow was in the next room. Hearing the shrieks of the children, he flew to her assistance, and seizing a rug, held it around her, and although she broke away from him, attempting to run from the danger, — as persons in such cases seem invariably to do, — he succeeded at last in extinguishing the fire, but not until she was fatally injured. She lingered through the night, attended by several physicians, and expired yesterday forenoon about half-past ten, July 10. I understand that, through the influence of ether, her sufferings were not very intense after the immediate catastrophe, and that she was unconscious for a good while before she died. Longfellow was severely burned in the hands, but not dangerously; but he, too, has been kept under the effects of ether, and is spoken of as in almost a raving condition.

I have not had the heart to make any inquiries, but think that on Saturday I will try to see Mrs. Appleton. It is not more than five or six days since I was calling upon Mr. Appleton, who has so long been dying by inches, and who will look less like death than he does now when he shall have breathed his last. F— was there, and greeted me most affectionately, making the kindest inquiries after you; she never looked more beautiful, or seemed happier, and Longfellow was, as he always is, genial and kind and gentle. I should have stayed with them probably during commencement week at Cambridge, and was looking forward with great pleasure to being with them for a little while. There is something almost too terrible to reflect upon in this utterly trivial way in which this noble, magnificent woman has been put to a hideous death. When you hear of a shipwreck, or a stroke of lightning, or even a railway accident, the mind does not shrink appalled from the contemplation of the tragedy so utterly as it now does, from finding all this misery resulting from such an almost invisible cause — a drop of sealing-wax on a muslin dress. Deaths in battle are telegraphed to us hourly, and hosts of our young men are marching forth to mortal combat day by day, but these are in the natural course of events. Fate, acting on its large scale, has decreed that a great war shall rage, and we are prepared for tragedies, and we know that those who fall have been discharging the highest of duties. But what compensation or consolation is there for such a calamity as this?

I was with Holmes at the Parker House when the news was brought to us. We had gone to see the Greenes (William), with whom we were speaking in the hall. Holmes wanted a commission in Greene's regiment for his son Wendell in case he finds Lee's list completed. We both burst into tears, and did nothing more that morning about military matters; Holmes is, however, going out to see Lee to-morrow morning at his camp at Readville, and will doubtless obtain a lieutenancy under him for his son. Wendell is a very fine fellow, graduating this commencement, but he can't be kept in college any longer. He will get his degree, and is one of the first scholars in his class, but, like nearly all the young men, he has been drilling for months long in one of the various preparatory home battalions, and is quite competent for the post he wishes; but there are so many applicants for these commissions that even such a conspicuous youth as he is not sure of getting one immediately.

God bless you, dearest Mary, and my dear children. In great haste,

Affectionately yours,

J. L. M.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 172-4

John Lothrop Motley to Mary Benjamin Motley, July 7, 1861

Boston, July 7, 1861.

My Dearest Mary: I can't tell you how much delight your letters give me. . . .

Seid umschlungen, Millionen! You must give my kindest regards to dear Mrs. Norton, to Lady Dufferin, — if you are so fortunate as to see her, which seems too great a privilege ever really to come within your reach, — to Lady Palmerston and Lord Palmerston, to the adorable Lady and Lord , to Milnes, Stirling, Forster, to dear Lady William, with my most sincere wishes for her restoration to health. Tell her I should give myself the pleasure of writing to her, but my whole mind is absorbed with American affairs, and I know that they bore her inexpressibly, and I could write of nothing else. Don't forget my kind regards to Arthur, and to Odo if he comes. If you see Lady John Russell and Lord John, I wish you would present my best compliments, and say that I have been and am doing everything within my humble means to suppress the noble rage of our countrymen in regard to the English indifference to our cause, and that I hope partially to have succeeded. At any rate, there is a better feeling and less bluster; but alas and alas! there will never in our generation be the cordial, warm-hearted, expansive sentiment toward England which existed a year ago. Yet no one is mad enough not to wish for peaceful relations between the countries, and few can doubt that a war at this moment would be for us a calamity too awful to contemplate. Pray give my kindest regards to Mrs. Stanley; it was so kind of her to ask you to so pleasant a party as you mention. I hope you took the responsibility of remembering me to Froude; and indeed I wish really that you would say to all our friends individually, when you see them, that I beg my remembrances in each letter. There is no need of my specifying their names, as you see now that I have got to my third page and have not mentioned one third. Vivent nos amis les ennemis, and so I give my kind regards to Delane. I wish he wasn't such a good fellow, and that I didn't like him so well, for the “Times” has played the very devil with our international relations, and if there is one thing I have ever set my heart upon it is the entente cordiale between America and England. Give my kind regards to Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan.

