Christmas in Gettysburg in 1863 was a study in extreme contrasts. The small town was still emerging from the shadow of the cataclysmic battle fought there five months earlier. The Battle of Gettysburg (July 1–3, 1863) had left the community physically and emotionally scarred. By Christmastime, most of the immediate horrors had been addressed – the majority of the dead were now buried in proper cemeteries, and President Abraham Lincoln had visited in November to dedicate a new Soldiers’ National Cemetery with a brief but poignant address. Yet the war raged on elsewhere, and Gettysburg’s first post-battle Christmas was a mixture of lingering anxiety and hopeful festivity. In this article, we explore daily life in Gettysburg at Christmas 1863: the living conditions and work facing civilians, their emotional state after months of trauma, how they observed the holidays, the town’s political climate and press commentary, the role of relief organizations, and the personal anecdotes of townspeople across different backgrounds that bring this moment in history vividly to life.

The Battle’s Aftermath: A Town in Recovery

That Christmas found Gettysburg still in the process of recovery from the summer’s battle. The town had not yet fully healed from the devastation – “the town was not fully recovered from the battle” as one historian notes. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, efforts to clean up the battlefield continued in earnest. The gruesome work of exhuming hastily buried soldiers’ corpses from shallow battlefield graves and reburying them in the new National Cemetery was in full swing by December. Teams of laborers, including a number of African American workers, toiled in the cold earth to give the fallen a proper burial. One local black farmer, Basil Biggs, had returned after fleeing the July invasion and took on a contract to help rebury Union dead; Biggs and others ultimately exhumed around 3,500 bodies, earning about $1.25 per body for this grim but necessary task. The sight and stench of death that had plagued Gettysburg in the summer and fall were finally fading as 1863 drew to a close.

Meanwhile, the last of the battle’s wounded were just departing Gettysburg around Christmastime. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, every church, school, and many private homes had been converted into makeshift hospitals for thousands of Union and Confederate wounded. A vast military hospital camp, called Camp Letterman, had operated on the outskirts of town. By early December, Dr. Jonathan Letterman – the Army’s Medical Director who oversaw that facility – requested a transfer, his work nearly done. In the first weeks of December, trains carried many remaining patients out of Gettysburg to larger hospitals in cities better equipped for long-term care. Only a few injured soldiers were left in town by Christmas 1863, and Camp Letterman shut down for good in January 1864. The fact that the hospitals were finally emptying was itself a relief to townsfolk, marking a turning point toward normalcy.

Physical signs of battle damage, however, still surrounded the residents. When families like the Shrivers returned to their homes after the July battle, they found havoc. Henrietta “Hettie” Shriver and her children had fled town during the fighting; upon coming back, she discovered that Confederate sharpshooters had occupied her house on Baltimore Street. The soldiers had even knocked holes in walls to fire through, and at least one sniper had died inside the house. A red flag still hung out front indicating the building had been used as a hospital during the aftermath. Many other homes and farms bore similar scars: bullet holes pocked walls, fences had been destroyed for firewood, and fields were gouged by artillery shells or littered with debris. On the battlefield edges, several farm families had to deal with soldiers’ graves and carcasses of horses on their property for months. For example, a black Gettysburg resident, James Warfield, returned to find his farm ransacked and “fourteen Confederate soldiers buried on the grounds.” Another African American landowner, Abraham Brian, whose small farm lay in the thick of the fighting on Cemetery Ridge, had his house badly damaged by shot and shell. He filed a claim to the government for $1,028 to cover his losses, but ultimately received only $15 in compensation. Despite such setbacks, Brian and others rebuilt their homes as best they could, determined to restore their lives. The landscape of Gettysburg in December 1863 was therefore one of repaired roofs and windows, reconstructed fences, and fields slowly being cleared of battle detritus – a town carrying the visible memory of war even as winter fell.

Daily Life and Winter Hardships

Daily life in Gettysburg at the end of 1863 was a mix of hardship and resilience. The immediate crisis of July had passed, but many families still struggled to regain their livelihoods. The summer and fall harvest season had been disrupted by the battle: crops were trampled or burned, barns and cellars emptied by foraging soldiers of both armies. Food was not as scarce in Gettysburg as in the besieged towns of the South, but prices for provisions had risen steeply. One local observer noted that “however much men may complain of high prices, they have by no means reached the height… that they did in time of peace in 1837,” drawing a comparison to the Panic of 1837 to put the wartime inflation in perspective. Indeed, by the close of 1863 the Northern home front still “fared far better than those in the South” when it came to food and supplies. Gettysburg’s markets and stores remained open, and staples such as flour, salted meat, and coffee were available – if one could pay the going rate. Families with means managed, while poorer residents and those who had suffered heavy property losses had to rely on community charity or tight frugality to get by.

