Letters from John Dearmond, 15th South Carolina Infantry

John Dearmond, a seventeen-year-old from South Carolina, has enlisted in the Confederate Army and now marches towards Gettysburg. This collection of letters tells the story of him and his family.

June 28th, 1863

Mr. Peter Granshaw,

Sir, I’m writing you this letter to, firstly, give you an update on our regiment, and secondly, ask you a question very dear to me. We have arrived in Chambersburg after a great many days of marching through the countryside of Pennsylvania. It’s all a very curious sight, and nothing like our home back in Spartanburg. These Pennsylvania-folk all have the grandest brick houses, and though there’s plenty of farmland, there’s not a n****r in sight to farm it. I don’t quite understand why you would subject your children and fellow countrymen to hard labor in the sun when you could buy a perfectly good n****r, but I suppose that’s the way of the Yankees. I just wish they’d stay their path and let us stay ours. If that were the case, we wouldn’t be losing all our men and boys to this war, but the Lord and His ways are a mystery, and there must be some purpose for this.

As angry as I am with these Northerners, I pity those we encounter. Here there are simple people, not politicians or soldiers, cowering in fear in their fancy brick homes, peering out through the shutters, wishing us away. And for good reason, too. Despite our better Christian sense, a great deal of these boys can’t help but pillage these farms for supplies. Sometimes they don’t even have to use force. These people, desperate to save their lives as well as the lives of their boys in war, freely give whatever we ask for. However, sir, I can say without a doubt that Harvey remains pure of this sin.

I don’t blame the boys for doing this. We are very much lacking in supplies. Food is what we most desperately need. We eat a mouthful a night, and sometimes only eat wheat, salted and boiled. It is not appetizing, and makes me miss Alice’s cooking, but I’m thankful yet. Some boys have no shoes. Still, despite this hardship, I have a kind of fervent energy. General Kershaw is a great man who has brilliantly led us so far. We know he cares for us as well, and therefore follow him with a heart full of faith. I believe that it is because of him that your son and I live on today.

Now, sir, on to my question. As you know, I have been courting your daughter for a year now. I am aware that you have not been pleased by this, as she is your only daughter, and you are without hope for another. Truly, sir, I am very sorry for this. I understand as well that we are extremely young, myself being barely seventeen and her being only sixteen. But sir, believe me wholeheartedly when I tell you that I, if by God’s mercy I live through this great ordeal, will love her and care for her just as you do. I tell you this because, if I do survive this war, I would like to ask for her hand in marriage. I truly do love her, sir, and I respect your blessing greatly.

Sincerely,

John Dearmond

June 30th, 1863

Clara,

This is our last day in Chambersburg. We continue our march to Gettysburg tomorrow. General Kershaw was hoping to reach the town by the first, so as to meet up with the other brigades, but it seems as though we’ll be a day behind. Our boys can’t wait to get there, as many of them are without shoes, and we’re hoping to get some new pairs while we’re there, or at least some that aren’t falling apart at the seams.

I’m writing you this letter to remind you that, despite all the prayers and wishes from you and my family, I might not be returning home. In the case that I don’t, you cannot shed tears over me, though I would be flattered if you did. You’re a strong woman, Clara, and I haven’t seen you cry since Paul Jr. died, God rest his soul. I know you aren’t a blood member of our family, but ever since you married Paul, you’ve been as close to us as any sister, and I know our father loves you as a daughter. I’m sure you’ve already heard, but if you haven’t, Roger was killed as well. That leaves Elias as the oldest male in the family, besides Paul, but he’s growing old and weak. Elias is only fourteen, Clara. He isn’t able to handle the stress of being the head of a family, especially when little Susan is only nine, and so difficult to care for. I know you’re holding out hope that Silas will come back, but you know the shame that being a deserter brings. I still love him, but he shouldn’t have done what he did, and he damn well knows that. If he’s alive, he isn’t going to return to the farm and bring more shame on you and the children. 

