Apr 13, 2023 - Sale 2633

Sale 2633 - Lot 173

Price Realized: $ 1,875
?Final Price Realized includes Buyer’s Premium added to Hammer Price
Estimate: $ 2,500 - $ 3,500
(WEST--COLORADO.) William B. Mason. Three letters from a rough-edged but poetic soldier in the Mexican War and the Colorado frontier. 3 Autograph Letters Signed to parents and siblings; moderate foxing, first letter with separations at folds. Sleeved in a binder, with typed transcripts. Mexico City and Fort Massachusetts, CO, 1847-1855
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"Our moto is 'Forward, boys, until the redskins fall or fly.'"

William B. Mason (1826-1907) was a soldier from Bethel, Sullivan County, NY (best known as the site of the Woodstock festival). He served with the 2nd United States Artillery. His spelling was poor, but he could muster a dramatic turn of phrase. He wrote a long emotional letter from Mexico City on 7 December 1847, about three months into the American occupation: "I have ben in 3 hard fites. I hav sean my friends and foes both fawl. I hav ben wher canones did loudly roar and muskit bauls did fly round my head like shours of hail when hundreds war fawling, yet I am still saved. . . . The batel of Sarah Gordia [Cerra Gorda] lasted about 2 ourse, the batel of Cherbusky [Churubusco] 2 ours, the entring of the sity wea war fiting 5 days." He concludes with an original patriotic poem or song in 5 verses addressed to his family. The letter bears an inked New Orleans postmark and "10" stamp.

Mason remained in the army after the war. This lot includes two other letters he wrote home from Fort Massachusetts in New Mexico Territory (soon to be part of Colorado), fighting against the Ute people. Kit Carson was an Indian agent based at the fort during this period, though he is not mentioned in the letters. On 16 September 1854, Mason hopes his mother "may yet clasp to her bosom the war-worne wander, but she cannot exspect to find mea in that bloom of youth as when I left. . . . Instid of that soft hand and sweet voice of youth, now is the harsh voice and ruf hand of a waryer. . . . The little Indian child of whitch I spoke in my last leter has since died, thow it was not for the wont of care, but never can I forget its eyes at the battle ground whar it was taken, but it has gon to meat its mother in eternity. . . . We had four of the Utaus to see us yesterday and staid all night. Thay say thay don't want to fite any more with the white man, and wish to become their friends."

On 20 February 1855 he wrote again: "I have to go in a fewe dayes to fite the red men agane. Our campain will last for several months. . . . The Indians in this part ar all up in armes against the inhabetants of the cuntry. Thay hav slauterd a great many of them this winter, and ar continusly stealing their stock. . . . The Utaues is a strong tribe, and thar is no dout but wea shal hav a hard fite with them. Thay hav about 1000 fiting men, and our little army onely concists of about 500. . . . Thow the little mesengers of death fly fast and thick, our moto is 'Forward, boys, until the redskins fall or fly.' . . . I think, dear sister, that you would laf to see the redskins run after we have peperd them about a half hour with our rifels." Sergeant Mason eventually left the army, married, and had a long peaceful life as a farmer in Allegany County, NY.

With--a letter from Mary A. Mason, widow of Sergeant Mason's brother John Henry Mason (1824-1865). Her husband survived his Civil War service but died within two weeks of his discharge before returning home in August 1865. Writing from Laurel Station, MD, she informed the Mason family: "I am under the doctor's care ever since three days after the death of my dear husband. . . . Before I left home he was taken from Fairfax Semenary and sent off the the front, and I was to Fairfax 3 months all alone, and it was part of that time that I did not know wether he was dead or alive. . . . When he got his discharge on the 22 of July we expected to start for home on the 23rd. That was the day that he was taken to his bed. He lived just two weeks after getting his discharge. . . . He died in my arms, and no one was with me either. . . . I had to close his mouth and eyes myself."

Also with an undated poem by Lorenzo D. Mason of Washington, NY.