Employment in Gettysburg had shifted in the months after the battle. Prior to the war, the economy of the town and surrounding Adams County was largely agricultural, with a variety of trades in town (tanners, carriage-makers, merchants, etc.). The war and the battle’s aftermath created new kinds of work. As mentioned, crews were hired to disinter and rebury soldiers’ remains for the National Cemetery; this provided some paid work to locals, including to African Americans like Basil Biggs, who thus earned an income while performing a solemn duty. Many other residents spent the latter half of 1863 repairing what they could – carpenters and laborers were in demand to fix shattered buildings. The Gettysburg Railroad station had become a critical hub for shipping out wounded and bringing in supplies after the battle, so railroad workers and teamsters stayed busy as well. Some enterprising citizens found a silver lining in tourism: almost immediately after the battle, curiosity-seekers started arriving to see the famous battlefield. By winter these visits slowed, but a few travelers still came by stagecoach or train, hiring local guides or young boys to show them infamous spots like Cemetery Hill or Devil’s Den. Thus, even as snow threatened, Gettysburg buzzed with the effort to rebuild and adapt.

The weather at Christmas 1863 added its own challenges to daily life. Gettysburg lies in south-central Pennsylvania, where winters can be cold. In the days around Christmas, temperatures were brisk but the ground remained bare – “there was no snow in Gettysburg during Christmas in 1863”, one chronicle notes. Many recalled it as a clear, cold holiday. Families would have been chopping and stacking firewood to last the winter; wood stoves and fireplaces were essential for warmth and cooking. Only after Christmas, as the New Year approached, did winter truly arrive with force. An enormous snowstorm that had battered the Midwest moved eastward and blanketed Gettysburg by New Year’s Day 1864. So while Christmas itself was dry, townsfolk were soon contending with deep snow and frigid wind, conditions that tested the endurance of those still laboring outdoors (like the burial teams) and made home life cozy but confined. The snow at least covered the remaining battlefield scars in a peaceful white mantle, as if nature sought to conceal the worst of the destruction for a time.

Housing conditions varied across the community. For some, homes had been only lightly damaged in July and were now intact; for others, especially on the outskirts nearer the fighting, dwellings were left in shambles. Many farm families spent the fall repairing roofs or replacing doors and windows ripped off by shell blasts. December still saw signs of war on the buildings: “The town was not fully recovered… operations to remove the dead… were in full swing” and by implication many properties near those operations were still torn up. Within the town center, life was closer to normal. Boarding houses again hosted travelers, shops reopened, and Gettysburg’s streets bustled with wagons carrying timber, bricks, and other construction materials for repairs. Yet even on the square one might see reminders, like shattered brickwork or the absence of a loved neighbor who had evacuated and not returned. Notably, Gettysburg’s small African American community had been particularly hard-hit; many black residents fled before the battle (fearing capture by the Confederates) and came home to find their modest houses looted or destroyed. The black population of Gettysburg actually decreased after the battle – dropping to under 65 people – as some families, seeing their homes wrecked and prospects uncertain, chose not to return at all. Those who did come back, however, tightly knit through church and kin, worked to rebuild their lives alongside the white residents.

Despite the hardships, daily routines were gradually reestablished. Churches resumed regular services once the wounded cleared out, and schools that had been hospitals were cleaned up for classes. (Gettysburg’s Pennsylvania College, for instance, had been a temporary hospital but managed to begin its fall semester late.) Housewives went back to their baking and mending; farmers slaughtered hogs and salted meat for the winter as usual, if they still had livestock left. In short, by Christmastime the people of Gettysburg were striving to carry on with life – maintaining household chores, earning a living where possible, and helping neighbors in need – all under the long shadow the battle had cast.

Emotional Scars and Hopes

The psychological state of Gettysburg’s citizens at the end of 1863 was complex. The town had been through an ordeal few could have imagined, and the memories were still raw. Many residents continued to suffer nightmares or flashbacks of the battle: the thunder of cannons, the sight of streets filled with wounded and dying men, the fear they felt as hostile armies swarmed over their home. In the immediate months after the battle, locals had pushed their own trauma aside while nursing soldiers and burying the dead. Only later, as things quieted, did the full emotional weight settle in. One can sense the lingering anxiety in period descriptions – Christmas 1863 in Gettysburg was observed “with anxiety and trepidation” about what the future might hold. People were keenly aware that, although their town was no longer under threat, the war was far from over. Many had husbands, fathers, sons, or brothers still serving in the Union Army, and their fates were uncertain. This meant that along with holiday cheer came fresh worry: would those loved ones survive the coming campaigns, and might the war yet return to Pennsylvania?

Grief also shadowed the season. Nearly every family in Gettysburg had been touched by loss in some form. Some were mourning local boys who had joined the army and been killed or wounded in 1863. Others grieved neighbors or kin who died from illness or battle wounds after being brought to Gettysburg’s hospitals. And of course, the community collectively mourned the thousands of young men – strangers from across the Union and Confederacy – who had lost their lives on Gettysburg’s soil. The Gettysburg cemetery dedication on November 19 had been a solemn and cathartic event, giving the town a chance to publicly honor those sacrifices. President Lincoln’s eloquent Gettysburg Address had, in just a few words, declared that “these dead shall not have died in vain” and called on the living to rededicate themselves to the cause of Union. At the time, reactions to Lincoln’s speech were mixed; one Pennsylvania paper infamously dismissed “the silly remarks of the President,” hoping they would be forgotten. But many Gettysburg civilians present that day were moved by the ceremony’s dignity. The memory of that dedication – the rows of new graves and the President’s earnest, mournful tone – lingered into the holiday season, offering a bit of solace that their town’s trauma had a larger meaning and would be remembered by the nation.

