#sutler

The field or the garden—the grain or the grape! But can I—a peddler—my life-path re-shape, And run from my fate, and the city escape?

The ghetto-slums nursed me, and there I was bred; No grass under foot, and no sun overhead; I sweated, I peddled, I bartered for bread.

For pennies, for pennies, my life I have sold, I never have known that the heaven had gold, That meadows had pearls unsearched for, untold.

In rags, and in bones, and in scraps was my trade, I knew not the blessing of blossom and blade, To toil, and to rest after toil in the shade.

When thirsty—to drink from a crystal-clear spring, And gaze at the grain in the breezes aswing, And hear in the distance the harvesters sing.

I knew not the bliss and the blessing of toil, The pride of the man who has conquered the soil, And shared in the booty, and ate of its spoil.

From city to city forever I'm thrown, Brick of its brick and stone of its stone, A peddler, a peddler—despised and alone.

And yet there is something still left in my blood, That tells me the blade and the blossom are good, And I will go back to the field and the wood!

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The Song of the Peddler

Philip M. Raskin

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A “sutler” sets up shop at Siege of Petersburg during the American Civil War.

The new year of 1863 brought no improvement in Major William Watson's hand-to-mouth living. He was encouraged by news that his family had sent him a box and wrote his sister, Ella on January 4, 1863: "Your last letter contained five dollars and the Express receipt. I don't think there is any danger of the box not reaching me safely provided it was well secured. I have been to Aquia Creek twice the past week. Was there yesterday. There are tons upon tons of Express matter for our Grand Division, but everything passes through the hands of the Provost. I enquired when he would have the boxes shipped to Falmouth. He replied there were so d----d many that he did not know if he would ever get them all up."

"Yesterday I went down for the purpose of procuring somethings from the Sanitary Commission and I give you my word I had not money enough nor could I borrow it to get my dinner. And furthermore if it were not for "old Pap," my cook, I would be compelled to beg my rations or starve. Old Pap has a little, money which he kindly permits me to make use of---or rather he expends it for me in the purchase of Crackers, Coffee and Sugar. SO you can imagine how delighted I was to receive even five dollars." Major William Watsgon 1st Div. 1st Brigade, 105th PA [Source: Ed. Paul Fatout, Letters of a Civil War Surgeon, p. 46]