. . . It never occurs to me that any one can doubt the warmth of my feelings toward England, and so when I try to picture the condition here it is that my friends in England may see with my eyes, which must be of necessity quicker to understand our national humors than those of any Englishman can be. Give my regards to Parker, to whom I dare say you read portions of my letters. Pray don't forget to present my most particular regards to Lord Lansdowne, and I hope it may have occurred to you to send him some of my letters, as I can't help thinking that it would interest him to have private information about our affairs, which, so far as it goes, can at least be relied upon. Don't forget my kind regards to Layard and to the dear Dean of St. Paul's and Mrs. Milman, and to those kindest of friends, Lord and Lady Stanhope, and also to the Reeves. As for my true friend Murray, I am ashamed not to have written him a line; but tell him, with my best regards to him and Mrs. M., that I have scarcely written to any one but you. If you see him, tell him what I think of our politics. It will distress his bigoted Tory heart to think that the great Republic has not really gone to pieces; but he must make up his mind to it, and so must Sir John Ramsden. The only bubble that will surely burst is the secession bubble. A government that can put 250,000 men in the field within ten weeks, and well armed, officered, and uniformed, and for the time well drilled, may still be considered a nation. You see that Abraham asks Congress for 400,000 soldiers and 400,000,000 of dollars, and he will have every man and every dollar.

But before I plunge into politics, let me stick to private matters for a little. If I have omitted any names in my greetings, supply them and consider them as said. I write to scarcely any one but you, and then to such as I know are sincerely interested in American affairs. To-day I send a letter to Lord Lyndhurst, a long one, and I am awfully afraid that it will bore him, for unluckily I haven't the talent of Sam Weller to make my correspondent wish I had said more, which is the great secret of letter-writing.

McClellan and Lyon and Mansfield and McDowell and a host of others, all thoroughly educated soldiers with large experience, to say nothing of old Scott, whose very name is worth 50,000 men, are fully a match for Jeff and Beauregard, able men as they unquestionably are. Then as to troops, I wish those who talk about Northern mercenaries, all Irish and German, and so on, could take a look at the Rhode Islanders, at the Green Mountain boys from Vermont, at the gigantic fellows from Maine, whose magnificent volunteers excite universal applause, at the Massachusetts fellows, who can turn their hands to anything, at the 50,000 men from the “Empire State,” already marched forward and equipped like regulars, and so on to Ohio and Pennsylvania, Illinois, Michigan, Minnesota, etc. I thought before I came home that there was some exaggeration in the accounts we received; but the state of things can't be exaggerated. I never felt so proud of my country as I do at this moment. It was thought a weak government because it was forbearing. I should like to know how many strong governments can stamp on the earth and produce 250,000 — the officially stated number of fighting men — almost at a breath; and there was never in history a nobler cause or a more heroic spectacle than this unanimous uprising of a great people to defend the benignant government of their choice against a wanton pro-slavery rebellion which had thought the country cowardly because she had been forbearing and gentle. A whole people, 22,000,000, laying aside all party feeling, stand shoulder to shoulder to protect this western continent, the home of freemen, from anarchy, perpetual warfare, and the universal spread of African slavery. But for this levy of bucklers the great Republic would have been Mexico and Alabama combined. Now slavery as a political power is dethroned, it can never spread an inch on this continent, and the Republic will come out of this conflict stronger and more respected than it ever was before.

Yesterday was a painfully interesting day. The Gordon regiment — the Massachusetts Second, of which I have spoken to you so often — took its departure for the seat of war. They have been in camp at Brook Farm for several weeks, and I have visited them often and have learned to have a high regard for Gordon. He was an excellent scholar at West Point, and served with distinction in the Mexican War. Afterward, becoming tired of quarters in Oregon and such wildernesses in the piping times of peace, he left the profession and studied and commenced the practice of law in Boston. But on the breaking out of the great mutiny he at once applied for leave to raise a regiment. His lieutenant-colonel, Andrews, is also a West Point man, having graduated first in his class. Wilder Dwight, whom you knew in Florence, is major, and a most efficient, energetic, intelligent fellow he is. . . .