For some individuals, the emotional toll was very personal. The family of Jennie Wade, a 20-year-old Gettysburg woman killed during the battle (the only civilian to die in the fighting), faced a painful Christmas with an empty chair at the table. Others, like the elderly John Burns (who had famously taken up his musket to fight alongside Union troops during the battle and was wounded), bore physical and psychological scars. Burns survived, but he spent the latter half of 1863 recuperating; one imagines his thoughts were with the younger soldiers still at the front as he sat by his hearth in December. In countless homes, there was an air of melancholy beneath the surface festivities – an acute awareness of who was missing. “Poor children! I contrast their limited means of enjoyment now with our former happy life and it makes me sad,” wrote one young woman on Christmas Eve 1863, lamenting how war had changed everything. This particular diary entry was by Lucy Buck, a Virginian, but her sentiments would not have been out of place in Gettysburg: she describes trying to create a merry Christmas for her younger siblings despite feeling “lonely” and missing absent loved ones on that “loneliest night.” In Gettysburg, too, older family members put on brave faces so that the children could feel holiday joy, even as they privately mourned the way “festive times” had been darkened by war and loss.

And yet, alongside sorrow, there was also hope and gratitude. The autumn of 1863 had brought significant Union victories – not only at Gettysburg, but at Vicksburg in the western theater (July 1863) and Chattanooga in November. News of these victories reached Gettysburg via telegraph and newspapers, lifting spirits. The local Adams Sentinel newspaper reported that the tide of war seemed to be turning decisively in the Union’s favor, noting Confederate setbacks and even the removal of enemy generals from command. The paper also mentioned that Congress had unanimously voted to raise Union soldiers’ pay, a gesture that “cheered the people of Gettysburg” knowing their boys in blue would be better provided for. A sense took hold that perhaps the worst was over. “They had realized that the war had turned in favor of the Union, and many hoped that the following year, 1864, would bring the conflict to an end,” one account explains of Gettysburg’s mood that Christmas. This cautious optimism was echoed by local soldiers themselves. Company K of the 1st Pennsylvania Reserves, a unit raised in Adams County, sent a Christmas letter home to Gettysburg that December, which the Adams Sentinel published. The captain of Company K described how they were faring in winter camp in northern Virginia – reporting the men in “excellent” health aside from colds – and spoke of enduring hardships in good spirits. He related one bitter cold day when they had to stomp around in the woods without fires (to avoid attracting enemy artillery), but he immediately reassured readers that such trials had not shaken their resolve. The letter closed with a heartfelt holiday greeting: “We still hope… that ’ere six months roll around that ‘this cruel war will be over’,” the Adams County boys wrote, adding **“Wishing our many friends in Adams a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.” One can imagine families reading those words in the newspaper, tears welling up – a mix of pride, longing, and hope that indeed by next Christmas their loved ones might be home for good.

The mixture of emotions could be seen even within single households. Take the Shriver family: Hettie Shriver had endured months of fear for her husband, George, who was away serving in Cole’s Maryland Cavalry. Miraculously, George Shriver received leave to visit home and returned to Gettysburg for four days over Christmas 1863 – after being gone for almost two and a half years. For those few days, the Shriver home was filled with joy and laughter as the young father reunited with Hettie and their two little daughters. Neighbors must have smiled to see one of their own briefly back safe. Yet the happiness was fragile: George was due back to his unit immediately after New Year’s. In fact, he departed Gettysburg, and then, on January 1, 1864, he was captured by Confederate forces. George later died in the infamous Andersonville prison in August 1864. The Shriver family’s experience encapsulated the bittersweet reality of that Christmas: great joy at a reunion, combined with anxiety about an unknowable fate. Many Gettysburg families lived with that same dual reality – cherishing the present moment with family if they could, yet restless with worry about tomorrow.

Amid the sadness and uncertainty, Gettysburg’s people also felt a renewed sense of purpose. Their town had been the site of a great Union victory, and President Lincoln’s visit had cast their sacrifice in almost sacred terms. Though tired and traumatized, civilians expressed determination to persevere. “Our other dear ones are spared to us…think how this house might now be shrouded in sorrow as thousands of homes are – we are blessed more than we could reasonably hope for,” wrote Lucy Buck in Virginia in her Christmas diary, catching herself in mid-grief and choosing to count her blessings. Likewise in Gettysburg, residents reminded one another that however hard their year had been, others had suffered even worse. By Christmas 1863, the immediate nightmare of battle was past, their community had survived, and there was cause to hope that peace might be on the horizon. This mix of grief, gratitude, anxiety, and optimism created a very poignant emotional atmosphere in Gettysburg’s holiday season.

