The Civil War: A Soldier's Letters Home 1861-1863

By Selden Partridge McCabe, Jr

This book documents his wartime life from the letters he wrote to his family during that period. The nearly 150 year old, hand-written letters are now with the Phelps Community Historical Society in Phelps, New York, and Elizabeth Kings typewritten copies of them are with the Central Rappahannock Regional Library in Fredericksburg, Virginia.

This book presents all this material, without editorial comment.

Selden Partridge McCabe, Jr.
June 2009

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 31, 2009
• ISBN: 9781465328182

Selden Partridge McCabe, Jr

Bonnie-Jane McCabe (now Mason) ‘lived’ this book. She wrote these letters to her family during one exciting year in her young life. Years later, she started the book, collected the letters, copied them to her computer, and organized her book in her computer. It always needed “just one more editing pass to make sure it’s error-free.” Before she was finished, a disastrous computer-crash appeared to her, to have ended her book project. This version, published from a recently rediscovered, early paper ‘preview’ draft, is my gift to Bonnie, my daughter. Prepared for publication by: Selden P. McCabe, Jr. 2009

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Copyright © 2009 by Selden Partridge McCabe, Jr.

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Contents

CREDITS

INTRODUCTION

By Elizabeth Partridge Drake King

PART 1

PART 2

CREDITS

The material in this book was prepared for publication by

Selden Partridge McCabe, Jr.

The transcriptions of the Partridge Civil War letters are used herein by permission of

Elizabeth Partridge Drake King

The images of the Sam Partridge handwritten letters are used herein by permission of the

Phelps Community Historical Society of Phelps, New York

INTRODUCTION

By Elizabeth Partridge Drake King

FOR ALL DESCENDANTS

OF

SAMUEL SELDEN PARTRIDGE

LT. 13TH REGIMENT NEW YORK VOLUNTEERS

1839—1913

It is a miracle and a mystery that we have these Civil War letters to pass on to the descendants of Samuel Selden Partridge. They were discovered in a locked safe almost forty years after his death in a house formerly owned by one of his sons, Leonard. Partridge, in Phelps, New York. No family member knew of their existence, nor of how and when they were put in the safe. They were packaged together with a note on top in S.S. Partridge’s handwriting, saying:

"Letters written during the war of the rebellion by S.S. Partridge, an officer of the 13th New York

Volunteers to his brother—chronologically arranged and numbered."

I, his great granddaughter, have waited for thirty years for someone to do something with these letters, but since no one has—I have nominated myself.

These are marvelous letters, and when you are finished with them you will be proud and intrigued to be a descendant of Sam Partridge, Lt, 13th Volunteers.

I wish you would all read them in his own handwriting instead of the typewritten copies. By reading the originals somehow you become more personally involved in his camp life, and can better visualize the young twenty-two year old volunteer, sitting in his tent, usually very late at night, often in numbingly cold weather, by candlelight, writing home to his younger brother.

That he could write at all under those circumstances is impressive, but in that beautiful handwriting, his descriptions of everything, everyone and every place he saw are so amazingly sensitive, mature and vivid, is even more impressive.

However, since a lot of the originals are hard to read, I have deciphered them as accurately as I can. I have added some punctuation to break up very long sentences, but I have not changed his spelling, nor his, at that time acceptable use of he don’t.

Sam Partridge was born in Brockport, New York on January 9, 1839, and his mother died the same day. He was brought up primarily by his grandmother, who was a sister to the Judges Lee and Henry Selden of Rochester, New York. These two distinguished men were very influential in his life and no doubt were responsible for a lot of his tastes, values and life-style which are reflected in his letters. He studied law under these judge uncles and practised law with them when he started his law career.

When Sam’s father Thomas M. Partridge, married again, his business was in New York. So Sam lived there and attended the College of the City of New York (C.C.N.Y.) graduating about 1859. It was to his half-brother, Ed, that he wrote these letters during the Civil War.

Lieutenant Samuel Selden Partridge survived the Civil War and after marrying Miss Frances Bellamy of Rochester, New York, fulfilled his dream of becoming a lawyer in a small New York town. He picked Phelps, New York where he immediately bought himself a big house on an acre of land and proceeded to fill it with eight children (one little girl Francine died or it would have been nine)—and to become a highly respected, dignified and aristocratic lawyer, and a prominent citizen.

He set high standards for himself, his law practice and his family and was a strict disciplinarian to his five high spirited sons, every one of whom was very familiar with the apple switch on necessary occasions.

He lived well, with style and good taste. He loved horses and his carriages were always elegant and pulled by high stepping trotters. His love of books resulted in an outstanding library which he generously shared, and he was a devoted admirer of Dickens, whom he quoted as many quote the Bible. My mother, Margaret Partridge Howe Drake, his granddaughter, says he died with a book in his hands. On the day of his funeral everything in the town of Phelps was closed out of respect for Samuel Selden Partridge.

One of his sons Edward Bellamy Partridge, wrote two best selling books about these family years in Phelps; The Country Lawyer and Big Family. Both were Book of the Month Club selections and topped the best seller list for several months.

But back to young Sam. He evidently volunteered for the Rebellion early because in his first letter to Ed, he is already in Arlington Heights, Virginia on June 8, 1861, and the Civil War was not even being considered a war yet. He obviously thought he would be involved for only three months, as that is all he had been sworn in for, and it is interesting to feel as the letters progress, how much more deeply he feels involved as the Rebellion really becomes a war.

