The Inauguration of President Lincoln, from the Youth's Companion

I just posted a story about a reaction to Lincoln's First Inaugural, so here is a look at some reaction to his Second Inaugural Address. This brief story is from the newspaper called the Youth's Companion, of March 9, 1865.This will likely be the last in my posts about the election/inaugural from the last few months.

It is a bit strange that this article does not mention the address Lincoln gave that March 4th day, but here is a link to his second inaugural, which some people consider Lincoln's greatest speech. The article did, however, manage to mention religious freedom.
 
On the last day of the past week a ceremony both grand and impressive took place at Washington. Pres. Lincoln was at noon of that day inaugurated as president of the United States for another term of four years. Amidst the applause of those assembled to witness the ceremony, he came forward and took the oath of office. This was administered to him by Chief Justice Chase, in a  manner that was deeply impressive. For the second time Mr. Lincoln swore to be true to the Constitution and the Union, to faithfully perform the duties of his  high office, and to protect religious liberty and laws throughout our land. Four years since he stood on the steps of the Capital to accept the same high trust. Then there were fears of disturbance, and threatenings from desperate, traitorous men, and many troops were called out to prevent violence and to protect the president. But he did not falter, nor did he hesitate boldly to proclaim what he intended to do for the preservation of the Union. And now that the four years of his first term have passed away he comes forward again to devote himself to the nation. He has honestly performed his duties during his term of office, and how thankful should we all be that we have had such a man at the head of affairs. May God bless Mr. Lincoln, and give him strength to carry on through the next four years of his office as faithfully as he had done hitherto. His position is one of great anxiety and care, and his duties are many and hard to bear. Let us all, then, pray that God will aid him in the performance of them, and the end of the coming four years will see us a happy, prosperous and peaceful people.

image courtesy loc.gov

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Our Exchanged Prisoners: a Youth's Companion article from 1865

This Youth's Companion article and illustration come from the January 5, 1865 edition of that newspaper.

No more touching scene has occurred during the war than that which was exhibited on the deck of the dispatch boat, when the first of our exchanged prisoners in the last exchange that was made, found themselves once more under the protection of the stars and stripes. A terrible record of suffering was written upon their livid faces, gaunt, skinny limbs and tattered clothes. No words can describe the exultation of these poor sufferers a their release. With shouting and cheering, in almost an ecstasy of happiness, they greeted the old flag, singing

"Rally round the flag, boys, 

From near and from far,

Down with the traitor, 

and up with the star!"

The condition of the released prisoners is thus described by a correspondent of the Philadelphia Inquirer: One poor fellow showed me his limbs. They were not larger toward the ankle than a man's thumb. It was touching as well as amusing to the bystanders to here their remarks as they came off the boat. One man, jumping up and stamping with this feet, uttered the exclamation as though it came from his very soul, "God bless the piece of land that I'm now on." Another: "Thank God I'm in His country once more." Others would utter like exclamations of joy and gratitude, such as, "O, what a blessed hour is this!" ; "Hurrah for the Union, I'm once more in it!"  "Fourteen months in Dixie, but never a day more!" An Irishman, as he walked off, said, "Sure this is the happiest day since iver I came to Ameriky." 

The information which these men give concerning their sufferings and the cruelty practiced toward them by the rebel authorities almost staggers belief. At Camp Sumter, which is the prisoner camp where they were confined at Andersonville, thirty odd thousand were held during the summer. Very few of these had any shelter from the rain or burning sun.

Their only resort was to dig holes in the ground, and at each end excavate or scoop out the earth from under, so as to afford a partial shelter. Here two would creep for a little relief. 

Their food we need not describe. It is the same old story which we hear from every one who has ever been subject to the tender mercies of the authorities in the South. Their rations were seldom, if ever cooked. Peas and corn meal, or corn meal with an occasional bit of bacon, and in very small portions, were the only articles furnished them.

The sufferings they endured can never be imagined. As I have gone around and sat by their beds in the different wards, and heard their statements of the conditions of the poor fellows who were at Camp Sumter, and at Andersonville, and Camp Lawton, at Millen, Ga., my very heart has ached, and I have had to leave that I might hear no more.

Illustration from the National Park Service

Youth's Companion: The End of the Rebellion

Here's a report from the Youth's Companion from April 20, 1865.  It certainly makes no pretense to be objective or provide both sides of the story, but this was a common reporting style of the time period, as papers often supported one political party or position through thick and thin. The Companion clearly supported the Union cause and the words it uses to describe Union soldiers and efforts clearly show that support.Perhaps even "propaganda" might



The End of the Rebellion
Our young readers have seen the joyful faces and heard the happy voices of thousands of people, within the last few days. We all now know what it is for. We have learned that Richmond has fallen, no more to lift up her head, and that the rebel Gen. Lee and all his army have finally been compelled to surrender. Th so-called Southern Confederacy is trampled in the dust, and its leaders, who tried to destroy our fair Union, will soon be like Cain of old, wanderers and outcasts upon the face of the earth. We may well lift up our heads and feel proud of what our brave soldiers have done. We have passed through a fiery trial that would, without doubt, have destroyed any other government, and have come out unscathed. Henceforth we can respect ourselves, and other nations will respect and fear us. For this we can devoutly thank that kind Providence, who has give us strength to suffer and be strong. 

