Samuel Breck Parkman.

SAMUEL BRECK PARKMAN, son of Samuel Breck Parkman, was born on the Sand-hills, near Augusta, Ga., the summer residence of his father, 1 November, 1836.

His father, a cotton merchant of Savannah, and for several years and at the time of his death president of the Marine Bank at Savannah, was, with his three eldest daughters and eldest son, lost in the steamer "Pulaski," between Savannah and New York, 14 June, 1838. Breck had been left, with two sisters, under the care of his maiden aunt, who ever after took the place of a loving mother to the little orphans.

When still very young he was brought to the North and placed at Mr. Maurice's school, at Sing Sing on the Hudson, where he continued till he went to Cambridge. He was tutored by Mr. Felton for a year before entering College. After graduating, he read law in Savannah, and was admitted to practice in due time. He became a member of the Georgia Historical Society, and soon after joined the Savannah troop of cavalry. In the summer of 1860, he was in Europe, and spent some time in Switzerland with Dyer, F. C. Ropes, and Sowdon; he returned in the fall, visited Boston, and there dined with some members of the Class.

In January, 1861, he married Nannie Beirne, youngest daughter of Oliver Beirne, of Western Virginia.

He probably entered the service of the Confederate States as first (some say third) lieutenant in Read's Georgia Battery; and he was reported as such at the time of his death.¹ His sister, the wife of Professor W. P. Trowbridge, of New Haven, says, he was “below Richmond, under General Magruder, in infantry Company K, of MacLaws' Division. He was promoted, with the rest of the company, to a battery for meritorious conduct. From May to the latter part of August, he was around Richmond, under fire, but not in any fight, being in the reserve at Harper's Ferry and at Sharpsburg.” Elliott, in a letter to Brown, under date of 30 September, 1865, says, “Breck Parkman was killed at Sharpsburg, on the 17th of September, 1862. He was lieutenant in a Savannah battery, was riding in the rear of the battery, which was engaged at the time, when he was struck down by a small ball from a spherical case which exploded near it, entered the right shoulder, and passed through the heart. No one saw him fall; but he was found a moment after, dead. His remains were afterward taken up, and are now in the Beirne vault at Richmond.” A year or two after, his body was removed to Laurel Grove Cemetery, Savannah, where a monument marks his final resting-place.

After six years of widowhood, Mrs. Parkman married the Baron Emil von Ahlefeldt, of Schleswig Holstein. In April, 1882, the Baroness von Ahlefeldt was in New York, her first visit since 1872, accompanied by her husband. He died in June, 1882.

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1 New Orleans (La.) "Delta," September, 1862. See also Brown's letter to the Class Secretary from Sharpsburg, Md., giving the testimony of a Confederate captain.

SOURCE: McKean Folsom and Francis Henry Brown, Report of the Class of 1857 in Harvard College: Prepared for the Twenty-fifth Anniversary of its Graduation, p. 96-7

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, September 26, 1862

Maryland Heights, September 26, 1862.

In my last letter, I wrote that we had orders to march the next morning. Our whole corps was routed out before daylight; our division, under command of General Gordon, marched to Maryland Heights, our brigade occupying our old last year's camping ground. Green's division crossed the Potomac and now occupies London Heights, the other side of the Shenandoah. Sumner's corps is encamped on Bolivar Heights. I think at last we are going to have a little rest; I can't tell. Everything seems about as it did last year up here; we have as splendid views and fine sunsets as ever. We have been very busy making up our pay rolls for the last two days. They are now a month behind time; there is any quantity of other papers which have been accumulating for the last six weeks, which will keep us hard at work for a week at least.

One of the men of my company killed at Sharpsburgh, the other day, lived in Brookline, and had been out here only about six weeks; his name was Thomas Dillon, and he was a good, faithful fellow. He was buried by two men in my company who volunteered to do it. A letter came for him two days after his death, which I think, under the circumstances, was one of the most affecting things I ever read, and yet it is only one instance among thousands. I do not know of anything that has brought the horrors of the war more plainly before me than this letter. I have written to the father of Dillon, telling him of his son's death.

