Diary of William S. White, April 13, 1861

FALL OF FORT SUMTER.

The ball has opened; crowds of eager citizens may be seen gathered together at the corners of the streets excitedly discussing the grand topic of the day, and that topic is war. Yes! bloody, destructive war will soon be upon us in all its horror. Oh, God! grant us the power and fortitude to withstand the terrible calamity now hanging o'er us, which no power, save that of Divine interposition, can prevent.

Dispatch after dispatch, from the far South, comes over the magnetic wires, and soon the astounding news, "big with the fate" of a new-born people, is shouted by a thousand tongues that

“SUMTER HAS FALLEN."

The crowds on the street soon become a dense mass—calm, dignified men seem instantly transformed into wild Secessionists; there are no Unionists now; we are all determined to stand by the South, right or wrong—too late for discussion now—with her to conquer or die.

Some one in the crowd cries out, "For the Governor's House." This was received with a shout, and as “Honest John Letcher" had been excessively Union, the crowd rushed furiously toward the Governor's mansion, and after repeated calls, Governor Letcher made his appearance, not a little discomposed by the clamor and confusion of this excited mob. He attempted to speak, but the maddened populace suspected "Honest John" was still unwilling to come out boldly for the Confederate cause, and consequently his remarks were unheard, save by those immediately around him.

Only half appeased were the dizzy and infatuated mass. Some other excitement was wanted, and the "Star Spangled Banner" floated, as it were, half timidly upon the highest point of our State Capitol, and each star seemed to weep as the Demon of Death stretched forth his mighty wings to begin his sad flight.

"Tear down that accursed flag," was shouted by the crowd, and immediately some half dozen, bolder than the rest, rushed quickly into the Capitol, in which the State Convention was then sitting, hurried up the steps, and in less time than I take to write this the Star Spangled Banner was torn from its flag-staff, and supplanted by Virginia's proud motto, "Sic Semper Tyrannis."

Peal after peal of long continued applause rent the air, seeming to ascend up to the very throne of Heaven and calling upon God to witness the stern determination of the Southern people. The few Unionists who still madly clung to the fond hope that peace would yet be restored, threatened vengeance on the Secessionists for tearing down the United States flag, and, in fact, it was said that "Honest John" went so far as to order out the "Public Guard" to disperse the crowd collected on the Capitol Square.

Well was it for the "Guard," and also for “Honest John" that such was not the case, for had they made their appearance, a terrible riot would have been the inevitable consequence.

Indeed, the times and the Richmond people remind me much of the run-mad Red Republicanism of France, for never were a people so enthusiastically mad as now. However, any nation to be successful, must first be baptized in the blood of its own citizens, and now we are to have this theory brought practically into effect.

Nightfall, instead of quieting the excitement, seemed if possible to add fresh fuel to the flame. The crowded streets and wild shouts of the people, together with the lurid glare of an hundred tar-barrels, torches steeped in rosin, and rockets whirling high above the houses, presented a spectacle rarely witnessed by our somewhat apathetic people of Richmond.

Already the work of Revolution has commenced. Far away on the coast of South Carolina the smoke and din of battle has awakened the people of Virginia, who too long have slumbered when work should have been done, to the consciousness that the war cloud, with all its pent up fury, is now bursting upon them. The question now most agitating the public mind is—“What will be the action of the Virginia Convention, now sitting in the State-House, and elected as it was by such an overwhelming Union majority?"

They cannot withstand this outside pressure brought to bear upon them, and must either remove to some other point in the State or pass the Ordinance of Secession at an early date, and then leave it to the people whether or not we will cast our lot with our sister Southern States. My mind is fully made up to join the Southern army no matter whether Virginia secedes or not, though from the time I can remember I have bitterly opposed the doctrine of secession.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 89-91

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: October 2, 1864

Cloudy and calm.

All quiet. It was a false alarm yesterday evening. Nothing but some of the enemy's cavalry scouts were seen from the intermediate batteries, and it was merely a waste of ammunition on our part, and destruction of timber where the enemy were partially sheltered. Not a gun, so far as I can learn, was fired against our fortifications. Gen. Pemberton must have known that none of the enemy's infantry and artillery had marched in this direction through the storm, and in the mud, or else our scouts are worthless.

