Journal of James Edmond Pease, a Civil War Union Soldier

by Jim Murphy

  April 9

  Well, after more marching and no fighting we have settled down in a grassy spot and pitched our tents. We have been put in reserve and Lt. Toms said, “Enjoy this while you can.” The newspapers are full of stories about the action south of here and “hints” of what might follow. These hints sound as if the writers were in the tent with Lt. Toms and the rest of us last January! I wonder if Uncle Robert reads the same newspapers as we do!!!

  Later

  Mail has arrived — with three letters for me!!! Johnny saw me reading them and said, “I think I will have a sgt. for a brother-in-law any day now!” I took a good deal of ribbing from the other men after this but managed to give some of it back, as almost everyone has letters today.

  April 12

  This spot filled up pretty fast and soldiers are now camped in a farmer’s field and orchard. Most are Gen. Warren’s men — our own 122nd is not in sight — and more are expected every day. A long line of wagons went by today and we even saw some familiar faces among the mules and drivers.

  The only thing of note today is that I had another skirmish with Shelp. He and some other men were playing cards when a dispute broke out and Theron Chrisler called Shelp a cheat and Shelp called Theron a whiny coward and threw over the table to get at him. I got between them and some other men grabbed hold of Shelp — which was lucky for me because I think he would have hit me just as well as Theron. I told Theron that he had better have proof of what he said and when it was clear he had none — other than that Shelp had won about all of his money! — I told him that I had never known Shelp to cheat and that if he didn’t watch out — but I never got to finish because Shelp started yelling, “I don’t need your help! I can take care of him!” And he tried to get at Theron again, but the men held him back. I ordered the men holding Shelp to take him off somewhere to settle down and he went off with some very hot words for Theron and me! Next, I told Theron that I did not want to see him gambling again — ever — since he did not know how to lose and that he should get to his tent fast before I got angry. I have a feeling that I will hear from Shelp again, even tho I did stick up for him.

  April 22

  Have not had time to write in this journal what with filling out the roster reports for the paymaster and other sgt. chores. I have only found time to write Sarah two very brief letters since her three arrived, but I will try tonight after final roll call. I asked Johnny if Sarah’s hair was a little or a lot curly and he responded by telling me he was tired of telling me this detail and that about her and having to tell her this detail and that about me. “Go get your picture taken and have her send you one of her and be done with it!” I think this is a very good idea.

  April 24

  Went to town to have a picture taken but no one there has a camera — or if they do they don’t want to take a picture of a Yankee. Sgt. Donoghue said there is a newspaper photographer somewhere in camp and he might take my photograph, so I am going out now to find him.

  Later

  I hunted and hunted all over the camp, but it is not easy to find one man among 3000! Finally I came on Mr. Thom. Roche and his photographic wagon and he made a carte-de-visite photograph of me in my uniform for one dollar. I thought the price a little steep — especially since it did not take more than a few moments to take the picture — but Mr. Roche said that chemicals are dear down here, especially since every officer in camp wants to sit for a picture. Now to finish my letter and send it — and me — off. I wonder what Sarah will think.

  April 30

  Lt. Toms said to be ready to move in the morning. I guess our little rest is at an end.

  May 2

  We have been marching, sometimes double time. Covered fifteen miles yesterday despite poor roads and heat, leaving behind extra clothes, books and whatever else was not absolutely necessary. Lt. Toms did not say much to me all day other than “Keep them moving, Sgt. If the Maj. can keep his guns moving, we can keep our men moving.” At one river crossing, one man — George Chittenden — was swept down water, but we managed to drag him to shore before he went under. We heard later that two men was not so lucky when their wagon overturned.

  George Chittenden drying his shoes after his morning swim.

  Today we covered eighteen hard miles and the men are exhausted. Several of them are missing tonight due to straggling. Sgt. Donoghue is doing paperwork and Sgt. Drake is no-where to be found, so I am going back for the missing men on my own.

  Later

  Went back a mile or two and found four of our men off to the side of the road in a cozy glen with men from other companies who had also dropped out of the line of march. There was a fire and a pot of coffee and a kettle with some sort of bean stew boiling away — a pleasant domestic scene, I thought.

  When I entered, most of our men seemed embarrassed — at not having kept up with the rest of the Company and at having been sought out like schoolchildren — but they was nice enough and even offered me a cup of coffee. Charlie Shelp was there and was not happy to see me.

  I told our men that Lt. Toms wanted them back in camp and Shelp said, “I am not leaving til I eat.” The men not from G Company encouraged Shelp, and one said, “You can’t order an injured man to march and this man is injured. I saw him limping myself. It’s against the rules.” Shelp looked pleased that he had such loyal supporters and shook his head in agreement. I may be mistaken, but I believe Shelp’s courage was bolstered some by the whiskey the men was passing around. “Yes, it’s against the rules,” he agreed.

