Farmers Weekly Review

By Sandy Vasko

April, it’s spring, and things happen quickly in the spring. One minute the ground is bare and the next the flowers are popping. And so, it was in 1865, things happened quickly, one after another leaving all stunned and silent.

At the front, the 39^th was in the thick of it. In a letter from the front to the Wilmington Independent, Ed Conley describes the first few weeks: “The battle is over, and victory has crowned the efforts of the Union armies. As the particulars of movements in this region have been long since published, I will confine myself now chiefly to the part played by the 39^th.

“We struck tents at our camp before Richmond on Monday evening, March 27^th, and made a forced march to the extreme left of our line. A few miles further we bivouacked for a night’s rest, having marched 37 miles. Wednesday morning, we advanced to a position near Hatcher’s Run. Heavy skirmishing, sharp shooting, etc., along the picket lines occupied the next three days, while Sheridan’s cavalry were operating on the outside Railroad, and gobbling prisoners by thousands.”

“Saturday night, April 1^st, preparations were made for a grand advance on Petersburg, and Sunday morning the ball opened, the enemy falling back stubbornly to Fort Gregg. This fort was a formidable work, well entrenched, and defended by picked men, but it was doomed to fall.

“With wild cheers, our brigade advanced like an avalanche in the face of a galling fire. The fighting was terrific. Our supporting column of the Independent Division had come up in line of battle, and yet the rebels did not surrender until the Brig. General commanding the fort was felled to the earth by the club of a musket in the hands of a sergeant, and until our troops were inside the fort, and the colors of the 39^th were floating in bloody victory from the parapet.

“Of the 39^th but about 50 men were engaged, the remainder being on other duty. Of these 16 were killed and 44 wounded – 4 mortally. No braver man fell than Sergt. Geo. W. Burton, who excitedly mounted the parapet singly, under a raging fire, and fell, pierced by three balls. The President and Gen. Grant witnessed the charge, (which occupied 24 minutes,) and spoke highly of the ‘Red Heart’ – our corps badge – and now the Eagle is to be placed on our banners.

“Flanked and out-generaled, the rebels retreated, and Monday morning, April 3^rd, we marched by the city of Petersburg. The march through the interior would furnish a thousand items of interest. Gen. Grant accompanied our (center) column, and allowed foraging, but wanton destruction of private property was prohibited. As to the ‘natives,’ the blacks are evidently the most loyal class. An immense quantity of tobacco was found along the route.”

One of those casualties was young Henry Ohlhues from Florence Township. He had been married just four months before he was killed. His poignant obituary, not printed until May, was written by one of his comrades in arms:

“He exchanged the comforts of home and the love of friends for the trials of a soldier’s life, and contact with bitter enemies. His country (or rather the country of his adoption – he knew no difference) called him, and he had too much manhood and courage to regard the summons with indifference. On the 23 rd day of February, 1864, he passed through our national capital to the seat of war. March 20^th, in company with the war worn and honored 39^th, they took their way to the wilderness of Virginia, which swarmed with the enemy, and after many a hand struggle, and the loss of many a noble companion, they forced their way to within a few miles of the center of rebellion – Richmond.

“Through all those trials and dangers, which none can know but those who have experienced them, our friend bore himself with honor, as officers and comrades will testify. How often did he miss death by a hair’s breadth? He was present and did his duty at the downfall of Richmond. But alas! With the going out of rebellion’s flame, his spirit took flight. His regiment was ordered to pursue the retreating foe, and, as a good soldier, he was with them. We do not know how he was killed, but we know he did his duty, and faced the traitorous foe. He is gone! Let us mingle our tears and prayers with his widowed wife, parents, sister and brothers. It is better to die as he died than live branded coward or traitor. Farwell Henry, farewell comrade; we shall meet where the war cry no more startles from peaceful slumbers.”

Despite their losses, the 39^th was there on the glorious day. On April 9^th, Robert E. Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia to Ulysess S. Grant at the home of Wilmer McLean in Appomattox Court House. The war was over.

At home, George Woodruff describes the events on that day: “The news arrived Sunday night. The bells are rung, everybody rushes to the streets to see where the fire is; hears the good news, and joins in the hurrah. The people rush to the public square. The flood-gates of gab are opened again, everybody speaks.

“The band is out, and all day Monday nothing is thought of but the glorious news. Business is suspended. The two or three men still wanting to fill the quota are quickly found. The substitute broker’s occupation is gone, and the bounty jumper has become an extinct ‘varmint.’ Joliet is out of the draft, but, better than all, no draft is needed, and no more recruits for now the word comes ‘Lee has surrendered!’”

The 100^th was in Knoxville, Tennessee, when they heard the news. “Here we hear the glorious news of the surrender of Lee. The performances of the boys on getting the news of Lee’s surrender, and the probable close of the war, baffles description. Such a shouting and hurrahing! Such a fusillading, such a dancing and cavorting! Such a * * * * was never heard or seen before or since, anywhere. The destruction of hats is said to have been enormous, and to have exhausted the resources of the Q. M. department to repair damages.”

Woodruff describes what happened at home just five days later. “Less than a week passes when, hark! Another sound is in the air. Saturday morning, the 15th of April, the first news which meets us as we come down town is, that during the night, while we slept sweetly, joyfully, our beloved president our own LINCOLN has been assassinated, and lies stark and cold in the white house.

“The rebellion, in its death throes, has dealt one terrible last thrust. Swift as thought spreads the news. Men refuse to believe that it is possible. But every dispatch confirms it. It is, alas! Too true! Men of all parties are struck dumb with grief and consternation. All business is, by spontaneous action, suspended. Men talk with bated breath and walk with measured steps. Offices and shops are closed. The city is draped in mourning.”

At the front the 100^th were equally stunned. “Every eye was moistened with tears, every lip compressed. Vengeance seemed for the time stamped upon every countenance, and unlucky would it have been for any rebel who had come within their reach. The men gathered in little groups and discussed the matter in whispers.

“Routine duty was gone through quietly, without noise, every man walking as softly as at a funeral. Had each soldier received the news of the death of his own father, the effect could hardly have been more marked, or the grief more universal.”

Vengeance was on the hearts and minds of many. In the Wilmington Independent, W. R. Steele wrote, “Let the Satanic Murderers of the savior of his country perish! Let extermination be the war cry! Sweep north and south with the being of dire destruction to the last trace of disloyalty. Let the race of treacherous evil eyed villains become extinct.”

It was clear that the deep divisions that caused the war were not going to be healed overnight, nor any time soon.