USA > New York > Ulster County > Marlborough > History of the town of Marlborough, Ulster County, New York, from its earliest discovery > Part 23
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HE ADVISES HIS BROTHER NOT TO ENTER SERVICE. 323
place and chimney, and am as comfortable as you need wish to see a soldier : but it may be for one day, or it may be a month, no one can tell. I must close in time for the mail.
Affectionately, your brother,
EDWARD KETCHAM.
Camp near Falmouth, Va., Feb. 18th, 1863.
Dear Mother :
I received a letter from thee and John yesterday, and one from him to-day. I know, of course, it must come hard to thee to part with him. and be left alone; but, still thee has kind and sympathizing friends, who will do all that they possibly can, to make thy hard lot, as I may call it, easy. Now, perhaps, it will somewhat soften thy grief, if I tell thee that the hardships of war are greatly exaggerated. I have seen men, who told awful stories of their sufferings in their campaign before Rich- mond, brought to admit, that what they were then enduring equaled any suffering they had before met with. Now. I have never vet seen the three consecutive hours, when I suffered either from cold, heat, thirst, or hunger: or much on account of fatigue. Now. soldiers, as a rule, like to be heroes ; in fact, that brought a large share of them here, and if they don't exaggerate considerably, in their letters home, why, their friends would not have a chance to indulge in hero-worship! Thus, it comes, that wonderful stories are told : and then it is natural to make any transaction of their own as big as possible, to some people : so. the big yarns find their way home. " Never believe but half a traveler tells you," is a pretty safe rule; but when von come to a soldier, why, reject two-thirds and trim the balance. Doubtless the wounded and siek have suffered; but I believe that the instances where the well soldier has suffered to any great extent are scarce ; never from hunger ; except, per- haps, when the baggage-trains have been lost or captured.
But what if we do suffer some, occasionally, what does it all amount to? Who expects to go through life, gathering roses, from which the thorns have been plucked? The back should be shaped to the burden. Mother, to tell the truth, I did cherish a hope that Jack would be disappointed in getting off; but it seems 1 was disappointed. I hoped this only on thy account : for I believe these times, and this war, call for just such men as he : and. though he is my only brother, and I know full well his value, I would not have had him prove himself not what I thought him, even if, by so doing, he had staid at
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HISTORY OF MARLBOROUGH.
home. I wish the necessity were not; but, as it is, if he had chosen to stay at home, it would have gone far to prove that he was not worth coming. He may live to return a hero, or, he may die a martyr. But, in either event, he will have lived and done his duty, and he who, when death looks him in the . face, can say, in truth, I have done my duty, has lived a life- time, though the blood of youth still courses through his veins. Lovingly, thy son,
EDWARD HI. KETCHAM.
Camp near Falmouth. May 12th, 1863.
My dear Mother :
I wrote to thee from the battle-field, after we had come out of the fight, and telegraphed to thee; and again after we had recrossed the river. If thee received either, I, of course, do not know; but I will repeat the vital part of both. Jaek and I are close together once more; both well and hearty. This old camp was, during last winter, a pleasant place. Winter has gone, and the quiet and repose, that were then not only endur- able but somewhat pleasant are so no longer; and I shall be truly glad when we shall leave it, for good ; I can bid good bye to the old log cabin without regret. Mother, the short eam- paign, which we have just passed through was one of hard- ship; but, to me, its hardest experience was mere play; I am able to stand just such, for six months, withont inconvenience. God help the army of the Potomae, if we are ever so hard- worked that I give out: for there are few that can stand the pressure after that. Mother, this time spent here is not lost time - I mean I personally sacrifice nothing. I have often thought that old age, that has no experience of hardship or adventure to fall back on, when the time comes that we live in the past as I now do in the future, must be somewhat barren. If I come out all right. and do not fail to do my duty. just the experience of the last nine months I would not part with for all the wealth of New York City.