Well, a telegram came on Saturday evening last, signed “Winfield Scott,” ordering the Second to move forward at once to help reinforce General Patterson in Martinsburg, Virginia. Patterson is expecting daily an engagement with Johnston, one of the best of the rebel generals, who commands some 20,000 men within a few miles of Martinsburg, so that the Second Regiment is going straight to glory or the grave. It was this that made the sight so interesting. It is no child's play, no holiday soldiering, which lies before them, but probably, unless all the rebel talk is mere fustian, as savage an encounter as men ever marched to meet. Within four days they will be on the sacred soil of Virginia, face to face with the enemy. The regiment came in by the Providence Railroad at eleven o'clock. It had been intended that they should march through many streets, as this was the first opportunity for the citizens of Boston to see the corps; but the day was intensely hot, a cloudless sky and 95° of Fahrenheit in the shade, so they only marched along Boylston, Tremont, up Beacon streets, to the Common, very wisely changing the program. They made a noble appearance: the uniform is blue, and they wore the army regulation hat, which I think — although Mr. Russell does not — very becoming with its black ostrich plumes, and I am assured that it is very convenient and comfortable in all weathers, being both light, supple, and shady. The streets were thronged to cheer them and give them God-speed. There was a light collation spread on tables in the Beacon Street Mall, and I walked about within the lines, with many other friends, to give the officers one more parting shake of the hand. There were many partings such as press the life from out the heart.

I was glad that M— and the girls were not there; but I saw Mr. and Mrs. D—, Mrs. Quincy, and many other wives and mothers. You may judge of the general depth of feeling when even Tom D— wouldn't come to see the regiment off for fear of making a fool of himself. People seemed generally to be troubled with Lear's hysterica passio, so that the cheers, although well intentioned, somehow stuck in their throats. The regiment got to the cars at three o'clock, and were to go via Stonington to New York, and soon via Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, to Williamsport, Maryland, and Martinsburg. We shall hear of them by telegram, and I hope occasionally to get a line from Gordon. Oh, how I wish that I had played at soldiers when I was young; wouldn't I have applied for and got a volunteer regiment now! But alas! at forty-seven it is too late to learn the first elements, and of course I could not be a subaltern among young men of twenty-two. William Greene — lucky fellow! — is raising a regiment; he was educated at West Point, you know, and served in the Florida war; and Raymond Lee, also a West Point man, is raising another of the additional ten regiments offered by Massachusetts. Young Wendell Holmes — who, by the way, is a poet and almost as much a man of genius as his father, besides being one of the best scholars of his time — has a lieutenant's commission in Lee's regiment, and so on. Are you answered as to the Irish and German nature of our mercenaries?

Nothing decisive has yet occurred. The skirmishes — outpost affairs, and which have furnished food for telegrams and pictures for the illustrated newspapers — are all of no consequence as to the general result. Don't be cast down, either, if you hear of a few reverses at first. I don't expect them; but, whether we experience them or not, nothing can prevent our ultimate triumph and a complete restoration of the Union. Of this I feel very confident. I don't like to prophesy, — a man always makes an ass of himself by affecting to read the future, — yet I will venture one prediction: that before eighteen months have passed away the uprising of a great Union party in the South will take the world so much by surprise as did so recently the unanimous rising of the North. For example, only a very few months ago, the Confederate flag was to wave over Washington before May 1, and over Faneuil Hall before the end of this year; there was to be a secession party in every Northern State, and blood was to flow from internecine combats in every Northern town. Now Washington is as safe as London; the North is a unit, every Northern town is as quiet and good-natured, although sending forth regiment after regiment to a contest far away from home, as it was five years ago; while Virginia is the scene of civil war — one Virginia sending senators and representatives to Washington, while another Virginia sends its deputies to Jeff Davis's wandering capital, and the great battle-field of North and South will be on the “sacred soil.” I feel truly sorry for such men as C—; there could not be a man more amiable or thorough gentleman than he seemed to be on our brief acquaintance. But rely upon it that Abraham is a straightforward, ingenuous, courageous backwoodsman, who will play his part manfully and wisely in this great drama.

The other day I dined with Mr. Palfrey. It was a very pleasant little dinner, and besides Frank and the daughters there were Holmes, Lowell, and John Adams. Frank Palfrey is lieutenant-colonel in William Greene's regiment; Mr. Palfrey's other son, John, is a lieutenant in the regular army, and I am truly sorry to hear today that he has just come home from Fortress Monroe with typhoid fever. I am just going down to inquire after him. Lowell and Holmes were as delightful as ever. I liked John Adams very much indeed; he seemed to me very manly, intelligent, and cultivated, and very good-looking. He was kind enough to ask me to come down to Quincy to dine and pass the night, and I certainly shall do so, for besides wishing to see the ancient abode of the Adamses, I must go and see the venerable Mr. Quincy, who has kindly sent for me once or twice. By the way, remember me kindly to Mr. and Mrs. Adams whenever you see them. I hear that they speak of you in all their letters in the most friendly and agreeable manner. . . .

