Birch River, Between Summersville and
Sutton, Virginia, September 14, 1861.
Dear Uncle : – I have no time to write letters. We are getting on finely. Our battle on the 10th at Gauley River, you have no doubt heard all about. Nothing but night prevented our getting Floyd and his whole army. As it was, we entirely demoralized them; got all their camp equipage even to their swords, flag, and trunks (one of the best of which the general gave me). I had an important and laborious part assigned me. An independent command of four companies to be the extreme left of our attacking column. We worked down and up a steep rocky mountain covered with a laurel thicket. I got close enough just at dark to get two men wounded and four others struck in their garments.
This is not a dangerous business; after tremendous firing of cannon and musketry, we lost only thirteen killed, about fifteen badly wounded and fifty or sixty slightly wounded. The enemy are no match for us in fair fighting. They feel it and so do our men. We marched rapidly seventeen miles, reaching their vicinity at 2:30 or 3 P. M. We immediately were formed and went at them. They were evidently appalled. I think not many were killed. Governor Floyd was wounded slightly.
On yesterday morning I was sent on a circuitous march to head off parties hastening to join Wise or Floyd. Four companies of my regiment, two companies of Colonel Ewing’s, and a squadron of Chicago cavalry are under my command. We marched up Gauley River to Hughes Ferry. There we were fired on by a lot of guerrillas concealed in rocks. It was more dangerous than the battle. Three of us who were mounted and in advance were decidedly objects of attention, but fortunately none were hit. We chased them off, getting only one.
I am now here relieving a small party of our folks who are entrenched and who have been in constant dread of an attack. We are without tents and expect to return to the battle-ground in six days.
In the battle only one commissioned officer was killed, Colonel Lowe. One acquaintance of yours, Stephen McGroarty, an Irish Democratic orator, formerly of Toledo, now of Cincinnati (a captain), was shot through the body, but kept on his feet until the fight was stopped by the darkness. He will recover. One of my comforts is that my horse has come out in better plight than ever. I think he never looked so well and spirited as he did today as we marched over Birch Mountain.
If no disaster overtakes us at Washington, we shall soon see signs of yielding by the South. The letters, diaries, etc., etc., found in Floyd’s trunks and desks, show that their situation is desperate. Thousands are in their army who are heartily sick of the whole business.
We retook a large part of the plunder taken from Colonel Tyler as well as prisoners. The prisoners had been well treated, very. The young men in Floyd’s army of the upper class are kind-hearted, good-natured fellows, who are [as] unfit as possible for the business they are in. They have courage but no endurance, enterprise, or energy. The lower class are cowardly, cunning, and lazy. The height of their ambition is to shoot a Yankee from some place of safety.
My regards to all. Send this to Mother and Lucy.
Sincerely,
R. B. Hayes.
P. S. – The enclosed picture of a lieutenant in the army we routed is for Laura.
S. Birchard.