But we have news of the capture of 500 more prisoners near Petersburg, yesterday. The particulars of the fight have not yet been received.

Every male between seventeen and fifty-five is now required to have a pass, from Gen. Kemper or Gen. Barton, to walk the streets, even to church. The militia are all out, except those hidden in the back rooms of their shops—extortioners; and the city is very quiet. No wonder the women and children were thrown into a panic yesterday.

The shelling did some good in the Saturday evening market, as most of the people were eager to get home. A boy sold me apples at 75 cents per quart, instead of $1.

The physicians have had a meeting, and agree to charge $30 per visit.

The bombardment is still in progress at Charleston, and there has never been any intermission. The enemy's batteries now reach over two-thirds of that devoted city.

I see by a Northern paper that Gen. Grant is having his children educated at Burlington, N. J.; perhaps at the same institutions where mine were educated; and I perceive that our next door neighbor, Mrs. Kinsey, has been waving the "glorious Stars and Stripes” over Gen. G.’s head, from her ample porch. Well, I would not injure that flag; and I think it would never be assailed by the Southern people, if it were only kept at home, away from our soil.

We have a flag of our own we prefer.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 298-9

Diary of Private Richard R. Hancock: Saturday, September 28, 1861

According to previous instructions (see under 25th instant), Col. Rains, with his regiment, McNairy's Battalion and Falcond's section of artillery, moved out from Barboursville in the direction of Laurel Bridge, while Col. Cummings, with his detachment and about fifty wagons, moved out for the Salt Works, and Col. Statham moved so as to support either of the other detachments if necessary.

Col. McNairy was ordered to take the advance with Harris's, Payne's and Allison's Companies. Our Col. had not gone far along the London road before he threw out flankers as well as an advance guard, with instructions to keep a sharp lookout for the enemy. Thus, we moved on without any incident worthy of note until we struck the enemy's picket, within three miles of their camp. Our advance guard captured three of their picket and chased the rest (six or eight) into camp. Col. McNairy then fell back a short distance, sent a messenger to meet Col. Rains, and awaited his arrival with the infantry and artillery. As soon as Rains caught up, the command moved on again with McNairy's three companies still in front. We met a citizen who said that the enemy was lying in wait for us. thought that we would sure have our first engagement, then and there. Before reaching the enemy's camp, Col. McNairy was ordered to halt, and Col. Rains took the advance with his regiment, leaving orders for McNairy to hold his battalion well in hand, ready to pursue if he (Rains) should succeed in routing them. On reaching the Federal camp, and finding it deserted, Rains' men raised a war-whoop that must have made the Federals believe, if they were in hearing, that 10,000 men¹ were after them. Then dashing forward in pursuit, our battalion went as far as London, took down a Union flag, but did not overtake any of the fugitives. The citizens caught the panic—men, women, children and negroes—nearly all, either fled with the Home Guards and Federals to Camp Wildcat, some thirteen miles beyond London, or went to their neighbor's off the main road. How strange! that they should think that we were making war on women and children!

As it was now about nightfall, our battalion moved back about two miles and rejoined Col. Rains, encamped where the Home Guards had been camping.

_______________

¹ The larger portion of the household furniture was left in many of the dwellings; therefore, the writer, as well as a good many others, had the pleasure of occupying a good Kentucky feather bed the two nights that we remained in Barboursville.

² Col. Walford estimated our force at “from 5,000 to 7,000.”—See Rebellion Records (Garrard to Thomas), p. 280.

SOURCE: Richard R. Hancock, Hancock's Diary: Or, A History of the Second Tennessee Confederate Cavalry, p. 47-9

Major-General William T. Sherman to Lieutenant Colonel John A. Rawlins, June 17, 1863

HEADQUARTERS FIFTEENTH ARMY CORPS,        

Camp on Walnut Hills, June, 17, 1863.

Lieut. Col. JOHN A. RAWLINS,
        Assistant Adjutant-General, Department of the Tennessee:

SIR: On my return last evening from an inspection of the new works at Snyder's Bluff, General Blair, who commands the Second Division of my corps, called my attention to the inclosed publication in the Memphis Evening Bulletin of June 13, instant, entitled “Congratulatory Order of General McClernand,” with a request that I should notice it, lest the statements of fact and inference contained therein might receive credence from an excited public. It certainly gives me no pleasure or satisfaction to notice such a catalogue of nonsense—such an effusion of vain-glory and hypocrisy; nor can I believe General McClernand ever published such an order officially to his corps. I know too well that the brave and intelligent soldiers and officers who compose that corps will not be humbugged by such stuff.