"O God, Thy arm was here, 
And not to us, but to Thy arm alone
Ascribe we will"


At eight o'clock in the morning of April 3d Richmond was taken, and the long and courageous labors  of Gen. Grant were crowned with success. The first of our troops to enter were those under command of Gen.Weitzel. These are colored troops, and this fact added tenfold to the ignominy of its surrender. For several days before this there had been terrible fighting all along our lines. Our men fought manfully, and as one fell wounded or dying,, his comrade stepped forward unflinchingly to fill his place. Sunday, April 2d, was a fearful day. The rebels fought with the fury of desperation. It was a beautiful spring morning, the grass was green and the birds far away were singing blithely, as Gen. Grant ordered a grand charge in four columns. For three hours previous there had been a furious cannonade extending along the front for nearly five miles. At daybreak came the grand onset, and our men bore down upon the enemy with a fury that was impossible for them to resist. The rebel lines were broken here and there throughout their whole length. In vain their officers rushed forward to encourage their men, who at length threw down their arms and fled in terror.

Meanwhile the gallant Sheridan with his cavalry had been fiercely making his way against the rebel right wing. He had flanked it, and was pressing resistlessly on. Nothing could stand before his men, and Gen. Lee now saw that is was all over with him and his army. The heaviest fighting took place near Petersburg, and here Gen. Lee commanded in person. As the afternoon  of Sunday drew nigh, he withdrew his shattered and dispirited forces from the fortifications around the city and prepared to leave it. He sent an orderly to Jeff. Davis informing him that Petersburg must be evacuated and also that Richmond could  no longer be held. The arch-rebel was attending church. The officer walked up the broad aisle amidst the wonder of the congregation, and handed the dispatch to Jeff. Davis. The latter turned pale, and left the house. Preparations were at once made to leave the city, and as the people passed on their way home the saw soldier burning the papers of the rebel government in front of the Capitol. The rebels determined to destroy all they could not carry away with them, and leave the city a heap of smoking ruins. They said it should be a l Moscow to the invading and victorious army. They fired the public buildings, and from them the ruin spread far and wide. When our soldiers entered they found over five hundred buildings on fire. Lee and Davis and all their rebel rout had fled, and in their rags had left havoc and desolation behind them.

The horrors of war are fearful, but they are not so much to be dreaded as the miseries of slavery. Lee had fled, and Grant was soon on his track. The retreating rebels had left everything scattered along their path.Guns, ammunition, muskets, coats, blankets, had all been thrown away in the hurry of their fearful and demoralized panic. Soon the rebel leader found Sheridan, the Murst of our army, pressing closely upon him. Warren's corp was with him, and Grant was not far off. Soon his left wing was surrounded, and obliged to surrender, with ten rebel generals and all their equipage. On the ninth of April Lee saw that all was over, and sent a despatch (sic) to Gen. Grant stating that he was ready to give himself up with all his army. Thus was the rebel finally crushed, and the death-blow given to the most cruel, unnecessary an gigantic rebellion that the world ever saw. 

It is an old maxim that "to the victors belong the spoils." In our case they certainly deserve it. What reward can be too great for Grant, Sherman, Sheridan and the host of brave men that have fought and bled for their country? Their blood has not been shed in vain. Their constant patriotism, their heroic endurance, their long-suffering will now receive the reward they merit. We will not forget them in the day of our rejoicing, nor refuse them the love and admiration that are always due to brave deeds. Nor will we forget those who have fallen in our long contest, and who have not lived to see the glory of our renewed youth. Let our young readers ever think of those who thus sacrificed themselves for their country. When we see any of their weeping, sorrowing relatives, mothers, widows, brothers, sisters of these martyrs of liberty, let us try to comfort their sadness, assuage their hearts, that they may feel that their dearly loved ones have not died in vain. Our country must now become happy and prosperous. Our course will be on and on to renewed vigor and power. Let us all devoutly thank that kind Providence which has brought us successfully through our great struggle, and resolve anew to do all that we can in future for His glory. So shall our country feel that we are worthy of her; so shall we contribute each one his mite to her undying prosperity. 

A Visit to the Antietam Hospitals and Battle Field, from the Youth's Companion

From the Youth's Companion of November 27, 1862.


The papers tell us much about curious visitors in search of relics on the battle field. There is little said about hundreds of sorrowing hearts hunting dead friends. These too are relic hunters, and a melancholy search it is. Some bring their coffins with them, as they could not be procured on or near the field. Here they wander o'er hill and dell, carefully reading every every board, in search of a son, a brother, a husband. We have watched with sympathizing interest, delicate-looking mothers, hunting over these bleak fields, with a sorrow that God only could fathom, because they "knew not where they had laid him."


Ar the present writing a lady from western Pennsylvania is fanning her wounded husband in one of our hospitals. Several weeks ago she heard that he and her son were in an engagement. She reached the field during Wednesday's battle. Father and son stood side by side in the fierce conflict. Again and again they loaded and fired with careful aim. The father falls from the effects of several wounds. As the son makes the effort to carry him off the field, the order is given to charge the enemy, and off he dashes to repulse the foe at the point of the bayonet. The wife rushes where shells and bullets fly thickly, and drags her husband some distance, as best she can; then prevails on some one to assist her in carrying him to a place of safety. Afterwards he was brought to our hospital.


