These letters were written by Samuel McKinney Stafford (1837-1922), the son of George and Elizabeth (McKinney) Stafford of New Carlisle, Clark county, Ohio. He wrote the letters to his brother, Robert Finley Stafford (1841-1925).
The first letter was written from Glasgow, Kentucky, in 1859 while Sam was riding through the state selling trees. The other letter was written while Sam served in the 16th Ohio Independent Light Artillery. He enlisted as a corporal in that battery on 20 August 1861 and mustered out with a disability on 4 November 1862. Sam’s war experience was captured by Larry Marple in his book, “One of the Carlisle Boys” published in 2020. The preface of that book claims that Sam was born “in a log cabin in Pike township, Clark county, Ohio, on the site first settled by his grandfather.” Citing a genealogical source, Marple also wrote of Samuel that he “developed and eager desire to obtain an education and was a constant and studious reader…He attended Linden Hill Academy…and at the age of 19 years, he taught his first school at Cook’s school House…in Miami county, Ohio.”
After 16 months of hard service and exposure, Sam grew increasing ill and he was sent to a hospital in Keokuk, Iowa, where the remained until his disability discharge in November 1862.
Letter 1
Glasgow, Barren county, [Kentucky]
[Sunday, ] April 17th [1859]
Dear Friends,
I expected to have received a letter from you by this time but am disappointed. I suppose it is owing to the negligence or inattention of postmasters for John Perrine and Jim Forgy have received answers to letters written at the same time that I wrote. I wrote from Lexington three weeks ago. Letters may be brought through from Carlisle in three or four days. I’ve enjoyed very good health since I left home. I’ve been riding the last two weeks among “the natives,” getting along tolerably well. Forgy doesn’t ride out but is selling some in town.
Barren county is one of the largest in the state, but is greatly lacking in education, enterprise, &c. The country is generally hilly—the soil clayey—substratum limestone rock. Some portions of the country are nearly destitute of large timber but are covered with a thick growth of brushwood. It is from this circumstance that the country takes it name. Other parts are well timbered. There are not many running brooks because where a stream gushes from the rock it generally runs but a few feet and then drops into an opening in the rock. Almost every plantation has one or two ponds on it for stock water.
I have frequently regretted that I had not devoted more attention to the subject of drawing so that I could give you a pencil sketch of a few specimens of the architecture. It would surpass in interest any panorama that ever visited our town. The houses (in the barrens) are usually built of logs (sometimes unhewn) and daubed with red clay. I wish you could take a peep at a Kentucky school house. The antiquated relic which we used to call the “chapel” may serve to aid your imagination in its sublime flight. Perhaps though (in justice to the other side of the picture) I ought to state that in one of these houses that I passed, there was an algebra, a chemistry, and a latin class, and a college-educated teacher at 35 or 40 dollars per month.
Religion is at a discount, perhaps owing to the fact that the people have to elect a magistrate and a constable in about two weeks. The candidates have been riding several weeks electioneering.
I attended a kind of convention yesterday afternoon. The ostensible purpose of which was to drink whiskey, talk politics, and knock each other down. I tell you, it’s a rich treat to a Northerner. I call it seeing life. We’ve not attended church here yet because we can do better preaching ourselves than they have here. Just think of a town of 2200 inhabitants and with one regular preacher. There are, however, 4 or 5 meeting houses. The Reformers—or Christians, and Baptists (alias Campbellites and Hardshells), are the principal denominations. I have actually read several chapters in John Perrin’s Bible today.
Newt. Mitchell was passing through here yesterday on his way to Nashville and stopped here and stayed all night with us. He will ride through tonight by stage. The stages run on Sabbath as well as any other day and the post offices are open at certain hours. The niggers are chopping wood as usual. It’s fun for a Yankee (we are all Yankees here) to see the way folks get along here.
Greens, pigs face, dodger, biscuit & buttermilk suits me much thanks to a good stomach. I’d write more but paper is scarce. I’ll write again next sabbath. I’m anxious to hear all the news from home. Good wishes to all friends. Yours as ever, — Sam Stafford
Letter 2
Jefferson City, Missouri
Friday afternoon
October 18th 1861
Brother Rob,
You will observe from the date above that we have left St. Louis. We left there last Tuesday morning. According to orders, we were up at 3 o’clock, had breakfast over against daylight, and marched to the Pacific Railroad depot in time to take the 8:20 train for this place. Our knapsacks were hauled to the depot in wagons. I have already told you that we received our uniforms and we hoped until starting that we’d get arms but were disappointed. So here we are following the rebel army without a weapon to fight with. When we arrived at the depot we had to stand waiting in the depot a good while for the train. At last we got aboard the cars which were open freight cars with temporary seats made of rough pine boards prepared expressly for the accommodation of Uncle Sam’s soldiers.
