New Year’s During the Civil War

“Another Year in the War”: New Year’s During the Civil War

Illustration of New Year's Day by Thomas Nast for the January 1864 Harper's Weekly issue.
Illustration of New Year’s Day by Thomas Nast for the January 1864 Harper’s Weekly issue. The illustration is comparing and contrasting conditions in the north and south during the Civil War.

As the calendar turned during the Civil War, Americans greeted the New Year not with champagne and fireworks, but with musket fire, prayer, hunger, and reflection. For soldiers in the field, enslaved people awaiting freedom, and civilians struggling on the home front, January 1st was often less a celebration than a reckoning — a moment to take stock of survival and hope in the midst of national catastrophe.

New Year’s on the Battlefield: Cold, Music, and Combat

Illustration of the Battle of Stones River. The Battle of Stones River, also known as the Second Battle of Murfreesboro, was fought from December 31, 1862, to January 2, 1863, in Middle Tennessee, as the culmination of the Stones River Campaign in the Western Theater of the American Civil War.
Illustration of the Battle of Stones River. The Battle of Stones River, also known as the Second Battle of Murfreesboro, was fought from December 31, 1862, to January 2, 1863, in Middle Tennessee, as the culmination of the Stones River Campaign in the Western Theater of the American Civil War. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_battle_of_Stone_River_or_Murfreesboro%27_LCCN2003664895.tif?page=1

For many soldiers, the New Year arrived with little ceremony. Winter camps were cold, damp, and uncomfortable, and in some cases the holiday coincided with brutal fighting.
One of the starkest examples occurred at the Battle of Stones River near Murfreesboro, Tennessee, which raged from December 31, 1862, into January 2, 1863. The New Year opened not with resolutions, but with artillery fire and staggering casualties. One Union officer grimly observed that the year had begun “under fire,” a sentiment shared by thousands of men who found themselves fighting as the calendar turned.

Yet even amid hostility, moments of humanity occasionally surfaced. On New Year’s Eve, soldiers recalled a rare pause in the fighting as regimental bands from both sides took turns playing familiar tunes across the lines. A Tennessee soldier remembered how the music floated through the darkness until the night ended with Home, Sweet Home, a melody that stirred homesickness on both sides of the battlefield.

“Everyone Intended to Have a Happy New Year”: Life in Camp

Away from active combat, New Year’s could bring small, improvised observances — reminders of civilian life left behind.
Seventeen-year-old Charley Howe of the 36th Massachusetts Infantry wrote home from camp near Fredericksburg on January 1, 1863, offering his parents a vivid glimpse of camp life at the turn of the year. He began with a familiar greeting:

“I wish you a ‘very happy New Year.’ Last night was the coldest night we have seen since we left Old Massachusetts and we had to keep fires all night long in our fireplaces in order to keep warm.”
Despite the bitter cold, the day itself brought a small novelty:

“It being New Year’s Day, we had whiskey rations given us — a thing which has not happened before since leaving home.”
Howe noted that even this modest indulgence carried moral weight among the men:

“Everyone intended to have a happy New Year as Sons of Temperance and all drank their little gill.”

His letter captures the quiet resilience of soldiers who seized fleeting comforts while maintaining a sense of discipline and identity.
Two years later, Nelson Statler of the 211th Pennsylvania Infantry marked New Year’s Day 1865 in a very different way. Writing home from winter quarters, Statler framed the date with careful precision rather than festivity:

“This is the first day of week, first day of the month, first day of the year, and the first day for me on camp guard since I am in the service.”
His attention quickly turned to the weather and his duties:

“It is very cold today. There is a little skift of snow on the ground — the first I have seen since last winter.”
Statler’s words underscore how, for many soldiers, New Year’s passed as simply another day of responsibility, marked more by cold and routine than celebration.

Watch Night and “Freedom’s Eve”

Waiting for the HourCarte-de-visite of an emancipation watch night meeting 1863 Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture
Waiting for the Hour
Carte-de-visite of an emancipation watch night meeting 1863
Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture

While soldiers marked the New Year in camps and on picket lines, African Americans experienced January 1, 1863, as a moment of profound transformation.
On the night of December 31, 1862, enslaved and free Black communities gathered in churches and private homes for Watch Night, waiting through prayer and song for the Emancipation Proclamation to take effect at midnight. These gatherings were deeply spiritual, blending religious tradition with political hope.

Frederick Douglass captured the emotional weight of the moment, recalling the atmosphere as midnight approached:

“It was a moment of solemn waiting… we were waiting for the word of deliverance.”

When January 1 dawned, Douglass described the day in luminous terms:

“This is a day for poetry and song… a new song… the day of jubilee.”

For those who had lived under bondage, the New Year in 1863 represented not merely another turn of the calendar, but the promise of freedom — fragile, incomplete, and contested, yet momentous.

Promises Unfulfilled: New Year’s on the Confederate Home Front

In the war-weary Confederate capital of Richmond, New Year’s celebrations could be painfully hollow. In January 1865, citizens organized what was intended to be a generous New Year’s feast for soldiers defending the city. Food was collected amid great fanfare, but when the meal was finally distributed, it amounted to almost nothing.

One soldier recorded his bitterness in a diary entry:

“Not a mouth full apiece… where has it all gone to… The commissary or quarter masters no doubt got it. May the Lord have mercy on the poor soldiers.”
A contemporary newspaper lamented that the promised dinner had “gone without coming,” a grim metaphor for a Confederacy nearing collapse.

A New Year Without Illusions

Across the divided nation, New Year’s during the Civil War was rarely joyful. Instead, it became a moment for reflection — on hardship endured, on freedom hoped for, and on an uncertain future.
For soldiers like Charley Howe and Nelson Statler, January 1st meant cold nights, guard duty, and letters home. For African Americans, it could mean the long-awaited dawn of emancipation. And for civilians, it often marked another year of sacrifice with no clear end in sight.
In the Civil War, the New Year did not promise easy beginnings. But in camps, churches, and homes, Americans continued to mark its arrival — clinging to hope that someday, the war itself would finally end.

Bibliography

American Battlefield Trust. “New Year’s Hell.”
National Museum of African American History and Culture. “The Historical Legacy of Watch Night.”
Emery, Tom. “New Year’s in Civil War, other conflicts brought little celebration.” Staunton Star-Times.
RVA News. “Civil War: A New Year’s Day ‘feast’.”
The Research Arsenal. Charley Howe letter:
https://app.researcharsenal.com/imageSingleView/13158
Nelson Statler letter: https://app.researcharsenal.com/imageSingleView/56471

Christmas During the Civil War: Voices from the Front and Home

Christmas During the Civil War: Voices from the Front and Home

Christmas during the Civil War was a difficult time for both soldiers and civilians as they were often separated from their loved ones during the time of year that is often represented by families spending time together. The one thing that the vast majority of them could not do during the war. "Christmas Eve," Harper's Weekly, January 3, 1863.
Christmas during the Civil War was a difficult time for both soldiers and civilians as they were often separated from their loved ones during the time of year that is often represented by families spending time together. The one thing that the vast majority of them could not do during the war. “Christmas Eve,” Harper’s Weekly, January 3, 1863.

The Civil War did not pause for the holidays, yet Christmas still came. For soldiers and families separated by hundreds of miles, the season carried deep emotional weight. Christmas became a moment to remember home, to write letters, to pause — however briefly — and to imagine a future beyond war. Through letters, diaries, and firsthand recollections, the voices of the Civil War era reveal how Americans experienced Christmas amid hardship, hope, and uncertainty.

