Fifty Years Ago by Lizzie Bloxom
Last of the Six by Julia C. B. Dorr
A Hemlock Soldier by Richard Swift
Married Eliza M. Jones
January 30, 1852
Enlisted in Army
as a private Co. G 3rd Vt. Volunteers
June 1st, 1861 mustered in July 16, 1861
Discharged for disability July 7th, 1862
Enlisted in Cavalry Co. L 1st N.H. Volunteers
Feb. 9th, 1864 mustered in Feb. 9th, 1864
Captured Aug. 17th, 1864 at Winchester Va.
(oral history says kept at Andersonville, Ga.)
Released Feb. 16th, 1865
Discharged June 23rd, 1865 Concord, N.H
Frank Eugene
Root died April 14th, 1862 of diphtheria
Aged 7yrs 28 days
(this event is mentioned in his letters)
May the 21 1862
Camp near Richmond
Dear wife
I take this oportunity to rite a few lines to let you no that I am
well and hope tohose few lines will find you the same I recieved
a
letter dated the 12 and was glad to hear from you and to hear that
you
was well we air on the march now for Richmond and we have head
a
hard march of it and have head some hard fighting and expect to have
some more before we get thair for we air in to or three miles
of the
rebels and with in ten miles of Richmond and thay have made a stand
and
will fight with out a dout But it wont do them eny good for we
shal
take it if we loze every man and thair ant no danger of that with thair
is some mistake made and i have all the confidence in the officers
in
the worlde and we shal lick them like hell and then we shal come home
I
think and if we get licked we shal have to stay the rest of the 3 yeares
and if thay dont make a stand and go to south Carolinay and we have
to
go after them then we shant come home for some time if we ever do
for
it is hot anuf hear to rost eggs and the boys air geting sick every
day
and to go further south it will kill the hole of us I am
with the
Docters yet and expect to keep with them but it is as hard as it is
in
the rankes but they me to go with them and I head just as lives for
then
i can lurn some thing all the time for thair is all cinds of diseses
and
all kinds of folkes to deal with you think that you ant
never a going
to get eny money but as soon as get my pay you have some money
you have
got some more of the state money oing to you hant you and
you hant
used all the money that i have sent you that money that you lent you
hant got that yet have you if you have got that and and
spent it you
must be hard up I told you that you head beter keep the money
for you
might need it and i dont no when i shal get my pay right soon
FB Root
Camp Sity poynt July 24'62
Dear wife
I recieved your letters one dated the 20 and 21 and was glad to hear
from you and that you was well i am well at this time
we air in
camp now but dont no how long it ant likley thair is talk
about
another rade but hope thair wont bee one for it will kill me ded as
hell
and thair will be an end to me and it wont make but a little difrince
i
dont surpose it is damd hot hear now and has ben for a
long time
you want to no about that house you can do as you air a mind to about
houses but thay air both on the river and you think that that it is
unhelthey on the river and thay ask a damd good price for thair kouses
i should think and i gues you head better look further before you by
thay think that they can do as thay air amind to with you and you
head better look out for them for thay will cheat your eye teeth out
if
thay get a chance things air high a nough i should think
it will take
all i can urn to live without bying a house but do as you air a mind
to
but i hant got eny money yet and dont no when i shal get eny
when
i get it you shal have it i dont think of eny nues to write
onley we
was on picket last week and was in sight of the rebs all the time but
did not fire at one another thay talked with us and traded coffee and
tobaco and papers and was grate frends but when we come to fight
is
will bee difrent all to gether and so it should be i should
like to come
home and see the folks but i like the cavelry first rate but it ant
home
by a damd Sight it wont be eny thing strange if i was to home this
fall so you nead not think strange if you see me come i
cant write
eny more this time so good night
give my love to harley and tel him to be a good boy and keep his noze
clean
from F B Root
Provided through the courtesy of Joan Curtis
Transcribed by Tony Paré
AMONG THE GREEN HILLS OF VERMONT TO ALL OF US SO DEAR,
IN A NEAT AND COZY COTTAGE, WITH HER BABY COOING NEAR,
SAT A WOMAN BY HER FIREPLACE, SINGING IN A VOICE SWEET AND LOW,
"I HAVE ALL A HEART COULD WISH FOR, JACK AND BABY LOVE ME SO.
THERE IS NONE SO BRAVE AND MANLY, WITH A HEART MORE GOOD AND TRUE,
AND I'M SURE THERE IS NOTHING FOR MY JACK I WOULD NOT DO!"
THEN SHE CLASPED HER BABY TO HER, AND SHE KISSED HIS BROW SO WHITE,
"YES, IN ALL VERMONT WE'RE THE HAPPIEST ONES TONIGHT.
