I’ve been an archivist at the American Heritage Center for almost 25 years, and I thought I knew our collections pretty well. But as I was searching for the perfect topic for this year’s Independence Day blog post, I found myself drawn to a collection I’d never fully explored: the John H. Hull family papers. What I discovered there has deepened how I think about what we celebrate on July 4th.
Who Was John Hull?
The John H. Hull family papers contain a remarkable collection of Civil War correspondence—letters written by an Indiana farmer to his wife Agnes and their eight children during his service from January 8, 1864, to July 10, 1865, with the 120th Indiana Infantry Regiment, Company D. John Henry Hull was born on May 3, 1818, settled near Folsomville, Indiana, in 1836, and married Mary Agnes Phillips in 1840. At age 45, with a large family depending on him, he made the difficult decision to enlist as the Civil War entered its bloodiest phase.
The collection preserves Hull’s letters home during his service in some of the war’s most significant campaigns: the Atlanta Campaign, operations against Confederate General Hood in Alabama and Tennessee, the Battle of Nashville, and finally the Carolina Campaign that ended with Confederate surrender in April 1865. He served during what many historians consider the war’s turning point—the period when Union forces finally gained decisive momentum that would end the conflict within a year. His are not the polished memoirs of generals or the official reports of commanding officers—they’re the immediate, unfiltered thoughts of an ordinary American caught up in extraordinary circumstances.
An Unexpected Journey
I’ll admit, I was initially looking for something from the Revolutionary War era—something that would tie directly to 1776. But as I pulled up the digitized Hull letters on my computer and began reading his careful handwriting, I realized I’d stumbled onto something just as powerful: the story of how ordinary Americans in every generation have had to fight to preserve what the Founders started.
As I worked through Hull’s letters chronologically, I was struck by how much they revealed about the personal cost of preserving American independence. Hull wasn’t writing for posterity or public consumption—these were private communications with his family filled with mundane concerns about sick children, farm business, and the simple desire to stay connected across impossible distances.
One of his earliest letters in the collection, dated April 1, 1864, immediately establishes the tone: “Dear wife and children I take this opportunity to let you know that I am well and hearty hoping that these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing.” Here was a man hundreds of miles from home, trying to maintain connection with his family while serving in the army that would determine his nation’s survival.
The Reality of War
But Hull’s careful reassurances to his family would soon give way to the stark realities of warfare. Writing from an unknown location on May 21, 1864, with characteristic understatement he described one of his early combat experiences: “i was in a fight whear the big gun howl and the bullets whisled but we went right on and they ran like dogs. i think if they dont run me to death I dont think they will kill any other way for the bullets whisle les.”
He continues in the same letter: “we are in hear ing now of the Canon and I dont know how quck I will have to start. This is the days rest sense we left Charleston. We left thear the 5 of may… Thear was non of our Company killed. Thear was some killed in the riegment. The rebs and us was fiting 8 days. Thear was a good many killed on both sides but we keep them a running all the time so no more.”
This was likely during the grueling advance toward Atlanta, where General Sherman’s forces faced constant skirmishing and entrenchment battles that wore down both armies. Reading these words, I found myself thinking about the gap between how we remember the Civil War—with its grand strategies and famous battles—and how it was actually experienced by men like Hull. Eight days of continuous fighting. Bullets whistling overhead. The constant uncertainty about survival.
The physical toll of the campaign became increasingly evident as summer wore on. By June, writing from near Allatoona, Georgia, during the Atlanta Campaign, Hull’s exhaustion seeps through his careful script: “[W]e have a hard march sense this other letter and stood a Heap of heavy rains. We was hurried out and I did not git to mail this other letter. We are being in a lin of battle now and expecting a fight all the time but I think the rebs will skedadle and run us to death.”
His next lines reveal the true cost of Sherman’s relentless pursuit: “we have run them about 50 or 60 miles and have fit all the way. They are running more of us to death than they are killing. We have not had many man killed in our riegment but a heap sick and gave out on the march.”
Even in the midst of describing military operations, Hull’s thoughts turn to home and his oldest son: “Jim I want you to bee a good boy to your mother and the children til I get home again.” The juxtaposition is striking—tactical assessments mixed with fatherly advice, battlefield reports interwoven with domestic concerns.