A Christmas Truce on the Rappahannock

By the winter of 1862, the war had already exacted a terrible toll. Only weeks after the bloody Battle of Fredericksburg, Union and Confederate armies faced one another across the frozen Rappahannock River in Virginia. Entrenched on opposite banks, the soldiers were locked in a tense stalemate — close enough to see one another clearly, yet divided by violence and loss.

Among the Union pickets that Christmas morning was John R. Paxton, an eighteen-year-old private. Years later, Paxton reflected on how the familiar pull of Christmas softened even the hardest edges of war:

 “It was Christmas morning. The ground was covered with snow, and the river was full of floating ice. We were on picket duty along the river bank, cold and hungry, thinking of home and friends far away. About mid-morning a Confederate called out, ‘Good morning.’ We answered, and then came the greeting, ‘Merry Christmas.’ Soon laughing and talking was going on all along the line.”

What began as simple conversation soon became something extraordinary. Paxton remembered how the spirit of the day overcame suspicion and fear:

 “Before long some of our boys launched a little boat and sent it across the river loaded with coffee and sugar. It came back with tobacco and pork. The trading went on for several hours. We exchanged newspapers, jokes, and compliments, and wondered how it was possible that we could be shooting at one another one day and swapping Christmas greetings the next.”

This brief, unofficial truce was never sanctioned by officers, nor did it last. Yet it lingered in memory — a reminder that even amid brutal conflict, soldiers could still recognize one another as fellow human beings on Christmas Day.

A Father’s Christmas Letter from Camp

While some soldiers experienced moments of shared peace, most spent Christmas far from home, marking the day quietly through letters. Writing home became a crucial emotional ritual — a way to maintain family bonds despite distance and danger.

On December 25, 1861, Lieutenant Andrew F. Davis wrote from Camp Wycliff, Kentucky, to his young daughters, Orrilla and Nan. Like many fathers in uniform, Davis carefully shaped his words to comfort his children while keeping the harsher realities of war at bay:

“Merry Christmas, my dear children. I hope you are having a happy day and that Santa Claus has been good to you. Although I am far away from you, I think of you very often and wish I could be at home to see you enjoy yourselves.”

Davis understood the power of familiar imagery. He described camp life in gentle terms, choosing scenes that echoed the warmth of home:

“Our tents look very pretty at night, lighted up as they are, and remind me of home. We do not have many of the comforts you have, but we make ourselves as comfortable as we can and try to keep cheerful.”

Still, the separation weighed heavily on him. Beneath the festive language was a longing shared by thousands of soldiers:

“It is hard to be away from home on Christmas Day, but I hope the time is not far distant when we shall all be together again.”

Letters like Davis’s carried the emotional burden of war, sustaining families on both ends of the page.

Four Christmases Through a Soldier’s Eyes

As the war dragged on, Christmas changed — and few sources capture that evolution more clearly than the diary of Union Corporal Henry Keiser. Serving year after year, Keiser recorded four consecutive Christmases, offering a rare longitudinal glimpse into how hope slowly gave way to fatigue.

In 1861, the war was still new, and Christmas retained much of its familiar warmth. Stationed near Alexandria, Virginia, Keiser wrote:

“Christmas Day. We rested today and had a very pleasant time. Received letters from home which made me feel much better. Took dinner with a friend and enjoyed myself very well.”

By the following year, experience had hardened expectations. On Christmas Day, 1862, his tone was starkly different:

“Christmas Day. This has been a poor Christmas. Cold weather and hard times. Received no letters today. The boys had some whiskey, but it did not make it much of a Christmas.”

In 1863, duty eclipsed celebration altogether. Keiser recorded the day with resignation rather than complaint:

“Christmas Day. On guard today. Very cold. Received a box from home with some things in it which I was glad to get. It is hard to stand guard on Christmas, but such is a soldier’s life.”

By Christmas 1864, the war had become a way of life. Keiser’s entry was brief, weary, and telling:

“Christmas Day. Spent near Petersburg. Saw some relatives for a short time. Received a letter from my wife. This is the fourth Christmas I have spent in the army.”

Across four years, Christmas shifted from celebration to endurance — a marker of time passing rather than joy regained.

A Confederate Santa Writes Home

As the war entered its final winter, hardship weighed heavily on the Confederate home front. Shortages, separation, and uncertainty shaped even the most cherished traditions. Yet parents still tried to shield their children from despair.

On December 25, 1864, Confederate Captain Benjamin Wesley Justice wrote a Christmas letter to his children while serving as a commissary officer. Writing in the voice of Santa Claus, he blended affection with honesty:

“Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to my dear children. I would be glad to bring you many presents, but Santa Claus is very poor this year. Still, I hope you will be happy and remember that you are dearly loved.”

Justice could not avoid acknowledging the true wish behind the holiday:

“Oh, how much merrier and happier it might be to us all if this cruel war was over and we could all be together again at home.”

His letter echoed a sentiment shared across the divided nation — that peace, not presents, was the greatest Christmas gift of all.

Christmas in a Nation at War

This Thomas Nast illustration published in the December 26, 1863 Harper's Weekly issue reflects the the Christmas holiday that many families longed for--a furlough to bring their loved ones home.
This Thomas Nast illustration published in the December 26, 1863 Harper’s Weekly issue reflects the the Christmas holiday that many families longed for–a furlough to bring their loved ones home.

Christmas during the Civil War was never uniform. Some soldiers experienced brief moments of peace, others stood lonely guard in bitter cold, and many marked the day only by writing home. Yet across camps, battlefields, and hearths, Christmas remained a powerful emotional anchor.

Through their own words, soldiers and families revealed what the holiday meant in wartime: remembrance of home, affirmation of love, and hope for reunion. Even amid violence and division, the spirit of Christmas endured — preserved in letters, diaries, and memories that continue to speak across generations.

For more first-hand accounts of Christmas during the Civil War, the Research Arsenal database currently has over 500 search results in the Letters Library transcriptions for the term “Christmas.”

Bibliography

American Battlefield Trust. “Christmas on the Rappahannock.”
[https://www.battlefields.org/learn/primary-sources/christmas-rappahannock]

American Battlefield Trust. “Christmas During the Civil War.”
[https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/christmas-during-civil-war]

University of Iowa Libraries. “A Civil War Christmas Letter.”
[https://blog.lib.uiowa.edu/studio/2011/12/22/a-civil-war-christmas-letter]

Wynning History. “Four Christmases of the Civil War”
[https://wynninghistory.com/2020/12/25/four-christmases-civil-war]

Emerging Civil War. “Coal from Confederate Santa: Christmas 1864”
[https://emergingcivilwar.com/2015/12/22/coal-from-confederate-santa-christmas-1864]

The Great West Point Eggnog Riot of 1826

The Great West Point Eggnog Riot of 1826

This painting depicts a rather subdued version of events of the West Point Eggnog Riot.
This painting depicts a rather subdued version of events of the West Point Eggnog Riot.

The night of December 24–25, 1826, at the United States Military Academy in West Point, New York, was anything but silent. What began as a secret Christmas Eve party fueled by smuggled whiskey and eggnog turned into an all-night brawl — a riot that involved firearms, swords, smashed furniture, and near-violence against officers. Today it’s remembered as the Eggnog Riot, one of the most bizarre episodes in early American military history.