If the order be a genuine production and not a forgery, it is manifestly addressed not to an army, but to a constituency in Illinois, far distant from the scene of the events attempted to be described, who might innocently be induced to think General McClernand the sagacious leader and bold hero he so complacently paints himself; but it is barely possible the order is a genuine one, and was actually read to the regiments of the Thirteenth Army Corps, in which case a copy must have been sent to your office for the information of the commanding general.

I beg to call his attention to the requirements of General Orders, No. 151, of 1862, which actually forbids the publication of all official letters and reports, and requires the name of the writer to be laid before the President of the United States for dismissal. The document under question is not technically a letter or report, and though styled an order, is not an order. It orders nothing, but is in the nature of an address to soldiers, manifestly designed for publication for ulterior political purposes. It perverts the truth to the ends of flattery and self-glorification, and contains many untruths, among which is one of monstrous falsehood. It substantially accuses General McPherson and myself with disobeying the orders of General Grant in not assaulting on May 19 and 22, and allowing on the latter day the enemy to mass his forces against the Thirteenth Army Corps alone. General McPherson is fully able to answer for himself, and for the Fifteenth Army Corps I answer that on May 19 and 22 it attacked furiously, at three distinct points, the enemy's works, at the very hour and minute fixed in General Grant's written orders; that on both days we planted our colors on the exterior slope and kept them there till nightfall; that from the first hour of investment of Vicksburg until now my corps has at all times been far in advance of General McClernand's; that the general-in-chief, by personal inspection, knows this truth; that tens of thousands of living witnesses beheld and participated in the attack; that General Grant visited me during both assaults and saw for himself, and is far better qualified to judge whether his orders were obeyed than General McClernand, who was nearly 3 miles off; that General McClernand never saw my lines; that he then knew, and still knows, nothing about them, and that from his position he had no means of knowing what occurred on this front. Not only were the assaults made at the time and place and in the manner prescribed in General Grant's written orders, but about 3 p.m., five hours after the assault on the 22d began, when my storming party lay against the exterior slope of the bastion on my front, and Blair's whole division was deployed close up to the parapet, ready to spring to the assault, and all my field artillery were in good position for the work, General Grant showed me a note from General McClernand, that moment handed him by an orderly, to the effect that had carried three of the enemy's forts, and that the flag of the Union waved over the stronghold of Vicksburg, asking that the enemy should be pressed at all points lest he should concentrate on him. Not dreaming that a major-general would at such a critical moment make a mere buncombe communication, I instantly ordered Giles A. Smith's and Mower's brigades to renew the assault under cover of Blair's division and the artillery, deployed as before described, and sent an aide to General Steele, about a mile to my right, to convey the same mischievous message, whereby we lost, needlessly, many of our best officers and men.

I would never have revealed so unwelcome a truth had General MCClernand, in his process of self-flattery, confined himself to facts in the reach of his own observation, and not gone out of the way to charge others for results which he seems not to comprehend. In cases of repulse and failure, congratulatory addresses by subordinate commanders are not common, and are only resorted to by weak and vain men to shift the burden of responsibility from their own to the shoulders of others. I never make a practice of speaking or writing of others, but during our assault of the 19th several of my brigade commanders were under the impression that McClernand's corps did not even attempt an assault.

In the congratulatory order I remark great silence on the subject. Merely to satisfy inquiring parties, I should like to know if McClernand's corps did or did not assault at 2 p.m. of May 19, as ordered. I do not believe it did, and I think General McClernand responsible.

With these remarks I leave the matter where it properly belongs, in the hands of the commanding general, who knows his plans and orders, sees with an eye single to success and his country's honor, and not from the narrow and contracted circle of a subordinate commander, who exaggerates the importance of the events that fall under his immediate notice, and is filled with an itching desire for "fame not earned."