Holiday Traditions and Community Celebrations

Against this backdrop of recovery and reflection, the people of Gettysburg sought comfort in their Christmas traditions. Mid-19th-century Christmas was a more modest affair than the holiday we know today – there were no electric light displays, no Santa at the department store – but it was still a cherished time for family, faith, and feasting. One Gettysburg-area native, reminiscing a few years later, described the old Pennsylvania German Christmas of his youth: “People did not work on Christmas Day… church bells used to peal forth an invitation… to God’s House for the Christmas service. One saw old men smiling through their beards. Grandmothers had faces as bright as the full moon. And children! Children shouted for joy!” He recalled the “endless baking of cookies – horses, rabbits, stars, hearts, birds and many shapes more” in the weeks before Christmas, and the pure delight of being a child at that time. Gettysburg in 1863 strove to live up to that ideal, even if “times had been tough” since those simpler days. The war had imposed hardships, but it had not stamped out the holiday spirit. According to later accounts, “the baking, caroling, festive dinners and exchanging of gifts still prevailed” in Gettysburg at Christmas 1863. Neighbors came together to create as merry a Christmas as circumstances allowed.

Churches played a central role in the Christmas observances. On Christmas Eve, all the town’s congregations held special services. At Gettysburg’s Christ Lutheran Church, for example, the sanctuary filled with worshippers on the evening of Thursday, December 24, 1863. The Reverend Dr. Michael Jacobs – a professor from the Lutheran seminary who had carefully recorded the battle’s events – officiated that night. The church’s Sunday School children had prepared songs, and their high, sweet voices rang out as they sang favorite carols. The popular hymns of the day included “The First Noel,” “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” and “O Come All Ye Faithful,” all of which would have been familiar to Gettysburg worshippers. “Silent Night” (originally a German carol, “Stille Nacht”) was also known; in that era it was often performed by a choir or soloist rather than sung by the whole congregation. After the children’s chorus, Dr. Jacobs and his assistants – among them Dr. Henry L. Baugher, president of Pennsylvania College – delivered addresses, no doubt acknowledging the unusual trials the town had faced and encouraging the flock to find hope in the Christmas message. Similar scenes occurred at Gettysburg’s other churches: Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics, and others all gathered to mark the holy day. These services provided spiritual solace and a sense of communal togetherness. Many worshippers surely offered prayers of thanks that they had survived the year, and prayers for peace and the safety of loved ones afar. After so much death on their doorstep, the traditional Christmas themes of peace on earth and goodwill to men held special poignancy.

Christmas Day itself (Friday, December 25, 1863) was typically a quiet day spent at home. True to Pennsylvania custom, most people did no work aside from caring for animals and necessary chores. If the weather was clear (as it was that day), some might have taken a walk through town, exchanging greetings of the season with neighbors. The children woke up eagerly to see what simple gifts had been left for them. Many Gettysburg families of German heritage had a Christmas tree – a custom that was increasingly popular in America thanks to influences like Queen Victoria and German immigrants. Typically these were small tabletop trees, decorated sparsely and lit only briefly by candles (if at all, as open flames were hazardous). Presents were modest and often handmade. A little girl might find a doll or a toy soldier nestled in the boughs of the tree, or perhaps new mittens that her mother had knit. A boy might receive a wooden sled or a pair of skates for the nearby ponds. One account notes that “small gifts, such as dolls, musical instruments, and toy soldiers, were placed within the boughs of the tree on Christmas Eve,” and that trees were rarely lit for long, with a bucket of water kept close by just in case. Families without a Christmas tree might instead follow the old English tradition of the Yule log, keeping a large log burning in the fireplace through Christmas Day and into the Twelve Days of Christmas. For everyone, a special meal was customary. If a family had a fattened chicken or turkey, it likely went into the pot or roasting pan for Christmas dinner. Vegetables cellared from the fall – potatoes, turnips, preserved apples – would be cooked into pies and hearty sides. Despite wartime austerity, most households tried to have a feast of some kind, sharing what they could.

Acts of charity and community were also part of the season. In the North, 1863 was the first year Thanksgiving had been celebrated as an official national holiday (President Lincoln had proclaimed a day of thanksgiving in late November to give thanks for the Union victory at Gettysburg). That spirit of gratitude flowed into Christmas. Churches and aid societies in Gettysburg likely organized collections for the poor, as was common. The U.S. Christian Commission, a volunteer organization that had been active in town ministering to soldiers, might have distributed small gifts – prayer books or baked goods – to any convalescent soldiers still around. For families who had lost breadwinners or suffered great hardship, neighbors often pitched in with food or fuel during the holidays. There are no detailed records of a specific Christmas charity event in Gettysburg that year, but the ethos of “giving to those who have less” was strong in a community that had just experienced such solidarity during the battle’s aftermath.