A Tradition Meets a Ban

Painting of U.S. Military Academy superintendent Sylvanus Thayer by Robert Walter Weir
Painting of U.S. Military Academy superintendent Sylvanus Thayer by Robert Walter Weir

By the mid-1820s, West Point had grown from a rough training post into a structured military academy under Superintendent Colonel Sylvanus Thayer. Thayer, determined to instill discipline and professionalism, imposed strict rules on cadets — including a ban on alcohol. Even traditional celebrations like Christmas, where eggnog had long been a holiday staple, were expected to be alcohol-free.

The cadets weren’t having it. Eggnog was synonymous with celebration and spirits (literally), and they were determined to make their own. In the early 19th century, eggnog often contained rum, whiskey, or brandy — a tradition dating back to colonial times and enjoyed by figures like George Washington. The thought of a dry holiday drink was unacceptable to many cadets.

 Smuggling the Spirits

On December 22, cadets hatched a plan to bring liquor into the academy. A group crossed the Hudson River under cover of night to purchase whiskey at nearby taverns, bribing a guard with 35 cents to look the other way. They returned with several gallons of spirits, hidden away in the North Barracks, ready to be mixed into eggnog for a Christmas Eve celebration.

Other cadets added more rum from taverns, making sure there was plenty of alcohol to go around. What began as a covert party was quietly taking shape — but it would soon explode far beyond anyone’s expectations.

Christmas Eve Explodes into Chaos

Portrait of Brigadier General Ethan Allen Hitchcock. He served as a faculty member at West Point at the time of the Eggnog Riot in 1826. https://app.researcharsenal.com/imageSingleView/1657
Portrait of Brigadier General Ethan Allen Hitchcock. He served as a faculty member at West Point at the time of the Eggnog Riot in 1826. https://app.researcharsenal.com/imageSingleView/1657

By late evening on December 24, several groups of cadets were gathered in the North Barracks, openly drinking spiked eggnog. As midnight passed and the revelry continued, the noise level grew louder and more raucous. By about 4:00 a.m., the disturbance caught the attention of Captain Ethan Allen Hitchcock, the officer on duty.

Hitchcock climbed the stairs toward the source of the noise, only to be met with a chaotic scene. Some cadets tried to hide under blankets; others taunted him. One cadet even shouted to the crowd:

“Get your dirks and bayonets… and pistols if you have them.”

In the confusion, a pistol was fired at Hitchcock as he forced his way through a barricaded door. Fortunately, the shot struck the door frame rather than a person. Elsewhere in the barracks, Lieutenant William Thorton faced down defiant cadets, one of whom brandished a sword and another who struck him with a chunk of wood. Officers were outnumbered and outmatched as drunken cadets pushed back.

Groups of cadets began breaking windows, ripping banisters from staircases, smashing plates and cups, and essentially turning the barracks into a battlefield. Swords, muskets, and bayonets — instruments of military discipline — were now wielded in drunken chaos. What had started as a holiday party had become a full-blown riot that would only end with the sober light of dawn.

Dawn and Aftermath

When reveille sounded around 6:05 a.m. on Christmas morning, those cadets fortunate enough to be in the adjacent South Barracks awoke to contrast: one side of the campus was orderly and disciplined while the North Barracks looked like the aftermath of a skirmish zone. Broken windows, shattered furniture, and debris littered the hallways.

Officials estimated that up to 90 cadets — more than one-third of the Corps — had participated in the riot. West Point administrators faced a dilemma: punishing every participant would cripple the academy, then still in its developmental years.

In the days that followed, 22 cadets most deeply involved were placed under house arrest, and a major investigation ensued. Court-martial proceedings began in late January 1827, with 19 cadets and one enlisted soldier facing charges. In testimony that stretched for weeks, 167 witnesses were heard. Among them was future Civil War figure Robert E. Lee, who did not take part but testified on behalf of classmates.

Of those tried, all were found guilty and sentenced to dismissal, though several were spared through clemency and later graduated. Some received lesser punishments. Notably, Jefferson Davis, who had been present and intoxicated during the events, avoided trial and was released from house arrest after several weeks — possibly because he complied with orders when officers confronted him.

What It Tells Us

The Eggnog Riot is more than a humorous holiday anecdote. It reveals how youthful traditions and resistance to authority can clash spectacularly with institutional discipline. In one night, cadets turned their own barracks into a scene of destruction, tested the resolve of their superiors, and left a memorable mark on West Point’s history.

The riot also had practical implications. In rebuilding and restructuring barracks later, academy designers even incorporated changes to reduce the likelihood of large groups assembling spontaneously — an architectural consequence of that chaotic Christmas Eve.

Whether seen as cautionary or comical, the story of the Eggnog Riot underscores a timeless truth: even within strict institutions, human impulses and traditions find a way to make themselves felt — sometimes with explosive results.

For More Reading:

The First Ship Sunk by a Naval Mine: The USS Cairo

The First Ship Sunk by a Naval Mine: The USS Cairo

Photograph of the USS Cairo and crew taken sometime during 1862. https://app.researcharsenal.com/imageSingleView/68594
Photograph of the USS Cairo and crew taken sometime during 1862. https://app.researcharsenal.com/imageSingleView/68594

This week marks the 163rd anniversary of the sinking of the gunboat USS Cairo. Remarkably, a sinking with no loss of life. The Cairo also holds the distinction of being the first ship sunk by a naval mine (torpedo was the term used at the time).

The Birth of an Ironclad — USS Cairo

In 1861, as the Civil War erupted, the Union moved to exploit its control of the Mississippi River and its tributaries. Built by James Eads and Company in Mound City, Illinois, the Cairo was the lead ship of the seven-vessel “City-class” of casemate ironclads commissioned for riverine warfare. She measured 175 feet in length, drew only 6 feet of water (making her ideal for shallow rivers), and under her steam-engine and paddlewheel propulsion could manage a modest 4 knots. Manned by a crew of approximately 251 officers and enlisted men, the Cairo was designed to carry heavy armament behind thick iron armor and bring Union naval power inland.

Originally part of the Union Army’s Western Gunboat Flotilla, the Cairo was transferred to the U.S. Navy on October 1, 1862.

Wartime Service: From Forts to Rivers

Shortly after her commissioning, Cairo saw action alongside Union forces in several key operations. In February 1862, she helped occupy Clarksville and Nashville, Tennessee — crucial early moves in asserting Union control over the Tennessee River. In the spring she took part in the reduction of Fort Pillow, which fell to Union forces in early June. On June 6, 1862, Cairo joined a flotilla of Union warships in a naval battle off Memphis, Tennessee, defeating a similar Confederate flotilla and helping secure the city for the Union.

By late November 1862, the Cairo had shifted to operations along the Yazoo River as part of the Yazoo Pass Expedition — a campaign aimed at clearing the river of Confederate defenses to prepare for an attack on Haines Bluff, north of Vicksburg, Mississippi.

A Sudden End — First Ship Lost to a Naval Mine

Sketch of the ship's wreck, entitled Cairo Submerged, probably depicting the scene immediately after she was sunk by a Confederate mine in the Yazoo River, Mississippi, on 12 December 1862. Note men sitting on projecting timbers and swimming in the water nearby. Courtesy of Mrs. A. Hopkins, 1927. U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph.
Sketch of the ship’s wreck, entitled “Cairo Submerged,” probably depicting the scene immediately after she was sunk by a Confederate mine in the Yazoo River, Mississippi, on December 12, 1862. Note men sitting on projecting timbers and swimming in the water nearby. Courtesy of Mrs. A. Hopkins, 1927. U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph.

