To My Dearest Polly, Jamison, Peggy, and Margaret, June 24, 1863

June 24, 1863

East of Vicksburg

Hi, this is Peter, I hope you are doing well. I am writing to you hoping I can exchange words one last time before we advance. We’ve done almost a month of waiting, and I am almost as uncomfortable as I have ever been, but General Grant announced we shall commence our attack on Vicksburg early tomorrow morning. I am not sure if you will ever receive this letter, but I am still sending in fear of the loud battle that lies ahead, and the substantial chance of many lives being lost, including my own. We have many supplies from the various train raids and ambushes we have done on this path to Vicksberg, but that can not stop the danger that will come in these upcoming hours. In case anything blunders in our attack, I want you to know exactly what is happening, so you can have every last detail for when you might tell this story.

We are outside of Vicksburg, it’s nearly pitch black, my lantern is the only light I can see. We have mines planted under the ground on the entrances to the town, and we are having the final sleep before we raid the town from the entrance. I would usually be more confident, but in our last few battles they have outwitted us and we have lost thousands of men. One among those was my dear friend John Hablescue, a woodworker out of Massachusetts, and a fine brewer. We used to make up songs for our platoon and John would play them on his banjo. Good times, the food may have been maggot filled but damn the memories are strong, if only General Grant had held back and took the smart route. This is the night I have spent the past year battling and watching my friends die for. I have trudged miles to get here, and I await the bloodbath that will soon commence, but if I don’t return, just remember that I tried and I died serving loyal to my president.

Sincerely,

Peter Stockton.