Significantly, the people of Gettysburg did not forget their men at the front. Since so many local sons, brothers, and husbands were away in the army, Gettysburg families prepared Christmas packages to send to them. Women baked extra cakes, cookies, and pies; they knitted scarves and socks; they bottled jams and apple butter – any little “remembrance of home” that could be packed in a box. These boxes were then mailed off by express or sent with soldiers returning to the front. A veteran later recalled how generous civilians could be: “a number of Massachusetts sailors who happened to be quartered in Philadelphia at Christmas time… were invited to a Christmas dinner by some Quaker City ladies… with a turkey so large that its breastbone could be used for a boat keel.” While that story was in Philadelphia, the sentiment was shared in Gettysburg: those at home did their utmost to bring comfort to soldiers far away. One imagines local women gathering in kitchens to fill tin containers with baked treats, lovingly thinking of their soldier boys opening them on a distant camp Christmas Day.

On Christmas night, some Gettysburg residents likely went caroling – a tradition already established by the 1860s. Popular secular songs of the mid-19th century included “Deck the Halls” and “Here We Come A-Wassailing,” tunes which groups of young people or church choirs would sing outside homes in exchange for a warm drink or simple hospitality. Even amid recent sorrows, voices singing old carols would echo down the snowy streets, bringing a sense of normalcy and cheer. For children, especially, the magic of Christmas helped distract from war. In a town that had witnessed cannon fire and seen its houses turned into hospitals, the sight of familiar holiday customs – the fragrant cookies, the evergreen wreaths on doors, the joyous pealing of church bells on Christmas morning – was deeply comforting. It affirmed that Gettysburg, though battered, still had a heart that could celebrate life and hope.

War News and Political Sentiment

Politically, Gettysburg’s populace in late 1863 was united by recent events even as national partisan debates swirled. Pennsylvania was a state with both Republicans (loyal to Lincoln and the war effort) and War Democrats (who supported the Union war but perhaps criticized some of Lincoln’s policies). In Gettysburg, any pre-battle divisions had likely been tempered by the common experience of enemy invasion and occupation. The Confederate army’s brief takeover of the town during the battle had reportedly alienated even those residents who had been politically ambivalent. By Christmas, the dominant mood was a resolute Union patriotism. As evidence, local newspapers eagerly reported Union successes and gestures of support for the troops. The Adams Sentinel – a Republican-leaning paper – published upbeat news from the front: for instance, it recounted General Ulysses S. Grant’s victories in the West and the fall of Confederate strongholds like Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge in late November, which it said gave “good reason to suppose the end was near” for the rebellion. Such reports, coupled with commentary on Confederate losses at Gettysburg, served to bolster civilian morale. One editorial around that time observed that no one knew better than Gettysburg’s people just how severely the Confederate Army had been punished in July, implying confidence that the enemy was weakened. Indeed, Gettysburg’s citizens took pride in the role their town had played in turning the tide of war.

The press also reflected practical concerns. Discussions of the economy, for example, appeared in the local news. An issue of the Adams Sentinel in late December commented on the high cost of living after three years of war, trying to reassure readers by comparing it to earlier tough times (like the 1837 crisis). The message was that the North’s economic sacrifices were manageable and worthwhile, especially compared to the dire privations in the South. This kind of commentary likely aligned with popular sentiment in Gettysburg: a willingness to endure hardships (like inflation and heavy taxes) if it meant supporting the Union cause to final victory.

Of course, not every local utterance was so patriotic – there were almost certainly some grumbles around the hearth about the war dragging on. Adams County had its share of “Peace Democrat” sentiment earlier in the war, and some might have privately questioned the cost being paid in blood and treasure. If any such doubts were voiced publicly at Christmas 1863, they were muted by the recent experience of the battle. With Confederate dead still being unearthed from local fields and Union graves freshly dug on Cemetery Hill, few Gettysburgians were inclined to advocate anything less than total commitment to the war’s successful conclusion. The Governor of Pennsylvania, Andrew Curtin, had visited Gettysburg and been active in coordinating relief and the cemetery project, which also kept locals tied into the larger political purpose of the war (Curtin was a Republican and a staunch pro-Union figure). Moreover, Lincoln’s presence in November left an impression of honor on the town. It’s noted that the Gettysburg Compiler (the local Democratic paper) at least printed the Gettysburg Address or covered the dedication, even if without fanfare. In general, by the end of 1863 Gettysburg’s political climate leaned toward supporting Lincoln’s calls for “a new birth of freedom,” given all they had witnessed. When Lincoln proclaimed in his Address that the Civil War was testing whether a nation conceived in liberty could endure, Gettysburg’s people felt that test in their bones.

