A Pennsylvania soldier sat down briefly to write a letter from an abandoned Confederate army encampment.

Somewhere in the ranks of General Robert Patterson’s Union Army, a Luzerne County volunteer sat down on July 16, 1861 in a Confederate officer’s recently vacated quarters at Bunker Hill, Virginia and wrote home to a woman in Wilkes-Barre. The rebels had left in such haste they hadn’t bothered to gather their belongings – fresh food remained in the camp and the author found a plumed hat left behind by a Confederate officer and tucked into his letter as a souvenir.

Patterson’s army had been building toward this moment for weeks. After crossing the Potomac River at Williamsport and pushing through the Battle of Hoke’s Run on July 2, the Union force had occupied Martinsburg and massed for a further advance.

By mid-July, 18,000 men were on the road south toward Winchester – a column so long that when the advance reached Bunker Hill, the rear of the baggage train was still leaving Martinsburg ten miles back, according to the letter writer. His regiment was somewhere in the reserve, far enough behind that they couldn’t hear Union artillery firing on the retreating Confederates at the front of the column.

The letter doesn’t provide much detail about the unit or the author, but it does reveal much about what Pennsylvania soldiers thought about their Confederate foe in the first summer of the Civil War. It was later published in the Luzerne Union newspaper, an example of a private letter published for public consumption in the Coal Region.

From the Luzerne Union, July 31, 1861

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OUR CORRESPONDENCE. 

LETTER FROM THE ARMY. 

The following letter was written by one of our volunteers to a lady of Wilkes-Barre: 

BUNKER HILL, Va., 

July 16, 1861. 

I am now writing in the same spot where 24 hours since the officers in the army of the rebels were inditing their epistles to their wives, and lady-loves. 

We arrived here about 1 o’clock P.M. and found the camp where a regiment of their cavalry had fled so rapidly as scarcely to gather up their stray articles. Their tents having been all taken by us on our previous march from Williamsport to Martinsburg, they had erected booths in the woods, which they had just covered with fresh boughs, and which now answer an excellent purpose for our men. 

They do not appear to have lacked for good living. We find traces of fresh meal, egg’s, bread, etc. They have been accustomed to take anything they wish from the people and give them their orders on the Confederate States, and in this way they have managed to live pretty comfortable. 

It is sad, however, to think that these men are not only outlaws and traitors, but that they are taking the very bread from the mouths of the old and infirm – from the women and children ; and just so sure as the people of the north do not, after the termination of this war, come to their aid they will starve by the thousands. 

It was a glorious sight yesterday to see the army of united men moving from Martinsburg on their way. here. What a contrast between our men and those of the south. They swaggering and boasting, yet always ready to run – while ours march steadily and silently – with the firm triad and elastic step of strong men, who do not boast but who never turn back. 

Occasionally, as we passed through some village, the whole mass would strike up “Dixie.” Our column of troops, marching by platoons as many as could march, side by side in the road, extended for miles. When our advance reached this place the last of the baggage train in the rear was just leaving Martinsburg, ten miles back.

Our regiment was in the reserve corps at the rear, and in passing through a village three miles back about half past eleven, I asked how long it was since the advance passed into the village. They said since 8 o’clock. They had been passing in solid columns. We were so far off that we could not hear Doubleday’s 30 pounder firing into the retreating rebels, nor could Sam who was nearly a mile in the advance of us. 

I send you a few feathers from the plume of some secessionist who left too quick to gather them up. They are the only trophy I have yet been able to obtain from the sacred soil of Virginia.

I presume we shall march from here tomorrow to Winchester, twelve miles off.

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Read the previous letter from the Letters from War: 1861 series.

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This is part of an ongoing series called “Letters from War: 1861” that will share correspondence written on the front lines during the turbulent first year of the Civil War.

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