With great respect, your obedient servant,

W. T. SHERMAN,        

Major-General, Commanding.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 24, Part 1 (Serial No. 36), p. 162-3

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: July 4, 1863

HE FOURTH OF JULY! The siege is at last ended. Behold the white flag now waving over the rebel ramparts. Vicksburg has at length surrendered. Speed the glad news to our loved ones at the North, who, during our long trial, have helped us with their prayers. Speed it to the entire forces of the Union, that they may all take courage and move again. 

We are all full of rejoicing, as the event will no doubt prove a death-blow to the rebellion in the Southwest. Vicksburg has been the boast of the enemy, who thought it to be impregnable, and they confidently defied the Army of the West to take it. But by the untiring energy, skill and forecast of our gallant leader, U. S. Grant, aided by the willing and brave hearts about him, Vicksburg has been taken, and over it the stars and stripes now float proudly in all their majestic beauty. How glad I am that I have been one of those who have endured the trials requisite to plant our banner there. And while rejoicing over our success, let us not forget those who have died on these fields of honor. While we surviving raise Liberty's ensign over Vicksburg, let us remember the graves at Raymond and Champion Hills. And in after years, when we meet to refresh the memory of soldier days, let our dead here around Vicksburg never be forgotten. Let us think of them as standing guard over our dearly-won prize, until the final rollcall, when each shall be “present” or “accounted for." 

"They struggled and fell, their life-blood staining 

The assaulting foeman's hand; 

And clasping freedom's flag, sustaining, 

Cried, God save our native land. 

Let angels spread their wings protecting; 

Let sweetest flowers ever bloom; 

And let green bays, our faith reflecting, 

Mark each martyr's sacred tomb." 

Now that the enemy have resigned possession of Vicksburg, I trust the wicked rebellion will not fail soon to near its end, when all our boys in blue will have leave, at will, to present arms to the girls they left behind them. A star heralding the coming peace already seems to twinkle in the sky. We rejoice not less over our triumph to-day because it was consummated upon the glorious Fourth. And while we rejoice for our country, we show no unworthy exultation over the fallen, to whom we extend the sympathy of victors. 

Our division, under its commander, General Logan, marched into the city in triumph, and there took command and completed the long desired event-raising the star spangled banner over the court house cupola. 

"The armies of the Union 

    Round Vicksburg long had lain; 

For forty-seven days and nights 

    Besieging it in vain. 

Then came the morning of the Fourth, 

    Our Nation's jubilee- 

Ah, could the news this hour go north- 

    In Vicksburg soon we'll be. 

The siege is done, the struggle past. 

    On this eventful day 

Glad triumph crowns us, as, at last, 

    Our thanks to God we pay. 

Above the vanquished walls I stand, 

    My country, proud to see 

The festive hosts, with flag and band, 

    Parading gloriously. 

O, glorious Fourth! O blissful day! 

    How hearts of thousands swell 

To see such toils such hopes repay, 

    Such dangers end so well.” 

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 74-5

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: March 15, 1862

The boys came out this morning, looking a little the worse for wear, lame, sore and stiff; but with a good bumper of whiskey to lubricate their stiffened joints, and a little stirring around to take the kinks out of their legs, a good breakfast, hot coffee, etc., they soon resumed their normal condition. There is not much doing today except lying around in quarters or looking over the town. Negroes are coming in by the hundred, and the city is full of soldiers and marines traveling about and having things pretty much their own way. Guards are sent out to patrol the streets and assist Capt. Dan, the provost marshal, in preserving order preparatory to putting on a provost guard and bringing the city under law and order. Some enterprising party has hoisted the old flag on the spire of the church on Pollock street. There let it proudly wave; let it catch the first beams of the morning, and let the last rays of the setting sun linger and play amid its folds; let it gladden the hearts of every lover of liberty and loyalty, and let it be a notice to these deluded and ill-advised people around here, that it will never again give place to their traitorous rag of secession.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 46-7

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, February 28, 1862

This morning we are lying on the river at Nashville, Tennessee, having arrived here last night from Clarksville, on the steamer Diana. From the deck of the steamer we behold waving from Tennessee's capitol dome “old glory," which was presented to General Nelson by one of Tennessee's patriot sires, upon his advent into the city; a banner that was presented when rebels were dominant, and the angry passions of wicked men surged around its devoted lover's head; but now it can wave unmolested, for the free winds chant their requiem over there.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 44-5

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Tuesday, February 18, 1862

This morning a fatigue party is detailed from the Seventh to help bury the dead on the battle field, and those who died from wounds received in battle, who are now lying in every house in Dover (a small village on the banks of the Cumberland inside the fortifications). All day yesterday the fatigue parties were engaged burying the noble slain. War is indeed a mad machine, terrible in its work.