The local newspapers around Christmas did include season’s greetings and reflections. It was common for 19th-century papers to run Christmas poems or stories in their late December issues. We might imagine that Gettysburg’s papers did likewise – possibly printing a Christmas hymn or a piece on “Christmas in Camp” to remind readers of soldiers celebrating in the field. In fact, the famous poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote “Christmas Bells” in December 1863 (later the carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”), expressing both despair at war – “And in despair I bowed my head; ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said” – and renewed faith – “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep… The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail”. Such sentiments were published in Northern papers and no doubt struck a chord in Gettysburg. The political/editorial tone in Gettysburg at Christmas 1863, then, was one of sober hope: an acknowledgment of continued struggle, confidence in ultimate Union victory, and a resolve that the sacrifices of that year (on their very soil) must lead to a just peace.

Relief Efforts and the U.S. Sanitary Commission

Throughout the second half of 1863, Gettysburg had seen an outpouring of relief efforts by both local people and national organizations. By Christmas, much of that work in town was winding down, but its impact was still deeply felt. The U.S. Sanitary Commission, a private relief agency sanctioned by the government, had been on the scene since immediately after the battle. Commission agents and volunteers helped set up emergency hospitals, distributed medical supplies, and served meals to the wounded and those who cared for them. At one point in July, the Sanitary Commission’s field kitchens were feeding up to 2,000 wounded men per day in Gettysburg. All through the late summer and fall, the Commission remained active: cleaning filthy hospital sites, providing fresh bandages and linens, and coordinating shipments of food, clothing, and medicine donated from cities like Philadelphia and New York. Many Gettysburg families personally benefited from the Commission’s work, too – for example, local nurses like Salome “Sallie” Myers received supplies through the Sanitary Commission to care for soldiers in her charge. Sallie Myers was a young schoolteacher in town who had thrown herself into nursing wounded soldiers during and after the battle. She later wrote of how challenging those days were, but also how the support of relief organizations and fellow citizens sustained them. By December 1863, most of Sallie’s “boys” (as she called the soldiers she nursed) were gone from Gettysburg, yet her connection to the broader world of wartime relief remained. The Sanitary Commission’s efforts in Gettysburg were essentially complete by Christmas – the closing of Camp Letterman hospital in early winter marked the end of their direct operations there – but the Commission continued its work nationwide, running hospital trains and “rest stations” that likely assisted Gettysburg’s soldiers on their journeys to other facilities.

Another group, the U.S. Christian Commission, also left its mark. This organization sent chaplains and lay volunteers to battlefields to give spiritual and material comfort. During the battle’s aftermath, Christian Commission workers in Gettysburg distributed coffee, soup, and small luxuries like milk or canned fruit to wounded men. They wrote letters home at soldiers’ dictation and prayed at many a bedside. One can imagine that at Christmas some Christian Commission volunteers might have remained to tend to any patients still in town or to help the departing wounded. If a handful of invalid soldiers were still convalescing in Gettysburg homes over the holidays, these volunteers surely visited them with gifts of oranges or books and led them in singing a carol or two. The presence of these relief workers had been a godsend in the battle’s wake; by December, the town was bidding farewell to the last of them with heartfelt gratitude. Residents hosted some relief workers in their homes for months, forging friendships that lasted long after.

Gettysburg’s own ladies’ aid societies and church groups had also been very active in relief work. The women of Gettysburg (those who had not evacuated during the battle) famously nursed and fed soldiers for weeks, turning churches and homes into hospitals. They formed sewing circles to make clothing and linens for the wounded. By Christmas, these indomitable women redirected their energies back to the community and the war effort at large. Some likely helped organize the Christmas shipments of goodies to the front. Others continued to aid neighboring families who were in need because of the battle. The concept of a “Sanitary Fair” – large fundraising fairs for the Sanitary Commission – was taking off in late 1863 (with a big one held in Chicago in October). In the spring of 1864, Philadelphia would host a massive Sanitary Fair. It’s quite possible that Gettysburg ladies were already preparing items (handmade crafts, preserved foods, etc.) to contribute to those upcoming events to raise money for soldiers’ relief.

One poignant facet of relief work that extended into the holidays was correspondence and information-sharing. Gettysburg nurses and doctors, having cared for soldiers from all over the country, often took on the duty of writing to those soldiers’ families. Sallie Myers, for instance, wrote to the family of Sergeant Alexander Stewart of Pennsylvania to inform them of his last hours and burial after he died under her care. Alexander’s brother, Henry, wrote her back. Henry thanked her for her kindness to Alexander and sent her a small ambrotype (photograph) of himself as a token of gratitude. A warm correspondence blossomed between Sallie and Henry during the winter of 1863–64 – a touching human connection born of the war’s suffering. Sallie noted in her diary in December that “I liked his appearance,” seeing Henry’s photograph for the first time. This innocent comment marked the beginning of a romance: indeed, Sallie Myers and Henry Stewart would eventually marry a few years later. Such stories illustrate how acts of charity and compassion during the battle’s aftermath forged new bonds that endured well beyond Gettysburg. The spirit of Christmas – love, generosity, hope – found expression in these humble exchanges of letters and photographs even amid the war.