When we saw him yesterday, he was reading his Bible aloud, while she was devoutly sitting at his bedside listening to the Word of life. Her dark dress indicates that she has recently passed though a bereavement. Day by day this heroine watches at the bedside of her husband, unconscious that many witness and praise her fearless and untiring devotion to him. Not a few ladies have come to the different hospitals of this place to nurse their friends. Their sad mission had elicited much sympathy in their behalf, and some kind families furnish them with a house during their sojourn here.


In our daily visits, we always find a pale, intelligent lady seated at the bedside of her husband, now reading a book or paper to him, then conversing in a subdued tone of voice. her manner and conversation show that she has been accustomed to move in refined circles. They are both from Philadelphia. Hearing that her husband had been killed in the late battle, she hastened to Sharpsburg. She climbed up and down all the steep hills of the battle field alone, visited every fresh mound of earth, read every grave board, and when there were no more graves to be found, she turned away from the field with an agony with which the pangs of an ordinary bereavement cannot be compared. Even the dreary satisfaction of taking her dead husband back to his Philadelphia home was denied her. her woe was such as an affectionate wife alone can feel and endure. What a conflict to force herself away from where she supposed him to be buried! She proceeded to Hagerstown, where she was advised to visit the hospitals in this place.


After such an anxious and ineffectual search for her husband's corpse, we will not attempt to describe their meeting in the corner of yonder room. Only this much can we tell - among the twenty or thirty wounded soldiers in the room, unused to tears, there was not a dry eye, when she knelt by his side and embraced him living., whom she had given up for dead and buried in an unknown grave. After such a trial, it is not surprising that she should be highly delighted with Chambersburg. As she remarked to us yesterday, "The people are so very, very kind here. They could not be more so. I would rather remain here for a while, for he is better cared for here than he possibly could be in Philadelphia.": her husband is quite a picture on contentment. Though prostrated by a sever wound, he is cheerful, and seems to pass hi time very agreeably under the care of his attentive nurse.


This afternoon we paused at the bedside of a young man wasted away under a burning fever. Large drops of sweat stood on his brow, as he vainly strove, with his bony hands. to keep the flies off his face.

"Have you any parents?:" we inquired.

"No."


"No friends any where?" 


"A sister far away, but no friends here," he replied."


Crouching down at his side, we whispered, "Then I will be a friend to you. Does your sister know that you are sick here?"


:"No. I am too weak to write to her." 


"I will write to her for you. Shall I tell her to come to see you?" 


"Oh, she is too poor!"


"Then I will ask her to write you a letter; and I will promise you that I and my friends will be to you a sister and a brother. Have you ever given your heart to the Savior?"

"No." 


"He is the best friend I have. He wants to be your friend. Pray him to give you a new heart, and make you a Christian. He is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother."


The few words of kindness opened a fountain of tears - tears of mingled gratitude and silence. We left him, still sobbing out the emotions of his desolate heart. Somewhere in the beautiful. valley of Wyoming, a kind and affectionate sister has, for weeks, been suspecting the death of her youthful brother, and perhaps already despaired of ever finding his grave. In a day or two she will weep tears of joy that the dead is alive and the lost found.

Rebel Barbarity in Southern Prisons, an article from the Youth's Companion

"Rebel Barbarity" was the caption in the newspaper

Here is an article from the Youth's Companion of December 10, 1863. It is, perhaps, mostly a propaganda piece, but, even if so, it serves as an example of how reports of southern treatment of northern prisoners spread throughout the north, even among papers like this one, which included children among its audience. Note also that this was written in December 1863, and the most notorious of all Rebel prisons, Andersonville, did not open until a couple months later, in early 1864.

    Probably all the readers of the Companion have heard of the cruel treatment received by United States' soldiers in the Libby and other prisons in and about Richmond. There is no doubt that the most harrowing accounts fall short of the reality. Stories come in to us, authenticated by the bloodless lips of famished men, portraying the horrors of rebel dungeons, and the cruel malice, born and nurtured of barbaric customs, wreaked upon defenseless prisoners, sufficient to make even the boldest rebel sympathizer blush with shame and loathing. Our noble soldiers have endured in vile Southern dens the extent of human woe. They are the real heroes of our nation.

   Our engraving this week pictures the appearance of United States' prisoners, in hospital, who have recently been released from Belle Island. With some of them life was nearly extinct; many were too far gone to understand they were at last among friends, and died unconscious of the comforts surrounding them, exclaiming, "I am too tired, - something to eat - what torment!" Others, writhing and moaning in agony, lingered on a few days, accepting gladly the longed-for food, offered too late. Their weakened systems rejected even the slightest nourishment. The death-seal was upon their brows ere they left the prison where for months they had lingered in slow torture. The sand had been their bed in sun and rain, through cold and heat. It had been their only protection, almost their only covering. Of one hundred and eighty prisoners landed at Annapolis from Richmond about a month ago, fifty-three died in less than one week, victims to ill-treatment and actual starvation endured during their imprisonment.

   Our readers may thus learn how their brothers and friends are slaughtered in Southern slave pens. No false delicacy should prevent the presentation of the whole truth. All the world should know that boasted rebel civilization is the cruelest barbarism, and that the grosest (sic) brutality must be expected of a people educated under the debasing influences of slavery


Here is a link to more information about Libby Prison and a photograph of that prison from the Library of Congress.

A Brave Tennessee Union Boy and a Young Hero: two articles from the Youth's Companion

From the Youth's Companion of April 7, 1864, here are two stories with different versions of an anti-swearing message. 