Ever yours affectionately,

J. L. M.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 164-72

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. to John Lothrop Motley, April 29, 1860

Boston, April 29, 1860.

It was so pleasant, my dear Lothrop, to get a letter from you. I have kept it a week or two so as to have something more to tell you, yet I fear it will not be much after all. Yesterday the Saturday Club had its meeting. I carried your letter in my pocket, not to show to anybody, but to read a sentence or two which I knew would interest them all, and especially your kind message of remembrance. All were delighted with it; and on my proposing your health, all of them would rise and drink it standing. We then, at my suggestion, gave three times three in silence, on account of the public character of the place and the gravity and position of the high assisting personages. Be assured that you were heartily and affectionately, not to say proudly, remembered. Your honors are our honors, and when we heard you had received that superior tribute, which stamps any foreigner's reputation as planetary, at the hands of the French Institute, it was as if each of us had had a ribbon tied in his own buttonhole. I hoped very much to pick up something which might interest you from some of our friends who know more of the political movements of the season than I do.

I vote with the Republican party. I cannot hesitate between them and the Democrats. Yet what the Republican party is now doing it would puzzle me to tell you. What its prospects are for the next campaign, perhaps I ought to know, but I do not. I am struck with the fact that we talk very little politics of late at the club. Whether or not it is disgust at the aspect of the present political parties, and especially at the people who represent them, I cannot say; but the subject seems to have been dropped for the present in such society as I move about in, and especially in the club. We discuss first principles, enunciate axioms, tell stories, make our harmless jokes, reveal ourselves in confidence to our next neighbors after the Chateau Margaux has reached the emotional center, and enjoy ourselves mightily. But we do not talk politics. After the President's campaign is begun, it is very likely that we may, and then I shall have something more to say about Mr. Seward and his prospects than I have now.

How much pleasure your praise gave me I hardly dare to say. I know that I can trust it. You would not bestow it unless you liked what I had done, but you would like the same thing better if I had done it than coming from a stranger. That is right and kind and good, and notwithstanding you said so many things to please me, there were none too many. I love praise too well always, and I have had a surfeit of some forms of it. Yours is of the kind that is treasured and remembered. I have written in every number of the “Atlantic” since it began. I should think myself industrious if I did not remember the labors you have gone through, which simply astonish me. What delight it would be to have you back here in our own circle of men — I think we can truly say, whom you would find worthy companions: Agassiz, organizing the science of a hemisphere; Longfellow, writing its songs; Lowell, than whom a larger, fresher, nobler, and more fertile nature does not move among us; Emerson, with his strange, familiar remoteness of character, I do not know what else to call it; and Hawthorne and Dana, when he gets back from his voyage round the world, and all the rest of us thrown in gratis. But you must not stay too long; if all the blood gets out of your veins, I am afraid you will transfer your allegiance.

I am just going to Cambridge to an “exhibition,” in which Oliver Wendell Holmes speaks a translation (expectatur versio in lingua vernacula), the Apology for Socrates; Master O. W. Holmes, Jun., being now a tall youth, almost six feet high, and lover of Plato and of art.

I ought to have said something about your grand new book, but I have not had time to do more than read some passages from it. My impression is that of all your critics, that you have given us one of the noble historical pictures of our time, instinct with life and glowing with the light of a poetical imagination, which by itself would give pleasure, but which, shed over a great epoch in the records of our race, is at once brilliant and permanent. In the midst of so much that renders the very existence of a civilization amongst us problematical to the scholars of the Old World, it is a great pleasure to have the cause of letters so represented by one of our own countrymen, citizens, friends. Your honors belong to us all, but most to those who have watched your upward course from the first, who have shared many of the influences which have formed your own mind and character, and who now regard you as the plenipotentiary of the true Republic accredited to every court in Europe.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 87-90

Captain Charles Russell Lowell to Anna Jackson Lowell, September 19, 1862

Headquarters, Army Of The Potomac,

Sept. 19, 1862.