OUR LITTLE HOME WILL SOON BE PAID FOR, JACK IS WELL AND STRONG,
AND I CAN HELP SO MUCH, THE TIME WILL NOT SEEM LONG."
OH! HOW FAIR A WORLD TO LIVE IN, 0H! HOW BRIGHT THE MOON TONIGHT,
HER'S A FACE SO FAIR AND HAPPY, HER'S A HEART SO GLAD AND LIGHT,
ON THE DISTANT FAR HORIZON, TOWARDS THE SOUTH SO FAR AWAY-
SHE DOES NOT SEE THE CLOUD APPROACHING, HIDDEN BY THE MOON'S BRIGHT
RAY,
FOR AT FIRST HOVERS SLOWLY O'RE THE PLACE WHERE SLAVES WERE BORN,
WHERE THE MORNING BROUGHT NO SUNSHINE, AND THE WHIPLASH STING WAS WORN.
BUT IT SLOWLY SPREADS ITS SHADOW TILL THE NORTH IS CALLED TO HEAR,
EVEN TO THIS LITTLE COTTAGE, CALLS FOR JACK SO BRAVE AND DEAR.
"BUT HARK. THERE IS PAPA'S FOOTSTEPS, HE IS RUNNING I AM SURE-"
QUICK THE DOOR IS THROWN WIDE OPEN, AND HE CLASPS HIS WIFE SO PURE,
STRAINS HER TO HIS HEAVING BOSOM-KISSES NOW HER BROW SO PALE-
SAYING-"YOU MUST HELP ME DO MY DUTY, FOR IN THAT I MUST NOT FAIL,
YOU WELL KNOW THAT SUMTER'S FIRED ON, AND WITHIN EACH MANLY BREAST
BURNS THE FIRE TO QUENCH THE WICKED, AND TO FIGHT FOR THE OPPRESSED,
THIS THE 15TH DAY OF APRIL IN THE YEAR OF SIXTY-ONE,
THROUGHOUT THE NORTH RESOUNDING, FOR 75,000 VOLUNTEERS LINCOLN CALLS
TO COME.
DOWN HERE AT THE CORNER IN OUR LITTLE GROCERY STORE,-
I HAVE SIGNED MY NAME IN A LINE WITH MANY MORE.
SO I GO TO FIGHT FOR COUNTRY, FOR THE GOOD THAT I CAN DO,
I OWE TO GOD AND MANDKIND, AND I'M PROUD TO WEAR THE BLUE.
PROUD I AM THAT I CAN ANSWER WHEN MY COUNTRY CALLS ME COME
AND I'LL RETURN TO YOU AND BABY WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS DONE."
NOW THE HEART SO LIGHT AND HAPPY, SEEMS TO SINK WITHIN HER BREAST,
AND, "O JACK YOU WILL NOT LEAVE ME, BABY AND THE REST?"
BUT THE MANLY HEARTTHROBS ECHO THE WORDS TO HIS LIPS ARISE,
AND LOOKING STRAIGHT IN THE FACE HE LOVES, INTO THE DARK BLUE EYES,
"COULD YOU, MY WIFE, ENTREAT ME TO TURN FROM MY PATH OF DUTY CLEAR,
YOU COULD NOT LOVE A COWARD WHO UNHEEDED HIS COUNTRY'S CALL,
YET MANY WE THAT ANSWER, MUST IN THAT DUTY FALL."
OH, HOW HER JOY WAS TURNED TO PAIN, THE WORLD SEEMED COLD AND DREAR,
THEN TO HER NOBLE NATURE TRUE COURAGE DROVE OUT FEAR,
"NO, JACK, I'LL WAIT HERE IN THIS COTTAGE, AMONG THE MAIDEN FERN,
AND EVERY NIGHT AND MORNING, I'LL PRAY FOR YOUR RETURN,
I CANNOT BID YOU STAY, WHEN DUTY BIDS YOU GO,
BUT UNTIL YOU RETURN AGAIN, HAPPINESS I'LL NEVER KNOW"
FIFTY YEARS HAVE PASSED SINCE THEN AND IN A COTTAGE NEAR,
LIES A WOMAN OLD AND WRINKLED, WHILE HER SON IS STANDING NEAR,
AND SHE WHISPERS FAINTLY TO HIM, AS HE GENTLY TAKES HER HAND,
"I AM GOING TO MEET HIM, IN THAT FAIR AND PROMISED LAND.
I HAVE PRAYED SO LONG TO GO, FOR HE COULD NOT COME TO ME,
IN A SOUTHERN GRAVE HE'S SLEEPING, IN A LAND HE HELPED TO FREE.
FIFTY YEARS OF TOIL AND WEEPING SINCE, SINCE HE LEFT MY SIDE-
FIFTY YEARS SINCE LINCOLN CALLED HIM, AND I HEARD THAT HE HAD DIED.