A Brave Tennessee Union Boy
  The following story is told concerning some prisoners held by the rebels. There were ninety-six, mostly East Tennesseans, imprisoned for Unionism. The following incident will best describe the quality of their Unionism: 


   "Among a batch that had lately arrived, was a man whom the rebels were endeavoring to force to take the oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy. But his wife, who had been confined just after his arrest, fearing that his regard for her condition might induce him to submit to what was demanded, sent her son, who was only eight years old, to tell his father not to take the oath."

   "This brave little fellow came nearly one hundred miles on his mission, and when he arrived, the guards refused to admit him. Undaunted, however, by the rebuff, the young hero got close to the picket fence, and shouted with all his might: "Pa! pa! don't you swear. O, pa, don't you swear! We can get along; I got the lot plowed to put in wheat."

From the same issue:

A YOUNG HERO
   Many of the officers stationed at Point Lookout, Md., have their families with them to spend the winter, and among the children are a number of little boys who have imbibed much of the military spirit, and they have organized a company, and drill from time to time. On one occasion one of these young officers used profane language, and no sooner had he uttered that oath than he threw his sword upon the ground, saying "If I can't be an officer without swearing I will not be an officer any longer"  - Congregationalist

Youth's Companion: Camp Life of the Soldier

From the Youth's Companion of January 23, 1862

A correspondent of the Sunday School Gazette gives the following description of the camp life of our soldiers now stationed on the Potomac. Such  a life is no boy's play:

 The first thing done, when a regiment reaches camp ground, is to pitch the tents. These are arranged in lines as regular as the streets of a city, and sometimes camp streets receive names like the streets of a city. The tents are made of stout canvas, and are of different sizes, some being round, others square, and others oblong.

 The largest tents are used to accommodate the soldiers, and will hold ten, fifteen, or twenty, who use this one place for parlor, bedroom, sitting and dining-room. The smaller tents belong to officers, three of whom sometimes chum together, sometimes two only, and again but one using the tent. Old-bachelor-like, I have a tent all to myself, with nothing to  disturb my slumbers or interfere with my comfort, but noise outside. 


The tents, inside, are furnished in various ways, according to the taste, means or rank of the occupant. Some have boarded floors with a carpet, table, comfortable chairs, pictures, books, and a soft, easy bed, while others have only the ground covered with straw or the branches of trees, and little or no furniture. In going to war, soldiers are allowed to have only what they can carry in knapsacks on their backs, but officers can take trunks, and supply themselves with quite a number of home comforts.


After the tents are pitched, and things all arranged, cooks, wagoners, commissaries, and other company-helpers are chosen from each company, the company consisting of one hundred men, and fireplaces or ovens are built in the ground, or of stone or brick, above ground; rude eating-booths, sheltered by boughs of trees, are put up, and the regiment is prepared to begin military life in earnest. The food supplied by government is wholesome and abundant, and the clothing amply sufficient for all reasonable wants; but, sometimes, owing to the rascality of contractors, or the carelessness of the men themselves, the food gets injured, the clothing does very poor service, and suffering follows.

Youth's Companion: They Never Forget Their Mothers

With Mother's Day coming up this weekend, here is another interesting article from the Youth's Companion, providing one perspective about death and what a dying soldier feels as this event overtakes him. I imagine this sentiment is true in all wars and remains so to this day.

It is from April 21, 1864


Mother
The following incidents were related not long since by a speaker at a public meeting for the benefit of the soldiers:

In one ward of the hospital there was a man who was evidently dying. When I first found the man I goat an old tick and filled it with straw and laid it  upon the bed. I bathed his face and combed his hair, and then took an put him on it. When I went into the tent that morning I saw that there were not many hours left for him on earth. I talked to him of his mother and Jesus. A soldier never forgets his mother; he never forgets her. I have sat by their beds as they breathed their last and I have stooped down to catch the last word that left their lips on earth, and I have heard them whisper, "O, mother," and pass away.

I once stood upon a battle-field and I saw a man die, and he was terribly wounded. his spirit was no longer there on the battle-field; it was away off at home. As I sat there looking  upon the man, a smile passed over his face, and he whispered, "O, mother - O, mother - I am so glad you have come, mother," and he stopped. By-and-by he looked again, and he aid, "it's cold, mother, turn my blanket over me. " I stooped down again and did as he wanted. he said, "That will do, mother," turned over his head and passed from time to eternity. They never forget their mothers. Let me tell you there is no power on earth can so mold a man for good, or that is so terrible for evil, as is the mother's.

The Dying Soldier, a story from the Youth's Companion

In the Youth's Companion of April 14, 1864 appeared this story of some of the final moments of a young Union soldier. Once again, this magazine's stated agenda of focusing on morals is evident throughout this article.Also again, I wish they had provided more specifics about units, if not names, but it's still a fine story about how one young man met his fate

   In one of those terrible battles near the Cumberland, there was a field won and lost several times. Sometimes it would be in the possession of the loyal forces, and sometimes in that of the rebels. After a fearful encounter, having just retreated over the field, our army, through the smoke of battle, heard the voice of a wounded soldier, praying aloud. They knew the voice - it was the voice of a mere youth, a pious boy, and a great favorite with his comrades. They could not go to him, no one being allowed to leave the ranks, and, moreover, the charge of the enemy was expected every moment. Alternately they heard him in prayer, and then his sweet voice breaking out in singing: 

"Jesus, lover of my soul
Let me to thy bosom fly."


