The 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry
With Sherman’s Troops
Marietta, Georgia
November 14, 1864
The Pennsylvania 9th finally rode into Marietta and reined up in awe at the sight of the encampment spread out before them. Dirty and scarred from the constant encounters with the opposing forces they’d met along the way Asa’s regiment sat slumped in their saddles agape at the thousands of men ready and waiting for the orders to move on.
Still fired up from their victory at Atlanta on September 2nd Sherman’s troops had made their way across country to Marietta wreaking havoc as they went. The energy emanating from the vast gathering was palpable. Asa feeling a trickle of sweat creep down his back tightened his grip on the reins as the horse sensing his unease danced a few steps in the gritty dust that covered everything.
“Looks like we’re to become part of Sherman’s “bummers,” one of Asa’s mates chuckled. “Good chance to snag us some souvenirs and put the fear of God into these “butternuts.”
The two armies rose the next morning to the strident sounds of the bugle and the drums. “Prepare to march” came the order of the day and after downing a hasty breakfast and tending to the horses Asa’s Company E was in the saddle and ready to ride.
They were surprised to soon realize that many of the “bummers” as the newspapers were calling Sherman’s men had begun to believe they were God’s avenging angels and punishing the sins of the South was their duty.
Sherman, claiming he would “make Georgia howl”, began his “march to the sea’ that he had promised following the taking of Atlanta. By wreaking a sixty-mile wide swath of complete destruction of everything contributing to the war effort, he believed he was shortening the war and saving lives. Perhaps he was, Asa thought, but as for himself, he had no stomach for the pillaging of homes and destruction of good farmland that occurred despite orders to spare certain properties on occasion. He did his best to block out the frightened faces of children clinging to their mothers’ skirts and the defiant stares of the women. Some of the men exalted. “Serves the bastards right, but for them this terrible war would never have happened. Can’t they see they’re whipped?” he would hear them say when they rode off leaving weeping women and the terrified children behind.
As he and his fellow horsemen rode through the half-harvested fields setting fires and destroying the remaining crops he grit his teeth feeling demeaned and somehow diminished. Perhaps he was helping to save lives but he found no glory in the ruin that lay in the wake of the path of destruction their commander had ordered. As he watched the fires burn he grew hardened to the sight but imagined a cold flinty stone buried in his chest.
Keeping his memories of Rebecca tucked into his heart he hoped to blank out the rest as he rode forward and went about his work. It was obvious to him that the Rebs had made a huge mistake thinking they could break away from the rest of the country and go it on their own. He could understand some of Sherman’s decision to destroy, but waging war on women and children just didn‘t seem right.
Sitting one night as the sun set and a December chill settled over his shoulders, Asa pulled out a scrap of paper and his pencil stub and began to write to Rebecca:
Dearest Becky, I do hope you haven’t forgotten me. I know it’s been too long since I have written but we’ve been on the move almost constantly these past months and I have not done anything that you would be proud to hear about. Maybe you are getting news about the fires and the destruction of farms and factories that we are ordered to do. Just today my outfit managed to overcome the defenders at one of the railroad yards and we were told to torch it. It don‘t feel right to me but, our orders are to lay waste to anything the Rebs might have use for. Our General Sherman believes that we can destroy the enemy’s will to continue this fight if they see that they can no longer protect their homes and families from our advance. I suppose he’s right and that it likely will save lives, both theirs and ours, but I can’t say I like doing it…seems wrong somehow. I don’t think my Grandpa would approve, but then I don’t suppose he’d approve of anything we’ve had to do.
It’s getting on toward Christmas again and I can’t help but remember all the good times we used to have. Will you and your mother be making those puddings you would bring to the table on fire? We sure used to get excited over that. I do think my favorite thing about Christmas was those cookies you used to make. I think they had oatmeal and raisins in them. With some of Granny’s hot chocolate they would sure taste good about now.
Please forgive me for letting so much time go by without writing. I hate to mention it but we did hear something about a fight around Petersburg in Virginia that I think George might have been caught up in. … sure hope he is all right. One of the fellows mentioned the other day that he heard the New Jersey 4th was somewhere in Virginia near Danville. That’s Jacob’s outfit isn’t it? …Odd how your brothers all enlisted at different times and ended up almost in the same place.
Anyway, I sure do wish this was over and I could see you again. I wish I had the words to tell you how happy I was to be able to spend those few days at home with you. It will feel strange to be home again. Too much has happened. I’d send you a picture of me, but that fellow Brady with the camera doesn’t seem to be interested in us pony soldiers, just seems to like getting the generals to pose for him. You should see the one he took of Sherman up on that big horse of his…looks like he could conquer the world. The men like him,Sherman that is. He seems to care about how things are with us. I guess I’d better stop for now. I’m running out of paper and it’s getting too dark to see very well. I just wanted to let you know I am all right but thinking of you and home. I really can’t believe it will be too much longer. Johnny Reb is runnin’ out of everything he needs. The men we fought the other day are pretty ragged and look awfully thin. That awful yell they give as they come at you is enough to curdle the milk. Too bad us Yanks don’t seem to have come up with something like that to scare them with.
I guess that’s about all I can think of to tell you. We have another long ride tomorrow. I’ll say good night now, Miss Becky, and hope to hear from you soon although I have no idea where we will be after this. Do give my best to your folks and let Uncle Justus know I’m thinking of him and his folks too. I don’t have any more paper to write another letter. Your humble servant, Asa Hickok