Museum Quality Americana
Chaplain John H. Van Ingen of the 8th New York Cavalry writes a graphic ten page description of the carnage and destruction in the federally occupied city of Fredericksburg, Virginia. He describes the desecration of a church burial ground, inside the pews broken up and bones scattered. In town every other house a hospital “the furniture in the streets and soldiers sitting in rocking chairs in the mud – their caps adorned with the contents of milliner’s shops… the inhabitants all gone.” Entering another church “the soldiers were staving up the pews with axes and tossing out the fragments and curses to clear the floor for the mangled bodies of the soldiers.” “All around me soldiers were trying to pack into their knapsacks useless plunder to carry to homes they will never see.” “This scheme and management of the massacre of our poor soldiers come from Washington – our soldiers in the field disown all responsibility for it… the politicians have ruined our country.” The letter is easily read in dark ink. It is a letter from a dedicated chaplain whose patriotism and colorful writing style makes a lasting impression.
Oh! The Holly grows green Such things all disjointed like the scene and times, bubbled up with the tears, dear Goodie, as alone for hours I rode in the balmy air and sweet sunshine of Sunday, through the deadly stillness and solitude of yes: today - while cannon boomed in the distance, and I had had certain information from horsemen who passed me, of the fearful carnage I was on the way to witness and the pale anxiety of the people in whose houses I had been for brothers and sons in the Southern Army, about whose fate they trembled. All were praying that the war might cease. Your loving husband - wiser but oh how much sadder! Why should I harrow your feelings with description of the wounded? Pray - Pray for peace - and settling of civil strife, by deliberation in council -
# L8
Transcript:
Office Gen. Patrick
Burnside Head Qro.
Near Fredkbgh., Dec. 15, 1862
Monday 11 A.M.
My own dear Goodie,
I have volumes to write to you from a bruised heart. On Thursday, I saw the battle from here - Friday in camp 9 miles off, wrote to you and Mr. Palmer fully - Saturday I heard at waking the tremendous fight - 9 miles off and set out 20 miles to the fighting part of my regt., down on the Rappahaunock, 23 miles below Fredericksburg - in King George’s County in picketing as I wrote to you. Sunday morning the regt. all scattered. I came to ours up alone through byways along the river, to Fredkbgh. at Lamb’s creek, in a sweet spot in a grove, I found a grand old church burial ground - campfires under the trees had left their ashes and branches - bones - pieces of refuse meat, and a flock of crows had taken the place of the soldiers - and took noisy flight. I entered the venerable building - what a sight! The floor of stone tile - covered with litter, straw, branches, broken victuals - filth! The pews (large and square) broken, the chancels filled with straw, and the dish of broken bones and meat! I looked up - and there was the Lord’s Prayer in the courts and the creed, in oldest venerable letters on tablets - You will not wonder, that with streaming eyes and sobs, I rehearsed aloud the holy record - Thy Kingdom come!! Shall man’s Kingdom come again till that prayer is prayed and lived out by us? - While we pull it down and trample its sanctuaries. Never! Never! I shall never forget that how alone in God’s dishonored temple! Did not my heart go back to the scene of its consecration and to the Saints, whose prayers had ascended around that communion table?
In the yard was a beautiful Holly - perfect in form, bushy and round about 12 feet high.
in the southern wood
And the red berries blush
between
Oh, the Holly grows green
in the church yard grove,
But the teardrop falls unseen:
Oh! Willie -
Dear Willie -
The teardrop falls
By the church walls-
For the cannon roars between
I must go now - I cannot describe what I saw in Fredericksburg. Every other house a hospital - the furniture in the streets and soldiers sitting in rocking chairs in the mud - their caps adorned with the contents of milliner’s shops - one carrying a handsome server, to eat off of - another a gilternet stand - another a piece of Brussels carpet - a lot of Germany warning themselves in a hot day at the stone quarry of my old friend Barton in his law office, like Mr. Mygath, the fuel being his private paper and account book! The inhabitants all gone - and gone to add fury to the passions of the enemy. I entered a states church, surrounded by trees and a noble iron fence. The Soldiers were staving up the pews with axes and tossing out the fragments and curses, to clear the floor for the mangled bodies of the Soldiers! I turned away heartsick. On the steps of a bank - a noble building - I sat down to rest - all around me soldiers were trying to pack into their knapsacks useless plunder to carry to homes they will never see. A voice called “Why doctor! I’m glad to see you!” It was young Al Cott - nephew of White formed Dana and White. I had not had my breakfast. He soon produced a piece of muslin containing a chunk of pork ½ boiled - and a lot of broken hard tack - a jar of pickles (mango) and a bottle of Madeira wine. And I made a hearty meal with a jack knife.
I found Gen. Sully with Capt. Fanell - Then Col. Palmer in the little home of a muletto: With surgeons and officers crowded in a bedroom. We had prayers together - I mounted my horse - the sun was setting – and shells flying over the town, recrossed the river - and rode 9 miles to camp of the sick of our regt.- through the mud and darkness. The hospital steward gave me a cot and pillows - and for the first time in a month I undressed and slept in a bed. I am here now and going over to Fredkbgh to the wounded.
God bless you all. There are letters for me somewhere in the regt.. I don’t want to leave here now - you may suppose.
The scheme and management of the massacre of our poor soldiers come from Washington - our Soldiers in the field disown all responsibility for it.
If Gen. McClellan could appear here today, with unrestricted authority - the air would be pent with shouting and the army doubled in strength, all in despondency and want of confidence. The politicians have ruined our country.
J.V. VanIngen
Can you find the contract from my letter to B. P. Anderson at the outset of the war? I value that above all. I wish I could read it today.