   It was late at night before the battle ceased, and the weary, exhausted soldiers threw themselves on the ground for rest. The next day they went out on the field of the dead, and sought for the boy. They knew that he must be dead, for they heard his voice grow weaker an weaker till it ceased. And there they found him - a fair, beautiful boy - undoubtedly the pride and joy of his mother. He was sitting up and leaning back against a stump, with the New Testament in his had, while the forefinger of the right hand was pointing to the words on the open page, "Let not your heart be troubled. In my Father's house are many mansions." On his fair face was a smile, while the countenance was turned upward, as if he were looking directly into one of those mansions. Tenderly his companions gathered around him in silence, for they saw that he was dead! What a picture would that group make!
   
Death cannot bring a sting to the dying one if that soul has made Christ his refuge. The victories of armies are nothing in comparison with this victory.

My Capture of a Spy; Or, How I gained my Shoulder-Straps

Another fascinating article from the Youth's Companion, this time from May 5, 1864, longer than most others I have found thus far. I wish the author was identified, or had identified his regiment or given other specifics, but that did not happen. It sounds like something that could have happened in a border state like Maryland or Kentucky, where a family's loyalties were often in question.

This article is very well-written and descriptive, especially compared to writings of many Civil War soldiers. The author certainly painted himself in a good light, so I suppose some caution has to be used when deciding if this event occurred exactly as described, but it's still a good story to read and share.

My Capture of a Spy; Or, How I gained my Shoulder-Straps

Yes, there was certainly a spy in the camp, and a pretty shrewd one, too. We had positive evidence that our every movement was known to the enemy in season to put them on their guard. Who could the traitor be? Though every man in the regiment was thought to be perfectly loyal, a close watch was kept, and it would seem absolutely impossible for any of our men to betray us. At this time I was one night stationed as sentry at one of the  outposts. I had been nearly a year in the service, and obtained some little experience. I was pretty sharp, not afraid of a gun, and my sergeant told me I was brave. Altogether I felt well satisfied that I only needed an opportunity, in order to make myself famous.

Not far from my beat was a farm-house just outside of our lines. It lay at the foot of a  small eminence covered with a thicket of bushes and shrubbery. Far off in the distance could be seen the smoke of the evening's fires, rising here and there through the trees. The people in the house, though professing to be thoroughly Union, we knew to be at best lukewarm, and more than half suspected to be treacherous. At first we had carried on some intercourse with them, but at length were led to mistrust them, and were strictly forbidden to have any thing to do with them. This was by no means pleasant to the men, who had been in the habit of stopping at the place occasionally to have a little chat with one of the farmer's girls, who was quite pretty. But, though we acted with the greatest possible vigilance, we had not as yet been able to detect them in any act of treachery.

I was posted near the house at the edge of the thicket, which stretched away in two directions over the hill. I could not see the house nor could any one see me from it. It was star-light and cold, and I walked up and down for a long time over the short path, which former sentries had trodden smooth and bare. Every thing was quiet and motionless, and not even a falling star disturbed the perfect apathy of nature. I had been thus walking for almost two hours, when the stillness was broken by the baaing of a calf. This sudden outburst struck me as so absurd, that I was on the point of giving a hearty laugh; but danger makes me cautious, and I remained perfectly quiet. It was soon, however repeated. Now, under ordinary circumstances, this would not have been at all strange. The progress of the war had not then stripped Virginia of every living thing; the farmer still retained a few cattle. Among them were three or four calves. It was in the early spring, and, feed being scarce, the cattle were all kept in the barn. It was by no means impossible that some one of them might have the nightmare, or a fit of indigestion, or an anxiety to return under the old flag, which would wake him in his sleep, with a short wail to relieve his mind. Nor would it be remarkable that the contagion should spread, and another incipient cow should respond to her afflicted relative from motives of sympathy.

But the objection to this latter view of the case arose from the fact that the tow voices did not come from the same place. One cry came from the barn, the other from the thicket behind it. In the course of three of four moments the sound was repeated three times and each time a response was given, and will given, too, from the thicket. This seemed to me remarkable. It might not be perhaps, impossible that a calf in the barn would perform a midnight solo with an echo accompanist, or that two four -footed prima donnas might be carrying on a nocturnal duet; but it appeared to me, at the least, very improbable. However, I waited quietly a few moments, then I heard the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves indistinctly, in the distance. It soon died away, however, and I listened quietly again. And now there came a regular interchange of calfish voices, slow and regular, as if arranged in a definite system, like an alphabet. I was soon convinced that this was the case, and that there was a conversation going on not between calves, but human beings.

The voice from the barn was weaker than that from the woods, and I thought i might possibly discern something by going up to the former and taking a peep. Stealing noiselessly over the grass, I looked through a cranny in a door which was hanging by one hinge. I could see but faintly in the starlight, but i saw enough. In the center of the barn stood a female form draped in ghostly white, and bleating like a calf, at intervals. Though a real spirit is generally regarded as a rare sight, and somewhat fearsome, I did not  faint away "as falls a lifeless body," nor did the point of my bayonet turn blue. I merely thought that  spirit rather an interesting spectacle, and it seemed to be me that if I could catch both this ghost and the one in the thicket who was carrying on a correspondence with it, I might make a good thing of it. So, leaving the spectre and her calfish utterance, I stole back again to my post, and then beyond it, following the edge of the thicket round to the other side. Kicking off my shoes, I glided slowly and silently from hollow to hollow and tree to tree, towards the bleating of the other ghost.