Silently extended on the gory main,

The fallen warriors mid the carnage lay;

No hand was there to ease the racking pain,

And staunch the life blood ebbing fast away.

But when the old flag comes home to Tennessee, over the Union soldiers' graves will be built up all that their posterity shall desire of order and government.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 42-3

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Wednesday, February 19, 1862

This morning it is raining very hard. A large number of troops have found shelter in the rebel barracks, but some are still out in the woods without blankets. (For once the Seventh is more fortunate.) But they are cheerful and their spirits run high when, they look at the old flag and see where and how far into Tennessee they have borne it.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 43

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, February 21, 1862

To-day we are marched on board the steamer Tigress, and soon are moving up the Cumberland river. The weather is pleasant. The scenery along the river, the cliffs, the vales and the hills, crowned with beautiful cedars, are imposing. The negroes flock to the shore and their hearts seem to bound as they behold their deliverers coming up the river with the old Union's banner proudly waving.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 44

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: May 20, 1863

Map of Vicksburg showing the river front and the
positions of the Union and Confederate lines in the rear.

When I awoke this morning I offered thanks to God that my life had been spared thus far. We slept on our arms—something unusual. This day has been busily spent in making cautious advances toward the works of the enemy, and, although our progress seems to have been very little, we are content to approach step by step, for the task is difficult and dangerous. Bullets are flying over our heads, and it is quite common to see the boys trying to dodge them. A few have succeeded in stopping these bullets, but they had to leave at once for the hospital. A blanket displayed by its owner was called a map of the confederacy, on account of the holes in it made by bullets at Raymond and Champion Hills. It is good enough yet for warmth, but will not do to hold water. We are ragged and dirty, for we have had no change of clothes for over a month. But we have the promise of new suits soon. If we were to enter Vicksburg to-morrow, some of our nice young fellows would feel ashamed to march before the young ladies there. We can see the court house in the city with a confederate flag floating over it. What fun it will be to take that down, and hoist in its stead the old stars and stripes. Then yonder is the Mississippi river again; we want to jump into that once more and have a good bath. The hills back of Vicksburg, and in fact all round the city seem quite steep and barren, and to run in parallels, affording our troops good shelter from batteries and secret approaches. It is upon these hills opposite the town that our tents are pitched. We must cut back into the hills to escape the shower of bullets, for we like to feel secure, when asleep or off duty. A great many of the balls that come over are what are called "spent," that is, have not force enough left to do any harm. We do not feel quite as safe awake or asleep as we did before we got so near the city. However, we manage to sleep pretty much unconcerned as to danger. Our regiment is detailed to watch at the rifle pits in front to-night.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 29-30

Ulysses S. Grant to Frederick Dent, April 19, 1862

Galena, April 19, 1S61.

Mr. F. Dent—

Dear Sir:

I have but very little time to write, but, as in these exciting times we are very anxious to hear from you, and know of no other way but by writing first to you, I must make time.

We get but little news by telegraph from St. Louis, but from all other points of the country we are hearing all the time. The times are indeed startling, but now is the time, particularly in the border slave States, for men to prove their love of country. I know it is hard for men to apparently work with the Republican party, but now all party distinctions should be lost sight of, and every true patriot be for maintaining the integrity of the glorious old Stars and Stripes, the Constitution and the Union. The North is responding to the President's call in such a manner that the Rebels may truly quake. I tell you, there is no mistaking the feelings of the people. The Government can call into the field not only 75,000 troops, but ten or twenty times 75,000 if it should be necessary, and find the means of maintaining them, too.