Additionally, Gettysburg women continued to correspond with families of fallen soldiers from far-away places. In one case, Sallie Myers (who married and became Salome Stewart) received a letter years later from a widow in Alabama, Julia Graves, whose Confederate husband had died at Gettysburg under Sallie’s care. In Christmas 1868, the widow wrote asking Sallie to visit her husband’s grave, which Sallie dutifully did. Although that particular request came in 1868, it was the legacy of the compassionate care Sallie and others had given in 1863. It shows that the charitable spirit extended across even battle lines, fostering reconciliation and understanding in the long run. At Christmas 1863, however, Gettysburg’s relief work was mostly about tending one’s own – ensuring the remaining wounded were cared for, helping neighbors rebuild, and supporting the soldiers in the field.

In summary, the U.S. Sanitary Commission, the Christian Commission, and local aid groups had done extraordinary work in Gettysburg after the battle, and by the holiday season the fruits of that work were evident. The town was cleansed of the immediate horrors; the soldiers had been succored and sent on; and the community had been knit together by a profound shared experience of giving and sacrifice. On Christmas Day, one imagines Gettysburg’s citizens paused to reflect on that. Perhaps they raised a toast to the Sanitary Commission workers or said a prayer of thanks for the relief supplies that had poured in when they were needed. The ethos of caring for one another – so dramatically displayed in July – naturally extended into the Christmas spirit of 1863. Neighbors who had literally saved each other’s lives during the battle (by sheltering the fleeing, or tending the wounded) now sat together in church pews singing “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men,” with a depth of meaning they would never forget.

Voices Across the Community

The story of Christmas 1863 in Gettysburg would not be complete without hearing from the diverse voices that made up the town – men and women, black and white, soldiers and civilians, rich and poor. Each had a unique perspective on this war-torn Christmas:

The Soldiers’ Farewell: The young men of Gettysburg who were off at war sent their love home in letters, as Company K’s published Christmas greeting showed. Those stationed closer by sometimes managed a quick holiday visit. A private in a Union regiment from the area might have trudged miles through winter mud just to spend a few hours with his family on Christmas Day. For those who could not, their letters had to suffice. One can imagine a typical letter from a Gettysburg farm boy-turned-soldier at the front, written a few days before Christmas 1863: he might describe building a log hut for winter quarters, thank his mother for the warm socks she knitted, and express fervent hope to be home for next Christmas. From the Confederate side, no soldiers were in Gettysburg that winter, but there were Southern voices connected to the town in unexpected ways. For instance, Confederate Lieutenant Colonel Frederic Cavada had been captured at Gettysburg in July and spent Christmas 1863 as a prisoner at Libby Prison in Richmond. He later wrote one of the most dreary accounts of a wartime Christmas, describing the meager rations and cold in prison. While his experience was far removed from Gettysburg by then, it reminds us that the battle’s ripples touched lives North and South.

The Civilians – Women on the Home Front: Women like Sarah Broadhead and Tillie Pierce had kept diaries during the battle’s trying days. At Christmas, their writings (if any exist for that time) likely would have focused on the relief of peace and the ache of absent loved ones. Tillie Pierce was only 15 in 1863; she had lived through the terror of battle and helped nurse soldiers at a farmhouse refuge. By Christmas, Tillie was safely back with her family in Gettysburg town. In later years, she recalled how surreal it was after the battle to resume normal life. We can picture Tillie at Christmas, perhaps attending a church social or singing with friends, yet carrying memories of July that made her seem older than her years. The war had forced many girls like her to grow up quickly. Sallie Myers, as we saw, found an unexpected brightness in corresponding with Henry Stewart – a reminder that life still held joy and even romance. In general, Gettysburg’s women leaned on each other for support. They shared tea and conversation by the fireside, speaking of their hopes for peace and perhaps gently counseling those overcome with grief. The war had given them a new role as nurses and organizers; by Christmas they had proven their strength, and this confidence may have spurred them to take active roles in holiday charitable works and church events.

African American Residents: The black community in Gettysburg, though small, had a significant story. Many of Gettysburg’s African Americans had fled just before the battle to avoid being kidnapped by the invading Confederate army (which indeed captured free blacks in the region to send South into slavery). After the battle, they returned to a town in shambles. Families like the Corbins, the Starkses, or the Matthews – names recorded in local history – faced rebuilding like everyone else, but also the trauma of knowing their very freedom had been at stake. By that Christmas, they might have gathered in one of Gettysburg’s two black churches (either the African Methodist Episcopal church or the smaller AME Zion congregation) for a worship service of their own. Black spirituals and hymns of deliverance would have been sung, thanking God for protection through the trial of the battle. The Emancipation Proclamation had taken effect at the start of 1863, and although it did not directly free any Pennsylvania slaves (there were none, slavery being long abolished in the state), it was a beacon of hope. The holiday might have been especially meaningful as the first Christmas when slavery’s end seemed truly on the horizon. African American residents likely felt a renewed hope that the Union victory at Gettysburg was a sign that freedom and justice would prevail. Yet they also faced prejudice at home. Some white neighbors were sympathetic; others, still prejudiced, might not have extended full fellowship even in shared suffering. Nonetheless, that winter the races had worked side by side burying the dead and succoring the wounded. This may have fostered a tentative sense of greater community. One black Gettysburg teamster who hauled supplies or bones on the battlefield might have been invited to share a dram of whiskey with a white colleague on Christmas – a small human connection across the usual racial divide, born from their common labor. We do know that African American men from Adams County began enlisting in the Union army once given the opportunity; by war’s end over 30 black soldiers from the area had served. At Christmas 1863, some of those men were likely in training or just deciding to enlist, with strong encouragement from their community. Their perspective on the war was clear: it was a fight for liberty and their place in America. Around humble hearths in Gettysburg’s segregated alleys, black families thanked God that the Union had held at Gettysburg and prayed that the next Christmas would see all their people free and the Union triumphant.