I got pretty near before it heard me, and then there was a sudden cessation of the duet and a rapid flight. But I was too quick for the apparition, who at length stopped, when he felt the prick of my bayonet in his back. And who did it prove to be? Why, no less than Jake E____, a man who had not been at all suspected before.  I say it with grief, for I had known him well. In an evil hour for himself, he had been so far smitten with the charms of the farmer's pretty daughter, who turned out to be as smart a rebel as ever lived, that he had agreed to inform her of our movements and plans in this manner, for fear of discovery if any other ways were attempted. A system of signals had been easily arranged, and this traitor  had thus for weeks been betraying us. He was tried, and  sentenced to be shot, though I believe Old Abe finally pardoned him, as he possibly knows from experience the strength of woman's influence. As for me, I was "honorably mentioned," and now wear shoulder-straps in consequence.

The Youth's Companion: A Deserter Shot

Here is another story from the Youth's Companion magazine, this one dated April 14, 1864. It gives some good details on how an execution was carried out during the Civil War.

I have not yet confirmed that a Joseph Stroble was a member of the 55th Pennsylvania Regiment, but the National Park Service's Soldiers and Sailors System does confirm that this regiment was stationed in or near Beaufort, S.C., from late 1862 until 1864. It is possible that this young man's name does not appear on the list of regiment members because of his crime and execution.

Another link I found shows only a James Murphy having been executed from the 55th Pennsylvania before this article was published. Did the author of the article get the wrong name or just the wrong regiment?  Even without this detail, the description of the process is still worth reading, but having that type of detail would just add a bit of "human touch" to the story.

A Deserter Shot   


Death is the penalty for desertion from the army. It is a severe punishment, but as the efficiency and oftentimes the existence of an army depends upon the prevention of desertion, the most effectual means must be taken to secure it, and the fear of death exerts upon most minds the greatest power of restraint. A clergyman at Beaufort, S. S., describes the shooting of a deserter at that post, of which he was a witness: 


 Joseph Stroble, a member of the 55th Pennsylvania Regiment, was tried by court martial for "desertion and attempting to enter the rebel lines," convicted and sentenced to be sot, at Beaufort, S.C., at three o'clock P.M. At two o'clock all the military of this post were drawn up in order, formed in two lines on three sides of a hollow square. Through these lines, about twenty feet apart, the condemned man rode beside the chaplain, in a cart. Four soldiers bore his coffin in front of him, and his executioners marched behind him, with laded muskets, while the ban, with muffled drums, played a solemn dirge. After the condemned man had passed through the lines, in plain view of every soldier, he halted at the fatal spot designated for his execution. The coffin was borne forward ten paces in front and placed upon the ground. The chaplain and young Stroble advanced together and knelt beside the coffin. A prayer was offered in his behalf. They arose, and the prisoner read, in a clear, strong voice, a paper confessing his guilt and the justice of his sentence, and that he had lived a thoughtless and wicked life, regardless of God or his soul, and in the name of Christ implored pardon. The chaplain read the colloquy between Christ and the two thieves, and they both knelt again beside the coffin, and both offered vocal prayer.


 He arose, shook hands with the provost marshal and his spiritual adviser, calmly took off his blue overcoat and laid it on his coffin. He was not pinioned for hoodwinked, at his own request, but stood erect in a soldier's position, at the head of his coffin, and ten feet in front of seven soldiers detailed as his executioners. He put his hand to his left breast and said, "Aim there." The word of command was given, and six minie balls passed through his body, and his soul was launched into the presence of his God.


Each regiment then marched in rank and file past the body of the deserter, while the band was playing a solemn dirge with muffled drums. It was truly a sad and heart-aching sight to see a young man thus violently hurried into eternity, but no malice or revenge could have dictated his death. H attempted desertion to the rebel lines under the most aggravating circumstances; and had he succeeded in his plot, the streets of Beaufort might have been drenched in blood by a rebel raid. 


Awful as this extreme penalty of military law may seem, yet is, I am convinced, a necessity, as a terror and warning to those who contemplate desertion. 

The following illustration was in the December 28, 1861 Harper's Weekly, courtesy of www.sonofthesouth.net 

Giving a friend the finger, Civil War style

This was in the Youth's Companion from November 27, 1863

Curiosities of the Mail
A letter from Washington contains the following:


Among the articles sent to the soldiers through the mails, and which broke through their envelopes, and were picked up in the Washington Post Office, is a live terrapin. The animal was found two or three days since in good health. A soldier had sent it to a friend. Yesterday, a still more singular thing came to light in the same office - a human finger - a soldier having lost his finger by amputation, first dried it and then sent it to a friend in England! As he enclosed it in a newspaper, instead of paying letter postage on it, the document was stopped here.

An account of the capture of Savannah

 Here is an article from the January 5, 1865 edition of the Youth's Companion. It is actually more about the campaign to capture this city and praising Sherman's ability to accomplish it.

The reference to the "grapes of Eshcol" is to a Biblical story about the Israelites finding and cutting down a large cluster of grapes in the valley of Eshcol while exploring the "promised land." 

The final paragraph makes reference to a General Xenophon, of Greece, and the group of mercenary soldiers known as the "Ten Thousand" whose march to battle at Cunaxa and back to Greece around the year 400 B.C.  was put into writing by Xenophon.