It is all a mistake about the Northern pocket being so sensitive. In times like the present, no people are more ready to give their own time, or of their abundant means. No impartial man can conceal from himself the fact that in all these troubles the Southerners have been the aggressors and the Administration has stood purely on the defensive, more on the defensive than she would have dared to have done but for her consciousness of strength and the certainty of right prevailing in the end. The news to-day is that Virginia has gone out of the Union. But for the influence she will have on the other border slave Slates, this is not much to be regretted. Her position, or rather that of Eastern Virginia, has been more reprehensible from the beginning than that of South Carolina. She should be made to bear a heavy portion of the burden of the war for her guilt.

In all this I can but see the doom of slavery. The North does not want, nor will they want, to interfere with the institution; but they will refuse for all time to give it protection unless the South shall return soon to their allegiance; and then, too, this disturbance will give such an impetus to the production of their staple, cotton, in other parts of the world that they can never recover the control of the market again for that commodity. This will reduce the value of the negroes so much that they will never be worth fighting over again.

I have just received a letter from Fred.¹ He breathes forth the most patriotic sentiments. He is for the old flag as long as there is a Union of two States fighting under its banner, and when they dissolve, he will go it alone. This is not his language, but it is the idea, not so well expressed as he expresses it.

Julia and the children are well, and join me in love to you all. I forgot to mention that Fred has another heir, with some novel name that I have forgotten.

Yours truly,

U. S. Grant.

Get John or Lewis Sheets to write me.

_______________

¹ Frederick Dent, Jr.

SOURCES: John Y. Simon, Editor, The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant: Volume 2: April to September, 1861, p. 3-4; Loomis T. Palmer, Editor, The Life of General U. S. Grant, p. 41-2.

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: May 14, 1863

Started again this morning for Jackson. When within five miles of the city we heard heavy firing. It has rained hard to-day and we have had both a wet and muddy time, pushing at the heavy artillery and provision wagons accompanying us when they stuck in the mud. The rain came down in perfect torrents. What a sight! Ambulances creeping along at the side of the track—artillery toiling in the deep ruts, while Generals with their aids and orderlies splashed mud and water in every direction in passing. We were all wet to the skin, but plodded on patiently, for the love of country.

When within a few miles of Jackson, the news reached us that Sherman had slipped round to the right and captured the place, and the shout that went up from the men on the receipt of that news was invigorating to them in the midst of trouble. I think they could have been heard in Jackson. Sherman's army at the right and McPherson in our immediate front, with one desperate charge we ran without stopping till we reached the town. The flower of the confederate forces, the pride of the Southern States who had never yet known defeat, came up to Jackson last night to help demolish Grant's army, but for once they failed. Veterans of Georgia stationed as reserves were also forced to yield in dismay, and never stopped retreating till they had passed far south of the Capital which they had striven so valiantly to defend. To-night the stars and stripes float proudly over the cupola of the seat of government of Mississippi—and if my own regiment has not had a chance to-day to cover itself with glory it has with mud.

I shall not soon forget the conversation I have had with a wounded rebel. He said that his regiment last night was full of men who had never before met us, and who felt sure it would be easy to whip us. How they were deceived! He said part of his regiment was behind a hedge fence, where they felt comparatively safe, but the Yankees jumped right over without stopping, and swept everything before them. I never saw finer looking men than the killed and wounded rebels of to-day, and with the smooth face of one of them, lying in a garden mortally wounded, I was so taken, that I eased his thirst with a drink from my own canteen. His piteous glance at me at that time I shall never forget. It is on the battle field and among the dead and dying we get to know each other better—nay, even our own selves. Administering to a stranger, we think of his mother's love, as dear to him as our own to us. When the fight is over, away all bitterness. Let us leave with the foe some tokens of good will, that, when the cruel war at last is over, may be kindly remembered. I trust our enemies may yet be led to hail in good faith the return of peace and the restoration of the Union. This is a domestic war, the saddest of all, being fought between those whose hearts should be as brothers; and when it is at an end, may those hearts again throb together beneath the folds of the flag that once waved for defence over their sires and themselves —a flag whose proud motto will be, "peace on earth and good will to men."

Some of the boys went down into the city to view our new possession. It seems ablaze, but I trust only public property is being destroyed, or such as might aid and comfort the enemy hereafter.