  If I was Sgt. Donoghue, I would have made Shelp and the others obey with my fists, but I am a full head shorter than the Sgt. and a lot lighter. There was not much I had to use against them except my words, and I wasn’t sure they would work. “If you are really injured,” I said to Shelp, “you should report to the doctors. But you don’t look injured to me, Pte., just hungry. Have your dinner and then find us up the road a ways.”

  The men from our Company seemed happy with this solution and even some of the other men — the ones who had backed Shelp — looked satisfied. But Shelp said, “You can’t make me go to the doctors. You can’t make me do any-thing!”

  “I am not going to make you do any-thing, Pte. But I will tell you that when final roll call is taken tonight, you had better be in camp or at the doctors and not in between.”

  Shelp began to say more, but I turned from him, wished the rest of the men a fine meal and said good night. Sgt. Donoghue would have had those men marching back with him and no back talk either, so I felt very much alone as I walked to where we had camped. I am not at all sure I am up to this business of being a sgt.

  10 o’clock

  Final roll call taken. All but C. Shelp are in camp.

  May 3

  Shelp still absent, and the assistant surgeon in charge of the field hospital says no Charlie Shelp is in their care. We are to march at any moment, so there is no time to look for him, or to write about it.

  May 4

  We have met up with the rest of the 122nd — and the rest of the Army as well! — and crossed the Rapidan at Germanna Ford. We was near the head of the march and among the first across with orders to go up the Culpepper Plank Road a mile and hold the area til the rest of the army could get across. A force of Sheridan’s cavalry has already swept ahead to clear the roads, and we are to follow them as closely as possible to rid the surrounding woods of Reb skirmishers.

  The land is fairly open and rolling here, with stands of trees and some burned-out houses about, but mostly unplowed fields. A dark line of the woods is up ahead to greet us and is why the area beyond is referred to as the Old Wilderness on most maps. Lt. Toms said that we might have 80,000 to 100,000 troops behind us by tomorrow night.

  Noon

  We was ordered forward again and told to secure another mile of the road. There are about 400 soldiers in this group, plus a number of Maj. Pettit’s light artillery and some cavalry. Behind us we can see the landscape already swarming with troops an
d wagons and ambulances and other equipment. I am not happy to be showing myself so clearly to the Rebs, but I must admit to a proud feeling when I see so many fellow soldiers.

  We had just begun to move when Charlie Shelp suddenly appeared, panting heavily and covered with leaves and dirt and looking as if he hadn’t slept a wink. The others greeted him warmly and he was smiling when he joined the march, and I might have let him alone and been done with it, but I couldn’t. If I didn’t say something to him, then I would not be doing my job and who knows what he or someone else would do next. So I called out, “Pte. Shelp, you will step out of the line.”

  I admit that I was about as scared as when we go into a fight, but I went over to where he was by the side of the road any-way. “You did not report for roll call last night or this morning. Do you have a reason for being absent?” “I was at the doctors,” he said, “having my injury treated.” “Then you have your discharge orders from the doctor,” I said. He looked startled for a second, then felt his vest pockets and said, “I guess I dropped them. When I was running to get back here.” “You weren’t with the doctors, Pte. I checked. You are on report, and when we are finished out here, you will be dealt with, do you understand? Now get back in line.” Shelp stood quiet for a few seconds and I could tell he wanted to hit me, only too many was around to see and his punishment would be even more severe if he did that. But as he walked past me he mumbled, “We will see who gets back, Sgt.”

  If I was scared before, now I was stunned. A few moments ago, I had to worry about the enemy I might have to face. Now I have to worry about the one who is marching along with me as well.

  6 o’clock

  At around 2 o’clock the woods closed in on both sides of the road, a scraggly collection of oak and pine trees — alive and dead, standing up and falling over — with vines and ill-formed shrubs all around. The road is about twenty or thirty feet wide, so we had to march shoulder to shoulder, and what a tight feeling that gave us all.

  A little on and we halted and sat by the side of the road, having a hardtack “meal.” The officers had a meeting and then we sgts. met with our lts. — and they told us to be alert and that we might run into the enemy at any moment. Both things we all already knew, but the officers, being mostly lawyers, probably thought it best to hand down this “information” officially.

  When I got back to the men, I found Johnny writing to his mother and sisters. I told myself that I should write Sarah just as soon as my sgt. duties allow, which might be a while. I noticed how steady Johnny’s hand was and commented on how calm he seemed. He said he is all excited inside but does not see the point of showing it. “I will either survive a fight or not and it isn’t in my hands any-way,” he said, and looked up. “He knows what will happen to me and that is good enough for me.”

  Most of the men believe similarly, while a few believe there is no Divine hand involved in any of this. When I was with Uncle and Aunt, they said God rewarded us according to our thoughts and deeds. I can understand that I have been bad enough to wind up here, but I cannot believe that Johnny has done anything to deserve being shot at or killed! And if he hasn’t, then why is he here? I am not smart enough to see what the grand scheme is, but these thoughts rattle around in my head and I try to make some sense of them.