I have not found any information about the reference to "Gen. Morceau" yet.



Of all the Christmas presents that have been given this year, that received from Gen. Sherman by president Lincoln was assuredly the best. The gallant General's gift, was the city of Savannah, with 150 heavy guns and 25,000 bales of cotton., and various other valuable accompaniments, too numerous to mention. Gen. Sherman's march from Atlanta, through the center of Georgia to Savannah, was a bold undertaking, and occasioned not a little uneasiness as to its result. The Southern papers indulged in a great deal of brag, and fired off many broadsides of bombast to keep up Southern courage, and to alarm, if possible, our officers. But brad and bombast are not deadly weapons, and do not frighten brave men. Sherman went on with his 60,000 soldiers, and soon found that the fierce Southern threatenings were something after the Chinese style of warfare, where grotesque warriors come out in front of an advancing army, and make fearful faces and beat ferocious gongs, at the approaching enemy.

Our forces, as they passed through Georgia, fared sumptuously every day. They found the keystone State of the South like the land of Canaan, flowing with milk and honey. To be sure, they did not discover the grapes of Eshcol, but the fowls of Georgia were quite as good, and much more substantial eating. Many a plump turkey, that in the morning had possibly eaten a ragout of grasshoppers, and chuckled over his quiet life, was gobble up, and down, too, before night, without being embalmed, except in the memories of those in whose stomachs he was honored with a soldier's grave. Many an innocent pig, whose sensual days - before the Yankees came upon him, like marauders on the fold, with their cohorts all gleaming with purple and gold - had been passed in tranquility that a Turk might envy, was made to suffer as the innocent sometimes do, for being found in bad company. We are sure that the cackle of many a matronly hen was a mournful announcement of the "lay of the last minstrel" of man a Georgia barnyard.

Some of our readers have doubtless read of a famous campaign of old called "The Retreat of the Ten Thousand." It took place about twenty-two centuries ago, and has always been famous. Those who never heard of it must ask their fathers, who Gen. Xenophon was. History tells us also of the wonderful retreat of Gen. Morceau through the Black Forest.  Any reader ignorant of this great military achievement must stir up papa again for information. Gen. Sherman has equaled the exploits of both these great men, and won a name which history will be proud to honor. Never was a military expedition better managed than his. He and his troops lived on the country they passed through, so that Uncle Sam did not have to pay any thing for their board. They liberated thousands of negroes, and captured thousands of cattle. They have shown the Southern Confederacy to be, as Gen. Grant said, nothing but a shell. It is like a drum, all fun and noise outside, but empty within. Wilmington, we trust, will soon be ours, and our flag waves over Savannah. The Confederacy is crumbling and before long our noble country will be a unit again.

Wm T. Sherman in Atlanta, courtesy Library of Congress

The Slaves Among the Fire-Eaters

Here is another article from the Youth's Companion, this one from December 18, 1863. It refers to the Capture of Port Royal by the Union in November 1861. I found this one especially interesting since I had just read and reviewed Firebrand of Liberty, Stephen Ash's fine book about a couple of regiments of African-American soldiers who had been raised in this area.

The "General Sherman" referred to is Brigadier General Thomas W. Sherman. 

Slave quarters at Port Royal, courtesy Library of Congress

                      
From a Correspondent in South Carolina

   DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS - Port Royal is the general name for a collection of the "Sea Islands," viz.: Port Royal, Hilton Head, St. Helena, Ladies', Paris, Cossaw, and several smaller islands. The forts on Hilton Head Island which commanded the entrance to Port Royal harbor were held by the rebels until Nov. 7, 1861, when Commodore Dupont arranged his ships of war and bore down upon the forts in "single file." Each ship delivered a broadside, and then sailing round in a circle came up and delivered another, and so on until the forts gave up the contest. Our troops at once took possession of them under Gen. Sherman. 
   That night, Nov. 7th, was a memorable one. All along the sandy roads of these island could be seen the planters abandoning their houses; some still driven in their best carriages by colored coachmen; others hastening away in boats; all carrying with them whatever they could, and such of their slaves as could be induced or forced in their haste to go. All were fleeing from the "Yankees" they despised so much; nor did they stop until they found themselves safe on the mainland. They left their furniture, and cattle, and some of their poor horses, and most of their slaves.
   It must have been a dismal night for them, but it was a happy one for the negroes. The hope of freedom was strong in the hearts of the latter. Their masters had tried to make them believe that the "Yankees" were enemies, and would sell them in Cuba and treat them with cruelty. 
   We have often been told, you know, how much the slaves loved their masters, and how contented they were with their condition. Let us see now how they manifested that love.
   When their masters ran, the negroes were ordered and urged to go with them, but they had various excuses, when excuses would avail, for not going, and when excuses would not avail, they concealed themselves. 
   The planters on Hilton Head Island succeeded in taking their negroes with them, but in a short time the slaves all ran from their masters and came back again. 
   After the owner of the plantation on which I live ran away, he used to send his son (a doctor) and others to get away the slaves remaining here, but they, not loving their masters as much as was supposed, concealed themselves in the woods, determined not to be caught. 
      Notwithstanding all the efforts of the planters to prejudice them against the "Yankees" they greeted the Union soldiers with delight, knowing that they could not be worse off than they were in slavery.
   They could not find words to express their joy at the appearance of the teachers from the North. They flocked around them and gave them presents of eggs and "pea-nuts" (or "ground-nuts" as they call them), and such little things as they had. Such is the negroe's love of slavery.
   Yours, Truly
 (no further text)

General T.W. Sherman, courtesy Library of Congress

Died at Sea

Here's another article from the January 15, 1863 edition of the Youth's Companion from a column entitled "Scraps for Youth." It gives a description of death on a Union transport ship, and also focuses on the spiritual and religious aspect of that event, in line with the goals of this paper to deal with subjects like "piety" and "morality."