You remember, don't you, of my speaking of a young boy named Stephens, who was killed at Winchester; his brother was wounded at Cedar Mountain, and has since died; they were their poor father's and mother's only sons; it is one of the hardest cases I have known.

I have talked with a number of the rebel prisoners. You have no idea what innocent, inoffensive men most of them seem to be; a great many are mere boys; there are some old men, too, with humped backs. Scarcely any of them seem to have any idea of what they are fighting for, and they were almost all forced into the army. I talked with one -poor little fellow from Georgia who had received a severe wound; he could not have been more than sixteen years old. He said that all he wanted was to get into one of the hospitals at the North; that he had been abused and knocked around ever since he had been in the army, and that the first kind treatment he had received and the first kind words he had heard were from our men. He expected to be bayoneted as soon as we came up. The more I see of battle fields convinces me that instances of cruelty to the wounded are extremely rare, and that they are treated, almost universally, with kindness by the men of both sides. When we crossed the field, we drove the rebels from where their wounded were lying everywhere; but our men took the greatest pains not to touch them or hurt them in any way, although sometimes it was almost impossible to avoid it. And when we halted, the men gave almost every drop from their canteens to the poor rebels. The idea that a soldier could ever bring himself to bayoneting a wounded man, strikes me now as almost absurd; it may have been done during this war, but I don't believe it.

Our wounded at Cedar Mountain were treated with the greatest kindness by the rebels; they gave them plenty of water and built shelters to protect them from the sun in many cases. This making out the Southerners to be a lot of cut throats is perfect nonsense; their leaders give a great many harsh orders, but the soldiers are not responsible for them.

I wonder if R. knows that his class-mate and friend, Breck Parkman, was killed at the battle of Sharpsburgh, the other day. He was on some general's staff and was probably killed by the fire of our brigade. Charley Horton saw a rebel surgeon who told him of it.

I believe that we are in quite a permanent camp now. It must be so, I think, for the whole army has endured a hard campaign of six months and must have rest; neither men nor horses can hold out forever. Then we have our recruits to make soldiers of, and the new regiments need any amount of drill. But there is another thing also true, that we have only got two months more in which any work can be done before we go into winter quarters.

The best news that we have heard lately is that Harry Russell is at liberty and exchanged; we hope soon to have him back here with us. There is no one I feel more pity for than Major Savage; we heard that he had lost a leg and would probably lose one arm; I don't believe he can live through it. He is one of the finest men I ever knew; nothing coarse or rough about him. He had a very delicate constitution, but was so plucky that he would do his work when a great many in his situation would have been on the sick list. He was one of my intimate friends, and had been particularly so during the last few months before Cedar Mountain.

Captain Quincy is at last heard from, it seems, badly wounded and a prisoner at Staunton. I doubt whether he or Major Savage ever will rejoin the regiment again to do duty with it; if that is the case, Captain Cogswell will become Lieutenant-Colonel, and Mudge will be Major. I shall be third Captain and shall have the colors. No one in our regiment can complain that he has not had promotion enough to satisfy him during the last few months. You will be pleased, I think, to know that a few of us have now got a first-rate “mess” in working order. It consists of Bob Shaw, Lieutenants Oakey, John Fox, Tom Fox, Abbott and myself. We have a really good cook, who can make good coffee, cook eggs in any way very nicely, and also make pies and puddings; to roast and broil or stew is child's play to him, and although our cooking materials are of the most limited description, we have not, since we have been this side of the Potomac, had a poor meal.

We found it, in our last campaign, to be an unmistakable fact, that a horse couldn't stand as much marching as a man; it got to be a common remark among the men on our march from Culpepper here, as we passed the dead or dying animals which had been abandoned, “There, we've killed one more horse; bring on some fresh ones, we're good for a few more yet.”

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 90