This letter was written by Alwyn Williams (1843-1916) who initially enlisted at Painted Post, Steuben county, New York, in Co. A, 74th New York Infantry in June 1861 and mustered out three years later at New York City. Three months later he reenlisted in Co. E, 142nd New York Infantry at Avon, New York. In the fall of 1864—most likely at the Battle of Darbytown Road in late October—he received a gunshot wound in his thigh which he refers to in the following letter. He mustered out on 7 June 1865.
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Hampton Hospital [Hampton Roads, Va.]
December 24th 1864
Well Curly, 1
I think that it is about time that I redeemed my promise of writing to you. This laying in a hospital is about the meanest part of soldiering. I am doing well but the dressers here don’t know how to take care of a wound. If they did, I would of been well long ago & with my company. But I must give you a description of hospital life here.
We get up in the morning & make our hats & about eight o’clock get our breakfast of coffee and bread. Then about ten o’clock we get our wounds dressed and the doctor gets around sometime between that & noon. Then at one we get dinner of bread, meat, & soup, and then we go down to the village which consists of nigger shanties & saloons & we fool around there until about night & then go back to get our supper of tea & bread. And as we are in tents & do not have a ward monitor to watch us, we do just as we are a mind to & go to bed when we get ready.
I should like to be to home during the holidays & get something to eat but as I can’t, you must eat some of the good things & think of me eating dry bread & coffee. And if you will come & take New Years dinner with me, I will give you the best that I can get. I am a going to try and have a good dinner on New Years for the niggers around here have got some nice hen roosts & some of these fine nights there will some of them be missing. But I shan’t know what has become of them (Oh no). We go down to the creeks that run back from the bay & find plenty of oysters so I don’t see but what we shall live.
I got a letter from Doc Halsey the other day. He is in the hospital at the Point of Rocks & is no better.
How are you? Draft three hundred thousand more. I hope that it will make some of those Copperheads at the [Painted] Post put on the blues & shoulder their musket—especially that Hay Contractor & that Blacksmith—you know who I mean.
Do you know where Clark is? If so, let me know for I want to write to him. Pa wrote that he had some good cider & wanted to know if I would take a drink & I want you to go & take a drink for me for if I can’t get it, I will have somebody drink it for me so that he won’t have it.
But I must stop for I am at the bottom of my sheet. Give my respects to all enquiring friends & write soon & give me all of the news. Yours from a friend, — Alwyn Williams, USA General Hospital, Hampton, VA
Tell Martha to write—that is, if you are not afraid to have her write since Old Hoacum warned you to watch me.
1 I’ve been informed by a previous owner of his letter that “Curly” was John S. Smith of the 5th New York Cavalry.
Spared & Shared 22 