"I can do nothing better to-night than to write you a letter by way of
a Christmas present. We have to-day unexpectedly had a quiet, if not
a Merry Christmas, though it did not appear last night as though it
would be so. About 3 P.M. yesterday I received orders (in camp near
Blain's Cross-Roads) to move over at once and join General Sturgis at
New Market, where the main body of the cavalry are. We got off about
sunset, but did not arrive here till midnight, having to ford the
Holston and travel over a very bad road. How longingly I thought of
what you and the dear ones at home might be doing at that hour as I
marched along in the clear, stinging cold night.
"After the cold and cheerless ride we fortunately got into comfortable
quarters, and have been quiet to-day, enjoying the rest and comfort.
We improvised a pretty good Christmas dinner. Among the delicacies we
don't get often, we had eggs and butter. We are not living in excellent
Epicurean style just now, as the country is pretty well eaten out.
"I cannot see any prospect of our getting into winter quarters, such
as the papers report the Army of the Potomac and of the Cumberland are
enjoying. The climate of East Tennessee is very similar to that of
Indiana, and the men are very scantily supplied with 'dog' or shelter
tents and many have not even these to cover them. My commands since we
came into East Tennessee have been on one continuous campaign without
cessation. Up the country, over the mountains, across the rivers, down
the valley, then up again, driving the enemy before us, then falling
back, to drive the enemy up the valley again--thus we have been for
four months, until we have run down our horses and about half of our
men. But we are enduring it very well, still after the rebels with as
much zest as ever. There is a vast deal of excitement in the cavalry
service."
My last letter to my wife from East Tennessee was written on the last
day of 1863, which I began with a prayer:--
"Let us not forget to thank our dear Heavenly Father for all His
mercies of the past year. Oh, how good He has been to us, even with
all our troubles! How little we have done in our lives to repay that
goodness! May He make us more worthy of His mercies and blessing in the
New Year, and may He preserve our lives that we may together meet and
praise Him. To His watchful care I commit my dear wife and little ones.
"I last wrote you from New Market. I was enjoying a quiet rainy
Sunday there, reading some good book I found at the house where I was
quartered, when about noon I received orders for my division to move
forward and attack the enemy and drive him back from Mossy Creek. It
was an unwelcome order that rainy Sabbath, but we executed it, and
after considerable skirmishing took up a new line two miles beyond
Mossy Creek. Yesterday Colonel Wolford's division and mine were ordered
out at three o'clock in the morning to Dandridge, where it was reported
a division of rebel cavalry was encamped. We went, but found the enemy
had left the night before, and we returned at 4 P.M. just in time
to miss a nice little fight at Mossy Creek. The enemy attacked our
outposts at 11 A.M. and drove our troops back two miles, but ours in
turn drove them back again beyond our lines. It is not often that my
men have the fortune, or misfortune, to miss the fighting, as we did
yesterday.
"We have here our entire force of cavalry, and one brigade of infantry.
The rest of the army is at Strawberry Plains and Blain's Cross-Roads.
Longstreet is reported at Morristown with the main body of his army.
I suppose General Foster intends to drive him away from there, if
possible, how soon I don't care because I want to come home as soon as
the fighting here is over, and take a little rest with my dear wife and
darling little girls."
I may venture, before closing my East Tennessee correspondence, to
give in part the last of these letters, as a specimen of letters to a
soldier's child, written on January 1, 1864:--
"Why should I not write a letter this New Year's Day to my dear little
Alice? I am so far away I can't give you any nice present; all I can do
is to try to write you a good letter....
"What have you and Lillie and the other little children been doing
to-day? And did you have a Christmas tree and a happy time then? Papa
has not had much of a New Year's Day. It has been so cold, oh so very
cold to-day. Was it cold at home? I could tell you a story about the
cold. Would you like papa to tell you a little story in his letter? Do
you still like to hear stories? Well, I can tell you part of it, and
mamma can tell it over to you and _fill it up_.