FIGHTING BRAVELY IN THE BATTLE, BY HIS SIDE FELL MANY MORE-
FELL IN THE STRENGH OF THEIR MANHOOD. THEIR WORK ON EARTH WAS
O'ER.
NO MORE TO HIS HEART CAME SORROW, NO MORE PLEASURE, OR PAIN,
NEVER MORE IN THE GREEN HILLS OF VERMONT COULD HE SEE HIS WIFE AGAIN.
BUT IN ANOTHER CITY THAT KNOWS NO PAIN OR CARE,
MY JACK IS WAITING FOR ME, HE IS WATCHING FOR ME THERE.
DO NOT GRIEVE BECAUSE I LEAVE YOU, I AM HAPPY NOW TO GO,
YOU HAVE BEEN A GOOD SON TO ME, GOD WILL BLESS YOU WELL I KNOW.
FIFTY YEARS OF BITTER YEARNING FOR THE LIFE THAT COULD NOT BE-
NOW AGAIN I SOON SHALL SEE HIM, THO' WE LIE SO FAR APART,
THEN ONCE MORE WILL BEAT WITH JOY, THIS CRUSHED AND BROKEN HEART."
NOW AGAIN THEY ARE UNITED IN THAT HOME OF GOD ABOVE,
WHERE ALL IS PEACE AND GLADNESS, AND WAR CALLS NOT THOSE WE LOVE.
PEACE AND FREEDOM, LONG MAY IT REIGN UNBOUND,
AND NEVER AGAIN THE DREADFUL WAR CRY, WHERE EVER OUR FLAG IS FOUND.
MAY IT ALWAYS WAVE IN THE BREEZES OF LOVE AND FREEDOM TRUE,
WON AT THE AWFUL PRICE OF THREE HUNDRED FIFTY THOUSAND,
NINE HUNDRED FOURTY FOUR BOYS IN BLUE.
This poem was sent to some of us courtesy of the Springfield, Vt.
Historical society. Amanda from the society copied it from an old newspaper.
Come in; you are welcome neighbor; all day I've been alone,
And heard the wailing wintry wind sweep by with bitter moan;
And tonight beside my lonely fire, I motely wonder why I,
who once wept as other weep, sit here with tearless eye.
Today this letter came to me. At first I could not brook
Upon the unfamiliar lines by strangers penned, to look;
The dread of evil tidings shook my soul with wild alarm,-
But Harry's in the hospital, and has only lost an arm.
He is the last-the last of six brave boys as e'er were seen;
How short to memories vision seem the the years that lie between
This hour and those most blessed ones, when round this hearth's
bright blaze
They charmed their mothers heart and eye with all their pretty
ways!
My William was my eldest son, and he was the first to go.
It did not at all surprise me, for I knew it would be so,
From that fearful April Sunday when the news from Sumter came.
And his lips grew white as ashes, while his eyes were all aflame.
He sprang to join the three months men. I could not say him nay,
Though my heart stood still within me when I saw him march away;
At the corner of the street he smiled, and waved the flag he bore;-
I never saw him smile again-he was slain at Baltimore.
They sent his body back to me and as we stood around his grave,
Beside his father's in yonder burial-ground,
John laid his hand upon my arm and whispered, "Mother dear,
I have Will's work and mine to do. I cannot loiter here."
I turned and looked at Paul, for he and John were twins, you know,
Born on a happy Christmas, four-and twenty years ago;
I looked upon them both while my tears fell down like rain,
For I knew what one had spoken, had been spoken by the twain.
In a month or more they left me-the merry handsome boys,
Who had kept the old house ringing with their laughter, fun and noise.
Then James came home to mind the farm; my younger sons were still
Mere children at their lessons in the schoolhouse on the hill.
O days of weary waiting! O days of doubt and dread:
I feared to read the papers, or to see the list of dead;
But when full many a battle-storm had left them both unharmed.
I taught my foolish heart to think the double lives were charmed.
Their Colonel since has told me that no braver boys than they
Ever rallied round the colors, in the thickest of the fray;
Upon the wall behind you their swords are hanging still,-
For John was killed at Fair Oaks, and Paul at Malvern Hill.
Then came the dark days, darker than any known before;
There was another call for men,-"three hundred thousand more";
I saw the cloud on Jamie's brow frow deeper day by day.
I shrank before the impending blow, and scarce had strength to pray.
And yet at last I bade him go, while on my cheek and brow
His loving tears and kisses fell; I feel them even now,
Though the eyes that shed the tears, and the lips so warm on mine
Are hidden under southern sands beneath a blasted pine!
He did not die mid battle-smoke, but for a weary year
He languished in close prison walls, a prey to hope and fear;
I dare not trust myself to think of the fruitless pangs he bore,
My brain grows wild when in my dreams I count his sufferin o'er.