On December 12, 1862, under the command of Thomas O. Selfridge, Jr., Cairo was helping to sweep the Yazoo for underwater “torpedoes” — the term then used for what we now call naval mines. Selfridge saw another gunboat, the Marmora firing and assumed that it was under attack by Confederate sharpshooters. Selfridge ordered the Cairo forward and deployed small boats to assist the Marmora. However, the Marmora was not under attack and was firing its guns to detonate a mine it had discovered. Shortly after this maneuver an explosion rocked the Cairo. According to Ensign Walter Fentress of the Marmora, he “saw her anchor thrown up several feet into the air.”

Unfortunately, the Cairo struck an electrically detonated mine placed by Confederate forces who were hidden along the riverbank. Two explosions ripped into her hull, creating gaping breaches.

In just twelve minutes, Cairo sank into approximately 36 feet of water. Miraculously, there was no loss of life. This tragic event marked a grim milestone: the Cairo became the first armored warship in history to be sunk by a remotely detonated mine.

Lost and Forgotten — Then Rediscovered

For over a century, the Cairo lay buried beneath silt and mud at the bottom of the Yazoo River — effectively preserved by the oxygen-poor sediment.

In 1956, historian Edwin C. Bearss (alongside local historians Don Jacks and Warren Grabau) used civil-war–era maps, a magnetic compass, and crude iron probes to locate the wreck. Their efforts paid off — by 1959 divers retrieved an armored port cover that confirmed the identity of the ironclad.

Salvage operations began in earnest in 1960. Over the next several years, many artifacts were recovered: cannons, personal items, naval equipment — all preserved by the river mud. By 1964 the hull was raised (cut into three sections to prevent further disintegration) and placed on barges; eventually, the components and artifacts were transported to a shipyard in Pascagoula, Mississippi for conservation.

Resurrection as a Museum — Legacy and Public History

Photograph of the salvaged Cairo now at the USS Cairo Museum in Vicksburg, MS.
Photograph of the salvaged Cairo now at the USS Cairo Museum in Vicksburg, MS.

In 1972, Congress authorized the National Park Service (NPS) to accept ownership of the Cairo, paving the way for her restoration and display. By 1977 the restored ironclad was reassembled on a concrete foundation near the Vicksburg National Cemetery and opened to the public at Vicksburg National Military Park in Mississippi.

Visitors to the park can walk aboard the Cairo and peer into her history: inside the adjacent museum are hundreds of artifacts recovered from the wreck — personal effects of sailors, tools, weapons, even meal utensils — offering a rare, intimate window into life aboard a Civil War ironclad.

The Cairo is one of only three surviving Civil War-era gunboats, and she stands as a testament both to early industrial naval design and to the human stories of those who served in the “brown-water” navy that fought the war on America’s inland rivers.

Why USS Cairo Still Matters

The story of the USS Cairo resonates on multiple levels. As a technological artifact, she embodies a pivotal shift in naval warfare: the transition from wooden sailing ships to armored, steam-powered vessels adapted for river combat. As a casualty, she marks a grim innovation in warfare — the use of underwater mines to sink a warship. As a rediscovered relic, she provides historians and the public a tangible link to the lived reality of Civil War sailors. And as a museum, she educates and reminds us of the human cost and ingenuity of that conflict.

Standing on her deck today — surrounded by recovered artifacts and the Mississippi-river air — one can almost hear the creak of timbers, the hiss of steam, the shouted orders of anxious sailors. The Cairo remains more than a wreck: she is a bridge between past and present, a silent storyteller of courage, tragedy, and legacy.

Sources

“USS Cairo.” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Cairo.

“The USS Cairo Story.” Visit Vicksburg, https://www.visitvicksburg.com/blog/uss-cairo-story/.

“Thomas O. Selfridge, Jr. – The Life and Career of an Early American Naval Officer.” Naval Historical Foundation, https://navyhistory.org/2013/12/thomas-o-selfridge-jr.

“USS Cairo.” Naval History and Heritage Command, https://www.history.navy.mil/our-collections/photography/us-navy-ships/alphabetical-listing/c/uss-cairo0.html.

“U.S.S. Cairo Gunboat and Museum.” National Park Service, https://www.nps.gov/vick/u-s-s-cairo-gunboat.htm.

 

How to Store Historical Documents

How to Store Historical Documents

Notice how this soldier's letter has torn along the crease where it was originally folded over 150 years ago. Storing it flat and unfolded could have prevented the additional strain on the crease that caused that damage. Knowing the best way to store historical documents can make a tremendous difference in the life of a collection.
Notice how this soldier’s letter has torn along the crease where it was originally folded over 150 years ago. Storing it flat and unfolded could have prevented the additional strain on the crease that caused that damage. Knowing the best way to store historical documents can make a tremendous difference in the life of a collection.

This week while scanning some Civil War letters I ran across damage that I’ve seen all too often with old documents that have been folded. The original crease of the letter had become brittle and damaged over time to the point that it had torn nearly the entire length except for a short 2-inch section. This is something that tends to happen when documents are stored folded. It’s not necessarily from poor handling (although that certainly plays a role) it can happen just from being stored improperly. Here are a few tips on how to store historical documents that you can use in your archive to avoid similar damage.

Store Historical Documents Flat

This is a simple thing to do and it makes a huge difference in the care of documents. At first, it might seem strange to take a letter that has been folded in half for 160 years and store it unfolded. But the reason behind it is simple: the paper was produced in a flat sheet and that is position that puts the least amount of stress on it. Creases over time become tears because the crease is putting a large amount of stress on the paper fibers—eventually weakening them to the point of tearing. If you’ve ever wanted to tear a straight line on a sheet of paper, what’s the first thing you do to it? Make a crease where you want the tear to be. Doing that first weakens the paper so that when you apply stress to it, the tear will follow the crease. The same principle applies here even though you are not intentionally applying stress to the paper to tear it.

Store Historical Documents in Sleeves

This is something I’ve mentioned in previous archive posts, but I strongly recommend storing historical documents in protective sleeves. The sleeves themselves provide another layer of strength to the fragile period paper which helps prevent damage. In addition, storing a document flat in a sleeve allows both sides of the paper to be completely visible without folding/unfolding, and the sleeve protects the document from hand oils, dirt, dust, etc.

If sleeves are not viable for your collection, I would recommend using archival paper as interleaves between the historic documents. This will provide a buffer between one paper and the next, which offers some protection.

Store Historical Documents in Archival Boxes

Storing documents flat produces the least amount of stress on the papers themselves. Once the papers have been sleeved, you can place them in archival folders and those folders should fit neatly into the box. I understand that boxing everything may not be practicable for everyone, and the alternative would be to store them vertically in filing cabinets. This is something that is accepted and done by many major archives, and can be very efficient.

If you have oversized documents such as muster rolls, ledger books, newspapers, etc., I would strongly recommend storing those flat in appropriately sized boxes. If the oversized loose papers are pliable and strong enough to be rolled, they may be stored rolled using an archival tube and rolling the papers around the tube and storing them in a second tube or wrapped in archival tissue and then polyester film. This ensures that the document is not rolled too tightly causing damage.

Here you can see staff at the National Archives rolling a historic document around a tube which will then be wrapped in acetate to be protected.
Here you can see staff at the National Archives rolling a historic document around a tube which will then be wrapped in archival tissue and polyester film to be protected.