Holding It Together
What emerges from these letters is a portrait of someone trying to hold multiple roles together under impossible circumstances. In August 1864, Hull writes to Agnes: “Dear Companion I dont feel Capable of in structing you much about any thing. I wat you to manage as you think best. If you want my advice about any thing write to mee and I will send it. I want you to give my respects to all inquiring friends and pray for me that when i dy i may be prepared for a better world. i am in a hard place but i think the same one made me will prserve mee til I get back with you.”
The weight of command responsibility added to his burden. A week later, his responsibilities as a non-commissioned officer become clear: “We had a pretty hard days march but thank god I am able to stand it yet and i am the only Corporel left in the Company that was first apointed.” By late August 1864, Hull was one of the few original corporals still standing in his company—a sobering reminder of the attrition that characterized Civil War service.
Despite everything, Hull maintained remarkable resilience. Writing from camp near Pulaski, Tennessee, on September 18, 1864: “Dear wife and children i once more take the opertunity to write you a few lines to let you know that i am well and heart hoping these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing. i am whear in camp in a very pretty place. the boys is in good spirits. they think we are a going to get to come hear to the Election.”
Testing Hull’s Resolve
But this period of relative calm wouldn’t last long. Hull’s regiment faced Confederate General Hood’s forces at the Battle of Franklin on November 30, 1864, where they suffered significant casualties. Later, Hull would write about the fierce fighting: “we had a hot time at franklin. our mager was killed. we had one man killed in our Co. It was S [B]owers.1 tha was 5 kil and 15 wounded and missen out of the riegment but the Johneys died by the hundreds.”
Even after the losses at Franklin, Hull’s confidence in his fellow soldiers remained unshaken. By December 1864, as his regiment prepared for the Battle of Nashville, Hull remained optimistic: “we are whear at Nashville expecting a big fight. We are whear some said [H]ood is and some he is going to fight. whear and dont know what he will do if he forfites. We can whip him. We run after him and whipped him and i know we can whip him whear well.” The Battle of Nashville would prove Hull’s confidence well-founded—it became one of the most decisive Union victories of the war, effectively destroying Hood’s Confederate army as a fighting force.
Writing home after the campaign concluded, Hull’s December 26th letter reported on the pursuit of Hood’s retreating forces: “we are following them back south and taking prisoners.”
The Cost of Service
Throughout his letters, Hull’s concern for his family’s welfare never disappears. Writing from Raleigh, North Carolina, in February 1865, as the war was finally winding down: “Well old woman this leaves me well and hearty and i hope it will find you [and] the children the same… i will send you ten dollars in this letter. i am sorry i hant money to send you all i wanted but if i hant got any more let i come home and i wll tend to it my self.”
These weren’t wealthy people. Hull was sending what little he could from his soldier’s pay, promising to “tend to it” when he got home. The sacrifice wasn’t just his time or his safety—it was his family’s financial security, their farm’s productivity, everything they’d built together over two decades.
A Different Kind of Independence Day Story
The more I read, the more I realized that Hull’s story illuminates something important about what we celebrate on July 4th. The Declaration of Independence wasn’t just signed once in 1776 and then safely preserved forever. Each generation has faced the choice of whether those principles were worth defending, often at enormous personal cost.
Hull left his Indiana farm, endured months of combat and hardship, sent his meager soldier’s pay home to Agnes and the children, and somehow maintained enough hope and determination to see the war through to its conclusion. His letters reveal no grand rhetoric about saving the Union or preserving democracy—just a steady commitment to duty and family that somehow sustained him through his years of service.
What I Take Away
I’ve been working with historical documents for many ears, but Hull’s letters affected me in ways I hadn’t expected. Maybe it’s because they’re so immediate and unguarded. Maybe it’s because I can picture him trying to write by candlelight in a tent, or imagine what it meant for Agnes to wait weeks between letters.
Whatever the reason, these letters have given me a different appreciation for what we commemorate on Independence Day. It’s not just the Declaration of Independence itself, but the ongoing commitment of ordinary Americans to defend those principles across generations. Hull and hundreds of thousands like him made that choice in 1864, just as others have made it in every era since.
Post contributed by AHC Simpson Archivist Leslie Waggener.
The John H. Hull family papers are available for research at the AHC. The collection includes biographical information, Hull’s Civil War correspondence, family letters, and photographs spanning from 1841 to 1976. Researchers can access digitized portions of the collection online or visit our reading room to explore the complete materials.
- Pvt. Stephen Bowers of Oakland City Indiana, was killed in action on November 30, 1864, during the Battle of Franklin. https://marshaswarrickweb.com/military/120coD.htm