Journal of James Edmond Pease, a Civil War Union Soldier

by Jim Murphy

  Pte. Washington Evans 19

  Pte. John Robinson 35

  Pte. Asa Rich 21

  Pte. Otto Parrisen 33

  Pte. Hudson Marsh 22

  and the near deserter, Pte. Theron Chrisler 19

  No one will have Chrisler in their tent so he is in a wedge tent by himself near the swamp. Despite his isolation we know when he is near because of the high stink he trails wherever he goes.

  Also, I was appointed temporary corp. — because Corp. Bell has been sent north for his broken leg and Corp. Drake has been added to the numbers in the hospital. I tried to say I did not want to be corp., but Sgt. Donoghue said it was not like an invitation to a dance, but an order, and Sgt. Donoghue can be very convincing. I am not the praying sort — not since leaving Uncle’s — but I did pray that Bell’s leg and Drake’s stomach get better fast so I would not be corp. very long. What happened in the woods was an accident and I do not want others to think it will ever happen again.

  December 8

  Same as above with chopping, but without drilling, tho I did not get to relax with the other men because I had to carry messages for Lt. Toms and Sgt. Donoghue and fill out the roster. Two of my new duties!! The big excitement was the disbursement of a ration of Army whiskey — four spoonsful each carefully dealt out by Sgt. Donoghue. Now, was that not a big drink! I think the Sgt. got the best of this arrangement, as he had a chance to smell the whiskey before we got it.

  Decided to try another history and approached William Kittler. But Kittler said he did not want to talk, and when I said it was an order, he said he had no recollection of his parents or where he was from or even of enlisting. Johnny thinks Kittler may be hiding some kind of sordid past. Kittler is always unusually quiet and often goes off by himself, but he has also been an honest enough soldier to date. Johnny joked that I get a history from Shelp, but I am not that brave yet. So I told Johnny it was his turn instead.

  Johnny told me his father died when he was young and that his mother raised him and his three sisters on the family farm. “She would get us up and fed, then go out and plow the field or hire a crew to harvest the crops, and then come back and bake pies for the church dinner and such. She has more energy than all of G Company put together.” Johnny intends to take up farming, too, and thinks he will marry a girl he knows in a nearby town when the war ends.

  This drawing is called “All in a Day’s Work.”

  December 9

  A quiet Sunday at home. The Christian Commission and a pack of preachers descended on the camp and went to every tent looking for like-thinkers. A meeting was to be held on the drill field, with promise of a “free package of useful articles” for those who attend. Some went along to the meeting, but most stayed inside out of the cold, writing letters, reading, playing cards, smoking, and such. I have noticed that in warm weather when we are fighting, many of the men are pious followers, but during the winter when things are quiet and shooting is rare, few respond to the call — unless offered a package. I thought about going myself — to avoid having to deliver messages and for the package — except that the first thing the preacher who came by did was quote the Bible and this reminded me too much of Uncle. So I stayed in our tent and joined pieces of broken candles together to make one good one. Every so often, when the wind shifted, I could hear the sweet sounds of hymn singing and then I listened to the words very carefully.

  Sleep still restless but hope for better tonight.

  December 10

  Very cold during the night and a young snow fell — very unusual this time of the year according to those who know — which has turned everything white and covered many undesirable flaws in the camp — such as our trench latrine. B and H Companies staged a snowball battle, with B Company taking the part of the Rebs. B Company seemed to be getting a thorough drubbing when one of our boys shouted, “Here comes old J.E.B. Stuart and his boys,” and we dashed in, scooping up snow and throwing it just as fast as we could til it was H Company’s turn to back up. Other companies joined the fight and even some officers, and pretty soon we had a fine battle going with 600 hundred “soldiers” at least. I took a ball of packed ice in the back of the head, but when I turned I couldn’t see who had thrown it. I have my suspicions, however.