The National Archives has a great page dedicated to much of what I just discussed, including how to properly store oversized documents with tubes, here: https://www.archives.gov/preservation/family-archives/storing#page-header

No archive is perfect, and when you are working with old and fragile items, unfortunately, some deterioration is unavoidable as the very materials simply age. But, the more steps we can take to better care for our collections, the longer they will last. For other archival tips, check out previous blog posts here: https://researcharsenal.com/category/archival-and-preservation-tips/

Thanksgiving: A Civil War Call For Unity

Thanksgiving: A Civil War Call For Unity

As Americans prepare each year for a festive Thanksgiving dinner, it’s worth remembering how deeply the holiday’s modern identity was shaped by the Civil War — and by the long efforts of a single woman who lobbied tirelessly for a national day of thanks. The story of what soldiers ate in camps, and what the holiday came to symbolize, shows that Thanksgiving as we know it was born in hardship, hope, and national war.

From Regional Rites to a National Holiday — Enter Sarah Josepha Hale

Portrait of Sarah Josepha Hale, a celebrated author and editor, and the driving force behind the creation of a national holiday for giving thanks for over 30 years.
Portrait of Sarah Josepha Hale, a celebrated author and editor, and the driving force behind the creation of a national holiday for giving thanks for over 30 years.

Before the 1860s, Thanksgiving existed in many places (especially New England) — but there was no consistent national day of observance. That began to change thanks largely to Sarah Josepha Hale. Known today as the “Mother of Thanksgiving,” Hale was a prominent writer and editor (of “Godey’s Lady’s Book”), a wildly influential 19th-century magazine for women. If you haven’t heard of “Godey’s Lady’s Book” you have likely heard her short rhyme “Mary Had a Little Lamb” at one time or another. Yes, THAT “Mary Had a Little Lamb”

Beginning in the 1840s, Hale used the pages of Godey’s to argue for a national Thanksgiving holiday. She published not only essays and editorials, but poems, family stories, and even recipes — roast turkey, pumpkin pie, and other autumnal fare — to build a vision of what Thanksgiving could look like across the entire nation.

In her own words (in a letter to Lincoln dated September 28, 1863), she urged him to make Thanksgiving “a National and fixed Union Festival.” She wrote that there had been, “for some years past, an increasing interest felt in our land to have the Thanksgiving held on the same day, in all the States,” and that only a national proclamation could “secure forever the permanency and unity of our great American Festival of Thanksgiving.”

After decades of lobbying presidents (Zachary Taylor, Millard Fillmore, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan), Hale’s persistence finally paid off — but only in the midst of a bloody civil war. Thus, by the time Lincoln issued his famous 1863 Thanksgiving proclamation, the idea had been primed for decades ­— and the timing of the Civil War made it more urgent.

The 1863 Proclamation — A Nation at War Still Asked to Give Thanks

On October 3, 1863, Lincoln issued what is now considered the first “modern” national Thanksgiving proclamation. He named the last Thursday of November “a day of Thanksgiving and Praise” for the whole country.

In that proclamation, Lincoln did not ignore the reality of war. He acknowledged that the United States was in “a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity.” Yet he urged citizens — “fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those sojourning in foreign lands” — to unite in gratitude for the “blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies,” for the nation’s continuance despite trials, and for the promise of peace and restoration.

Hale’s dream of a “permanent” day of thanksgiving had become reality — at a time when unity was more fragile and more necessary than ever.

Thanksgiving on the Front Lines: Soldier Celebrations During the Civil War

But what did Thanksgiving look like for the soldiers who were living through those years of unimaginable hardship? The reality was mixed — often modest, sometimes surprisingly festive. According to a recent article in Staunton Star‑Times, many men serving in the war made do with whatever they had:

In a letter home after Thanksgiving 1861, an Illinois infantryman described his holiday meal bluntly: “hard bread” and salt pork. He added wistfully that during the day he thought of “you at home having your nice dinners,” and that he wished “maybe that you might present a plate to some of us soldiers filled with your own goodies.”

Private Zebina Bickford of the 6th Vermont Infantry, writing from camp in Virginia, joked to his family that though they got a care package — “a box of clothing and a few nicknacks consisting of eatables” — the supper might as well have been “a piece of sour bread and salt pork.” Still, he added with gratitude that “some of mother’s cookies and doughnuts” made the evening “very good Thanksgiving for us.” It would tragically be his last Thanksgiving — he died the following April.

On the other hand, not all celebrations were austere. A doctor in the 114th Ohio regiment, Asa Bean, described a November 27, 1862 “surprise party” for soldiers and nurses. The feast, by wartime standards, was rich: “roast turkey, chicken, pigeon and oysters stewed,” along with “baked chicken, boiled potatoes, turnips, apple butter and cheese butter.”

Elsewhere — at a fort in Georgia — Federal soldiers held a full “fete and festival,” with target practice, foot races, a rowing match, a greased-pole contest, even a greased-pig race, and a “burlesque dress parade.”

Some soldiers used Thanksgiving not for feasting, but for spiritual reflection and a brief escape from military discipline. On the first official nationwide Thanksgiving in 1863, a soldier in the 95th Illinois, Sewell Van Alstine, noted in his diary that he “went to town” and “heard an excellent discourse by an army chaplain at the Presbyterian Church.” He also recorded that there was “no drill today,” a welcome — however brief — respite.

In the midst of war, Thanksgiving could mean anything from a meager meal of hardtack to a modest but morale-boosting feast, or simply a moment of rest and spiritual comfort. As one soldier wrote, reflecting on donated food and treats: “it isn’t the turkey, but the idea that we care for” that mattered.

Why Lincoln’s Proclamation — and Hale’s Work — Resonated So Deeply

Given the grim backdrop of the Civil War, why would a president ask the public to give thanks? Why would soldiers bother, when hardship and danger hovered daily?

Part of the answer lies in what Hale believed: a shared Thanksgiving — celebrated on the same date across every state — could help bind a fractured nation together. She viewed the holiday as more than mere parlor-room feasts: she argued it could become a moral and social force, a “Union Festival” to remind Americans of their shared identity, their common institutions, and their bonds of home-and-country.

Lincoln’s 1863 proclamation echoed that hope. In it, he acknowledged the suffering and the war — but also invited the American people to look beyond present suffering, toward blessings still present: abundant harvests, prosperous industry, growing population — signs of resilience and promise.

For a country ripped apart through bloody battles, loss, and political division, Thanksgiving could become a moment of solidarity — a way to quietly affirm that, even amid fratricidal war, the nation still held together.

And for the soldiers, home-front, families, and the wounded, that reminder carried weight. A simple meal — or a humble pie, or tokens from home — could mean more than words of comfort; it could stand for hope, connection, and recognition that their sacrifice was seen.

What This History Teaches Us Today

When we sit down at our Thanksgiving tables — laden with turkey, pies, stuffing, casseroles — it’s easy to forget that the modern holiday was forged in a time of violence, loss, and a desperate desire for unity.

The 1863 proclamation reminds us that Thanksgiving was turned into a national institution exactly when the nation was at war with itself. It was meant, in part, to help heal — not just individual wounds, but national ones.

The modest, improvised celebrations of Civil War soldiers remind us that thanksgiving doesn’t depend on abundance. Even “hard bread and salt pork,” plus a few cookies from home, sufficed — because gratitude, at its core, is about appreciating what remains, not what’s missing.

The decades-long advocacy of Sarah Josepha Hale shows the power of persistence and conviction: a private citizen, using words and influence, helped bring a holiday into being — something that would long outlast her lifetime.

This Thanksgiving, maybe take a moment to reflect not just on what’s on your plate — but on where the holiday comes from. On the soldiers who paused for a prayer, a letter home, a simple supper. On a woman who believed a shared day of gratitude could bind together a fractured country. On a president who — in the darkest days of war — still called for hope, unity, and thanksgiving.