It is commonly thought that a soldier's life is rather cal- culated to demoralize. I do not believe it. It may appear so on the surface ; but there is many a man here in this army, who has never thought a serious thought before, who thinks now, and, when he goes back to home and friends, he will go back to realize that there is something for him to live for besides himself. It does men good to suffer for a good cause. It some-
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NOTES ON THE MARCH FROM FALMOUTH.
how identifies them with it: and, as one good cause is linked with everything else that is good and noble, a man in fighting for liberty somehow fights his way to goodness. The general effect on the men here will be humanizing, and with peace - an honorable one as we mean to win - will come national virtue. It is a tough sight, for one who looks only on the surface, to see the noblest and the bravest of the land, limping and bleeding, and dying. as I saw them on the field of battle. But, when you look upon a man who died stoutly doing his duty. and can realize that he died to save something better than life, it does not seem so awful as it would. It was an awful picture we looked upon the other day : but it had a bright as well as a dark side. There were many brave men who saw the last of earth, on that battle-field of Chancellorville, and many tears will flow, for many a year. But, what are these tears, to the bitter ones a mother sheds over an erring son, out of whom everything good has died. and only his body lives. If we were whipped at Chancellorville, as the Copperheads say we were, I think such getting whipped. on our part, will soon use up the Confederacy. Their loss must have been fearful; for they came up, time after time, right in front of our bat- teries, closed en masse, and were just let to come close enough, when our guns, double-shotted with grape, would pile them in heaps, and send them back, utterly cut to pieces. This was not only one occurrence, but it was done over and over again, But I must stop.
Affectionately, thy son, EDWARD KETCHAM.
NOTES ON THE MARCH FROM FALMOUTH.
14th .- Fell in. and marched to Rappahannock Station ; we then rested till daylight. At six o'clock we started and marched back to Mount Holly Church, near Kelley's Ford, on the very road we had come over the day before; met Jack there, and as we lay close together, I spent the day with him. Started at sundown, and marched all night. till seven in the morning, when we halted at Catlett's Station : marching thence till we got to Rappahannock Station, over the same road which we had passed twice before.
15th .- Halted at Catlett's Station, a distance of eighteen miles : lay there till two o'clock, when we marched to Man- nassas Junetion, a distance of eleven miles : making in all we
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HISTORY OF MARLBOROUGH.
marched. thirty miles in about twenty-four hours. Here we encamped for the night, or rather bivouacked.
16th .- Lay still until the afternoon, when we moved half a mile, and pitched our tents. A day of rest put us in order for another march.
17th .- Started about ten o'clock, and marched about two miles, when we halted at Bull Run Creek, (below the bridge of the railroad, said to have been built by Beauregard, to take supplies to Centreville. ) The bridge above the railroad was the scene of the chief fighting in '61. The trees are here marked occasionally by bullets and cannon balls. The valley, that the stream runs through. is one of the most beautiful I ever saw. The trees grow almost as luxuriously as in the tropics. One old fellow branches out into ten distinet limbs, a few feet above the ground ; any one of the ten might pass for a respectable tree. I. as well as half the army here, took a good bath ; we rested, and dined under the shade of those old trees, as large as giants ; a cool breeze was blowing at the time. It was hard to think that this beautiful valley was an historic one. because of the stream that runs through it once having been red with human blood. It is but a few days less than two years, since the battle of Bull Run was fought; and now, if I did not know it, I could pass through without seeing anything to tell that it had ever been else than as peaceful as now. We cressed Bull Run at Blackburn's Ford.
18th .- Rested. and looked about us. Centreville is, or was, a nice little village of a dozen houses; it stands on a hill. and the country around reminds me of Chestnut Ridge, Dutchess Co.
19th .- Packed about ten o'clock, and started on the road toward Leesburg. We guarded the train of the 3d Corps. I had command of the company, and posted one man with every wagon, till the men were used up. We passed through a nice country, pretty well wooded. There was good evidence that troops had passed through; though the country had not been much disturbed. *
Camp near Falmouth, March 15th, 1863.
Dear Mother
I enclose this little serap in Ed's letter. I found, to my surprise, when we arrived here, that Ed had been over here at our camp, looking for me. * * We are camped in a beautiful piece of wood, "i. e." it was, before it was made for
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EDWARD'S LAST LETTER TO HIS MOTHER.
a camp : but considerably chewed up now. A road runs before our company street : the mud is just even with the tops of your boots when you step in it : six mules have to look sharp to get along with a light load : and either side of the road the soil is as nice and dry as the " long pond " woods in summer. There is no discount on Virginia mud: it takes about a pint of water and a little mixing, to make a cart load of it, about like graft- ing wax. It is grand soil here: not a stone to be found in miles : very little swamp : nice hills and valleys : but all covered with pine forest ; some splendid white-wood. This is bound to be a fine country vet ; a splendid farming country, I have no doubt, very different from the banks of the Potomae west of Washington. * 1 can hardly realize vet that I am with the grand army: it is like Yankee Doodle, who could not see the town, there were so many houses. Get up on a hill, though, and you see cities and towns and villages of white tents on every hill-side. The army, I should suppose, covers an area of fifty square miles, so we cannot see much of it. I saw the flag at general head-quarters, opposite Fredericksburg, the other night, in a splendid sunset, from where I stood: the sun set just behind the flag ; somehow I was reminded of Whittier's lines -
" We wait, beneath the furnace blast, The pangs of transformation : Not painlessly does God recast, And mould anew, the nation!"
although by what I could not tell. unless by the lurid color of the sky, the black clouds, and the old banner sailing so bravely on their background.
