"Death is so common": Soldiers' Views of Death in the Summer of 1862

        By the time of the Battle of Antietam, the Civil War had gone on longer than most Americans anticipated it would last. Staggeringly long lists continued to fill newspaper columns bearing the names of the dead. Death was everywhere in America. Few people escaped the war’s bloody summer of 1862 without knowing someone who died during the conflict.

After the end of the Maryland Campaign, both sides had already suffered a combined 386,015 casualties, according to one estimate.(1) Unfortunately, people grew accustomed to death, which was becoming all too common in the fratricidal American war.

On the home front, many dismissed the long lists. “We see the list in the morning paper at breakfast, but dismiss its recollection with the coffee,” wrote a New York Times correspondent. “There is a confused mass of names, but they are all strangers; we forget the horrible significance that dwells amid the jumble of type.”(2)

While civilians comfortably snug in their homes could afford to dismiss the lengthening lists of dead, soldiers on the battlefield could not escape the war’s growing horror. Amid the deadly fighting in the summer of 1862, Sergeant Marion Hill Fitzpatrick, 45th Georgia Infantry, wrote on September 2, “I have changed much in my feelings. The bombs and balls excite me but little,” he told his family at home, “and a battlefield strewed with dead and wounded is an every day consequence.”(3)

Following the Battle of Antietam, Private Roland Bowen, 15th Massachusetts Infantry, searched for his friend and comrade, Private Henry Ainsworth. Unfortunately, by the time Bowen learned the fate of his friend, Ainsworth’s remains were already laid under 3 feet of dirt in a long, common burying trench holding the remains of 39 other men. To Ainsworth’s father, Bowen sadly remarked, “Mr. Ainsworth, this is not the way we bury folks at home.”(4)

Fitzpatrick’s resignation to the death surrounding him and Bowen’s remark that battlefield burials differed greatly from those at home came to mind as I read a description of the burial of a soldier in the 2nd Rhode Island Infantry on September 28, 1862. The previous day, 36-year-old Private Michael Fay of that regiment died of cholera. Fay left behind a wife and 4 children when he enlisted on December 5, 1861. Lieutenant Elisha Hunt Rhodes wrote of Fay’s burial:

Sunday last a soldier of Co. “A” died and was buried with military honors. It was not an unusual scene for us, yet it is always solemn. First came the muffled drums playing the “Dead March” then the usual escort for a private. Eight privates commanded by a corporal, with arms reversed. Then an ambulance with the body in a common board coffin covered with the Stars and Stripes. Co. “A” with side arms only followed while the Company officers brought up the rear. On arriving at the grave the Chaplain offered prayer and made some remarks. The coffin was then lowered into the grave, and three volleys were fired by the guard, and then the grave was filled up. The procession returned to camp with the drums playing a “Quick March.” Everything went on as usual in camp as if nothing had happened, for death is so common that little sentiment is wasted. It is not like death at home. May God prepare us all for this event which must sooner or later come to all of us.(5)

The last 3 sentences of Rhodes’ description struck me the most. “Everything went on as usual in camp as if nothing had happened, for death is so common that little sentiment is wasted. It is not like death at home. May God prepare us all for this event which must sooner or later come to all of us.”

Michael Fay's grave in Antietam National Cemetery

        Death at home was something that could happen unexpectedly as it did in battle. The loss of so many friends and family hardened soldiers to the number of deaths happening around them by the summer of 1862. They could not afford to waste energy dwelling on the countless losses that continued to accumulate. But Fay’s family back home likely did not move on so quickly. Unfortunately, Fay’s remains stayed in Maryland, far from his home, and rest in Grave #2,840 in Antietam National Cemetery. 

Notes:

1. Darroch Greer, “Counting Civil War Casualties, Week-by-Week, For The Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum,”                                                            

https://www.mathscinotes.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/11/ALPLM_CountingCasualties_080519_lo.pdf.

2. “Brady’s Photographs: Pictures of the Dead at Antietam,” New York Times, October 20, 1862.

3. Lowe and Hodges, ed., Letters to Amanda: The Civil War Letters of Marion Hill Fitzpatrick, Army of Northern Virginia, 26.

4. Coco, ed., From Ball’s Bluff to Gettysburg…And Beyond: The Civil War Letters of Private Roland E. Bowen, 15th Massachusetts Infantry 1861-1864, 128.