Bibliography

Image from Harper's Weekly depicting President Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation in 1864. The proclamation was issued on October 3, 1863, making the Thanksgiving of 1863 the first official national celebration of the holiday.
Image from Harper’s Weekly depicting President Lincoln’s Thanksgiving Proclamation in 1864. The proclamation was issued on October 3, 1863, making the Thanksgiving of 1863 the first official national celebration of the holiday.

For more primary source reading on Thanksgiving, visit the Research Arsenal Civil War database and search for the keyword “Thanksgiving” in a library of your choice. There are 200 letters currently on file that have “Thanksgiving” in the transcriptions.

Battlefields.org. “Abraham Lincoln’s Proclamation of Thanksgiving.” American Battlefield Trust. Accessed 2025.
https://www.battlefields.org/learn/primary-sources/abraham-lincolns-proclamation-thanksgiving.

Staunton Star-Times. “Thanksgiving on the Front Lines: How Civil War Soldiers Celebrated the Holiday.” Staunton Star-Times, November 19, 2025.
https://www.stauntonstartimes.com/story/2025/11/19/opinion/thanksgiving-on-the-front-lines-how-civil-war-soldiers-celebrated-the-holiday/7021.html.

National Park Service (NPS). “Lincoln and Thanksgiving.” Lincoln Home National Historic Site. Accessed 2025.
https://www.nps.gov/liho/learn/historyculture/lincoln-and-thanksgiving.htm.

Hudson Institute. “Giving Thanks: Sarah Josepha Hale.” Accessed 2025.
https://www.hudson.org/domestic-policy/giving-thanks-sarah-josepha-hale.

History.com Editors. “Abraham Lincoln and the Mother of Thanksgiving.” History.com. Accessed 2025.
https://www.history.com/articles/abraham-lincoln-and-the-mother-of-thanksgiving.

WomensHistory.org. “Sarah Josepha Hale.” National Women’s History Museum. Accessed 2025.
https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/sarah-hale.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac. “Sarah Josepha Hale: The Godmother of Thanksgiving.” Accessed 2025.
https://www.almanac.com/sarah-josepha-hale-godmother-thanksgiving.

Library of Congress Blog. “The Woman Who Helped Put Thanksgiving on the Calendar.” Library of Congress, 2024.
https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2024/11/the-woman-who-helped-put-thanksgiving-on-the-calendar/.

Grant Camp Historical Society. “Hardscrabble.” PDF. Accessed 2025.
https://www.grantcamp.org/uploads/8/2/4/6/82468692/hardscrabble1115.pdf.

Angry Archivist: Newspaper Bookmarks

Angry Archivist: Newspaper Bookmarks

Here is one of the first newspaper bookmarks we found in this Civil War clothing ledger. You can see more scraps of newspaper further into the book. Our angry archivist was not happy to find these....
Here is one of the first newspaper bookmarks we found in this Civil War clothing ledger. You can see more scraps of newspaper further into the book. Our angry archivist was not happy to find these….

This week, we were scanning new material to add to our Research Arsenal database. This is always fun because you never know what historic gems you might uncover while you’re digitizing, but in this case we found a new archival faux pas that we’re passing on to our readers–newspaper bookmarks.

We’re probably all guilty of this at one point or another in our lives. You’re reading a book and want to save the page, so you stick a piece of paper in it to mark it. No big deal, right? Well, it is if the piece of paper you place in the book is acidic and you leave it there for nearly 50 years.

Here is an example of the yellowed acidic discoloring left behind on the original Civil War document from the 1974 newspaper clipping. The longer the acidic paper sits there the more pronounced the damage will be.
Here is an example of the yellowed acidic discoloring left behind on the original Civil War document from the 1974 newspaper clipping. The longer the acidic paper sits there the more pronounced the damage will be.

While scanning some clothing ledger books we discovered several pages in each book “marked” by a scrap of newspaper. Luckily, one of the scraps had the publication date on it, so we know that these have probably been in the ledgers since close to that date—January 27, 1974.

Yellowed paper is a classic sign of acidity and as you can see, these torn newspaper pieces are pretty yellow. All that acid has been sitting in these books for nearly 50 years discoloring the original Civil War era pages.

This is a good reminder for any well-meaning researcher who marks pages this way, not to do that. You may mean to go back and remove those markers, but what happens when you don’t and they lie forgotten for decades? The same applies for sellers of Civil War era books and diaries who like to mark significant pages with scraps of paper (or worse, post-it notes). Please don’t do this! If you ever purchase a diary or book, please go through it and make sure that there are not things like this squirreled away inside your books damaging them.

If you do have to save pages and need to use markers, please use archival paper so that it does not damage the book’s pages. Archival paper is easy to find nowadays; you can even find it in 8.5 x 11-inch sheets at Walmart very inexpensively.

Please do not use newspapers as bookmarks! Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

The 1st Minnesota Infantry: Courage Beyond Measure

The 1st Minnesota Infantry: Courage Beyond Measure

The following is a short summary of the regimental history of the 1st Minnesota Infantry as published as History of the First Regiment Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, 1861–1864 in 1916. The 1st Minnesota Infantry is one of the regiments on the Research Arsenal database that we have their service record from the National Archives digitized and available for research. This includes their Regimental Descriptive and Casualty Book, Consolidated Morning Report and Order Book, as well as company specific Descriptive Books and Morning Reports. To browse through these records (or all of the Records Group 94 records added to our database), simply click on “Search NARA Records” on the homepage, then select “RG 94” as the call number.

From Frontier State to the Front Lines

In April 1861, when the call for troops went out, the new state of Minnesota was scarcely three years old. Yet within days, it had organized the first regiment to answer President Lincoln’s call for volunteers. The book’s preface proudly recalls:

“The First Minnesota was among the very first to offer its services to the Government… before even the ink was dry upon the President’s proclamation.”

The men who joined came from farms, small towns, and lumber camps—a rough mix of frontier settlers and immigrants bound by the idea of preserving the Union. They would soon find themselves on a journey from the Mississippi’s upper reaches to the blood-soaked fields of Virginia and Maryland.

Early Engagements: Baptism of Fire

Their first great test came at the First Battle of Bull Run. While many regiments broke under the confusion and carnage of that July day, the 1st Minnesota “stood firm where others fled.” As one officer later wrote,

“We were green soldiers, but we stood our ground until ordered away; our regiment did not run.”

That reputation for steadfastness would follow them throughout the war. Yet the early months also brought disease, poor rations, and weary marches. The men learned quickly that glory in war was often “measured in mud, hunger, and sleepless nights.”

The Maryland Campaign and the Field of Antietam

By the fall of 1862, the regiment marched with the Army of the Potomac into Maryland. At Antietam, they fought in the Cornfield—an inferno of musketry and artillery that claimed thousands of lives. One soldier recalled the terror and chaos:

“We went in at a run. Men were falling fast, but no one stopped. The air seemed alive with bullets; yet somehow we pressed on, loading and firing until the barrels burned our hands.”

The book recounts that after the smoke cleared, the regiment had suffered grievously but held its ground. For many, the experience at Antietam marked the end of innocence and the beginning of grim endurance.

The Crucible: Gettysburg, July 2 1863

Painting of the 1st Minnesota Infantry at the Battle of Gettysburg. Painted by Rufus Zogbaum in 1907. It is currently on display in the Minnesota State Capitol building.
Painting of the 1st Minnesota Infantry at the Battle of Gettysburg. Painted by Rufus Zogbaum in 1907. It is currently on display in the Minnesota State Capitol building.

