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 CIVIL WAR ARCHIVE OF ALBERT J. WHITLEY 141ST NEW YORK, 70 items. Offered at auction, 2005.
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+//Hornellsville Tribune//, October 30, 1862
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+From the 141st Regiment.
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+LAUREL, Md, Oct. 26. 1862.
+DEAR TRIBUNE:—-Sunday morning opens rainy and cold, and the guards button their over-coats up to their chins, and whistle to keep the cold out. The Chaplain has gone over to Harper's Ferry on a visit, and we will have no service to-day, but the boys are improving the time, and from many a tent I hear the home like hymns. Is there any thing sweeter than a familiar hymn sung in a strange land? How eagerly one listens, and how involuntarily hums the tune, as on the air comes "Rock of Ages," or "Come Holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove."? Wow they carry one back through the past, and show him the two roads that have all the time been before him, and how plain they show the good and the bad— They that follow one road shall "Walk with Him in White."
+Rain, rain. rain, beating through the tents, soaking through the coats, and trickling in little streams down the necks—but the soldiers are merry and uncomplaining, and the harder it rains the louder they joke. How it would please some of our wives and mothers if they could look in upon us this morning, and see us huddled together in our shelter tents, like chickens under a wagon.
+Last week Watson Prentiss and his son Lieut. John of the 23d, dropped in on us. Of course we were glad to see 'em, and would like to see more of you down here. Why can't you come down end walk among our tents?
+"Capt. Dan Ellsworth also made us a visit. He has seen severe service, and has been quite sick—but he told me he hoped to join his company and regiment soon. He is highly spoken of as being an intelligent and capable officer— and is earnest in the cause. The 86th stopped here a few moments, on its way to Harpers Ferry, and I had the pleasure of taking several of the "good boys" by the hand - among them, Corey Herrick, who was in perfect health and spirits. Company D., was left at Washington, so I did not see ether Charley or LeRoy, Orderly Tuthill, of the 104th, son of the furniture merchant of Nunda, is in Camp on a visit. He was taken prisoner at the 2d battle of Bull Run, kept days and paroled, and sent to Annapolis. He has made the acquaintance of our friend Corporal Cullier—and says that Brewer enjoys himself hugely but has never got over being mad at the Rebs, for taking away his Revolver that Doctor Robinson gave him. We expect Brewer down here every day.
+When Stewart's Cavalry were on their retreat from Chambersburgh, the report came that they were to cross the line near our Camp —and we sent out a strong picket guard— among them was young John Harrison. During the night John heard a crackling among the bushes, and boldly stepping out, he cracked his gun and cried "halt!" Calling a comrade  to his and they discovered a company of forty soldiers. They took them prisoners and marched them into Camp. They proved to be  deserters from a Mary laud regiment, (Union) and were sent back to Washington, but John is entitled to just as much credit as is they had been Rebels.
+Its astonishing how we "targets" like to hear news from home. The most unimportant events that transpire there, have an interest  here never felt before, and our letters are no sooner read than we run through the Camp to "hear and tell some new thing." One day it is—" Bemis is nominated for Assembly man by the Republicans," or "Holliday is nominated by the Democrats"—"The Erie Co. is putting up a new building"—" The Presbyterians are rebuilding their Church "—" I wonder when the Methodists will fix theirs"?  "Joe Lamphere tool a prize at the town fair." "John Rose has gone in to business," and so at goes all the time. To-day we received the im-  portant intelligence that Major Reynolds is rebuilding his saw mill--and George Coburn  says he must go home sure, for the Major will want him to mark stumps. Some like Sol. Jones, who said they couldn't draft him, for he had hired out to Clark for 2 year.
+After all, Tribune, ones life is about as safe  in one place as another. We are all in the  keeping of an All Wise Father, and He alone  knows our destiny. Of the hundred boys in our Company. not one has died, and none have  been seriously sick or injured, while letters  from home are constantly telling of deaths and accidents. First,a school-fellow killed on the cars, and then two neighbors buried in a sand
+bank.
+We have a fair prospect of wintering here, and Paul Wisner's ingenuity is brought into  constant requisition in building stoves, consisting of a square hole in the ground covered with a piece of sheet iron, with a barrel fora Pipe —" big thing"
+Mr. Editor-our boys are well fed, and we don't want sweet cake an "such like fixens" sent to us at all—but we like letters and papers and our friends may send us as many of them as they please. When you chaps sitting around the stoves find a good thing in a paper, just put a wrapper on it, and direct it to some, "soger boy. "Do you see the point?
+M. W. H.
+{{ :141st_ny:hornellsville_tribune_page3_1862-10-30.jpg?linkonly|}}
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+https://sparedshared22.wordpress.com/2021/01/01/1862-stephen-mead-to-maranda-green-mead/
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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.
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