5. Rhodes, ed., All for the Union: The Civil War Diary and Letters of Elisha Hunt Rhodes, 83-84.

Two Presidents Attempt to Take the Field in September 1862

Both presidents liked to keep their fingers on the pulse of the war. The pulse that Lincoln felt was the electrical current of the telegraph. Abraham Lincoln spent many hours in the War Department’s telegraph office reading and replying to dispatches from the front. Jefferson Davis, too, played a hands-on role with his generals in orchestrating the Confederate war effort.

Despite the advances in technology that allowed Lincoln and Davis to dictate war strategy from Washington and Richmond, respectively, both commanders-in-chief often sought to get closer to the war in person.

Davis took a special train from Richmond to Manassas Junction on July 21, 1861, to satiate his appetite for news from the front and to confer with his generals. Lincoln debouched from Washington for the front multiple times in 1862. In May 1862, he helped lead the taking of Norfolk, Virginia. Two months later, following the Federal defeat in the Seven Days Campaign, Lincoln traveled to Harrison’s Landing to visit with the Army of the Potomac and its commanding general, George McClellan. When the stakes were high, both presidents wanted to be in the field with their armies.

The stakes of the Civil War were perhaps never higher than in September 1862. Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia had just won a victory approximately 25 miles from Washington, DC, at Second Manassas. Spurred by this victory, Lee turned his army north toward Maryland. The Old Line State had long been targeted by the Confederate government as a prospect for a new star to be added to the fledgling nation’s flag. Once he learned that Lee’s army was in Maryland, Davis made preparations to join his soldiers and rally the state to the Confederate cause.

Initially, Lee asked for the services of former Maryland governor Enoch Louis Lowe to muster Maryland’s support. After the war, General James Longstreet claimed Lee also gave “deliberate and urgent advice to President Davis to join him and be prepared to make a proposal for peace and independence from the head of a conquering army.”^[1] None of Lee’s contemporary correspondence to Davis mentions bringing the President himself north of the Potomac, only Lowe.^[2] Regardless, the message reached Lowe, likely passed on by Davis. Lowe said, “I left Richmond and pressed forward towards the army with all the speed which the most imperfect means of transportation could afford.”^[3] Unable to forego the opportunity of being at the front at such an important time in the war, Davis accompanied Lowe.

Davis and Lowe departed Richmond on Sunday, September 7. “That he should go off, therefore, on the holy Sabbath, implies that something had occurred since Friday, calling for his immediate personal attention in another quarter,” commented a Confederate correspondent. Davis must have known about the Army of Northern Virginia’s advance into Maryland, the newspaperman reasoned, and left “that he should be present while the organization of the new State government of Maryland was going on.”^[4]

The two politicians boarded a “special train” for the mission.^[5] At Rapidan Station on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, Davis wrote a dispatch to Lee “informing me of your intention to come on to Leesburg,” Lee wrote in reply.^[6] After scribbling out the note to his general, Davis, Lowe, and their aides crossed the Rapidan River on horseback, as the railroad bridge spanning the river was inoperable.^[7] They may have taken a train from the Rapidan to the banks of the Rappahannock River, but no further than that due to that river’s bridge also being destroyed. Continuing on horseback, Davis and Lowe reached Warrenton either on September 7 or 8. Their stay in the Fauquier County seat did not last long.

It is unclear why Davis did not proceed any closer to Maryland. His health may have plagued him, as evidenced by another dispatch from Lee, in which the general regretted “that you should have exposed yourself while indisposed, to the fatigue of travel…”^[8] Davis may also have realized that continuing onto Maryland following in the path of the Army of Northern Virginia was not safe. Lee even sent one of his staff officers, Major Walter Taylor, to meet Davis and “explain to you the difficulties and dangers of the journey, which I cannot recommend you to undertake.”^[9] Taylor arrived in Warrenton after Davis had already departed, and by the time the president received Lee’s warning, he was already back in Richmond. If safety was the reason for Davis turning back, he reached that conclusion on his own.

Lowe continued his journey to Winchester. Davis returned to Richmond on September 8. A newspaper correspondent caught a glimpse of Davis at Gordonsville during the president’s return trip. In “his plain blue homespun, [Davis] took a seat, almost unnoticed, in the humble shed. Though he was soon recognized, respectfully saluted by some, and regarded with interest by all, nothing in his manner, nor in that of a crowd, indicated the presence of a high official.”^[10] 

The exact nature of Davis’ “flying trip to Warrenton” and what he hoped to accomplish is unclear.^[11] James Longstreet claimed after the war, “it had been arranged that the Southern President should join the troops [in Maryland], and from the head of his victorious army call for recognition.”^[12] The Richmond-embedded correspondent of the Charleston Mercury speculated Davis “made the trip merely for recreation and to have a quiet talk with the Governor [Lowe].”^[13] Whatever his purpose, Davis never fulfilled it. Soon, Lee’s army likewise tumbled southward out of Maryland following the battles of South Mountain and Antietam.