I am very tired, and of course can easily get excused, so I will go to my bed on the ground.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 20-2

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: January 11, 1862

As I look out on the Old Dominion, the Mother of presidents, statesmen and heroes, my mind is filled with historical reminiscences of its past greatness and glory. Alas! that Virginia, a state that bore such a proud record in the history of our country, a state that has done so much and sacrificed so much to gain our independence and establish our government, should now be sunk in the mire and slough of rebellion.

There is no appearance of leaving here today; many of the officers are going ashore to look around, and the boys are amusing themselves as best they can. Many and various are the speculations and conjectures as to our destination. Some think we are to make an attack on Yorktown, others that Norfolk is the point of attack. Some prophesy that we shall go up the James river, others that we are going far down the coast. I have not bothered myself much about it, but conclude we shall fetch up somewhere. As one looks on “old glory” proudly waving over the frowning battlements of Fortress Monroe and the rip raps, he would naturally conclude that this part of Virginia had not passed the ordinance of secession. Fortress Monroe is built of granite and earthworks, and is calculated, I believe, to mount some 400 or 500 guns. It is the largest and strongest fort on the coast and the only complete work in this country; hence it is called a fortress. The rip raps is an unfinished work, built on an artificial island, and situated about a mile east of Fortress Monroe. When completed, it will be a powerful work, and all vessels going to Norfolk or up the James river will have to pass between the two forts.

Looking west we can see the ruins of Hampton, burned last fall by order of Gen. Magruder. Speaking of Magruder reminds me of an anecdote I have somewhere read of him. While serving in Mexico, he ranked as captain of infantry in the regular army. While there he was in the habit of spreeing it pretty hard, and early one morning, after he had been out on a pretty rough time, his regiment received orders to march. By some strange oversight, the captain failed to replenish his canteen, and in a little while he began to experience an intolerable thirst. In this dilemma he called on one of his privates, whom he supposed might have something, and asked him what he had in his canteen. He was told that it contained a certain kind of Mexican liquor, of which the captain was very fond. After taking a pretty good bumper, he said, “Private Jones, you will hereafter rank as corporal, and be obeyed and respected as such.” After a while, his thirst again coming on, he goes and calls for some more of the liquor. This time he about found the bottom of the canteen, and thanking the corporal for his politeness, said to him, “Corporal Jones, you will hereafter rank as sergeant, and be obeyed and respected as such.” And, as the story went, if the canteen had held out a while longer, private Jones might have ranked as brigadier general.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 19-20

Diary of Colonel Jacob Ammen, April 3, 1862

Passed through Waynesborough; small Union flags on some houses; women ask to let the band play some old tunes—Yankee Doodle, &c. The music makes them weep for joy. March 15 miles and encamp. Very poor country, bad roads; land poor 5 miles after passing Mount Pleasant to this place.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 10, Part 1 (Serial No. 10), p. 330

Diary of William Howard Russell: July 3, 1861

Up early, breakfasted at five, A. M., and left my hospitable host's roof, on my way to Washington. The ferryboat, which is a long way off, starts for the train at seven o'clock; and so bad are the roads, I nearly missed it. On hurrying to secure my place in the train, I said to one of the railway officers: “If you see a colored man in a cloth cap and dark coat with metal buttons, will you be good enough, sir, to tell him I'm in this carriage.” “Why so, sir?” “He is my servant.” “Servant,” he repeated; “your servant! I presume you're a Britisher; and if he's your servant, I think you may as well let him find you.” And so he walked away, delighted with his cleverness, his civility, and his rebuke of an aristocrat.

Nearly four months since I went by this road to Washington. The change which has since occurred is beyond belief. Men were then speaking of place under Government, of compromises between North and South, and of peace; now they only talk of war and battle. Ever since I came out of the South, and could see the newspapers, I have been struck by the easiness of the American people, by their excessive credulity. Whether they wish it or not, they are certainly deceived. Not a day has passed without the announcement that the Federal troops were moving, and that “a great battle was expected” by somebody unknown, at some place or other.