  The bugle has sounded and we are about to march on. I glanced up and saw our men getting ready to march. Then I spotted Shelp. He is on the other side of the road staring right at me now — right through me! — his eyes as dark and as menacing as any stormy night. I am telling myself to be calm and finish up this entry, but a cold shiver goes thru me any-way.

  9 o’clock

  After our stop we went another mile more along the plank road, then took a smaller road — more like a rough path — that went off to the right into the thickest sort of woods imaginable. This path is not much wider than a wagon and in bad condition with no bridges over streams, so our progress has been slow. We have stopped so the officers can talk over the latest scouting reports.

  Lt. Toms told Sgt. Donoghue, Sgt. Drake, and me that Lee’s army is five or ten miles from here and headed our way. Fast, according to the scouts. “They aim to catch us in these woods,” the Lt. said, “so we can’t maneuver and use our numbers to full advantage. I don’t think they’ll do anything tonight, but we have to get the men ready for a real fight.” So I guess Uncle Robert was not fooled a bit by the first soldiers that went out.

  We are to move ahead another half mile or so, then put up breastworks for tomorrow’s fight. The only other thing we know for sure is that we will be on the extreme right flank of our line of battle.

  May 5

  This is the wildest mess of woods I have ever been in and believe it is correctly named the Old Wilderness. We happen to be near a substantial clearing in the woods — a very rare thing as far as I can tell — with our cannons on a slight rise with a good view to the other side. Maj. Pettit has left twenty cannons here at the clearing, back a little in the woods and concealed by leaves, so they are not easily seen.

  This open section appears to have been an expanse of swamp or bog that dried up years ago and left a scattering of dead and collapsed trees, a shaggy grass covering, and some exposed boulders and rocks. The Lt. told us that our line of battle runs for almost two miles to our left, in the general direction of Spotsylvania Court House, tho the trees and shrubs are so thick that you can’t tell if a line exists. The rest of Maj. Pettit’s guns are scattered along this line, and he is as agitated as a thunderstorm because the trees will make it hard to use his artillery to best effect any-where but in the few open sections. We have been listening to the sound of heavy fighting since the sun came up, so the cannons have not been totally silenced.

  It is quiet here — or I would not be writing this! — and we feel quite isolated, but this has given the men a chance to make coffee and breakfast, and speculate on what might be going on.

  I have the new men to watch over, including Theron Chrisler. Also Johnny Henderson, Boswell Grant, Niles Rogers, and Willie Dodd are with me, and of course, Spirit is, too. Sgt. Donoghue said to keep a sharp eye on Chrisler, and to shoot him — in the back, if need be! — if he tries to run off again. I am not sure I will do this, since I share his fear, if not his inclination to run. That is my group and I am happy with them — and happy that I do not have Shelp to deal with.

  Our job is very simple. Last night we took down a line of trees to one side of the clearing for some 300 feet and removed brush in front as best as possible. Now my men are positioned every twenty or thirty feet along this rough breastwork. Out in front of us are C, A, and K Companies. If the enemy tries to get around our flank, they will hold them back out there. If they can’t, we are back here to give them covering fire til they reach us. Maj. Pettit sent word that we are not to surrender this spot on any account, so this could become a very hot place if the men out in front can’t hold them. There are more reserves behind us on the path in case they are needed along the line of battle, and I think there are other companies out in the woods, but who can tell?

  Johnny thinks this map is accurate, but he says my trees look like heads of broccoli. I would “plant” even more — since the woods are very thick in here — but my hand is tired.

  Later

  We was just beginning to enjoy a restful morning when the first Rebs struck, at around 11 o’clock. The fighting from earlier seemed to be coming down along the line of battle, getting closer and closer, but very slowly so it was not at all alarming. We heard bugles and the report of a cannon from the other side of the clearing after 10 o’clock, but then the sound died away and we settled back again, supposing that they had decided to make a fight somewhere else. Some men even began making plans for dinner!

  Sgt. Drake thinks it was a trick of the wind, that the fighting was actually close by, but the sounds got lost in the woods and did not reach us. Whatever the truth, suddenly our advance pickets began speaking in the woods across the way, which was followed
by a stern volley from the enemy. Then our pickets came across the clearing on the double-quick, calling that the Rebs was on their heels — which any fool with ears and a brain already knew.

  I did not have the best view of any of this, being 200 feet from the closest gun with my back to the clearing, tho I turned often to see what was happening. I was watching when our pickets reached the breastworks and threw themselves over. A scattering of Rebs had entered the clearing by this time, some firing our way, others kneeling to reload, the rest coming on. Around this time, Maj. Pettit nodded to one of his aides, who gave the order and one cannon fired canister at the enemy — which sent a hail of metal pieces into the faces of the closest Rebs. This seemed to cool the fighting spirit of them all because they stopped what they was doing and dove for the ground — and I would have done the exact same! — and the attack ceased right there. Maj. Pettit did not have his other guns fire at the enemy as they dashed back into the woods, which seemed odd, but at least the few Rebs we saw are gone.