CIVIL WAR LETTER - 4th Vermont Infantry - Colonel is Dead, Sulphur Springs VA

Description

CIVIL WAR LETTER
CIVIL WAR SOLDIER LETTER - Soldier in 4th Vermont Infantry.
This Civil War soldier letter was written by William Rowe Russell (1837-1887), the son of Ira Russell (1804-1860) and Reuxby Ann Wales (1814-1858) of Rockingham, Windham county, Vermont. Ira Russell was a cripple and earned his living as a stove and tin ware dealer in Bellows Falls on the upper Connecticut river. He had good handwriting, however, and supplemented his income as a clerk in the Vermont Valley railroad.
William, or “Will,” wrote to his wife, Annie Eliza Smith (1839-1898)—the daughter of Ceylon and Christiana (Gilliland) Smith, whom he married on 27 November 1861, three months
after he enlisted
in the 4th Vermont Infantry. He enlisted as a corporal in Co. F, rose in rank to 2nd Lieutenant of Co. G. in early 1863, and by June 1864, he was given command of Co.’s A & F.
As an interesting aside, Will’s younger brother—John (“Jack”) Wales Russell (1843-1862)—was considered too young to enlist when the war broke out but was allowed to accompany Major Holbrook of the 7th Vermont Infantry as a “personal attendant.” When the 7th Vermont was sent to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Jack went along and on 5 April 1862, while trying to reach the Major on the picket line to bring him another revolver, he was shot and killed.
Fourth Vermont Regiment at Camp Griffin, Virginia in the winter of 1861-62.
The 4th Vermont was organized in 1861 at Brattleboro under the young Colonel
Edwin Henry Stoughton
and spent its first autumn in Virginia with Brooks’s Brigade, primarily tasked with the defense of Washington, DC at Camp Griffin.
While at Camp Griffin, the 4th Vermont was brigaded with several other Vermont regiments and was, therefore, often referred to as the “Vermont Brigade.” The brigade had a storied career and played a part in many important battles of the Army of the Potomac, including the Peninsula Campaign, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Second Battle of Fredericksburg, Gettysburg, Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, Ft. Stevens, and Winchester.
Will’s record of absences from the 4th Vermont
Due to illnesses that plagued him throughout his service, however, Will was not with his regiment in several key battles, which included Antietam, Fredericksburg, and the first part of Grant’s Overland Campaign in 1864. He appears to have rejoined his comrades prior to the battle of Cold Harbor and was with them through the remainder of his three years service, mustering out on 20 September 1864.
There are no surgeon’s reports in Will’s military record but many of his symptoms are mentioned in his letters that lead us to conclude he suffered from neuralgia—possibly a result of shingles or some other like affliction. It seems to have caused him some temporary blindness in one eye, a skin rash on his face, and the swelling of one of his arms/hands. He apparently only suffered one slight wound during the war, which was a fragment of metal from a bursted shell that nipped him in the eyebrow while in the trenches in front of Petersburg in June 1864. He laughed it off and told his wife, “I’ve finally shed some blood for my country.”
Following his discharge from the service, Will returned home to Annie. The couple had three children—Willie (1869-1869), Bertha (1872-19xx) and Royal (1875-1888), and census records indicate that Russell worked as a freight clerk in both Herkimer, New York and Boston, Massachusetts, where he and his family ultimately settled. Will died of consumption (tuberculosis) in Boston on 30 May 1887.
For the record, at the time that Will enlisted in the 4th Vermont, he was identified as a 24 year-old clerk who stood 5 feet 4.5 inches tall, with a medium complexion, grey eyes, and brown hair.
Transcription
Camp near Sulphur Springs, Virginia
August 2nd [1863]
My Darling Wife,
Received yours of the 28th yesterday but moving camp and everything in a hubbub could not get time to write. I am much better. Feel quite like myself once more but my eyes look as though they were set in the enamel and are swelled badly yet but don’t ache, so I don’t care much for looks. It’s hotter than—-well, ice cream—considerable—and such days as these are highly suggestive of a stroll on the common & then adjourn to Copeland’s.