We had a severe fight day before yesterday — a good many officers on our side wounded because the men in some brigades behaved badly. Frank Palfrey is wounded, not seriously, — Paul Revere, slightly wounded, — Wendell Holmes shot through the neck, a narrow escape, but not dangerous now, — Hallowell badly hit in the arm, but he will save the limb, — Dr. Revere is killed, — also poor Wilder Dwight, — little Crowninshield (Frank's son) shot in the thigh, not serious, — Bob Shaw was struck in the neck by a spent ball, not hurt at all, — Bill Sedgwick very badly wounded.¹ A good many others of my friends besides are wounded, but none I believe in whom you take an interest. None of General McClellan's aides were hit.²

This is not a pleasant letter, Mother: we have gained a victory — a complete one, but not so decisive as could have been wished.

_______________

¹ This was the great battle of the Antietam, at Sharpsburg, Maryland. The friends here mentioned were officers of the Twentieth and Second Infantry, two of the best regiments that Massachusetts sent to the war. Colonel Palfrey of the Twentieth has already been mentioned. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. (now Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States), was captain in the same regiment. His father, the Doctor, has told the story (“My Hunt after the [wounded] Captain”) in his works. Norwood P. Hallowell became colonel of the Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts (coloured) regiment. Dr. Edward Revere (a grandson of Paul Revere), a noble man and devoted surgeon in the Twentieth, after arduous work among the wounded under fire, was shot dead as he rose from operating on a hurt soldier. Lieutenant-Colonel Dwight, early in the war, wrote, after hearing of a military success elsewhere, “I had rather lose my life to-morrow in a victory than save it for fifty years without one. When I speak of myself as not there, I mean the Massachusetts Second in whose fortunes and hopes I merge my own.” He had been largely instrumental in raising that, the first three-years regiment from his State. His wish was granted.

Lieutenant Francis Welch Crowninshield was a youth of delicate constitution, whose great spirit carried him through the whole period of the war, although he was struck by bullets at Winchester, Antietam, Chancellorsville, and elsewhere. Yet he steadily returned to his regiment, the Second Massachusetts Infantry, which he encouraged to reenlist. He became a captain, shared in the actions of the Atlanta Campaign, and, in spite of his frequent injuries, marched through to the sea with Sherman. The year after the war ended, his constitution succumbed to the effects of wounds and exposure, and he died in Italy. Of Robert Shaw much has been already, and will be, said in this volume.

William Dwight Sedgwick, of Lenox, Massachusetts, a good and strong man, well born, and of excellent attainments, was practising law in St. Louis when the war broke out. Eager in his patriotism, he at once joined the Second Massachusetts Infantry as a first lieutenant. The next year he was placed on the staff of his uncle, the gallant and loved General Sedgwick, with the rank of Major and Assistant Adjutant-General. While carrying orders at Antietam he was shot in the spine, and died in the hospital ten days later.

The stories of all these officers are told in the Harvard Memorial Biographies.

²  Lowell said no word of his important service, as one of the aides of the general in command, in helping to rally General Sedgwick's division, of the Second Corps, broken and retreating before the terrible fire. An officer who recognized him said, “I shall never forget the effect of his appearance. He seemed a part of his horse, and instinct with a perfect animal life. At the same time his eyes glistened and his face literally shone with the spirit and intelligence of which he was the embodiment. He was the ideal of the preux chevalier. After I was wounded, one of my first anxieties was to know what had become of him; for it seemed to me that no mounted man could have lived through the storm of bullets that swept the wood just after I saw him enter it.” (See Professor Peirce's Life of Lowell in the Harvard Memorial Biographies.)

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 224-5, 409-10

Diary of Reverend James Freeman Clarke: October 21, 1861

Battle of Edwards' Ferry [Ball's Bluff]. Took telegram to Dr. Holmes about his son.

SOURCE: Edwin Everett Hale, Editor, James Freeman Clarke: Autobiography, Diary and Correspondence, p. 273

Diary of Josephine Shaw Lowell: April 15, 1862

A year since Lincoln's Proclamation, in which he says that the object of the 75,000 men was to repossess the forts of the United States, and today we hear of the unconditional surrender of Pulaski, one of the strongest, and the defense of Savannah. Yorktown is still untaken and we hear nothing of the Merrimac, except reported bursting of shells, running ashores, etc., etc., none of which are probably true. I heard today of Wendell's promotion to a captaincy. He told me in Boston that he only wanted to be captain for the sake of leading the men in battle, and now he will soon have his wish. Poor Mother is very low spirited and of course must be, for Rob is in continual danger, as his Regiment is acting as skirmishers, scouts, etc. She was speaking yesterday of not being able to do anything “until she had heard.” I suppose it is to hear that Rob is shot.

