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141st_new_york_primary_sources [2019/07/05 06:38] (current)
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 +//​Hornellsville Tribune//, November 20, 1862
 +
 +From the 141st Regiment.\\ ​
 +ANNAPOLIS JUNCTION, Md., \\ 
 +Nov. 15, 1862.
 +
 +DEAR TRIBUNE:​—The South is not all "​Sunny,"​ for we have had snow here four or five inchees deep, and frost enough to ripen the persimmons, and turn the oak leaves a rich brown—but it didn't stay long, and only the other day I saw a little darkey riding a horse, with a bag in front from which he was sowing winter wheat.
 +
 +"Click click-clikety click."​ How natural it sounded as I stepped from the cars at this station, after being two months in camp, away from a telegraph office. "​Clickclick clickety-click "​—that spells Dunkirk, and I will just put my head in through the window and ask the news—"​ Election returns from New-York,"​ is the answer— "How is Hornellsville?"​ "​Fifty-five for Seymour"?​ "That will do, Mr. Telegraph, turn off your faucet."​
 +
 +After getting the news, I took a look at the Junction. Everybody has seen a junction, and some have seen a good many, and they are all pretty much alike—at least this one is. There are two taverns, a store, post office, and two or three dwellings—the rest is land. It is only important as a railroad point, and the Brigade Commissary Store and Bake shop are here, and also a large general Hospital. It is marked in the history of this war as being the place where the gallant 7th rested after their weary march from Annapolis. The Hospital has about two hundred and fifty on the list now, and numbers of the poor fellows are wandering under the trees as write this. Just across the track in a beautiful grove is the soldiers'​ burying ground, "where sleep the unnumbered dead."
 +
 +All trains stop at this station, and I frequently meet with familiar faces, and occasionally as I stand in the store door some one taps on the car window and calls my name, after the cars are in motion, and being unable to sea who it is, I pull off my cap and look pleased of course.
 +
 +Our Regiment is down at Laurel yet, and is building barracks, and making preparations to winter there, but there is nothing certain in this war but the taxes. There is some talk of our going to Texas with Banks. Why wouldn'​t it be a good notion to send the whole army there? It is said the climate is fine.
 +
 +Sergeant Mike Sherwood, who has been quite ill, is fast recovering—and John Granger, who has been home on sick leave, has returned greatly improved. Dr. C. D. Robinson, father of our Doctor, is here visiting his son, and seems highly pleased with the way we are conducting matters. We are having lots of company just now. Dr. Jamison, of the 86th, called on us the other day, and promised to come again. He bears the reputation of a faithful officer, and has the confidence of his men, which is the highest praise of an army surgeon. Henry Hamilton, of Canisteo, was in our camp a few days last week. Henry is an intelligent farmer, and had his eyes open. He walked over the neighboring plantations and talked with the proprietors and overseers, and can give you an interesting account of the manner of conducting farms and rising stock here. It was new for him to see a bushel of ears thrown in the mud before each "​critter,"​ to be trampled under foot and wasted. Cornelius Conderman is also here, and I reckon it won't be hard for him to see the difference between free and slave labor.
 +
 +"​Little Mack" passed through here the other evening on his way to Trenton, and we had an opportunity of squinting through the car window at a clean cheeked, pleasant faced looking chap, in plain, rough clothes and a slouch hat, and a clear eye, but it was easy to see through all disguises the true hearted chieftain who breathed forth that noble farewell to his army. Why is it that the soldiers instinctively love him?
 +
 +Sad and unexpected was the intelligence brought us this week by the Tribune of the death of Theodore Badger, and if there was lamentation with you at home, there was also sorrowful faces in our camp. The tie that binds us to our home, reaches to each of you, and when one of you die, we are all mourners. If death were an endless ​ sleep, the parting would be terrible, but then—
 +
 +"It cannot be:\\ 
 +You wore it so that man could die,​\\ ​
 +Life were a mockery, thought were woe;​\\ ​
 +Heaven were a coinage of the brain;​\\ ​
 +Religion frenzy, virtue vain,​\\ ​
 +And all our hope who meet again."​\\ ​
 +
 +M. W. H.
 +
 +
 +{{ :​141st_ny:​hornellsville_tribune_page2_1862-11-20.jpg?​linkonly|}}
  
-<figure label> 
-{{:{{ :​141st_ny:​hornellsville_tribune_page2_1862-11-20.jpg?​400 |img}} 
-<​caption>​hornellsville_tribune_page2_1862-11-20</​caption>​ 
-</​figure>​ 
  
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141st_new_york_primary_sources.txt · Last modified: 2019/07/05 06:38 by admin