"Papa, you know, is away off, out in the mountains, so far away from
home, in the army, and you know there are so many poor soldiers in the
army. Yesterday, the last day of the old year, was such a gloomy day,
it was so muddy and wet and rainy. And then last night it blew so hard
and rained so much; it was like a hurricane (get mamma to tell you what
that is). And the poor soldiers have no houses to live in, like little
Alice, with nice warm beds, and they don't have large tents like you
saw out in the woods near home last summer when Uncle Jimmy and the
rest of the boys and men were out soldiering. They have to live in the
fields and woods, and their tents are like grandma's tablecloth, only
smaller, and they stretch that up over a pole and it is open at both
ends, and at night two or three or four of them get down on their hands
and knees and crawl into it and pull their blankets over them when
they go to bed. The soldiers call them 'dog-tents.' Ask Lillie if she
thinks it would be good enough for her 'Trip.' Well, last night, after
many of the soldiers had been marching in the rain, and when most of
them were wet and their blankets wet, they built large fires, but they
wouldn't burn well because it was too wet, and they crawled into the
'dog-tents,' and were trying to get to sleep when the naughty wind
commenced to blow and it began again to rain, and the rain would blow
on their heads and they would draw them further into their tents, and
then it would rain on their feet, and pretty soon there came up such
a hurricane that it blew all their tents clear off of them, and there
they were lying on the muddy ground, and the cold rain pouring down
on them. And they all had to get up out of bed. It had rained so hard
that it put all their fires nearly out so they couldn't get warm. Poor
soldiers, don't you pity them?
"Some of the soldiers were out, away off in the dark woods on that
terrible night on _picket_ (get Willie or Uncle Aleck to tell you what
that is). And they had to sit all night on their poor horses away out
by themselves with their guns in their hands and swords by their sides,
watching to keep the wicked rebels from slipping into camp in the dark
night and killing your poor papa and the rest of the soldiers. After a
while the rain stopped, but the wind kept blowing and whistling through
the trees and over the mountains and making such a terrible noise.
You can hear it whistle around the corner of grandmamma's house, but
it moans and whistles so much louder out here over the mountains, it
might frighten little girls if they did not know what it was. Soon the
wind began to change around toward the north where Jack Frost lives and
from where the white snow comes, and the rain began to freeze, and the
ground got hard, and it was so cold, oh bitter cold. The poor soldiers
could sleep no more that night, their blankets were all frozen stiff
as an icicle, and they had to build great big fires to keep their coats
and pants from freezing on them. It was all they could do to keep from
freezing; they could not keep warm.
"Some of the men, when we went out to drive away the rebels from the
other side of the mountain, were hungry and they stopped behind us at
a farmhouse to get something to eat, and the wicked rebels caught them
and took their overcoats away from them, and took their warm boots off
their feet; and some of the poor fellows got away from them and walked
all the way from the rebel camp over the frozen ground barefooted.
To-day the soldiers have done nothing but build big fires and stand
close up to them and try to keep warm.
"These poor soldiers and your papa have come away from our homes and
left good mammas and dear little daughters to keep the wicked bad
rebels from making this country a poor, unhappy one, and that when
little Alice and the dear children of the other soldiers grow up they
will have a good and a happy country, and won't have to know about wars
and such terrible things. You must remember about the poor soldiers,
and pray God that He will be very kind to them and make the time soon
come when they and your papa can all of them go home to their dear
little daughters and good mammas.
"Kiss mamma and little Sister Edith for me, and tell your little
cousins Gwyn and Foster and Johnny that your papa hopes to come home
soon and that he will then come around with you and see them all."
As intimated in the last letter to my wife, General Foster did make a
forward movement with his entire force, and pushed the enemy toward the
Virginia line, but thereafter there was a lull in army operations for
the rest of the winter on both sides. The time had come for which I
had so long looked when I could without injury to the service ask for
a leave of absence, which General Foster, commanding the Department,
cheerfully granted, and before the last of January, 1864, I was on my
way home, going by way of Chattanooga and Nashville, as the railroad
communication was then well established.
