These letters were written by Hiram Page Teed (1833-1923), the son of farmer and postmaster Lebbeus Lathrop Teed (1810-1899) and Letitia Page (1810-1876) of Tompkins, Delaware county, New York.
Hiram enlisted as a private in Co. A, 144th New York Infantry on 27 September 1862 at Tompkins, New York. The Regiment assisted in the defense of Washington D. C. until April 1863 when they were relocated to the Department of Virginia and assigned to Gurney’s Division in the defense of Suffolk during Longstreet’s siege of that place. In May, they were placed in Gordon’s Division of the VII Corps at West Point, where the Pamunky and Mattapony Rivers merge to form the York River. It was while encamped at West Point when the following letter was penned. Hiram survived the war and was mustered out with the regiment on 15 June 1865.
Hiram wrote the letters to his wife, Elizabeth (“Libby”) G. Wakeman Teed (1831-1918), the daughter of Jabez Jennings Wakeman (1793-1884) and Polly E. Butler (1801-1889) of Delaware county, New York.
Hiram had a younger brother named Elanson “Knapp” Teed (1843-1912) who mustered into Co. B, 51st New York Infantry in September 1861 and re-enlisted in December 1863. He was promoted to Corporal in March 1864, and to Sergt. in September 1864. He was taken prisoner at Poplar Grove Church, Va. on 30 September 1864 and survived the ordeals of Confederate prisons before mustering out on 25 July 1865.
Letter 1
[Editor’s Note: The following letter was kindly transcribed by Abbey Weber Jones.]
Camp near Clouds Mills, [Virginia]
February 28, 1863
My dear wife,
I received 4 letters last night—two from you & Pa’s & one from [ ]. I am well as common. Knapp Alexis wrote [that he] had arrived safe & well at his destination. One of your letters, 17th—the one mailed at Walton, [I] did not get until last night. We have passed through our monthly muster for pay & they say we will be paid again by the 10th of next month. But one thing is strange. You have never mentioned (I suppose on account of your troubles), having received my letters of the 9th & 10th—the first containing a $5 treasury note & the latter my monthly allotment of $10 (check). I do wish you would think & write me about it on receipt of this. I got that letter you mentioned about Dan’s letter to G. that Frank read in the [ ].
You wrote of having $25 in cash but that is nothing to do with my pay here. I have confidence in you that you will make a good economical use of my or your money & what I send you. I want you to do as you like with it, but your $25 cash would barely carry you here & back. If I was a woman traveling alone, I should want about twice that for the going from there, here and back again—$35 or 40 at least. But I love you too well to dictate to you anymore about anything. The letters you have received by this time today will tell you how dearly I love my dear Libby. Wish I could be there with her today, but I fear it will be a long time ‘ere I can see her—if ever.
You do not appear to understand my writing. When I spoke of selling the place, I did not intend you for the patriotic fool, speaking of myself. But I can trust you for all [ ] it appears since I enlisted than you could or did me, until it became necessary to let it out. And then you are quite independent (wish I was). Some things—or one especially—you won’t give up for anybody. Well, do not think me scolding you. I never meant to. But that is [ ] you had better tell me a thing in the time of it, eh! (apropos) What was it she told about me & H? Do tell me if you can trust me, love. I could you if you were here—hand, heart & everything else. If you were here, I think you would find me a willing, loving husband & do your pleasure. Funny you & Mrs. [A.] should kinder fall out with the dear infallible woman. How could you? If you think I am mischievous, a tantalizing, you may pay her when you see me, but I’m to sleep a [mes____] me in the deep pleasures of love drawn for a lure of true purity & love, the fountain of your deep loving nature. Yes, dear one, you can use me as you like. I will be your very submissive husband.
O! You will think me silly, won’t you love. Forgive me. But we could enjoy ourselves in love as we never did before. Dear one, I do hope I can see you once more. I hope I can [ ] about that B___ [BABY?] affair. I suppose from what you have written me, such a thing would be a desideratum. I thought if you would like it, I would of course. I think different than I used to. But your ardent loving desire has won me over to your love & anything that you would like in that (line) respect, suits me perfectly dear one. And then if I never should come back, would you rather or not have such a little remembrance of your naughty [ ]. — Hi [Hiram]
So, now write me plainly, will you not my sweet loving Libby?