President Abraham Lincoln likewise considered leaving the safety of his capital and accompanying his army into Maryland. Whereas Davis looked for victory and independence, Lincoln hoped for a victory to preserve the Union and provide him a reason to announce the Preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. Though Davis’ aborted journey may have been fueled by a desire to rally support for the Confederacy from a position of strength, Lincoln’s likely stemmed from wanting to keep an eye on the Army of the Potomac and its commanding general, George B. McClellan.

In early September, Lincoln reluctantly turned to McClellan to save Washington and liberate Maryland from Lee’s army. Lincoln told one of his aides that McClellan “can’t fight himself,” though “he excels in making others ready to fight.”^[14] This opinion had been forming in Lincoln’s mind for some time.

After spending days organizing the Army of the Potomac for its campaign into Maryland against the Confederate army, McClellan departed the capital and took the field. Lincoln was impressed by the general’s ability to restore the army, but he still held reservations. On September 8, the day after McClellan’s departure, Lincoln told Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles, “I can never feel confident he will do anything effectual.”^[15]

The president closely followed the army’s progress in Maryland. Lincoln, as he was want to believe about McClellan, moved too slowly. McClellan “can’t go ahead–he can’t strike a blow,” the president fumed on September 12, though it seems clear he had been thinking this way before that rant.^[16]

Aware of the stakes, Lincoln considered personally taking the field to prod the army and its commander along. He polled both General-in-Chief Henry Halleck and commander of the Washington defenses General Nathaniel Banks about the safety of doing so. Both replied to the president on September 12.

Halleck succinctly told Lincoln “no.” “Considering the consequences which might result, I respectfully advise against your going beyond the lines of Washington.”^[17]

Banks elaborated on why Lincoln should remain in Washington. “The enemy is undoubtedly in force at Leesburg, and from the mountains via Leesburg to Frederick constitutes their base of operations,” he began. “Their cavalry is likely to cross the [Potomac] River, at any, time in the rear of our troops, and a crossing by cavalry any-where this side [of] the Monocacy would intersect the line of travel proposed by you.” Thus, Banks concluded, “It seems to me that the danger is too great, of such an incursion to allow any one to move upon that line with safety.” Instead of the President leaving Washington, Banks suggested that McClellan be recalled to Rockville to meet him. Stating his point once more, Banks ended his word of caution to Lincoln: “I doubt even if a journey, that may extend to evening, can be undertaken with entire safety to that point [Rockville].”^[18]

Ultimately, Lincoln stayed behind the defenses of Washington and monitored the army’s progress from afar. No meeting with McClellan took place at Rockville. Had Lincoln proposed it, the general might have had to decline doing so. On September 12, his army reached Frederick, Maryland, on the tail of Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia.

Neither president was able to take the field with their respective armies in Maryland. Both thought their presence would increase the chances of success for their campaigns. The stakes in Maryland were high in September 1862, and both Davis and Lincoln wanted to play the role of commander-in-chief in person.

---

^[1] Longstreet, Manassas to Appomtattox, 204.

^[2] See Lee to Davis, September 4, 1862, and Lee to Davis, September 7, 1862, in Clifford Dowdey and Louis H. Mandarin, eds., The Wartime Papers of R. E. Lee, 294, 298.

^[3] “Maryland: Her Sympathies and Situation,” Richmond Dispatch, October 1, 1862.

^[4] “Letter from Richmond,” Memphis Daily Appeal, September 15, 1862.

^[5] Diary of Captain Henry A. Chambers, 57.

^[6] Lee to Davis, September 9, 1862, in Clifford Dowdey and Louis H. Mandarin, eds., The Wartime Papers of R. E. Lee, 303. Davis’ letter to Lee of September 7 has not been located.

^[7] See Lee to Davis, September 5, 1862, in Wartime Papers, 295, for information from Lee indicating that the bridge carrying the railroad over the Rapidan River was not yet rebuilt.

^[8] Lee to Davis, September 13, 1862, in Wartime Papers, 306.

