Headquarters Department Op The Gulp,
Nineteenth Army Corps,
New Orleans, Aug. 16, 1863.
I believe I may be said literally to have fought my way to
the Gulf. At all events, I find myself at New Orleans after many trials. The
lower Mississippi is to me very beautiful scenery. You can have no conception
of the nature of the grounds, the houses, improvements, general appearances of
the country from anything you read. I was certainly interested and charmed. The
city of New Orleans is familiar from description. I feel almost as if I had
been here before. General Banks occupies one of the most beautiful residences
in the most beautiful locality. I am sojourning with him. I left my horses and
servants at Vicksburg, but the General has placed a carriage at my command. His
establishment is elegant and thoroughly appointed. The St. Charles Hotel, the
shell road to the lake, the levee, and the French portion are the most
noticeable features. All these I have pretty thoroughly investigated. The
streets are perfectly clean, the police system above compare, everybody here is
on their best behavior. Two years in the woods among the toads and snakes has
made me unfamiliar with city life and all sights and sounds are strange to me.
Memphis is a mere village as compared to New Orleans, and Vicksburg and Natchez
mere suburban towns. But I only weary you with vague recital of my own
impressions. As new and strange scenes greet my eye, I long for the power to
communicate with those I love and make them in some degree sharers in my own
emotions. Upon the steamer's deck, in the whirl of life, the rapid transition
from the camp to what in democratic America may be called the court, in all the
varied scenes of my stirring life, kaleidoscopic in its changes, I think of
home, or the dear group that makes my home. Shall I ever see any of you again?
I seem impelled by some strange destiny forward, always a little in advance of
the army. There are important movements in contemplation. Soon you will hear of
them.
Everybody here, out of the army, is “Secesh.” This of
course. We must conquer this people, wrest the power of the government from
their grasp, prevent their ever regaining power, and meanwhile treat them
kindly. Extermination, annihilation is out of the question. Oppression will
react.
The women are strangely hostile. There is no difference
among them. From the borders of Tennessee to the Gulf they are all alike — in
country, town, or city, but one feeling, rebellious, coupled with an antipathy
to Northern men inconceivable, indescribable. They are herded now within a
narrow compass, driven, hedged in, almost girdled by a circle of fire. Georgia
and Alabama are full of them. When Charleston and Mobile fall, I do not know
where they will find refuge. As their men disappear, however, there will be a
commingling of races and perhaps the nation regenerated. A long and bloody war
is still before us. A united North would finish it in a month. Their strange,
perverse insanity, their want of unity, prolongs the struggle. But God in his
own good time. The nation is being bathed in fire and blood. Five years more of
war will purge, the viler material will have passed away, then twenty-five
years more and the people may again hope.
SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of
Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 328-9
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