The Well-off and the Poor: Economic status influenced how one experienced Christmas. For Gettysburg’s more affluent citizens – perhaps a prosperous merchant or a college professor – Christmas could still be a comfortable family gathering with roast goose and imported wine. They had the means to replace broken windows and restock their pantries after the battle’s plunder. Their letters and journals might express a somewhat intellectual or religious reflection on the war’s meaning. By contrast, poorer families struggled to afford even small gifts. A widow whose home was destroyed might have had to move in with relatives in town, pooling resources just to get through winter. For such folks, Christmas was bittersweet. Charity from churches could have provided a special meal or warm clothing for the children. One can imagine a poor mother in Gettysburg who had lost everything in July receiving a basket from a church on Christmas – inside, perhaps a chicken to cook, some winter coats donated by people in Philadelphia, and a doll for her little girl – and weeping with gratitude. The social fabric in Gettysburg that Christmas was tightly knit; those who had plenty looked after those who had little, insofar as they could.

Finally, amid all these voices, the voice of faith and communal resilience was perhaps the loudest. In church on Christmas, whether one was rich or poor, black or white, the town together sang lines like “O tidings of comfort and joy.” Comfort and joy had been scarce in 1863, but they were seizing what they could of both. A local newspaper correspondent writing just after Christmas might have summed it up thus: Gettysburg’s first post-battle Christmas was subdued but sincere, marked by thankful prayers, close family circles, and an unwavering hope for peace.

Conclusion: “Peace on Earth” on the Horizon

As the year 1863 gave way to 1864, the people of Gettysburg could reflect on an incredible journey. That Christmas stood as a milestone – a moment of pause after one of the most tumultuous years any American town had ever endured. The holiday did not erase the sorrow or exhaustion lingering in Gettysburg’s streets, but it did shine light on the community’s enduring strengths: faith, kindness, and perseverance. “In spite of… worrisome news, the civilians and soldiers in 1863 had great hope that the future would bring good news and peace on earth,” writes one historian. Indeed, the wish for “Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men” was on every tongue and plastered across every church banner that season.

Gettysburg’s experience at Christmas 1863 reminds us that even in times of war, ordinary life – with its need for home, holiday, and human connection – continues. Daily life went on in Gettysburg: people rebuilt homes, earned their bread, lit fires against the cold, and found ways to celebrate the birth of Christ and the simple joy of being alive. Emotionally, they balanced grief with gratitude and fear with hope. In their Christmas observances, they returned to traditions that affirmed community and faith, from carols and Christmas trees to charitable deeds. Politically, they steeled themselves to see the war through, encouraged by Union victories and leadership. And through the work of relief organizations and their own volunteer spirit, they had made their town a place of healing – both for themselves and for the nation’s soldiers who had fought on their soil.

On New Year’s Eve 1863, as snow blanketed the quiet town, many Gettysburg residents surely reflected on how far they had come since the cannons of July. In the distance, church bells might have sounded, just as that anonymous local had nostalgically recalled. Those bells rang in 1864 with a clear note of defiance against despair. Gettysburg’s Christmas experience showed that even after the “great battle,” life and love endured. Families like the Shrivers savored a final precious reunion; young people like Sallie Myers found love blossoming from tragedy; grieving parents found solace in community; and former foes found themselves honored in a new cemetery that promised a path toward reconciliation.

The war would continue for another year and a half beyond that Christmas, and more trials lay ahead. But Gettysburg had met the test of 1863 with courage. The following Christmas, 1864, would indeed see the war’s end in sight, as many in 1863 had hoped. For now, Christmas 1863 was a time of cautious celebration and deep reflection. It was, in its own way, a victory celebration – not a noisy or triumphant one, but a heartfelt observance of survival, sacrifice, and the potential for peace. In the homes of Gettysburg that Christmas, candles glowed in windows as a sign of welcome, children laughed and played with simple toys, and prayers were whispered for absent soldiers and a reunited country. The people of Gettysburg, having endured the darkest of times, clung to the light of the holiday and the promise that “our Nation will once more be free,” as their soldiers’ letter had said. They looked forward to the day when, God willing, the cruel war would be over – and in the meantime, they found strength in each other and the timeless message of Christmas to carry on.