^[9] Lee to Davis, September 9, 1862, in Wartime Papers, 303.

^[10] “Our Army Correspondence,” Richmond Dispatch, September 20, 1862.

^[11] “Returned,” Richmond Enquirer, September 9, 1862.

^[12] Longstreet, Manassas to Appomattox, 285.

^[13] “The News from Richmond,” Charleston Mercury, September 12, 1862.

^[14] Burlingame and Ettlinger, eds., Hay Diary, 38.

^[15] Beale, ed., Welles Diary, vol. 1, 116.

^[16] Ibid., 124.

^[17] Henry Halleck to Abraham Lincoln, September 12, 1862, Abraham Lincoln Papers, Library of Congress.

^[18] Nathaniel Banks to Abraham Lincoln, September 12, 1862, Abraham Lincoln Papers, Library of Congress.

"As a tree may be riven by lightning": The Night of the Battle of Antietam

I have always studied the night before the Battle of Antietam and how soldiers remembered it with great interest. More recently, in preparation for a talk I will be giving at the Antietam Institute's Spring Symposium in April, I have been reading about the night of September 17.

I’m also almost finished watching Apple TV’s Masters of the Air. One piece of this series that has struck me is when the bombing crews returned from their missions and landed in England, the uninjured survivors are quickly whisked away in trucks for a debrief to sort out intelligence, create casualty reports, note the location of where certain bombers went down, and what happened during their raid. It was all a regimented and organized process.

It is hard for me to imagine what that process was like–trying to sort out what happened when you’re still in the process of figuring it all out with intelligence officers asking you questions and looking for answers you might not be able to provide.

The same process was done in the Civil War, though in a much less formal fashion. Soldiers often had to sort out the losses of a battle and its circumstances in their messes or companies. To some of their comrades, they did not know what happened–if they were alive or dead.

Sergeant James A. Wright of the 1st Minnesota said of the Battle of Antietam: “Such a clash of arms as occurred at Antietam is but feebly represented as a big train wreck, followed by an explosion and fire, and supplemented by a cyclone with a cloud-burst and a wash-out.” This sentence sums up the chaos and destruction of that one, bloody day.

Wright thankfully left us with a detailed description of the night after the battle and the feelings of those who lived through it unscathed, at least on the outside. It is worth reproducing most of his memoir of that night here:

When the fighting had subsided to a degree that further serious movements were not expected, preparations for the night and any emergency of the morning were made…

It is not to the dead and wounded alone that all of the suffering of the day has come. Is there not something to be said for those who have escaped the casualty list but have shared in all of the movements and dangers of the day and have had a “fighting edge” on for the last 18 or 20 hours? Coffee, crackers, and pork before two o’clock that morning is all they have eaten in 24 hours–except a cracker, perhaps while lying in line. Corps, divisions, brigades, regiments, and companies have been shattered in the struggles–as a tree may be riven by lightning–and suffered a loss of from a fifth to one-half of their numbers. Broken in organization, despoiled of their leaders, and diminished in numbers.

Now that the crisis for the day was over and darkness veiled our movements, there was reaction from the tremendous mental strain, and defrauded physical nature demanded relief. The rolls were called and inquiries made about the missing ones–as to time, place, and by whom they were last seen–and what their condition was. It is in this way the losses of a day’s fighting are estimated and reports are made. Then–unless it is certain they are already cared for or are in the hands of the enemy–interested comrades try to find and relieve them.

In preparation for tomorrow, we must rest, refill our cartridge boxes and stomachs. We had gone into action with 60 rounds–40 in our boxes and 20 in our pockets–and used from 40 to 50 each. Dispositions were made for the night, and ammunition was brought up and distributed. Fires were lit in sheltered places a little to the rear, and coffee made in our tin cups. Then–sitting on the ground where we intended to sleep, talking briefly of the events of the day, and trying to understand them–we ate crackers and pork from our haversacks and drank our coffee–hot, strong, and lots of it. The day had seemed warm, but now that night had come, it felt chilly and there was a threat of rain. But for the hot coffee we would have felt the cold as we wrapped ourselves in such coverings as we had with us and slept in line of battle with our equipments on and our rifles beside us.

For some hours we slept undisturbed, then were awakened, told that it was morning (though it was yet dark), and formed in line ready for action. We awoke chilled, for the morning was cool; everything was wet with a heavy dew; and it was the reverse of pleasant to await the coming of daylight and–we knew not what–but expected fighting.