GEORGE WHITTEMORE, JR.

Private 1st Co. Mass. Sharpshooters, August, 1861; Corporal; Sergeant; killed at Antietam, Md., September 17, 1862.

THIS

HIS memoir can be but a brief sketch, yet it aims to give glimpses of a character of much harmony and strength, and a career of persistent fidelity; though the one shrank from publicity, and the other was undecorated with the badges of rank.

George Whittemore, Jr., son of George and Anna Whittemore, was born in Boston, December 19, 1837. He attended the public schools of that city, graduating from the Latin School, a medal scholar, in 1853. He immediately entered Harvard College, as a member of the Class of 1857. A few years before this his parents had removed to Gloucester, Massachusetts; and there, on the sea-shore and in the woods, during his vacations, were early developed his simple tastes and the manly physical habits which added vigor to a naturally strong constitution. As a boy he was usually gentle and quiet; but the earnest spirit under his calm exterior flashed into energetic and lively action whenever he was thoroughly roused by social enjoyment, or moved by invitations to daring adventure. The force of will, never hardening into wilfulness, which he exhibited at a later period, was not manifested in his childhood. Under kindly domestic influence, there was little to call out the innate strength of his nature.

At Cambridge he was a close student, ranking among the first twelve of his Class. He excelled as a classical scholar. As a writer, he took several prizes for English composition, and he was noted for his clear comprehension of abstruse metaphysical questions. He taught school during the winters of his Sophomore and Junior years at Gloucester, and

in the winter of his Senior year at Northampton. He was fond of athletic exercises and expert as an oarsman. His devotion to his books and his retiring manners prevented his forming many intimate acquaintances; but he was respected by all his associates and classmates for his fine intellectual and moral qualities.

On leaving college he was engaged as an assistant in the private classical school of Mr. E. S. Dixwell in Boston. Whilst occupying this position, and afterwards in the office of Messrs. J. J. Clarke and Lemuel Shaw, he studied law. He passed the usual examination and was admitted to the Suffolk Bar on the very day when he left home as a soldier. In the summer of 1860, to recruit his health, he went with a small party on an excursion which was to have been continued for several months in the Southwest. An unusual drought in that part of the country compelled him to give up the plan when only partially executed, and he returned alone on horseback, visiting the Adirondack regions on his way back.

The first years of his maturity found him a strong, wellbalanced, self-contained man, able to bear and ready to help others bear all the shocks of life, with a rich, warm nature, but one expressing itself in deeds rather than in words, full of tenderness and care for others, and quick of indignation against anything he felt to be unjust, inhuman, or wrong.

On the breaking out of the war, he joined a drill-club; but it was not until after the disastrous battle of Bull Run that he fully determined to enter the army. With him, to resolve was to act; and he enlisted as a private in the First Company of Sharpshooters from his native State, in August, 1861. He had no acquaintances in the company, and joined it against the remonstrances of his friends, who felt that he was equal to and ought to take a higher position. He was not afterwards wholly satisfied with the step he had taken; yet the considerations which decided his course

were both characteristic and honorable, inasmuch as they prompted him simply to take the place in which he thought he could be the most useful. He was very near-sighted, and constantly used glasses; was an expert with the rifle, and capable of enduring fatigue; was doubtful of his military ability to act as an officer, and averse to the restraints and routine of an infantry regiment. For these reasons, he preferred at first, believing that the contest would be short, the independence and the opportunities for individual enterprise he hoped to find in an unattached command, and in the use of the telescopic rifle.

What it meant for such a man to be a soldier in this way can easily be imagined. His prospect of a peaceful future had been bright. The cherished home of his childhood and youth held him in a loving embrace; and there was one to be left upon whom he had bestowed his strongest affections. All this was to be put in mortal peril, and yet he did not hesitate. He had everything to lose, nothing to win, as men usually count losing and winning. But the risk must be taken, the privation must be endured; thus he felt and thus he acted.

He was a faithful correspondent, writing constantly to his kindred and friends, most frequently to his father; for between his parents and himself the relation was one of strong and tender mutual regard and entire confidence. His letters tell where and how he served; what he became, or rather, how perfectly he continued to be himself during the twelve months spent amid scenes so strange and so distasteful in many respects to his whole nature. The following extracts need no comment, and are therefore given in one group.