Good night Mother; take good care of thyself, and be of good cheer. Aunt Sarah wrote me, thee bears thy grief, as I knew thee wonld, and does not sink down under it. as others, who did not know thee as well as I do, thought thee would. Keep good courage while the good fight lasts, and I pray God to help thee, and to make me equal to the work before me. *
Love to all, JOHN.
EDWARD'S LAST LETTER TO HIS MOTHER.
" Gum Springs," June 23rd, 1863.
We are still at this place; I think we shall probably stay a day or two; I have not yet heard from John since the fighting
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HISTORY OF MARLBOROUGH.
on the 17th; but his regiment was engaged. There was more fighting on the day before yesterday. I have not yet heard if his regiment was in it. I know well, if he was, he did his duty, and hope he is all right. I tried mighty hard to get a paper yesterday ; but could not ; so, without knowing, I hope for the best,- which is certainly the best way. I expect Mil- ton is now dressed in its garments of purple and green, the dress it wears in June: and among its green leaves and bright flowers, the young almost forget that, down here in Old Vir- ginia, men are marching and fighting and dying, and thinking of home and friends. But there are few that can think of the war without thinking of some friend tramping through the valleys and over the hills of old Virginia. Pshaw! we don't need pity; I am talking nonsense. It is only the young and strong at home, who feel that this fight needs their help, while circumstances they cannot control keep them away, that are deserving pity !
I have just seen Captain Mann, on his way to Washington. He was wounded very seriously in the day before yesterday's fight. Jack was not hurt in either fight. The mail is just going.
Thy son, EDWARD HI. KETCHAM.
Frederick City, July 8th, 1863. Dear Mother :
I telegraphed to thee as soon as I could, and wrote about Edward. I cannot realize that he is dead. Don't let it kill thee, mother! Thee and I are all that is left of us. Edward was the first man killed in the regiment. They were lying on the ground, behind a little hill, in front of our batteries, mak- ing a part of the outer line of battle. It is always necessary in such times for some one to keep a lookout, to watch the movements of the enemy. As the men all lay on their faces, Edward was sitting up to look ; a sharpshooter's bullet probably struck him in the temple, and went through his head. He put up his hand, and said: "Oh!" and fell on his elbow, quite dead. There was heavy fighting on the ground soon after, and our forces had possession of the field for a short time. Ed's body was carried back a couple of hundred yards, and left
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JOHN'S LETTER ON EDWARD'S DEATH.
under a tree. I heard of it the next morning, and went to the regiment, and got a man to go with me, who helped to carry him off; he showed me where he lay. It was outside of our breastworks forty or fifty yards, and a couple of hundred beyond our outer line of sharpshooters. I went out to them but could not get beyond; for a bullet would whistle by, the moment a man showed himself. I lay down behind a big rock. The body of Green Carle, of the 120th, lay there, horribly muti- lated. They said he had lived two or three hours after he was struck. Whilst I lay there, two rebel batteries commenced to play on ours. I never imagined such a thunder as the firing made; there were twenty-four cannon at work, and the shells burst over our heads, fifty feet or more; one or two men were hurt near me, and the limbs of the trees dropped occasionally. [ then took a musket, thinking I would stay with the infantry, till they advanced, as I was not needed with the department, it being with the mule train; the rest of our regiment was at Washington. Pretty soon the rebels came out from their works, in heavy force, and advanced in line. Our batteries commenced to mow them down, and the men lay down until in close range : then the outer line raised up, and the two lines fought, without either moving from their place. It was a grand, but terrible sight! The rebels concentrated on one part of our line, and pressed it back, to charge our breastworks ; our flanks closed in on them, and hundreds were driven in, pris- oners, while the rest ran back to their lines like sheep. One poor fellow came in just by me: the first words he said were, " Gentlemen, I do this because I am forced to." He was a pleasant, harmless-looking fellow, as are one half of them; the other half look like wild beasts. At this time, the 120th came up, and I went with them. I went out at night. to look for Edward, but could not find him. The next morning our line advanced, and I went out to the tree: and there, on his back, his hands peacefully on his breast, lay all that was left of the
brother I have lived so closely with, all my life. When I had been separated from him a few weeks, I have known when I met him, how closely I was knit to him. On this earth I will never meet him again! His features, though discolored and swollen, had an expression I have seen on them before - peace- ful rest. He had lain thirty-six hours on the field, with the roaring of cannon and bursting of shells over him, and the feet of contending hosts, of darkness and freedom, trampling the ground he lay on. When I got him, I brought him in through
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HISTORY OF MARLBOROUGH.