  December 11

  Drilled a little, but not with much enthusiasm. The weather is so cold that our hands are numb and there are many long faces in camp. Johnny put together a fine-smelling stew for the tent, but when I put my spoon in for a taste, the pot fell from the pole and most everything was lost in the fire. There was some grumbling about my heavy-handed spooning, but Johnny said it wasn’t my fault. He is a steady friend. Had hardtack and what we could salvage from the fire — which was a few potatoes and gritty chicken — as dinner. Word about my accident spread thru camp quickly, because later when out walking, Shelp said, “Hold on to your cooking pots, boys! G Company’s Jonah is coming.”

  Fewer responded to sick call today, tho several — including Corp. Drake — remain in the hospital and are not better despite repeated doses of quinine.

  December 15

  Boiled our clothes this day and then assembled a nice stew — which did not fall into the fire! Unlike some tents, we did clean our pot before going from one activity to the other. The stew was an interesting mix of real and desiccated vegetables and beans, but would have been better if we had added an onion, in my opinion.

  December 16

  Lt. Toms read this journal and said, “Good God, Corp., next you’ll be putting in recipes for pie!” He then said I did not have to write so much and that when I did it should be something “truly interesting or significant, and generally of a military nature.” I guess that means I should not mention the outbreak of lice that has laid siege to two tents and threatens the rest!

  December 25

  Christmas Day began with the delivery of mail and packages. Johnny received a box filled with newspapers, letters, sweets, and canned food. I think he saw that I was all alone in my bed, so he made me help him open all of the little boxes and tins, so that we could sample the gifts. Then he glanced thru a batch of letters and said, “Jim, this one is for you.” At first I thought he was joking and I felt embarrassed that I was the only one in the Company with no family outside, but he saw this and added, “I am not joking, Jim. This letter has your name on it. Here,” and he handed it to me. I looked at it and could hardly believe what I saw:

  Private James Edmond Pease

  Company G, 122nd (Third Onondaga) Regiment

  New York Volunteers

  Army of the Potomac

  Brandy Station, Va.

  This was the first letter I had ever received in my life and I was so stunned I looked at Johnny, then at the letter, then back at Johnny. “Close your mouth and open the letter,” he said. “It’s from Sarah. I can tell her hand-writing any-where.”

  Sarah is Johnny’s sister, who is 14, and her handwriting is so small and so finely drawn that I thought it might break into a hundred pieces if I handled the envelope too roughly. But I did manage to close my mouth and open the letter and read it, too, after which Johnny said, “Well, what does it say?” so I read it to him. It was short and I am not sure Lt. Toms would think it “truly interesting and significant,” but I certainly do, so I will copy it here:

  Dear Private James Edmond Pease,

  Our brother Johnny wrote to us about your courageous actions last month, and about the way you charged ahead of the Company to face the enemy alone. We were all very impressed by this, and moved by your valor and bravery, and I wanted to write to tell you that you are in our prayers and thoughts every day. Mother said that Johnny is certainly lucky to have a companion and friend like you, and I agree with her.

  With all sincere wishes for your continued health,

  Miss Sarah Rebecca Henderson

  Johnny grabbed the letter from my hands and looked at it. “If you write back to her,” he said, “she will answer you, and I guarantee she will say much
more. She is a chatterbox in person and in letters usually.” I will write her back just as soon as I can think of what to say.

  Among the articles Johnny got was a bag of sleeping herbs that his grandmother put together. They looked like twigs, roots, and leaves to me, but when I boiled them up, the smell was very sweet. Johnny has no idea what is in it. “She goes thru the woods near her house gathering this and that” was all he could say. It tasted just fine. Not strong or bitter. Right now, I feel very sleepy, but I made myself write this so I would not forget the details. Later, in my bunk, I will read my letter one more time and then pull my blanket around me snug. I must say this is the nicest Christmas that I can remember.

