Christmas of 1862 saw a nation wearied by war. The year before had been merry as young men trotted off to war expecting adventure, honor and the preservation of something noble. They went off as to a frolic, expecting quick victory. Over the course of that first year, however, their enthusiasm had been quenched as North and South stood at a seemingly unbreakable stalemate and few lives were left untouched by the horrors of modern warfare. Families were separated, rations were short and homes were destroyed. The cover of Harper’s Weekly reflected well the mood of the nation in Thomas Nast’s depiction of Christmas, 1862.

A woman prays near her children’s bedside as the same moon shines over a soldier on the battlefield holding a portrait of family. The third prominent element is the graveyard which would take in at least 620,000 Americans through the course of this war.

By this second Christmas of war, men felt alienated from the causes they had so valiantly left home to defend. Northerners felt this was Lincoln’s war. Southerners felt it was a rich man’s war fought on the poor man’s back. Mistakes had been made on both sides and both sides were settling in for a long battle, no longer sure of victory.

Out of this time, however, would also come a ray of hope. Not of quick victory nor even of better times, but a foreshadowing of healing. America would be one nation again. Forever changed, but one.

December 30, 1862 lines were being drawn for a significant battle near Murfreesboro, TN after months of waiting. The tension was high and both sides waited in “anxious suspense” as James Barnes of the 86th Indiana recorded. Just before tattoo, the Union bands struck up “Yankee Doodle” to lift the spirits of the men. As the last chord died, a southern band answered with “Dixie.” The cordial volley continued until the bands struck a common chord.

The night before the battle an incident took place such as history seldom records,” wrote Samuel Seay of the 1st Tennessee. “The opposing lines were so near to each other as to be within easy bugle-call. Just before ‘tattoo,’ the military bands on each side began their evening music. The still winter night carried their strains to a great distance. At every pause on our side, far away could be heard the military bands of the other.

“Finally one of them struck up ‘Home! Sweet Home!’ As if by common consent, all the other airs ceased, and the bands of both armies, far as the ear could reach, joined in the refrain.”

Men of the North and South lifted their voices in unison, extolling the virtues of home. The following day would see three thousand dead and fifteen thousand wounded as the Stones River ran red. While each man longed to be home, each was also fighting for an idea of home and of family they wished to see preserved.

Home! Sweet Home!
John Howard Payne
1791-1852

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble there’s no place like home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere

Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home
There’s no place like Home!
There’s no place like Home!

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child
As she looks on the moon from our own cottage door
Through the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.

Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home…

An exile from home splendor dazzles in vain
Oh, give me my low, thatched cottage again,
The birds singing gaily that come at my call,
Give me them with that peace of mind, dearer than all,

Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home…

How sweet ’tis to sit neath a fond father’s smile,
And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile.
Let others delight ‘mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, oh give me the pleasures of home.

Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home…

To thee I’ll return overburdened with care,
The hearts dearest solace will smile on me there
No more from that cottage again will I roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.

Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home…

Merry Christmas, from our home to yours.

______

Sources: God Rest Ye Merry Soldiers, A true Civil War Christmas Story by James McIvor (2005) (Samuel Seay’s quote appears on page 102)

Ought it not be a Merry Christmas?