1
the batteries, and laid him down under a tree. A Captain of one of the batteries said to me, " If he were a brother of mine, I would bury him on the field of his glory." He was very kind, and sent me men to dig the grave. In a little grove behind the batteries, under an oak tree, in his soldier's uniform, wrapped in a shelter-tent, lies all the earthly remains of my brother ; " he has gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord." And mother, thee and I walk this world of sorrow. I set for his head-stone a piece of a young oak, cut off by a rebel shell, and marked his name and regiment. Mother, yet a little time thee and I have to walk this earth, when we compare it to the great eternity beyond, where father and Edward are gone before us.
Oh, he was cut down in the very morning of his manhood ! He is laid a sacrifice on the altar of Liberty !
He died to give to every other man the right to his own man- hood - a precious sacrifice - for in him were heroism, a brave heart, and an iron will. He died, as he would have died - with his face toward the enemies of freedom, on the battle-field. Edward has marched many a weary mile; he has lain on the wet, cold ground, with nothing over him, long nights, with the rain pouring on him, and never murmured; he has lain and shivered in the snow and slush. all long winter nights, after weary marches, hungry, perhaps, or after eating a few hard crackers, and a little raw meat ; and, in his discomfort he has never wished for home; except, perhaps, to look forward to that bright day when the rebellion should be crushed, and he should return home, war-worn. and covered with his well worn honors. That day, alas! he can never see. Oh. God. Thy price for freedom is a dear one!
JOHN.
Near Sharpsburg. July 12th, 1863. Dear Mother,
I suppose thee has read either one or the other of my four letters, and the telegram about Edward. Keep heart and courage, mother ; he has only gone beyond us. It is a com- fort to think, that his suffering was so short. He must have been conscious an instant, for he spoke in his natural voice and said. " Oh !" (not an involuntary groan) put his hand to his forehead and fell on his elbow dead. One instant of terrible pain, and the life which he loved, as all strong men do, faded
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JOHN'S LETTER ON EDWARD'S DEATH.
from his sense. and was changed for the great Hereafter, when all human imperfection is changed for perfection. Brother ! our paths through life have run side by side, diverging, but to join again. Now, you have the better part, above the petty strifes of this life. All that is glorious and noble is yours, while I must mingle with earthly scenes, till your life fades into memory, and perhaps memory fades into shadow. Surely, God in his mercy cannot let the life we have lived together be no more; but in the great Hereafter. the life that has been shall live again in memory, fresh as the present. Edward! your love for me was strong, strong for your younger brother, as your own great. strong, brave heart, and I have taken it as I do the sunshine, and thought to have you by me always; but we are divided now. I am yet of the earth, while your name is on the long roll of honor - one of those whom God has con- sidered worthy to be sacrificed. You were cut down in the morning of manhood, strong and brave heart. You never flinched from danger. I know, in your great love for me, you will be with me if I go in danger, and inspire me with your spirit, that I may do my whole duty without flinching and without fear. In the morning of life, your blood has been shed for the right of every man to upright manhood - that the poor slave-mother may hold her child to her bosom without fear of the driver. My poor, broken, widowed mother has given her first and noblest son. Oh, God have mercy on her! Thou, " who doest all things well." Your body rests on the field of glory. Your name is on that roll of the noble dead to which posterity must bow down, and thank in reverence.