The regiment’s defining moment came at Gettysburg. When a gap opened in the Union line on Cemetery Ridge, General Hancock ordered the 1st Minnesota to charge a vastly superior Confederate force. The regimental historian writes:

“There was no time for hesitation, no hope of retreat. The First Minnesota went forward as if on parade.”

Of the 262 men who made that charge, only 47 stood unhurt afterward. Captain Colvill, who led the charge, was found wounded and barely conscious amid the dead and dying. A survivor recalled:

“The order came — we fixed bayonets and went forward. I saw men drop on either side; I felt something tear my sleeve and knew it was a bullet. Still we went on. We drove them back, but at what cost.”

General Hancock himself later said of the charge:

“There is no more gallant deed recorded in history.”

Voices of the Regiment

Beyond the statistics and official reports, History of the First Regiment Minnesota Volunteer Infantry preserves the soldiers’ own voices — letters and recollections that reveal courage, humor, and heartbreak.

From a letter written after Antietam:

“Our company has been reduced to a handful. I have lost many friends, and it seems strange to eat and sleep beside their graves. Yet we are proud — we did not give an inch of ground.”

From another soldier describing winter quarters:

“We live in little log huts chinked with mud, smoke pouring through the cracks. Still, we make the best of it — a fiddle and a song go a long way toward keeping men cheerful.”

And after Gettysburg, one survivor wrote home:

“Our regiment has been nearly destroyed, but we are content. We did our duty. Tell mother that if I do not come home, she may know I fell where I ought.”

These letters give the regiment its soul and humanity; ordinary men enduring extraordinary trials, with an unshakable sense of purpose.

Aftermath and Legacy

Following Gettysburg, the regiment’s numbers were replenished, but it would never again be the same. The survivors carried their memories through the campaigns of 1864 and into the war’s final year. When the regiment finally mustered out in May 1864, the historian wrote:

“They returned not as they went — the flush of youth had given way to the calm of endurance. The First Minnesota had written its record in blood and honor.”

Today, their memorial stands at Gettysburg, overlooking the field they charged across in 1863. It bears a simple inscription:

“In memory of the men of the First Minnesota who gave their lives that the nation might live.”

Final Thoughts

The 1st Minnesota Infantry stands as one of the Civil War’s most inspiring examples of courage under fire. Their history, recorded in the regiment’s own book, is more than a chronicle of battles; it’s a testament to endurance, loyalty, and the unyielding spirit of men who believed in something greater than themselves.

“When the call came they were ready; when the hour struck they advanced; and when the victory hinged, they held the line with their lives.”

Their story still speaks — across the generations — reminding us that honor, once earned, does not fade.

Sources

History of the First Regiment Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, 1861–1864. (Antietam Institute, Historical Research Center Collection). Full PDF here.

Painting and more information on the 1st Minnesota Infantry: Minnesota Historical Society. Article link here.

The 2nd Delaware Infantry Through Robert G. Smith’s Eyes

The 2nd Delaware Infantry Through Robert G. Smith’s Eyes

Whenever I am looking for information on a regiment, I especially seek out any period written histories or histories written by veterans after the war. A Brief Account of the Services Rendered by the Second Regiment Delaware Volunteers in the War of the Rebellion written by Robert G. Smith (1909) is one of those books. Smith served in the 2nd Delaware Infantry as a 2nd Lieutenant in Company A. He was slightly wounded during the Battle of Gettysburg and was eventually discharged later that year in November. The following is a brief summary of the regiment’s service during the war based on Smith’s book.

A Modest Beginning, a Proud Record

In the early summer of 1861, Delaware answered President Lincoln’s call, and the state’s second infantry regiment began to form. As Smith notes, the regiment was “the first body of volunteer infantry in the State to form under the call for three years’ men.” The men rallied in Wilmington and across the state; some companies even reached beyond into Philadelphia and Maryland to recruit devoted Unionists.

The 2nd Delaware mustered into federal service between June and October 1861, committing to a three-year term. From the start, soldiers of the regiment faced the steady tension between civilian life and martial duty.

Early Service: Garrison Duty, Transfer to the Field

After organization, the regiment spent months on garrison duty in Baltimore, Maryland. This period, though less dramatic than pitched battle, was crucial for discipline, training, and acclimatization to military life. Smith records that these initial months were spent “without great incident,” but helped mold the regiment into a fighting unit.

In mid-1862, the 2nd Delaware was ordered to join the Army of the Potomac for the Peninsula Campaign and the subsequent Seven Days’ Battles. It would be in this crucible that the regiment earned both scars and renown.

Into the Fray: Seven Days, Antietam, Fredericksburg

DELAWARE2nd DELAWARE VOLUNTEERS CAPT. DAVID L. STRICKER 3rd BRIGADE, 1st DIVISION, II CORPS This regiment of Richardson's reserve brigade crossed Antietam Creek. Advanced with division and came under heavy artillery fire while holding position immediately beyond crest of the ridge. It moved to right and helped repulse counterattack in gap between French and Richardson's divisions. In final assault on Bloody Lane, the regiment crossed here and took possession of Piper Farm buildings until ordered to retire. LOSSES OFFICERS MEN Killed 12 Wounded 2 Missing 2 Total 58
This monument stands at Antietam and reads: DELAWARE
2nd DELAWARE VOLUNTEERS
CAPT. DAVID L. STRICKER
3rd BRIGADE, 1st DIVISION, II CORPS
This regiment of Richardson’s reserve brigade crossed Antietam Creek. Advanced with division and came under heavy artillery fire while holding position immediately beyond crest of the ridge. It moved to right and helped repulse counterattack in gap between French and Richardson’s divisions. In final assault on Bloody Lane, the regiment crossed here and took possession of Piper Farm buildings until ordered to retire.
LOSSES
OFFICERS MEN
Killed 12
Wounded 2
Missing 2
Total 58

 

 

During the Seven Days before Richmond, the regiment was engaged in several hard fights: Savage Station, Gaines’s Mill, White Oak Swamp, Glendale, and Malvern Hill. In the aftermath, the 2nd Delaware had earned hard lessons in maneuver, command stress, and casualties.

At Antietam, the regiment took its share of fire. The battle remains one of the bloodiest single days in American history, and Delaware’s volunteers were hardly spared.

In December 1862, the regiment faced the bitter cold and carnage of Fredericksburg. Though it was not in the main storming columns, its presence before Marye’s Heights and in reserve still confronted the grim realities of war.

Smith’s account, though compact, honors the steady persistence of the regiment: “no regiment of its size in the service performed greater service by its steady discipline and endurance under fire.”

1863: Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and Endurance

Illustration of the 2nd Delaware Infantry during the fighting in the Wheatfield of the Battle of Gettysburg
Illustration of the 2nd Delaware Infantry during the fighting in the Wheatfield of the Battle of Gettysburg

The year 1863 brought repeated tests. At Chancellorsville, the Delaware men were caught in the ebb and flow of Jackson’s flank assault and Hooker’s offensive. They held lines, withdrew in order, and endured. Their steady professionalism drew positive mention in Smith’s narrative.

But their most famous hour came at Gettysburg in July 1863. The 2nd Delaware was positioned near the center of the Union line. When senior officers fell, command fell to junior officers. Smith writes of the moment with pride:

“When their leaders were disabled the men of the regiment held together and did their full duty.” In fact, Captain Charles H. Christman took command after Colonel Baily and Lieutenant Colonel Strickler were disabled, and kept the regiment fighting. Their monument at Gettysburg now commemorates that tenacity.