Please, Clara, if I die, you have to be strong and care for Elias and Susan. They look up to you like a mother already, and having not had one most of their lives, you have a tremendous influence over them. I know it will be difficult looking over the family on your own, but soon enough, Alice will be old enough to do just as much as you can. Pray for us, Clara. We desperately need it.

With love,

John Dearmond

July 1st, 1863

Dearest Rosie,

I do not want to alarm you, so please try and keep your composure, but the men in my regiment all feel extremely apprehensive about tomorrow. I write this at midnight by candlelight. We are encamped about two miles from Gettysburg. During the entirety of yesterday, or so it seems, we were haunted with the sounds of gunshots and artillery from the battlefield. The blasts from the repeating rifles of the Union are, admittedly, one of the most abrasively terrifying sounds that have ever attacked my ears, as though I were hearing the deafening whispers of death itself.

I pray almost constantly now, but they no longer give me the confidence I once had. I do not feel God in this place, Rosie. How can God exist in a place of such destruction and bloodshed? I almost wish I would keel over and die from starvation instead of having to face the grapeshot that comes tomorrow. I feel as if I am close to starvation anyway. But if I die now, I have no hope of ever seeing you again, of watching your hair dance in the wind, of seeing your eyes light up when you sing, or see your smile as I meet you in town. I did not fear death before I loved you, Rosie, but now I fear it more than anything. A heaven without you is no heaven at all. My only solace is in our great General Kershaw. He is a good man, darling, and he will keep me safe if he is able. But I know he will put the needs of our rights as a state first, and I suppose I should too. Love has made me such a selfish man. I must put my country above my own desires, but it is difficult when I have one as lovely as you to come home to.

We have been encamped near a house full of wounded soldiers. Their cries are indescribably dispiriting. I am glad to have not witnessed their wounds firsthand, but I have friends who claim to have seen them, and they describe such terrible scenes. I will spare you the details, for your innocence is angelic, but I will tell you that I would rather die on the battlefield than suffer through an amputation. I apologize for the blotches in the ink. I would lie to you and tell you the splotches spattered across the paper were not tears, but I cannot lie to you. I have dreamed of our future together a great many times, and now it seems just that: a dream.

I’m scared, Rosie. I wish I could say I am uncertain about the future, but the horrible truth is, I feel I am certain about it, and the future seems grim. Stay calm, Rosie, and do not dwell on my memory for too long. I love you.

Unconditionally and eternally yours,

John Dearmond

July 4th, 1863

Mr. Peter Granshaw,

I write this to, regrettably, inform you that your son, Harvey Granshaw, was killed on July 2nd, 1863, as we engaged with Union infantry in the Peach Orchard outside Gettysburg. He was a courageous soldier and great man, and died saving the life of a fellow soldier. Though he died in body, his spirit will live on in the minds of the men who fought with him, and may the cause he died protecting live on.

Cordially,

Brigadier General Joseph B. Kershaw

July 4th, 1863

Mr. Paul Dearmond, Sr.,

This is a sad day for us all. On July 2nd, 1863, half of the 15th South Carolina Infantry was killed in a great conflict with Union forces in Gettysburg. Your son, John Dearmond, fought heroically against Union infantry, and helped to break the lines and push forward across the Peach Orchard. However, fighting uphill and being bombarded by Union artillery, we had a difficult time continuing our advance. Your son was regrettably killed by a Union artillery assault. His efforts will never be forgotten, not by me, nor by the men he fought alongside. May the cause he died protecting live on.

Cordially,

Brigadier General Joseph B. Kershaw

July 5th, 1863

Father,

I’m so sorry I have to do this to you. God knows you don’t deserve this. I was tremendously upset when I found out Harvey died, but I know you were even more distraught, which is why I face difficulty in doing this. However, with John gone, I simply cannot go on. I know you liked him, even though you were always cold to him. I saw your reactions to his letter, though, and I know how you really felt. I know you just wanted to protect your daughter. You did a fantastic job. But I can’t go on without him. He was my whole future, and he’s gone. I don’t want to live in a world without him. I’m so sorry, daddy.

Rosie