SOURCE: William Rhinelander Stewart, The Philanthropic Work of Josephine Shaw Lowell, p. 24-5

Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. to John L. Motley, April 29, 1860

Boston, April 29th, 1860.

It was so pleasant, my dear Lothrop, to get a letter from you. I have kept it a week or two so as to have something more to tell you, yet I fear it will not be much after all. Yesterday, the Saturday Club had its meeting, I carried your letter in my pocket, not to show to anybody, but to read a sentence or two which I knew would interest them all, and especially your kind message of remembrance. All were delighted with it; and on my proposing your health, all of them would rise and drink it standing. We then, at my suggestion, gave three times three in silence, on account of the public character of the place and the gravity and position of the high assisting personages. Be assured that you were heartily and affectionately, not to say proudly, remembered. Your honours are our honours, and when we heard you had received that superior tribute, which stamps any foreigner's reputation as planetary, at the hands of the French Institute, it was as if each of us had had a ribbon tied in his own button-hole. I hoped very much to pick up something which might interest you from some of our friends which know more of the political movements of the season than I do.

I vote with the Republican party. I cannot hesitate between them and the Democrats. Yet what the Republican party is now doing it would puzzle me to tell you. What its prospects are for the next campaign, perhaps I ought to know, but I do not. I am struck with the fact that we talk very little politics of late at the Club. Whether or not it is disgust at the aspect of the present political parties, and especially at the people who represent them, I cannot say; but the subject seems to have been dropped for the present in such society as I move about in, and especially in the Club. We discuss first principles, enunciate axioms, tell stories, make our harmless jokes, reveal ourselves in confidence to our next neighbours after the Chateau Margaux has reached the emotional centre, and enjoy ourselves mightily But we do not talk politics. After the President's campaign is begun, it is very likely that we may, and then I shall have something more to say about Mr. Seward and his prospects than I have now.

How much pleasure your praise gave me I hardly dare to say. I know that I can trust it. You would not bestow it unless you liked what I had done, but you would like the same thing better if I had done it than coming from a stranger. That is right and kind and good, and notwithstanding you said so many things to please me, there were none too many. I love praise too well always, and I have had a surfeit of some forms of it. Yours is of the kind that is treasured and remembered. I have written in every number of the Atlantic since it began. I should think myself industrious if I did not remember the labours you have gone through, which simply astonish me. What delight it would be to have you back here in our own circle of men — I think we can truly say whom you would find worthy companions: Agassiz, organising the science of a hemisphere; Longfellow, writing its songs; Lowell, than whom a larger, fresher, nobler, and more fertile nature does not move among us; Emerson, with his strange, familiar remoteness of character, I do not know what else to call it; and Hawthorne and Dana, when he gets back from his voyage round the world, and all the rest of us thrown in gratis. But you must not stay too long; if all the blood gets out of your veins, I am afraid you will transfer your allegiance.

I am just going to Cambridge to an “exhibition,” in which Oliver Wendell Holmes speaks a translation (expectatur versio in lingua vernacula), the Apology for Socrates; Master O. W. Holmes, Jun., being now a tall youth, almost six feet high, and lover of Plato and of Art.

I ought to have said something about your grand new book, but I have not had time to do more than read some passages from it. My impression is that of all your critics, that you have given us one of the noble historical pictures of our time, instinct with life and glowing with the light of a poetical imagination, which by itself would give pleasure, but which, shed over a great epoch in the records of our race, is at once brilliant and permanent. In the midst of so much that renders the very existence of a civilisation amongst us problematical to the scholars of the Old World, it is a great pleasure to have the cause of letters so represented by one of our own countrymen, citizens, friends. Your honours belong to us all, but most to those who have watched your upward course from the first, who have shared many of the influences which have formed your own mind and character, and who now regard you as the plenipotentiary of the true Republic accredited to every Court in Europe.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Volume 1, p. 340-2

Diary of Josephine Shaw Lowell: October 29, 1861

We heard today various things to make us proud of Massachusetts men. A man who saw the fight at Balls Bluff says that whenever one of their number fell, he was instantly brought within the lines by some of his comrades who rushed out to get him. The men fought all the way to the line and retired in excellent order. Alice Forbes writes to Mollie: “Wendell Holmes was knocked over, but, jumping up, he waved his sword and was cheering his men on when he received another wound which disabled him. Tell his friends of his gallantry.”

SOURCE: William Rhinelander Stewart, The Philanthropic Work of Josephine Shaw Lowell, p. 21