I have noted the death of my father in April, 1863. He had been
actively engaged in extensive mercantile affairs, and while not wealthy
(as the world estimates wealth now), was possessed of considerable
property, both real and personal. By his will he made me the executor
of his estate and guardian of the two minor children. In August, 1863,
after I was well on the march to East Tennessee, I received a letter
from my brother stating that the court at Evansville had required my
presence in the proceedings for the settlement of my father's estate,
but I obtained a stay until I should be able to get released from my
army duties, with the assurance on my part that I would make as little
delay as possible.
When I reached home I found the affairs of my father's estate in such
condition that I could not conclude my duties as executor in the time
fixed for my "leave" from my command. There was the widow, two minor
and four adult heirs claiming attention to my duties as executor.
Under the circumstances I felt it proper to tender my resignation
from the army, especially as I had already determined to do so at the
expiration of my three years' term of service, which would be within
four months.
There was no reason for me to tender my resignation except the
undischarged duty of executor and my earnest desire to be with my
family. During my entire army service I had enjoyed good health and
was pleased with the active life. I had been reasonably successful in
military affairs, and had held large and important commands to the
satisfaction of my superior officers, and there was every prospect of
my early promotion in rank. But I put aside preferment and possible
military distinction for the more immediate call of family duty. The
outlook for the suppression of the rebellion was at that date most
favorable. Grant had been made commander-in-chief, and was organizing
his army for the final march on Richmond; Sherman was preparing for his
advance on Atlanta and his march to the sea; and at no time since the
opening of hostilities had the cause of the Union looked so auspicious.
General Sturgis, in command of the cavalry corps to which I belonged,
in forwarding my resignation to the Department general made the
following endorsement:--
"In approving this resignation, I cannot refrain from expressing my
deep regret in parting with so intelligent, energetic, and brave an
officer. I have for some time been aware of the business and family
interests which I feared would sooner or later deprive the army of
the services of Colonel Foster, yet after so long and faithful service
he should be, I think, relieved under the circumstances. His loss,
however, will be severely felt in this corps and his place hard to
fill."
When my resignation became known to the Sixty-fifth Regiment the
officers held a meeting in which a series of resolutions were adopted
declaring "that Colonel Foster, since his connection with the regiment
has been unceasing in his labors in, and untiring in his devotion
to, the cause in which we are engaged, and has spared no means to
render his regiment efficient; that he has commanded the regiment
with distinguished honor to himself and to the regiment; that in his
resignation the regiment and the service have lost an efficient and
valuable officer; and that he bears with him to his home our highest
esteem and our best wishes as a citizen."
An editorial of considerable length appeared in the "Evansville
Journal," from which the following is an extract:--
We regret exceedingly to learn that Colonel John W. Foster has felt it
to be his duty to resign his commission as colonel of the Sixty-fifth
Indiana Regiment, and that his resignation has been accepted. We have
known for some time that circumstances--growing out of his father's
death, occasioned an almost absolute necessity for his personal
attention to the settlement of a vast amount of unfinished business
left by the Judge--were conspiring to force Colonel Foster out of the
service, but we were in hope that matters might be so arranged as to
enable him to remain in the field. It seems, however, that this could
not be done, and our Government loses the services of one of its most
gallant, energetic, and experienced officers. Colonel Foster entered
the service of his country in the summer of 1861, as major of the
Twenty-fifth Regiment Indiana Volunteers. He laid aside the profession
of the law, and took upon himself the profession of arms, from a
conscientious belief that his first service was due to his Government.
Without experience, or even a theoretical knowledge of military life
when he entered the service, so close was his application to study,
that but a short time elapsed before he was a thorough master of all
the duties incumbent upon his position as Major of the regiment, or
for that matter with any position connected with the regiment. Colonel
Foster was a rigid disciplinarian, yet he exacted nothing from his men
that was not essential to the efficiency of his regiment, or that he
was unwilling to perform himself.