1
But alas for poor benighted Va., this section of it don’t know but very little of that transparent substance called ice, or beg pardon, should have said congealed water. That’s proper, isn’t it? but if I can’t be in a Christian land and enjoy some of its luxuries, can at least look back to the time when I once did dwell in the Trimountain burg of Boston and do such things.
2
Do you remember the last time we went to Copeland’s? You hadn’t nary bonnet on. We went from Mrs. Severance’s to go to old ca-whitches down by Brahaman’s, to borrow a picture, and came home that way. I should like to strike that place about now, though I am writing in dishabell [?] I suppose you would call it nothing on but drawers and undershirt and most roasted at that. Ensworth is just screaming to me to go down to a mill dam just below here and anchor ourselves [and] see if [we] can’t cool off a trifle. But I’m afraid I should all run away going down.
I have written to Uncle Joe. I am sorry you told him when you was married for they all thought I was married just before the war broke out, and I had rather they would on good many accounts so wish you’d stretch your conscience another year please.
There has been lost somewhere. Twas sent about the 1st of June. Cannot tell exact date but near that time. I sent the first time . The next , & check. Then in a few days after a ten dollar bill. Then about the time I left Belle Plain three notes so there seems to be by your account gone for I certainly sent it. There were several sending home money at the same time. Well, I suppose somebody is having a good time on it. the next I send will be bank checks drawn in your name. Then if lost, can get another. But I have always sent money by mail and never lost any before, though there is a great deal of money lost going from here by mail, but don’t think I shall try it again in a hurry for can’t afford it.
The last time I wrote, sent you . I don’t wonder that you thought just that I should urge you to go to Boston but I supposed you had some more than you see to have received. But you know I did not get any of your letters after June 8th or 9th till way into July so did not know anything about it but will send all I can spare this pay day,
There is a report here today in camp that Col. Stoughton is dead, but I hope its nothing but a rumor we are very near the famous Sulphur Springs of Va. now. I am going to try and get some of the water to drink. It’s very beneficial for all kinds of humors.
So you think the war widows don’t behave very well. Well I pity their husbands to go home and find such wives as you describe. I had rather see you in your grave than go home and find you had been acting so, But I have no fear of your doing so. I have too much confidence in my darling to think that she will ever do anything to disgrace herself or me.
So you are growing fat, are you? Well I am growing poor and black. Don’t see how you can think Lowell duller than Warrensburg. I always thought it a very lively place, but never fancied it much. Don’t think I should like to live there.
So you are going to take a pattern from Frank’s boy, are you? and would like to see me tending it? Now don’t punish me so. I’ll be good, but I don’t want to tend babies, need I? Say no please. There is one thing in that pattern though that I don’t see as you can get very easy [and] that is the black eyes. Where are they coming from? But perhaps you can dye them some way. A woman generally manages to have her own way somehow so I suppose you will have to have yours. But I should like to know how you are going to do it & when will you have that youngster for me to hold while get you breakfast. I’ll get home some way just one morning to breakfast if you tell me when to come. He can’t pull my mustache, however, as my lip is smooth as yours. It was all coming out following the example of the hair on my head and I thought I’d have it off so that it wouldn’t scratch the baby when I kissed it. But you just wait, my dear, till you se me kissing a baby & I’ll buy you a new bonnet.
I wish I could go to church with you, darling, tonight. Then take a walk after tea. If I ever do live to get home, I’ll have a home of my own. Wouldn’t it be nice to keep house, live by ourselves, do as we was a mind to once?
I dreamed last night that the war was over and we were keeping house and it seemed so pleasant, when all of a sudden my house collapsed and I woke up with one of these big black beetles making desperate charge on my eye, and I am afraid I swore but I don’t very often now. I hope, darling, to have that dream realized for I think we could live happily together, couldn’t we? Now Sissie, write often as you can, won’t you? Give my love to Frank.
Goodbye. With lots of love & kisses, I remain as ever your affectionate husband, — Will
1
I believe Copelands was a fashionable restaurant in Boston at the time.
2
In its earliest day (1630s) Boston was called “Trimountain” for the three hills around which the settlement was built.”
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