by Larry Hunt
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Letter Home
December 24, 1863
Dear Wife and Children,
I take this Christmas Eve opportunity to inform you that, through the goodness and mercy of God, I am permitted to tell you that I am well at this time, and I hope and pray that these lines may find you and the children well and doing well. I have written about my friend Ben, he is not getting better, and I fear for the worse. I can inform you that I have not received a letter from you since arriving in this despicable place. I never wanted to hear from you as much in my life. I have written dozens of letters to you since I got here. I cannot tell the reason why I don't get your letters. Surely you must have written.
As to the times here, they are bad enough. We have the coldest weather I ever felt. It rains, sleets, and snows. We have mud in abundance. It is just like living in a hog pen. We are nearly on starvation. I draw one tin cupful of cornmeal a day. They pile it loosely and struck off at that, and a half-pound of beef, bone and all. I don't think that we can stand it much longer. I buy one dollar’s worth of meal a day, and I don't have nearly enough at that. I have to pay a dollar for a tin cupful, and I am always hungry.
Our duties are hard. I have to go on a work detail every other night. I have to stay up all night in the cold and smoke. I get so hungry that it makes me sick. I stand it much better than I thought I could, but I don't know how long I will hold out at it. The reason they don't feed us any better may be they cannot get it. I told you last letter that I thought this Confederacy was on its last legs. I think that they are nearly worn out. We have but one slender railroad to bring us supplies, and I fear the supplies are not in the country to be had. There is a great talk of peace now here. Peace, peace, is all the talk there is. It is said that commissioners from Richmond leave for Washington, to negotiate peace measures. I hope and pray that the Good Lord will guide and direct them by wisdom from on high so they may bring this cruel war to a close, for if ever I wanted anything in my life or prayed for anything, it is that I may be delivered from this cruel war and return home to you, so we may spend the remainder of our days in peace and happiness together in serving the Lord.
I think that if I could get home to stay I would be the most thankful and happiest man in the world. But if our leading men do not stop this war, I think our soldiers will desert this army that they intend to quit and go home. They will not stand it much longer.
We all know that we are badly whipped, and the matter cannot be concealed any longer. Our men are deserting daily and going over to the Yankees, but I hope and pray that, by the first of March, we will have peace. I have more hope of peace now than I ever had since the war began. One thing is starvation. Our men cannot and will not stand it much longer.
I want you to write to me soon. Write how you are getting along and making out. I have a great many more things that I would like to write you, but I have not room. I would write to all of my friends if they sent me some paper.
I tell you this is a wretched place here. Flour is one thousand dollars a barrel. Of course, that’s in Confed money.
Give my love to all of my friends. Tell them to write to me, and I will write to them. I want them all to remember me in their prayers that I may be sustained and protected. Oh, may I soon get to return to you and may God in His infinite goodness and mercy bless you and the children and spare us to each other again.
I remain your affectionate husband.
To Mattie Ann and Thomas Henry and all:
Dear Children,
Pa wants to see you the worst he ever did. I do not know what I would give to come home and live with you all again. You must be good children and help Ma do everything. You must pray every day to the Good Lord to take care of us all and keep us alive, and He is able and will do it. You must remember Pa for he loves you all too good to ever forget you. You must take good care of little Elizabeth for me, bless her, Pa does want to see her so bad. I want you all to write to me. Pa can read your writing very well when you have good paper. Give my love to Sary, Jed, and Jefferson. I will write to them when I get the paper. Give my love to all and may God in His goodness bless you all. Write soon and often.
Your devoted husband,
Robert Scarburg
Robert placed the pen on the table and pondered why he hasn’t received any letters from his family. He has been at Point Lookout for months. It seems he should have at least received some correspondence. He has been worried for months – has the Yankees even notified his family that he is being held prisoner at this God forsaken place? Maybe, they think he is dead? If he could only get one letter to let him know how they are doing, he would feel so much better.
The flap of the tent flies open, and one of Robert’s friends informs him that he must come to the hospital tent at once. Ben is not doing very well and appears to be getting worse. Robert grabs the shredded remains of his coat throws it on and hurries out into the blowing snow.
Entering Ben’s tent, a group of soldiers have gathered, but there is complete silence. Robert approaches the bedside of Ben, who is semi-conscious, but still alive. “Ben, it’s me, your friend Robert,” he says taking one of Ben’s hands in his own. He is startled how cold is Ben’s hand, and one of his feet is sticking out from under the blanket – it is an ugly, bluish black color. “Hang in there Ben, you’re gettin’ better every day, why just a day or so ago I was tellin’ somebody how well you are gettin’ on. Can I get you something? Maybe a sip of water?” Grinning, “it’s good cold water!”
Barely above a whisper, “Robert you’ve been a...a good friend...pray for my soul and if you ever get home...tell...” he quietly stopped breathing with his eyes wide open. Robert reached over the bed and closed his eyes with his hand – Ben, his only friend in this dreadful, imprisoned world, was dead!
Before Robert was merely miserable, now he is alone and totally miserable. Kneeling on the floor beside Ben’s bed Robert speaks, “There is no hope now, I will never survive this hell hole. I will never see home again. Ben was so much stronger than I if he could not withstand this place I do not have a chance. I am doomed!” One of the soldiers standing nearby pats Robert on the shoulder.
After the death of Ben, Robert’s will to survive is also killed. From that Christmas Eve night, Robert begins to lose all hope. Without hope, there is no will to keep on fighting to live. The loss of will kills the spirit to survive; the death of the spirit kills the soul. For Robert, all is lost. He sees no way out of this anguished torment but the sweet release of death.
Soon after Ben’s death, Robert’s health begins to deteriorate. He starts to sleep more and more each day. Some days he does not even get out of his bunk. Other tent mates bring him hardtack and bits of food they slip from the mess tent, but he will not eat. Occasionally he takes a small bite of food the men have rustled up, but mostly he just lies in his bunk.
Robert has given up! Death to him, he reasons, will now be a blessing.
If Robert’s spirit isn’t lifted, and soon, his friends believe the end of his time here on earth is quickly approaching. He is not long for this world.