"NEAR WASHINGTON, D. C., September 9, 1861. "You ask if I am satisfied. I am as well satisfied as when I first formed the resolution to go to the war, and the whole affair has the same aspect as then. I have only one wish, which I have had from the first, that the war may be ended as soon as possible (not by

....

compromise), and that we may go home. Some things here are better, and some worse, than I expected. . . . . Had a delightful bath yesterday morning. The creek, though not very wide, is deep in some parts, with high banks, covered with trees except where they open on a little meadow here and there. It reminds me of the North Branch of Concord River. Imagine one swimming up the North Branch. Would n't it be the ne plus ultra of delightful bathing? I suppose the creek runs into the Potomac.”

"DISTRICT COLUMBIA, September 10, 1861.

"The day was intensely hot, and after waiting some time for marching orders, we went off to the shade of the woods. I was patient and comfortable, lay down, took out Körner,' and did not care if we stayed there all day. But we were not so fortunate."

"CAMP NEAR EDWARD'S FERRY, September 29, 1861.

"I am very well and strong, and need to be to endure the work we are doing now. Last night some of our company went out on picket. We lay out on the tow-path in our blankets and overcoats, and I slept soundly with my cartridge-box for a pillow. At two, shots were heard, and our line jumped up, thinking the enemy were crossing the river. As I did not find myself killed, nor hear that any one else was, I was disposed to lie still and wait for something But the alarm had been given, and every man must pack up his goods and be in marching order."

more.

"NEAR EDWARD'S FERRY, October 22, 1861.

"It is dull, of course. It is not the life I should choose, even in pleasant weather, unless I was a colonel or general, in which case there might be some enjoyment in it; but as a private there is nothing to attract one who has such a home as I have. However, a man will not be miserable unless he has a very sensitive temperament, feels everything keenly, and broods over trouble. Now if I were constituted as you are, I could not endure this life a month; but as I am able to bear disagreeable things, and have a latent relish for a loafing life, I am not at all miserable."

"NEAR EDWARD'S FERRY, October 28, 1861. "We have seen our first fighting. We went over the river on Monday. The colonel or general commanding showed us the posi

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tion of the enemy, and told us to go there and see what we could do.'. . . . Our company have done all the fighting at this place, with the exception of some shells thrown by the artillery. Our men both on Monday and Tuesday were put up close to the enemy, quite unsupported; and this, with their being without food for twenty-four hours and doing nearly all the fighting, has, I find, gained them some credit with everybody. Even General Gorman, who calls the guns great humbugs, gives credit to the men."

"NEAR EDWARD'S FERRY, October 22.

"I begin to realize the risks and sufferings of war. I cannot well reconcile myself to parting from all I love in the world, but those left behind suffer more. If there is any consolation in the next world, and I believe there is, I shall know it at once. However, I hope for the best, and do not think much about these things."

"November 10.

"You thought, walking in those splendid autumn woods, it would be far preferable to die there than to die shut up in a sick-chamber with all the paraphernalia of sickness about you. Yes, I think so; but perhaps the idea as it presents itself to my mind, of a sudden, painless death in full activity, even in battle, is not so pleasant for you to think of. To me it seems the most desirable form in which to meet it."

"CAMP BENTON, November 20, 1861. "The principal discomfort here arises from the impossibility of being neat. I was never fastidious, but cannot reconcile myself to the state of things here and to our crowded condition. We have eleven or twelve in tents which were made to hold eight. I shall break off, for the crowd of men and clatter of voices in this smoky tabernacle of ours seem to make the letter unfit to send to you, the pattern of fastidious neatness. I wonder if any of the smoke or other odors goes in the letter to Boston. I believe it can't be helped in the present state of things."

"Will

"CAMP BENTON, December 4, 1861. go into the army? If he does, I should advise him to get a commission. I have come to the conclusion that a man of ability and education is not only under no obligation to go into the ranks as a private, but that he ought not to. He thereby puts it