Amid a dense thicket along the Potomac River, 28-year-old Private Luther T. Dodson wrote home to Mifflin Hannum, the editor of the Luzerne Union newspaper. Dodson penned his letter from the camp of the 7th Pennsylvania Reserves near Great Falls on the Potomac on August 31, 1861.
Dodson joined Company F, 7th Pennsylvania on June 13, 1861.
The weeks before his mustering in to the United States Army during the Civil War were deeply tragic. On May 8, 1861, Dodson’s wife Sarah Rood Dodson died at the age of 25 from tuberculosis.
The couple had not yet been married year – their marriage occurring the previous summer of July 21, 1860. Her remains were interred at Bloomingdale Cemetery in Ross Township, Luzerne County.
This was close to where the couple lived on farms at the far northwestern edge of Luzerne County, close to the modern Ricketts Glen State Park.
In August 1861, Dodson returned home to Luzerne County on leave from the Army and made a visit to the grave of his young wife. His letter of August 31st details that visit in moving passages that also describe her final, anguished hours in May 1861. They are among the saddest words I’ve read in the course of research for this project.
Following this section of the letter, Dodson extensively describes the positions occupied by the 7th Pennsylvania Reserves north of Washington, DC along the Potomac River. Here, the Potomac crashes down through a narrow gorge separating Maryland and Virginia. This was the front line between US and Confederate forces in this area, with the US Army holding the Maryland shore that included the C&O Canal, mentioned by Dodson in the letter.
From the Luzerne Union, September 11, 1861
FROM THE ARMY.
GREAT FALLS, PICKET ENCAMPMENT,
Saturday, August 31, 1861.
MR. HANNUM –
Dear Sir:
Your favor of the 28th inst. was duly received and its columns read with avidity and pleasure. Sometime having elapsed since one of our county papers have found their way into camp, and for sometime not many others, you may imagine the delight of our boys when the “Union” made its appearance.
Having spent a few days at home among the rocks and hills of old Luzerne, drinking of her crystal fountains, inhaling her pure mountain air, unpolluted with the infections of slavery – the greetings of smiling friends – and above all the hallowed associations of the past that clustered around my memory as I stood beside the grave of one that I fondly loved – one that a few months ago bid fair for a long life of happiness and usefulness – one that the ruthless hand of death had torn from all earthly ties, but who, as she bade good-bye to friend, expressed a lively hope of joys immortal beyond this vale of tears, where war is never known.
It was a beautiful evening, all nature was hushed, nought was heard but the chirping of the cricket and the rustling of leaves now and then in the silent grave, as some sweet breeze wafted by, perhaps by some angelic wing direct from the portals of heaven, conveying as it were that spirit back again to earth to hold sweet converse on that sacred spot with one that had lived to love, and sworn to protect her.
Those associations were sweet as I kneeled by that silent tomb, yet sadness and gloom, many dark hours of trials and temptations seemed to rise up before me, but they were removed.
I still heard that same voice that in death seemed so sweet and clear: as she said to friends, “All is well” – “I am going home” – “I have got a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” – “My mother is there.” Her last words were, with finger pointing toward heaven, “children will you meet me there?”
After a renewal of vows, I was forced to leave that sacred spot; and while wending my way from these musings o’er the past, present and future, methought the time might not be far distant when there would be a re-union in another world.
Time passed away, I felt anxious to join my friends again in camp and share my fate with theirs. On the 4th inst., bidding good bye to friends and home, I took the cars at Shickshinny for Washington.
The next day at 10 A.M. found the boys at camp in good health and spirits, with few exceptions, one or two just getting the measles, a few others complaining with bad colds, &c. Our regiment had just received orders to leave there for Great Falls, on the Potomac, the next morning at 6 o’clock. All was bustle.
At the appointed time, however, we were on our march, having left our sick and the most of our baggage behind. We were accompanied by about 30 cavalry and two pieces of artillery. The march was oppressive, yet all stood it very well, and about 2 P.M., having marched full 10 miles through a barren and seemingly desolate country, we halted at the Great Falls in about as wild and romantic a place as we often see.
The 2nd Vermont Regiment was here on picket, and had been during the last week. Our orders were to relieve them, which being done, they soon returned to their camp at the Chain Bridge, a few miles below here.
We pitched our tents on a hill back from the river about half a mile in an old field surrounded on all side by a close pitch-pine thicket, hiding our encampment as it were from the world. The principal productions of the place are blackberry brush, five fingers and musquitoes; pine shrubs and a family professing to be Union, but judging from appearances should think a union of body and soul hardly practicable.
Between us and the river our artillery is stationed on an eminence overlooking the Virginia shore for many miles, both up and down the Potomac. The Colonel holds forth down at the river, also the cavalry. They have good accommodations in the government buildings, used when working at the Washington Aqueduct, an unfinished government enterprise projected during Pierce’s administration – the cost estimated at $2,300,000 and presenting a dilapidated appearance at present.
Our time here is mostly spent on picket duty, some of us once in-a-while, however, get down to the Potomac and catch a mess of fish; but perhaps fishing might be considered a little dangerous as we are occasionally fired on from the other side.
Our pickets extend up and down the river between it and the canal on the Maryland side about seven miles, connecting five and a half miles above the Falls with the 34th N.Y., under command of Gen. Stone, and a Michigan regiment below. Several of our boys were shot at from the other side of the river when out on picket, but no one has been hit, yet they warmly returned the fire, and one fellow says they shot a rebel who was sitting in a large tree watching our movements when the firing was going on, but a minie musket was discharged and he was seen to fall.
Soldiers should learn to be brave and cool in time of danger. One of ours a few evenings since, while on picket, hearing something approaching, he cried halt! Who comes there?
The object stopped, but no answer. Soon it moved on – the sentinel hailed it again – for a time all was silent – the night was dark – soon he saw the object, it was then moving toward him – he hailed it a third time – it still silently approached.
The next moment was an awful one – a sharp click was heard – the mind was filled with all the horrors of war – the next instant the report and flash of a gun, followed by a heavy fall, a groan and the gushing of blood.
Aye the deed was done? Who must answer for this? There are National sins – one source of consolation. The night was long, but at length the morning dawned and with it returned the recollection of what had happened during the past night. There was a feeling, however, of duty in the act. He sallied forth, when lo! – instead of a man he had shot – a calf.
Perhaps we may return by Monday next to Camp Tennally again.
Yours, &c.,
L. T. DODSON.
Read the previous letter from the Letters from War: 1861 series.
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