Love, I must keep on writing you, but I fear I have written you too much—too much bad news. The week I sent you the money, I think there were 7 letters due you [ ] one a day, I think. I guess I will write after this only as fast as you write me. You wrote me about Mary. I am so sorry she takes that course. You had a right to take her as you did—for her good & your company—and you would have done better, perhaps, at [ ] stopped or prevented talk there for I’ve heard not a word here yet to have had a [ ] to [ ] chores & went to school. But dear one, you have done very well I think & I love you more—yes, more, than I ever did. I do love you, dear Libbie. As for [G], he is now really bad off with the rheumatism. Can hardly get out the tent. Has lain on his back most of the time since he has been in this camp & the doctors of this regiment are really too bad, [&] will not send him to the hospital one mile off (Fairfax Sem[inary]) where he could be in nice quarters & well cared for. Three of our company are there and if I was taken sick here, I should want to be sent there & then I would send for you if I could. It is only about four miles from and in sight of Alexandria. A[lexandria] is eight miles from the Capitol. A boat runs every hour from the city to A[lexandria]. We are about three miles from the latter place so if you send a box, direct it to Alexandria. I can get to that place much easier than I can to Washington.
But I expect to go to the city (Washington) next Monday. Mr. Smith the man—I knew him before he came here—that assists the chaplain in the regiment P. O. was in Washington the first of this week & accidentally came across Uncle James—not E Sheper but Eld. Jack [?]—there. He had been there some time—a month or so, expects a chaplaincy in a hospital, & he sent word to have me meet him some day there. He wanted to see me & I guess I shall go Monday, & if I do, I will tell you all about it. As for G & me, we have not had a word about those things you wrote about. Have kept on as good terms as usual. The last place I should want to quarrel in camp [is] with my own tent mate. A letter a day or two ago he got appeared to perplex him. He said someone on the creek had been telling a lot of stuff or news about this or that he had been writing to Mary Cuile. I guess we all will live through this gossip, but you must write me all the news when you write.
If you love & can trust me once more, I am willing to—when I see you—tell you all my bad acts that I committed in my absence from loved one. Yes, my dear pet, you can bring me to a strict account for all my actions. You can hug & kiss me, caress or fondle (What a dunce I am) with me as much as you please—only tell me all your love and desires for me. I hope you are not afraid of me, are you! I do love you dearly I do. I get so lonely or home & love sick for your love & dear me, I will pay you with interest my lover, for you when I do see you, don’t you believe me dear one. My sweet loving Libbie.
I do not know how long we may stay here. Our Capt. said yesterday that we should stay until May and perhaps we may. We are in the Department of Washington—a certain district of territory extending on both sides of the Potomac especially for the defense of the Capital. Gen. Heintzelman’s Corp. [We are] not in the Army of the Potomac [or] Hooker’s Grand Army of the Rappahannock. I do hope this huge rebellion will soon & suddenly collapse. If it does not within the next spring or summer months at most, I’ve but little hope of seeing the end of this cruel war or home much—if I should survive—before the end of my enlistment. Dear me, I do not want to winter here again in Dixie surrounded with war and desolation. Kiss me love.
About selling the place, Pa don’t want me to sell it. I would not be obliged to go away if you did sell it if you could make a good sale. You can do as you like about selling the steers. If the war should close this coming spring, or the fighting be done up, & if kind Providence spares my poor life, I do not expect to be released from Uncle Sam before the latter part of the year & maybe not then. I feel sorry for you, my sweet loved one—this separation, O dear, and then for Pa. I do wish Knapp could have been discharged & stayed & helped him; he has so much to do. Pray for me, my dear wife, my own love Libbie. Ever dear one, Oh how long must we be apart. But I will try & keep good courage. From your affectionate husband Libby, Hi [Hiram]
Letter 2
[Note: This letter is from the personal collection of Jim Doncaster and was published by express consent. The header image is a sketch of the defenses at West Point, Virginia, by John Emery Morris of the 22nd Conn. Vols. He shows the camp their camp next to the 141st New York Vols, which also were briefly at West Point in May 1863.]
Camp of West Point, Va.
Sabbath morning, May 10, 1863
My dear child,
This morning I got the first letter that I have received in ten days—only one from you, my dear, one from H[anson Teed], and the other from [Fanny] Irene [Teed] & Ma with knife enclosed although I have three or four letters and one written yesterday enclosing $2 for which I want to pay for stamps which I have had & I want some more now for I am out of the article.
I am in usual health. A beautiful day. Forgive [me] for writing [on] Sunday but I expect to do worse things today—work in rifle pits. One week ago about one hundred miles from here, it was a different program. It was the sharp musketry volley that we had in the fierce skirmish fight & the roar of cannon. Since then we have not heard the sound of artillery and it is quiet here in our sylvan camp in the bright green wood. But the boys are playing cards in every direction—too bad—& then they keep us busy to [help us forget] of the great battle on the Rappahannock of one week ago where thousands of our brave boys fell. We fear [the] fighting has been wasted and his fortunes affect our future movements. We feel worse now both for our country & on [our] own account. Oh that the Lord will give us the victory over our enemies for war is dreadful, it is, dear one.