  January 1, 1864

  The Army welcomed the New Year with a cannon salute and the firing of muskets, accompanied by much singing and a tin or two of whiskey. Before going off to be with the officers, Lt. Toms raised his cup and said, “To the best, the most loyal Company in the Army of the Potomac. May we be the first to enter Richmond!” Sgt. Donoghue stood then and said, “To you, sir. The best any Company or any Army can hope to have!” And we all cheered and drank to this because we all believe it to be true.

  I am sleeping much better and have not had a visit from my dead Reb friend in days, thanks to the sleeping herbs.

  January 2

  Began a letter to Miss Sarah Henderson, but after the “Dear Miss Henderson” I did not know what to say. And this was my third attempt to write her! I am not sure what will interest her. I do not think she wants to hear about chimney fires, freezing nights, or the way the measles have the doctors very busy. I will have to think very carefully on this.

  January 14

  Lt. Toms had me come to his tent this afternoon with the journal. The only other people there was Sgt. Donoghue and Caesar, who unfolded a map of the region on a small table. “Corp. Pease,” the Lt. began, “I want you to take careful notes of what is said here.” It seems that come spring there will be a major offensive — which is not a surprise since there is always some sort of big action every spring. There would be two parts to this action. One to draw out Gen. Robert E. Lee’s army or some part of it — the next to strike at the left flank of his army and get between it and Richmond.

  While Lt. Toms explained this, Caesar showed us the most likely route this force would take. At first I was startled to see him do this and not the Lt., since servants — especially Negro ones — are never allowed to be a part of such conversations. I must have looked odd or some such, because Lt. Toms stopped what he was saying and explained that in the past Caesar had been rented out by his master to work on various plantations near Gordonsville. “He knows the roads better than any regular Army scout, so listen when he says something about the terrain or trails or people.” I said, “Yes, sir,” tho I still found it strange to follow Caesar’s dark finger as it moved about the map.

  “We have been selected for a special assignment,” the Lt. continued. Sgt. Donoghue let out a little groan. The last time we had been given a “special assignment,” we trailed along after the supply train. “Don’t worry, Sgt.,” the Lt. said. “We will be in the thick of it. Capt. Clapp has told me we will support Maj. Pettit’s artillery.”

  When Lt. Toms said this, he was smiling and so was Sgt. Donoghue and so was Caesar. Maj. Pettit is always in the fiercest part of any battle and he is often referred to — behind his back, of course — as “The Merry Widow Maker,” because he will hold his guns in place at any cost and seems to enjoy the added excitement. I did not like the sound of this springtime job, and if I smiled it was probably a thin one.

  “Needless to say,” Lt. Toms said, “this is to be kept secret. Not a word — not a hint — to anyone, not even to those at home. I want you to know because we will begin training with Maj. Pettit, and the men need to learn their tasks perfectly. Maj. Pettit does not tolerate mistakes. And Corp. Pease.” The Lt. turned to face me directly and he looked extremely serious. “Keep that journal on your person at all times. I don’t want anyone to know what is going to happen.”

  “Uh . . . y-y-yes, sir,” I said, a bit startled. You see, my mind had wandered a little. Cannons are the prime targets in any battle and I was picturing what it would be like being near them during an all-out shelling. “It will never leave me, sir.”

  “Good,” he said. Then, from the table drawer, he took two small pieces of fabric that turned out to be sgt.’s chevrons and handed them to me. “You will be needing these from now on.” I looked at what he placed in the palm of my hand, blinked, and must have looked confused. He broke into another broad smile and said, “Congratulations, Sgt. Pease.”

  He shook my hand, and so did Sgt. Donoghue and Caesar. “But what about Corp. Drake, sir?” I asked. “He is in line next.” “He is also being promoted, but he is still too weak from his illness. Besides, we will need three sgts. when we begin this training.” “But there are other men, sir, who are older and deserve to —” But he waved my objections aside and said, “I gave this a lot of thought, Sgt. You are the best man to be third sgt. now. Sgt. Donoghue needs help, especially with the record-keeping chores. He will explain what your new duties will be.” “Ah, y-y-yes, sir,” I stammered again. “Ah, thank you, sir.” “No need to thank me, Sgt. You earned those.” He paused here, then added, “But do me a favor, Sgt. No more charging the enemy on your own. You make the rest of us seem like laggards.” He and the other men laughed very loudly at his joke, and I did, too. A little. Then Caesar produced a bottle of whiskey and four glasses and we all had a drink.

