Your Affectionate Son, Tom

Many pension files contain letters from soldiers at the front. Because it was harder for a mother to prove her dependence on her son than for a widow to prove dependence on a husband, the vast majority of soldiers' letters we find are in mothers' pension files. Letters are usually submitted because they contain a passing reference to "that $10 I sent you," or inquiries to confirm the mother is surviving off the money sent home.

The letters we find range from the hilarious to the heartbreaking. I once read a letter from a soldier to his wife, clearly in reply to a nagging note she had sent him, assuring her that he thought she was "a darn sight prettier than Ed Curtain's wife." Whether they are mundane notes from half-literate privates, elegant love letters, or last wishes composed from hospital beds, all these letters carry the words of the noble ghosts who gave their lives for the Union. It is impossible to forget that even the happy stories we read ended badly; we deal only in widows and orphans. I'll be honest. The first time I found a soldier letter, I was a little overcome. The room happened to be empty at the time, and I definitely cried. You cannot imagine how different it is to actually hold the piece of paper that the soldier wrote upon and lovingly sent home. Reading a transcription cannot do it justice. And so, while it is by no means the most interesting letter I've found (in fact, it's comparatively boring), for my first real post, I will share with you the first soldier letter I found. From widow's certificate (WC) #52775, it is a letter from Private Thomas W. Simpson of Company A in the 91st Pennsylvania Infantry.

Transcription:
Camp near Pegram's Farm
October 9th 1864
Dear Mother,
Mary's letter of the 5th was received this (Sunday) morning and am glad to hear that you are all well, and that you received the money $150. I sent as I before mentioned $50 by Lieut. Brass, which I guess you have received before this. I was unable to get change at the time, as I expected to go into a fight soon, I thought I would send it home with Brass as he was going home that day. I wrote for a shirt in the last latter. I suppose you have sent. You will please to send me $10 as soon as you receive this as I have a use for it, and have no change left. We are once more settled in a camp, and the shovel and pick is again in use. We were out all day yesterday establishing a new picket line and advancing the pickets. We had some difficulty from sharpshooters who were lodged in a house, and the 2nd Division played a battery on it, and they soon got up and got away, and the house was soon in flames. I hope the money sent will be of some service to you all this winter as I guess things must be pretty dear in Philadelphia. There is a very perceptible change in the weather here, it is beginning to grow cold. Dear Mother I hope you will not let news worry you, as I feel as safe here, as if I was at home, as I will not die before my time comes. No more at present.
Your affectionate son,
Tom

Eighteen days later, on October 27, 1864, Pvt. Tom Simpson was killed in action at the Battle of Hatcher's Run. This letter to his mother is almost boring- he rambles on, asks for new shirts, and talks about the weather. But in a brilliant flash of sentimentality at the end of his note, Tom shows his innocence and hope in the face of devastating uncertainty. The 91st Pennsylvania had seen Antietam, Gettysburg, Cold Harbor,  and the siege of Petersburg, to name only a few of the Civil War's bloodiest engagements. Tom's enduring hope and affection is exemplary of the very soldiers we love most to remember.