I made a mistake in yesterday’s letter, dated in one day ahead. You wrote me a good, loving letter just like your own dear self. Thank you for that. [illegible] wish I might walk with my sweet one over it this morning—our own door sill. When will it be, I wonder. I thank you for writing me lovingly for I think of you still in love, in dear desires & deep ardent passions—a loving embrace would not come unwelcome truly from you, my sweet loving pet. Well, hope on. Trust & hope ever, my sweet birdling—my nightingale of eve. Wish you could serenade me some night in love’s sweet melodies & practice on others their string instruments.
I am a bad boy you will think. You will forgive, won’t you? I now you will for what true trusting woman will not? I ought not to write big today but our stays are so transient now-a-days. We may not move from here this month & we may be before tomorrow far away from here. I must write when I can.
I expect the Dept. would hold Pa to the contract they claim war times. Every Dept. in government must pay if it can. But I would not be for subscriptions to pay [ ]. I suppose you will do as you all like about letting the mail go down. But if I were there after I had got some with that Dept. & they allow $25 for carrying, if it will pay that, I would let let run and try & get it extended through to Unadilla. I have to stop here & go & work on rifle pits until noon. ¹
1 o’clock. I have eat my dinner and now I will try to finish this. I will not advise about the mail matter, but I will share the loss with Pa. But I think if I was in Pa’s place, I would try to get a semi- or a tri-weekly rout—a regular one through to Unadilla, and Pa ought to avail himself or some of the privilege he has of franking his own letter & account them as such in the free column in the account of his letters sent, &c. It is no more than right & be particular & keep accounts true and right. I will not dictate any more in the matter. You, sweet one, will do what you think is for the best. If you would rather go away, act your own pleasure, for I do not know as I shall get home these two years, if ever.
Not much news here from Fredericksburg but this silence is ominous & the last rumor that we had from secesh in Suffolk before we started for this place [was] that Hooker was getting whipped and I fear it is so. He has had to recross the Rappahannock with a greater loss than Burnside. Sometimes I can see but little hope in the future. We as a nation have become so wicked, the South not much worse than the North, leave out their two monstrous crimes—Rebellion and Slavery. I fear that the Lord will suffer us to go on & nearly exterminate ourselves for we are such a vain, wicked, stiff-necked people [and] do not trust in God as we ought.
You had a fast day, did you? Well I am glad of it. I hope the Lord heard the petitions offered up and I believe He will from the true and faithful worshipper. I got my deposit paper of 2.50 but we have not yet got any daily here. I presume if the Army of the Potomac is or has been forced to fall back, we will make no advance this spring but stay here the rest of this month & fortify ourselves against the Rebs. I do feel bad in regard to these bad reports from our main army, if they are as bad as rumor says. Dear me, what will become of everything. The Rebs here & at home [will be] encouraged.
What day you mean when you say that the contract awarding $25 per year will take effect in 1861. Love, which one are you thinking of—before the Rebellion? Well I wish it was after. Pa and you must do as you think best about carrying the mail by private express awhile. But I am afraid when you got it a going again, if you ever did, you would lose custom. And as for making some folks appreciate anything or blessing, it is impossible with many to do so. I hope the course set will make some men think, appreciate, and realize the comfort of a soldier’s life and that soon, for sure, will soon need more men.
My sweet, loving, dear, affectionate wife, forgive the blue post of this letter & I will kiss you lots of times when I see you & do all I can otherwise to make you feel contented & happy when we do meet. And until then, goodbye. Your affectionate, — H
To Libby
¹ The 144th New York Infantry shared the infantry encampment at West Point, Virginia, with the 22nd Conn. Vols. The two regiments shared guard and fatigue duty which included working on the breastworks, or rifle pits as Hiram called them. In a letter dated from West Point on 19 May, nine days after Hiram’s letter, John E. Morris of the 22nd Conn. wrote his uncle, “We are still engaged in the old business, digging, though not so furiously as at first, we do not work nights, now, nor Sundays. Yesterday we moved our camp a short distance back from the breastworks, and now that we have got comfortably settled, we shall probably have to pull up stakes and leave before long, in fact a rumor is current in camp that we are to go to Yorktown to do pickaxe duty. I dont think now that we shall get any nearer to Richmond.”
Spared & Shared 21 