Only two left! I thought the worst was surely over then;
But lo! at once my school-boy sons sprang up before me men!
They heard their brothers martyr blood call from the hallowed ground;
A loud, imperious summons and all other voices drowned.
I did not say a single word. My very heart seemed dead.
What could I do but take the cup and bow my weary head
To drink the bitter draught again? I dared not hold them back;
I would as soon have tried to check the whirlwind on its track.
You know the rest. At Cedar Creek my Frederick bravely fell;
They say his young men did its work right nobly and right well;
His comrades breathe the hero's name with mingled love and pride;
I miss the gentle blue-eyed boy who frolicked at my side.
For me I ne'er shall weep again. I think my heart is dead,
I, who could weep for lighter griefs have no tears to shed.
But read this letter, neighbor. There is nothing to alarm.
For Harry's in the hospital, and has only lost an arm!
The winter air was extremely brisk and the Union sharpshooter was freezing, hidden among the rocks of a fallen down wall. His position was a very good one, about 400 yards from a stream crossing. He had been waiting patiently all day for something to happen down in the little valley. Even while he watched his mind wandered back to thoughts of home, the little farm in the hills of Vermont. His wife Sarah would be trying to keep the farm productive, but he knew it was hard for her. Their children Tom, six, and Annie, seven, would be some help with the chores but it was man's work. Just like this war. When he left home he was torn between the duty to his family and the greater duty to his country. In the larger scheme of things he felt that his country needed him more, so here he was trying to keep from freezing to death this day in December.
Looking through his field glasses he detected movement between the trees leading up to the crossing, was it an animal, some of his men? Or was it the Rebs moving up to scout the area? The movement was hard to detect, whatever it was, it was being cautious. Putting down his glasses he picked up his rifle, the telescopic sight helped to pick out movement but the field of view was not as good as the glasses. He had to be careful his breath didn't fog up the lens. Well whatever was moving down there had stopped and he couldn't locate it. He slowly scanned the area looking for anything that didn't fit the landscape. The cold was seeping into every pore of his body, his threadbare uniform not much protection. He thought of the box he was expecting from Sarah. She promised to send socks and undergarments, along with a few treats. Her letter mentioned Christmas for the children and they all wished he was home for the holiday. "Damn!", he thought, "today is Christmas."
Movement at the crossing brought his attention back to the task at hand, the cold was forgotten. There were a couple of shapes working toward the edge of the creek, one ahead of the other. The small trees at the edge of the water afforded a poor view, but he saw that they were men. After a little while one of them walked to the edge of the crossing and looked out at the valley. The Federal sharpshooter watching through his telescopic sight, could see that he was a Confederate.
The Reb stood beside a small tree that partially blocked his body from view. No matter he thought, through his sight he could see the man's face, he was young, he had chin whiskers but they were sparse, not the full beard of someone man growed. The crosshairs were centered on the young Rebs face, the sharpshooter slowed his breathing and slowly squeezed the trigger, the heavy rifle erupted. The bullet would find its mark before the report would be heard, but the smoke would give him away so he would have to move.
Down by the stream the young Reb was laying on the ground, his pard ran up in a crouch and pulled him away from edge of the creek. He saw blood by the downed mans ear, caused by splinters of wood. The young Reb was looking up into the face of his pard and his ear was ringing something fierce. "Caleb, y'all are one lucky man that yank was a bad shot." "He hit the tree right beside you."
The sharpshooter loaded his rifle, gathered himself up, and began to head back toward his picket line, "Merry Christmas, Reb!" he said softly, as he melted back into the forest.
© Tony Pare 1997
From Derby to Danville and much further down,
From Essex and Springfield and many more towns;
Come Vermont men whose passions run deep,
Portraying their forbears, their memories to keep.
Varying ages; some young some old,
filling the ranks with a spirit so bold.
Accutriments, uniform, musket and all,
enhances his image and lets him stand tall.
Whether on parade or encamped in the wood,
he always performs as a "Union Man" should.
The Great Rebellion, a terrible thing,
summoned Vermonters, their sons to bring
courage and will to the heart of the War;
They did; and they died by the score.
The Hemlock soldier, a contemporary man,
to copy his forbears, he understands
to be authentic, to portray them well;
For they left the Green Mountains and marched into Hell.
Kinship so natural, uncanny it seems;
As if he could follow them out of his dreams.
Living the present, understanding the past,
Assuring their deeds and their sacrifice lasts.
THIS IS A HEMLOCK - Come, join our lot
If comraderie, knowledge and kinship is sought.
We have the means and the will to comply;
Assuring our soldierly kin NEVER DIE .....
The Hemlock Series #1
© Richard Swift 1994