For the first forty miles the country is rough and broken, and we rattled along through hills of red clay or limestone rock, over deep ravines and occasionally through a tunnel. At Franklin, nearly 40 miles from St. Louis, we stopped a few minutes during which time we had a short shat with some boys of the Ninth Iowa Regiment waiting there for orders—either westward after Frémont or southwestward to Rolla as they are most needed. A little further on, the road comes out to the Missouri river and follows its course from there to this place, sometimes leaving it for a few miles, and then coming out again frequently within thirty feet of the water’s edge, affording delightful views of the river. The road, however, taken altogether is rather a monotonous one, for nearly all the way we had the river with its snags and islands of mud on our right, and a rocky bluff from fifty to one hundred feet high on our left. The road follows the windings of the river and is made by cutting down the hillside enough to get level ground sufficient for the road.
About 3 o’clock P. M. we crossed the Gasconade river and a little further on stopped at a switch in the woods for the train from Jefferson City to pass us. We were told we would have to wait about two hours and some of the boys strayed off into the woods hunting hazel nuts, persimmons, &c. Others lounged around in the cars and others still (myself among them) got out of the cars, stretched out on the track and read the latest paper. We waited there till night came on and still no train. The weather had been cloudy all day, threatening rain, and at night a regular drizzle set in. Long before this time, I had taken my place in the car again. Some of them had built up a big fire and those in the rain amused themselves talking and laughing and singing songs.
After waiting awhile, many of us concluded the train wasn’t coming that night and I with a few others finding it too much crowded to sleep where we were, got out on a big woodpile at the side of the cars, folded my blanket just wide enough to lie on, and stretched out, straightened my big overcoat, and covered entirely up with my India-rubber blanket, and was about going off into dreamland when the approaching train spoiled my calculations and I got aboard again.
We got to the depot at Jefferson City about ten or eleven o’clock and piled down wherever we could find a sheltered spot big enough. Wednesday was spent in making arrangements about our place of encampment. Yesterday morning we marched out to a hill a half mile or more from the town, spent the forenoon in clearing off the rubbish left by troops that had previously encamped there and in the afternoon pitched our tents. We have excellent tents. A new invention called the Frémont Tent capable of accommodating fifteen persons. It opens out just like an umbrella. Our camp is located on high ground overlooking the town.
Jefferson City is an insignificant town of 2,000 inhabitants scattered over the hills up and down and for some distance back from the river. The country along the river for ten or fifteen miles back from the river is hillu and poorly adapted for agriculture, but I have been told that further back the land is much better. Troops are passing here almost everyday to join Frémont’s army. I suppose you know about as much in regard to his operations as I do. There is not a paper published in the capitol of the great state of Missouri. You are probably aware that Secretary Cameron was here a few days ago and ordered the work on the fortifications at this place and St. Louis to be stopped. Frémont has been certainly involving the government in a tremendous debt, but still the people here have great confidence in him as a military commander and his removal would be an awful blunder on the part of the administration.
There are five or six thousand troops encamped here. The absurdity of our coming here as we have is well illustrated by the commander of the post when we came. He asked what we came for—didn’t know we were coming. We got a few muskets today to guard our own tents. I should not wonder if we don’t stay long here but there is no telling here “what a day may bring forth!!”
The boys are all in good spirits though somewhat dissatisfied. I have been obliged to go into another mess which I regret more than any one thing that has transpired since I left home. It’s all foolery but the Captain is obstinate. He has put non-commissioned officers to themselves. The rest of the mess remain together and have taken in Hen. Forgy, Frank Snider, and Angleberger to make up the full number. I had received no letters for about a week till last night. I got an excellent one from Miss A. L. M. She said you told her that you had not received a letter from me last week. It’s strange for I mailed about ten pages on Monday morning of that week. Last Monday I mailed mother. Also a miniature. I am anxious to hear whether our clothes have arrived and what you have done about that watch. Best wishes to all the friends.
Yours truly, — Sam Stafford
Spared & Shared 22 