After Gettysburg, the 2nd Delaware marched, refitted, and remained active in the Bristoe and Mine Run campaigns. Though perhaps overshadowed by larger units, they were consistent, dependable, and often in the thick of things.

1864 and Final Campaigns

In 1864, the Union war machine shifted into high gear under Grant’s Overland Campaign. The 2nd Delaware advanced into the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, and ultimately took part in early operations around Petersburg. Their experience was hard-earned: continual marching, skirmishing, entrenching, and sustaining losses.

At Spotsylvania Court House, in the area known as the “Mule Shoe,” the regiment was caught in fierce fighting. One account in Smith’s history reflects on the strain of those days:

“The constant strain upon both body and mind was greater than men could well endure without suffering.”

By summer 1864, the regiment’s term of service was nearing its end. On July 1, 1864, the 2nd Delaware was mustered out. Veterans and recruits were consolidated into the 1st Delaware Infantry.

Smith, in closing, remarks that the Delaware men left behind a “record which their state may proudly claim.”

Legacy and Reflections

Though compact in its published form, Smith’s Brief Account offers more than a roster or order-of-battle. It reflects a belief in duty, in small regiments doing steady work over glory. The repeated references to discipline, endurance, and quiet courage suggest that the 2nd Delaware’s character was built less on flamboyance and more on consistency under pressure.

Over its nearly three-year service, the regiment participated in many of the pivotal eastern campaigns of the war — the Peninsula, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and the Overland Campaign.

In many respects, the 2nd Delaware typifies the story of many small northern state regiments: fewer thousands than the great regiments from New York or Pennsylvania, but responding with equal heart to the nation’s call. In Smith’s words, they performed “greater service by its steady discipline and endurance under fire” than many might suspect.

In placing their modest history on the record, Smith gives us not only names and dates, but a window into the lived experience — the quiet resolve of men from Wilmington, New Castle, Elkton, Philadelphia — who marched into war, held in battle, and marched home changed.

The 2nd Delaware Infantry is one of the regiments on the Research Arsenal database that we have their service record from the National Archives digitized and available for research. This includes their Regimental Descriptive Book, Consolidated Morning Reports, and Roster of Commissioned Officers, and Roster of Non-Commissioned Officers and Staff, Clothing Book for Company I, and Descriptive and Morning Reports for Company I. To browse through these records (or all of the Records Group 94 records added to our database), simply click on “Search NARA Records” on the homepage, then select “RG 94” as the call number.

Angry Archivist: Disappointments of the Week

Angry Archivist: Disappointments of the Week

This week, we spent a day scanning and cataloging new material for the database, and unfortunately, I found some Angry Archivist disappointments. I thought I’d share them here in the hope that it might discourage folks from doing things like this in the future and also offer some alternatives. I only ended up scanning 40 or 50 documents and found too many things to be angry about in such a small bundle of papers! Ha ha.

Ballpoint Pen

Here you can see someone made a notation of "Box 80" on this original Civil War document with ballpoint pen. Obviously, this is not a period notation, and likely the work of a collector or an untrained librarian/archivist, at some point in the document's history. Unfortunately, once something like this is done to a historic document, it cannot be reversed.
Here you can see someone made a notation of “Box 80” on this original Civil War document with ballpoint pen. Obviously, this is not a period notation, and likely the work of a collector or an untrained librarian/archivist, at some point in the document’s history. Unfortunately, once something like this is done to a historic document, it cannot be reversed.

Hello, it’s me again…ballpoint pen, your old nemesis. I know we’ve already had a couple of blog posts about writing on historic documents with ballpoint pens, but here we are again. Honestly, this is one of the most common things I find in dealing with historic documents (the second most common is the next section) and I know that it is not done maliciously, but please, NEVER write on historic documents with ballpoint pen—or any pen for that matter. ALWAYS use pencil because it can be reversed. Any time something original is written on with permanent ink, it damages it. Period. And there is no reason to write on any of these papers with permanent ink. Whether it’s tracing old letters to make them “more legible” or writing notes on them, there is just no reason for it at all, so don’t do it.

Tape

Here you can see this oversized muster roll has been unfolded and laid flat within a protective sleeve. You can see the yellow stains from tape and it is easy to see the wear patterns on the document along the folds. This is why it is best to store documents flat.
Here you can see this oversized muster roll has been unfolded and laid flat within a protective sleeve. You can see the yellow stains from tape and it is easy to see the wear patterns on the document along the folds. This is why it is best to store documents flat.

This is the second most common issue I find with historic documents. They are old, they fall apart, so people tape them. Again, please DO NOT tape historic papers. I know they are falling apart, it’s okay. It’s better to have them fall apart than put Scotch tape all over them. Here you can see a Civil War muster roll that is falling apart so it was taped back together, and the tape has discolored and damaged the paper.

Now, if you have a letter, or a muster roll that is falling apart there are a couple of important things to consider. The first: I would be willing to bet you that it is falling apart where the creases are in the document. Again, look at this muster roll and you will see that it is tearing all along the lines of the folds. This leads to another important archival tip: Do not store historic documents folded.

You’ll notice that the muster roll in the photo is now completely flat and stored in an oversized sleeve. That sleeve with the muster roll is currently stored in a large archival box so it can remain flat. There is no more stress on those creases and folds, so it will not continue to fall apart on those seams. If you have letters or other documents that are folded, invest in some sleeves that you can store them in flatly. That will ensure that they do not continue to fall apart.

Tape Part 2

Two pieces of rolled up Scotch tape on the back of this historic document were stuck together when it was folded in half. It discolored the original paper and also left behind a sticky residue.
Two pieces of rolled up Scotch tape on the back of this historic document were stuck together when it was folded in half. It discolored the original paper and also left behind a sticky residue.

This is a second example of tape that was used on a historic document. Someone took pieces of Scotch tape, rolled them up, and stuck them to the back of the document in each of the four corners so that they could mount it to something. Likely, to the inside of a frame to stop the document from sliding. Then, after some time, the document was removed from the frame, folded in half (which we just learned is bad) and sold. Now the tape has caused the document to stick to itself.

Before I could scan it, I had to very, very slowly peel the tape from the paper. And as I am doing that ever so gingerly, I can see it has discolored the paper. There is no avoiding that. And some of it is still stuck to the paper and needs to be professionally removed by a conservator in order to be fixed. Conservators are very expensive (more expensive than that paper is worth), so now the document has been permanently damaged just because someone didn’t want it sliding in a frame (which probably wasn’t UV safe either so that faded the document) and put tape on it.

Adhesives of any kind—tape, glue, or sticky labels—have NO business on anything historic. Period. I also peeled off a sticky label from seller on a historic photograph this week that took part of the velvet lining in the case off with it. Just don’t do it. Ask yourself if what you want to do is something you’ve seen in a museum. Do you see museum staff tape papers back together? Do you see museums tape historic documents to walls? Do you see museums put sticky informational labels on their artifacts in exhibits? No, you don’t. And if you do, then chances are the person making those exhibits is not actually a trained museum professional. (Small museums with untrained staff is a whole other discussion in itself.)

Folks, if you recognize yourself in any of these examples, please stop. As I’ve mentioned before, when you are a collector or seller of anything historical, you do not own the item in question. You are its caretaker. The goal is to have the item live on beyond you for many years to come, not wither under your care. Please be mindful of simple “quick fixes” using tape or ballpoint pens. And please consider how your items are stored. I know many collectors invest a considerable amount of money into acquiring the items in their collections, please invest the same into caring for them. Leave them better than you found them, or at least no worse off. It breaks my heart to see so many things damaged in this way.

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