Sam volunteered as a private, was made Colonel’s Aide-de-Camp almost immediately, and within a year was a lieutenant and quartermaster, preferring that to a captaincy which would not allow him to be on horseback or enjoy special living quarters.

Nowhere in any of his letters will you find a mention of his being wounded, yet he was wounded four times. His grandsons Selden and Lewis McCabe say he had a bullet imbedded in his forehead until the day he died. He had refused to have it removed. His grandsons considered it a great privilege to sit on his knee and push the bullet back and forth in the small channel it had created.

These letters of Lt. Sam Partridge have opened my eyes to many vivid mental images about the war of the Rebellion. Never had I visualized miles of wagon trains necessary to move an army from point to point, ploughing through the mud, and often bogging down both mules and wagons.

Never had I pictured the bitter cold misery of the soldiers’ primitive unliveable tents in freezing, snowy winter weather until I saw how thrilled Sam was with the chimney he had built and the luxury of a grass floor in the tent or a washstand made from a crate.

Race the Steeple-Chase with him; walk the streets of Fredericksburg with him immediately after the battle; assess generals who met with him; endure the Mud March with him with delirium causing temperatures; sympathize with him as to the deep hurt that war causes to women; joke with him.

All of Samuel Selden Partridge’s grandchildren tell of dignified; aristocratic, somewhat scary grandfather Partridge, walking to his law office with a gold tipped cane (which he did not need).

But—here—meet the young twenty-two year old Lieutenant Sam Partridge, 13th New York Volunteers Quartermaster. You’ll be glad to be related to him.

Elizabeth Partridge Drake King

PART 1

Rochester

Head Quarters—13th Regt.

New York Volunteers

Arlington Heights, Virginia

June 8th, 1861

My Dear Bro—

It is mighty fine fun this being in an enemies land—when we don’t have enough rations furnished us we send out and get (not steal) fresh vegetables from the foe. We were encamped for a day or two on Meridian Hill D.C. on the John Quincy Adams estate. The most beautiful place I ever saw but it was too good to last. We could not stay there—The powers that be place too much reliance on the noble 13th—Gen. Scott had positive information that an attack was to be made last Monday night—and sent us to defend a particularly exposed position. We spent the night as dark as pitch in the edge of the woods, where had an attack been made we should have been mowed down like grass—but that’s all infantry regiments are organized for. Our outposts were fired on once or twice, the drums sounded, rockets flashed, and the hills and vales around swarmed with men. Every regiment formed an order of battle, ready to hold their own ground, but the rebels dared not appear. We were left unmolested till night before last, when they attacked and drove in our picket guards. Volley after volley was fired in quick succession, the regiment formed again—the enemy backed down, and we all went to our beds again upon the cold, cold ground—but before we got asleep were ordered up again and formed again. I’ve heard the bullets whistle but nobody was hurt.

I still retain my position as assistant Adjutant—and last night Colonel Quinby told me that in battle I must act as his aid de camp. Isn’t that Grand?

Now Ed, one or two Partridges have made pretty good Captains before this and if doing my duty well will entitle me to any consideration, I mean to come out of this matter at least a lieutenant. I don’t mean to get my name up by any great bravery, but by doing my every day duty in a manner to meet the approbation of my officers. I have now the satisfaction of knowing that I have my returns more properly made and more promptly entered than any other man in the brigade.

My office entitles me to a good many luxuries. Eight men usually sleep in a tent about the size of our butlers pantry. The adjutant and I have one twice that size to ourselves. I mess and associate with the colonel’s staff &c.

I heard a day or two ago of a man in the 8th New York by the name of Conner, who had, by deeds of reckless daring, acquired some considerable renown. On inquiring into the matter, who should it prove to be but our quondam friend Ez. He is but a private and so situated that he cannot see me and I will not renew his acquaintance. It is best for us both to keep aloof from each other.

Scouting parties are sent out from each regiment daily—to apprehend secessionists—but with special instructions not to alarm or prey upon innocent or peacable citizens. They always bring in something, either horses, cattle, or prisoners. One of our lieutenants just now came in with two horses, a mule and a secession Major. I am going to have a party in a day or two and see if I steal a better horse.

You ought to see what a grand regiment ours is. Our colonel was once a professor at West Point. Was in the Mexicano War—Was the instructor of Braggs celebrated battery of artillery—(a little more grape Capt. Bragg) Was a prof. in Universitas Rocestriencis and is now colonel of 13th Vol. and I am his aid de camp.

That God will put an end to this unholy war by giving a speedy victory to the right, is my daily prayer.

Sam

P.S. I shall send this to Washington by private hands to be mailed—Direct to me care Col. I.T. Quinby, 13th Regt. N.Y.Vol. Washington D.C.

P.P.S. Sed Hetzel acted so disgracefully and abused Judge Selden’s generosity and hospitality to such an unbearable degree that the judge gave him $500 and a revolver and new outfit and started him for Peaks Pike. The last heard of him was in a Hell at Denver City. I shot a revolver twice at a critter on grand grounds last night and missed both times.

Head Quarters 13th Regt. N.Y.Vol.

Camp Union Arlington Heights Va.

June 22, 1861

My dear Bro & Everybody else—

Our Regiment has moved again and now occupies the highest hill of the range which constitutes Arlington Heights—or rather the verge of the table land—flanking the valley of the Potomac. I believe we are in Fairfax County, at any rate, as high up as we are, we are so far inland that we are completely surrounded by the hills of ole Virginny and so far from Washington and Georgetown that we cannot even see the dome of the Capitol nor