D. R. Deakins, circa 1875
My Dear brother Absolom,
What do I think of the idea of a Veterans’ Day? I suppose it is fitting and proper that, in the current day, one should honor all veterans with a holiday, but in our day we would not have made the distinction. Everyone was involved, in one way or another, in the war, and everyone was inconvenienced, to put it mildly, by it.
I recall the winter of 1864 when we camped with the 27th Pennsylvania Infantry regiment just outside of Nashville. All we had to eat was bacon and hardtack, but, strangely, we did not feel particularly inconvenienced by that fact. We had fared far worse in the previous years. We ate up the bacon for breakfast, and then, after softening our hardtack in water for a few minutes, we fried it up in what was left of the bacon grease and saved it for the march. Sometimes, we rolled the hardtack into snake-like ropes before we fried it. Some of the boys took their hardtack snakes, or some which they had fashioned from cornmeal, and wrapped them around their bayonets so as to make a spit for roasting over the fire.
A mighty cold winter that was, and a powerful lonely Christmas. I would have prefered to have been with Sherman in Savanna, but here we were, preparing to do our worst to Hood’s army of Rebels, and we had to make do with what few comforts were to be had. Occasionally, there was a delivery of coffee, and we would boil it nice and strong to keep us warm through the cold dawns. One man had found a barrel of molasses and had filled his whole canteen with the stuff, and he shared some of it with our platoon.
I never thought I could bring myself to terms with the idea of skewering a Johnny Reb with a bayonet, but by that point I was pretty well numb to the process. Please do not tell Ma that, Absolom, as it would surely upset her, and I am sure it was unnecessary for me to even have asked you that. I still cannot hear well with my right ear, and this from standing too close to a twelve-pounder when it went off back at Chickamauga. It is just as well Ma not know about that, either, brother, as it would only cause her to worry. She is only fifty-nine, but I fear this war has aged her considerably, and her frailty is obvious for all to see. It is difficult to grasp how she has coped this past twenty-six years since our father passed.
Brothers Finis and Tom are still not speaking to me, but that is to be expected. There could not have been such carnage without some hurt feelings, so we move on, but it is most regretful. I have settled in Whitwell, in the Sequatchie, and I hope to build a house here and establish my living as a farmer. Lucius and Byron have already gotten big enough to help with the chores, and little William is trying his darndest. None of them can remember their mother, and perhaps that is best. Lawie, Horace, and Hellen are handfuls, and it is evident now that Sarah is with child again. We are hoping for another boy.
At least, dear Absolom, we can say at last that the Union has been presereved, but at what cost? The last count I read was that more than 600,000 of our boys fell in the conflagration, but it is hard to believe that such a large number could be true. Many were no more than boys, to be sure. Our drummer boy claimed to be sixteen, and he was felled in the raid on Nashville, but I know for a fact that he had just turned fifteen and had been with the war for two years already. God help us to never experience such a thing again, as I am certain we cannot endure it.
My regards to your family, and if you have contact with any of our brothers, please tell them that I think of them often and they are all in my prayers, as are you. Please try to come for a visit whenever you can.
Your brother,
David