  I was still stunned at my promotion, happy about it and a little scared by the new responsibilities, and occasionally — in my head, not out loud — saying the words “Sgt. James Edmond Pease” to hear how it sounded. Then a troubling thought entered my head. One important duty of a sgt. is to be the first to stand when a charge is called to urge the rest of the men on. It is a little like wearing a red shirt with a great white X drawn across the chest for all of those Reb sharp-shooters to see.

  January 15

  Took some good-natured kidding about being made sgt. from the rest of the boys last night, but most seemed happy for me. This morning was my first real test.

  I called roll, which was not very hard because I know the men. When I said, “Shelp,” he did not answer at all, but stood there in the front row with his arms folded across his chest, acting bored. I called his name again and there was still no answer. Some of the boys giggled, thinking it good sport to play with a new sgt., but the look on Shelp’s face said he was not playing.

  I tried his name a third time, and got an answer, but from another man who said “Here” in a very high voice. This produced a great roll of laughter from the Company and I felt my face flush red. I was about to shout something at the one who had answered and at Shelp when I remembered Sgt. Donoghue’s words: “Don’t let them get under your hide. If they see they can upset you, they will never let you alone.”

  So instead I looked at the roster and said, “Pte. Shelp is not here, I guess, and is absent without permission.” Everyone knew what that would mean. Anyone reported absent without permission would be put in the cold stockade for a day or two with little to drink or eat, and might possibly be given an aromatic chore such as the one given Theron Chrisler.

  Brower Davis said, “But he is right in front of you. Umm, Sgt.”

  “I did not hear him answer when I called his name,” I said. “So he is not here as far as I am concerned. And I don’t want to hear any more comments, either.” I went to mark Shelp absent when I heard his voice. “Here,” he said in a very sullen way, then added, “Sgt. Jonah Boy.”

  “You will call me Sgt. Pease, Pte. Or do you want to be on report for that, too?”

  There was a low murmur from the Company, I think because they felt I was being too harsh on Shelp for such a little thing. But it was not a little thing — not to me — and I wanted Shelp to know it right off. After a moment of silence, Shelp replied, “No, Sgt. Pease, I don’t.�
�� His voice did not have a minié ball’s weight of respect to it, but I had gotten him to answer, so I went on with roll call. Later I noticed that back in our tent Johnny and Washington was both unusually quiet and uneasy around me, so I was glad when Lt. Toms told me that there was to be a meeting with Maj. Pettit.

  7 o’clock

  We spent the day with Maj. Pettit and his aides learning how he wants his batteries supported by soldiers. He had a battery of light artillery — six cannons in all — set out in the drill field fully manned, with K, A, and C Companies in support. Usually this kind of instruction would be carried out by one of Maj. Pettit’s aides, but there he was in person with his aides looking on. We stood with them on a nearby hill, so we had a clear view of the men’s movements.

  “Watch how and where they move,” Maj. Pettit instructed us. “In battle, there will be fifty to seventy-five guns under my command, but you will be assigned to support just six. Tell your men to stay low when they are in front of my guns or they will lose their heads. And be quick when you move. My guns fire to a rapid count — sometimes every thirty counts — and if you are not down when the count is ended we will not halt the firing, do you understand?” We did.

  He was also very particular that we cover his flanks and rear carefully as it is difficult to move hot guns and he did not want to redirect fire unless it was absolutely necessary. “The Rebels lost more men than they could replace last year, so they will not be making so many costly head-on charges.”

  “That was some show,” Lt. Toms commented afterwards as we went back to our tents. “What did you learn from it?” “To move quickly and without hesitation,” Sgt. Donoghue said. “To stay low,” I answered. “Very low.”