The Winter months of 2020 were busy at the Sawin Museum, preparing for the annual Spring re-opening.  We pulled everything out of the Civil War display case, a full floor-to-ceiling cabinet with three shelves, and I painted the interior cobalt blue. I was working with Stuart Swiny, the Curator, and with his knowledge of history and considerable gift (and patience) for teaching, we began cleaning and re-displaying the artifacts.

We have a cavalry bridle with a strong bit, and a photograph of an excellent sculpture by Amelia Peabody of the last surviving officer of the USS Monitor, the Union ironclad warship that dueled with the Confederate CSS Virginia at the Battle of Hampton Roads in 1862.  Those items interested me. I did not know much about the Civil War so the weaponry, canteens and maps did not prompt my imagination and I was struggling to contribute to a meaningful display.

The bottom of the case was monopolized by an old wooden box.  I asked Stuart about it, hoping we could rethink our use of space.  As we looked at it our interest quickly grew.  The box is an officer’s field desk, dry and worn from hard use. We cleaned, conditioned, and buffed it to a slight sheen.  There are still pen and ink parchment labels glued to a few compartments, including a drawer labelled “Foolscap,” which was a paper slightly longer than the 8 1/2’ x 11”  size that we use today.

At this time I was also constructing an exhibit on the other side of the room.  I needed to acquaint myself with our inventory, so I emptied the Museum’s storage closet and opened every carton.  So many interesting items, including this desk, have been donated to the Museum by Dover citizens over the past 100 years.  As I re-organized the closet I found a box of papers labelled “Military Orders From Civil War Field Desk.” There were more than a hundred hand-written pages, the content too much to absorb at first glance. I took the box home to study, and within days the Covid-19 Pandemic was declared and the Museum was closed indefinitely.

George A. Hicks, Acting Assistant Adjutant General, writing and signing for Major General Edward Ferrero, sent most of the Orders filed in this desk from the headquarters of the Army of the James at Bermuda Hundred, Virginia (on the James River about 25 miles southeast of Richmond).  Probably used by one of the Regimental Adjutants of the 1st Connecticut Heavy Artillery, a name scratched into one of its drawers suggests that the desk was made by an imprisoned Union deserter while the regiment was stationed in Alexandria during the last year of the war, 1864 -1865 (See the article by Elisha Lee concerning the making of the desk in a forthcoming issue of Dover Tidings).

A typical field desk in use at Culpeper, Virginia. Sitting on the right is Dr. Charles Irwin, surgeon with the 72nd New York Infantry (Photograph ref. LC-DIG-cwpb-00917, Library of Congress)

About half of the papers list prisoners, along with their offenses, their findings of “Guilty,” and their punishments. Some of these are heavy, including a few soldiers ordered “to death by musketry”, to be shot by men in their own Division.  They were to be buried by those same men without honor.

The Sentence of Death passed by General Court Martial upon two soldiers to be executed in the presence of their own Brigades, at ten o’clock forenoon, January 3, 1865.

Some soldiers were to be shamed in front of their Division by marching back and forth with heavy blocks of wood on their backs; sometimes accompanied by a drummer, sometimes carrying a sign.  The Court Martial Orders highlight the mistakes and bad decisions that were made by so many soldiers; soldiers who fell asleep during night watch, ran away, or disobeyed orders.

Major General Ferrero had a respected career as a Union Army General, except for “one of the great scandals of the Civil War,” the time he and General James Ledlie remained in “the bombproof”, drinking together while their troops were decimated in the Battle of the Crater at Petersburg, Virginia on July 30, 1864. In my mind, however, I hear him on a “normal” day, dictating memo after memo to George Hicks.  It is hard to imagine him making the decision to hide and drink while the men in his charge were massacred.

The other half of the papers are both mundane and intriguing; the “middle ground” between the horrific and the heroic.  There are Orders to the Commander to transfer a soldier to the “U.S. Colored Troops” and announcements of appointments and assignments, whiskey sales and fife lessons.

Amongst these papers there are a few moments of celebration.  A telegraph from Major General Ord on December 18, 1864, calls for “Three cheers for General Thomas’ Army” for “A great victory has been gained.”  The message refers to the capture of Nashville, Tennessee.  Another telegraph on January 17, 1865 calls for a 100-gun salute because “Fort Fisher was taken on the night of the 15th, the Army and the Navy acted on one Front …Curtis led, wound not serious” and, “one thousand Prisoners including General Whiting and Colonel Lamb both wounded. Turn out the Bands.”

                  Celebratory telegraph of January 17, 1865

A Google search revealed that this brief news flash and Order for celebration was for a victory by the largest fleet yet assembled by the U.S. military, and was one of the fiercest and bloodiest battles of the War.  Afterwards, while recovering in the hospital, a famous friendship developed between Lamb and Curtis, whom Lamb called “my friend the Enemy.”

I transcribed the pages onto a document on my laptop in chronological order.  Deciphering the scrolled handwriting and researching names to verify the spelling was a slow process. Now, as I sit with my morning coffee, I find myself thinking of war news, Commands and Orders.  When I have to sign something, Civil War names appear in my mind, scratched out in pen and ink handwriting.  I have spent so much time with these papers; a Pandemic project.

Stuart is teaching me that museum exhibits become meaningful when they tell a story.  After a month of not going there I unlocked the Museum and went upstairs.  A map of Bermuda Hundred, Virginia interested me now as I could see where the desk had been.  The canteens, the heavy cannon balls, and the sutler tokens were all part of daily life during this war, and I am excited to complete this exhibit.

The papers, for me, pull this unique Civil War display together.  They tell the story of the war as it happened around the field desk.  It is a rare and interesting view into history that can be found in our Civil War display case at the Sawin Museum, just as soon as we safely re-open during this global Pandemic.  History within history.

By Lori Carbone