Napoleon told his soldiers, at the Pyramids, Centuries look down from the tops of these Pyramids. Forty centuries look down upon you! Yes! but, from the mountain over your head, the thunder of our cannon, hurling death to the rebels before you - from the top of that mountain, overlooking the field of Gettysburg - our great free nation, (vet to be,) looked down and saw you when you fell, and will hold your name in grateful honor, for all time to come! - better than the golden letter Napoleon wrote to immortalize his victims. You are one of the noblest dead who died for Freedom, and the feet of freemen shall tread the soil you fell on, for all time to come. A little mound, on the battle-field, covers all that is left of my brother, a noble fellow as ever drew the breath of life. As Christ " died to make men holy," he has " died to make men free." Have his picture, in his soldier's uniform, copied like thine and father's, and, under the glass, fold his commission
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HISTORY OF MARLBOROUGH.
and the ragged shoulder-strap I cut from him; hang under it his broken sword, and write:
"A SOLDIER IN THE ARMY OF THE LORD."
Now, I pray the battle soon to be fought may be decisive, and that I may return to be a little comfort to thee.
JOHN.
THE LAST LETTER JOHN WROTE TO HIS MOTHER. Harper's Ferry, July 18th, 1863.
Dear Mother,
I have heard nothing from thee since Edward's death, until two days ago. I had a letter from Nehe, and then, July 8th, you had heard he was wounded. I do not know hardly whether to suppose thee is alive or not. My comfort is, that Edward died as becomes a man, his face towards the enemies of free- dom. I know that, though he loved his life dearly as any man, yet. had he foreseen the result when he first thought of going to the war, it would not have made a particle of differ- ence with him; but he would have walked to certain death without flinching. I can do or say nothing to comfort my poor stricken mother. In thy boundless love for thy children, thy bereavement is more than mine, lonely and sad as I am, " wretch even now, life's journey just begun."
Harper's Ferry ! How much, since the great page of this people's life-history was opened. is here. That long old row of blackened walls was the Arsenal, from which John Brown thundered out the challenge to a life and death struggle. Retribution visited upon the oppressor ; sacrifice of the best and noblest to atone for our wrongs upon the helpless; lines of earthworks, overlooking Maryland heights; white tents, houses battered by shot and shell into heaps of ruins, in the field where I am sitting: pontoons across the river; and the old battered and worn-out army, thinned out to one-fourth of the men who first buckled on the knapsack, crossing again into Virginia, to grapple with its old enemy, to lay the bones of its best and bravest before the breastworks and riflepits of the yet formidable rebels !- all the long story of weary suffering, and the woe of five hundred battles! and here we stand as evenly- matched as ever, and they on chosen ground, as ever. I don't overlook the great blows struck by Grant at Vicksburg, and perhaps others, before this, at Charleston, which lead to the hope, almost, that the great price is nearly paid, and the work
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THE LAST LETTER JOHN WROTE TO HIS MOTHER.
nearly done. I wrote thee I would resign if events occurred that showed the war nearly over: but surely thee would not have me baek out from this glorious struggle, while the chances hang in the balance. Go home! and leave these weary war- worn men to fight for blessings I should enjoy? these weary men, who have fought and suffered so hard and long. addicted to every vice, almost, individually, but cowardice or meanness. I have seen them struggle, through mud and rain, after the de- feat at Chancellorville, back to the cheerless ruins of their old camps. I have seen them making long and weary marches along the dusty road. to foil the advance of Lee across the Rappahanock, then, forced marches to Manassas, all day long without water: then, I have seen long columns pushing for- ward, with tireless energy, to meet the enemy at Gettysburg; then, marching, day and night, to cut off the retreating foe, and now coming here, to this old historie spot, dark again into the dark valley and shadow of death. never halting or mur- muring, ever ready to lay down their lives. as their comrades have done. I have heard them groaning in agony, wounded, jolted over rough road, or carried by their comrades, or lying on the battle field, between the lines, begging to be taken out of more danger. I have seen mangled and torn masses knocked out of the shape of men. I have seen ragged uniforms of United States soldiers, bursting from the black and swollen bodies, as they lay in ditches by the road side, rotting in the sun. "Blessed are they that endure to the end." I am no such soldier as my brother was; but I trust I have manhood enough to stand with this army of the Lord until its victory is sure. I entered the vineyard but at the eleventh hour. I can, perhaps, do but little, but, while the result hangs in the balanee. I know, in thy heart of hearts, thee is glad that I am one of this army. and where is heard the tramp of their march- ing feet, there am I. I am glad to hear, from thy letter, that cousins V. Halloek and T. Sherman have gone for Edward's body. I know it would have been his wish: it is but a small satisfaction, but I could not have done even that. Bear up a little longer, my poor bereaved mother.
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