More articles from various editions of this paper will follow in the future.



Died at Sea
Many a noble, self-sacrificing young man in our armies has died during the unholy war brought upon us by the slaveholders of the South, because of exposure in sickness and the want of proper attention and medications, such as would have been received from loving hearts and hands at home. A writer in the Presbyterian, whose letter is dated on board one of our transports, sailed*** with soldiers on their way to some Southern port, shows how such a sad thing it is to die under such circumstances. The last words of this young man we hope will be remembered by our readers. 


"The weather became intensely cold, the men were necessarily much exposed, and no small measure of sickness has been the result. It is a sad thing to be sick, even when surrounded by the comforts of a home and the delicate attentions of loved ones; but to be sick on board a man-of-war, amid its necessary noise and confusion, and with only such attentions as the male nurses and sturdy shipmates can render, is still sadder. We have already lost one bright and interesting young man, and I fear that some others will not survive.  The one who died on Friday was a youth of eighteen, belonging to Boston. His disease was diptheria. He seemed to apprehend death from the commencement, although he survived several days. The chaplain visited and prayed with him often, and directed him to the crucified Savior. At the first interview he exclaimed, 'Oh! sir pray that I may be a true Christian before I die!' He was very earnest, and there is some hope that before the silver cord was cut he had obtained his heart's desire. His grandfather had been written for, and arrived from Boston an hour or two before he died. That grandfather had lately made his last will and testament, bequeathing twenty thousand dollars to this sailor boy! But he needs no earthly inheritance; and if our hopes for him are well founded, a richer legacy is already his."

*** - A small part of the page is ripped and only "led" is remaining from that word."Sailed" is my best guess, at what was originally meant.

Picket Guards: an explanation from the "Youth's Companion"

I have a bound (well, mostly, as age has taken a toll) collection of quite a few issues of a newspaper called The Youth's Companion that was published in Boston. A sales solicitation I found on one of the issues (October 6, 1864), describes it as: "A Family Paper, devoted to Piety, Morality, Brotherly Love ----No Sectarianism. No Controversy. Published Weekly By Olmstead & Co., Boston, Mass., No. 22 School Street. Price $1.00 1 year, payment in advance."

Here is a link to more background information on this publication. More information can be found here as well.

Since the ones in this collection were from the Civil War era, I thought it might include some interesting stories about the war and different parts of it, and, after flipping through it, I found my belief proven to be correct.

The story published here comes from the January 15, 1863 edition and provides a description of pickets and their job duties. (This description apparently appeared in a journal called the Christian Herald before the Youth's Companion reprinted it.) I found it to be a fine explanation and despite apparently being written towards people without much military background, I thought the clarity of the description to be worth sharing.

More entries of war-related articles from this paper will follow in the future. I have found several that tell interesting tales, some of subjects known to all Civil War students and others of more common people and day-to-day events that only could take place during the Civil War.

Picket Guards
You read in the papers about "picket firing," about capturing pickets, about "driving in" pickets, and so on. Perhaps you would like to know what the pickets of an army are. They are its sentinels, its watchmen, its lookouts, to give it early notice of danger. When an army encamps, the soldiers are tired, and want to sleep. But if they should all lie down and go to sleep, an enemy might come and surprise and capture them. Hence some are "detailed" from every company, and placed in charge of an officer, called the "officer of the guard." He takes them out from a quarter to half a mile and places them where they can watch for the enemy without being seen. He is careful, also, to place them where they can readily run together and help each other if there is danger, or can send an alarm back, from one to another, to the officer, or into camp. This is called putting the guards in supporting distance. 

When the picket is posted by the officer, he is told to keep a constant lookout in every direction, and to listen for all unusual sounds. If a single man approaches, he is to challenge him, and if he cannot give the countersign, the picket is to call for the officer of the guard, and to keep the man at the point of his bayonet until the officer comes. If the man, when challenged, tries to run away, the picket is to shoot him, for he is probably a spy. If the picket sees or hears a large body of men approaching, he does not wait to challenge them, but fires his gun to give the alarm, and runs back. The other pickets, hearing the alarm, fall back too, and form together under the officer of the guard. If the body of men coming seems to be more numerous than they, the guards fall back to the camp, and rouse the whole army to resist an attack. This is called driving in the pickets.

If a picket sleeps on his post, the enemy may capture him, and surprise the whole army. For this reason, sleeping while on guard is a great crime, according to military law, and is punished with death. An army without pickets would be like a man blind and deaf on a railroad track; it would not know when danger was near, though liable to be overtaken by it at any moment. -  Christian Herald

(The following image is from the site http://www.sonofthesouth.net/ and it is captioned "The Picket of the Tenth Indiana Regiment Discovering the Approach of the Rebels at Mill Springs, Kentucky." It is the cover of Harper's Weekly" for February 8, 1862.)