I could not help observing the arrogant tone with which writers of stupendous ignorance on military matters write of the operations which they think the Generals should undertake. They demand that an army, which has neither adequate transport, artillery, nor cavalry, shall be pushed forward to Richmond to crush out Secession, and at the same time their columns teem with accounts from the army, which prove that it is not only ill-disciplined, but that it is ill-provided. A general outcry has been raised against the war department and the contractors, and it is openly stated that Mr. Cameron, the Secretary, has not clean hands. One journal denounces the “swindling and plunder” which prevail under his eyes. A minister who is disposed to be corrupt can be so with facility under the system of the United States, because he has absolute control over the contracts, which are rising to an enormous magnitude, as the war preparations assume more formidable dimensions. The greater part of the military stores of the States are in the South — arms, ordnance, clothing, ammunition, ships, machinery, and all kinds of material must be prepared in a hurry.

The condition in which the States present themselves, particularly at sea, is a curious commentary on the offensive and warlike tone of their statesmen in their dealings with the first maritime power of the world. They cannot blockade a single port effectually. The Confederate steamer Sumter has escaped to sea from New Orleans, and ships run in and out of Charleston almost as they please. Coming so recently from the South, I can see the great difference which exists between the two races, as they may be called, exemplified in “the men I have seen, and those who are in the train going towards Washington. These volunteers have none of the swash-buckler bravado, gallant-swaggering air of the Southern men. They are staid, quiet men, and the Pennsylvanians, who are on their way to join their regiment in Baltimore, are very inferior in size and strength to the Tennesseans and Carolinians.

The train is full of men in uniform. When I last went over the line, I do not believe there was a sign of soldiering, beyond perhaps the “conductor,” who is always described in the papers as being “gentlemanly,” wore his badge. And, a propos of badges, I see that civilians have taken to wearing shields of metal on their coats, enamelled with the stars and stripes, and that men who are not in the army try to make it seem they are soldiers by affecting military caps and cloaks.

The country between Washington and Philadelphia is destitute of natural beauties, but it affords abundant evidence that it is inhabited by a prosperous, comfortable, middle-class community. From every village church and from many houses, the Union flag was displayed: Four months ago not one was to be sea. When we were crossing in the steam ferryboat at Philadelphia I saw some volunteers looking up and smiling at a hatchet which was over the cabin door, and it was not till I saw it had the words “States’ Rights Fire Axe” painted along the handle I could account for the attraction. It would fare, ill with any vessel in Southern waters which displayed an axe to the citizens inscribed with “Down with States' Rights” on it. There is certainly less vehemence and bitterness among the Northerners; but it might be erroneous to suppose there was less determination.

Below Philadelphia, from Havre-de-Grace all the way to Baltimore, and thence on to Washington, the stations on the rail were guarded by soldiers, as though an enemy were expected to destroy the bridges and to tear up the rails. Wooden bridges and causeways, carried over piles and embankments, are necessary, in consequence of the nature of the country; and at each of these a small camp was formed for the soldiers who have to guard the approaches. Sentinels are posted, pickets thrown out, and in the open field by the wayside troops are to be seen moving, as though a battle was close at hand. In one word, we are in the State of Maryland. By these means alone are communications maintained between the North and the capital. As we approach Baltimore the number of sentinels and camps increase, and earthworks have been thrown up on the high grounds commanding the city. The display of Federal flags from the public buildings and some shipping in the river was so limited as to contrast strongly with those symbols of Union sentiments in the Northern cities.

Since I last passed through this city the streets have been a scene of bloodshed. The conductor of the car on which we travelled from one terminus to the other, along the street railway, pointed out the marks of the bullets on the walls and in the window frames. “That's the way to deal with the Plug Uglies,” exclaimed he; a name given popularly to the lower classes called Rowdies in New York. “Yes,” said a fellow-passenger quietly to me, “these are the sentiments which are now uttered in the country which we call the land of freedom, and men like that desire nothing better than brute force. There is no city in Europe — Venice, Warsaw, or Rome — subject to such tyranny as Baltimore at this moment. In this Pratt Street there have been murders as foul as ever soldiery committed in the streets of Paris.” Here was evidently the judicial blindness of a States' Rights fanatic, who considers the despatch of Federal soldiers through the State of Maryland without the permission of the authorities an outrage so flagrant as to justify the people in shooting them down, whilst the soldiers become murderers if they resist. At the corners of the streets strong guards of soldiers were posted, and patrols moved up and down the thoroughfares. The inhabitants looked sullen  and sad. A small war is waged by the police recently appointed by the Federal authorities against the women, who exhibit much ingenuity in expressing their animosity to the stars and stripes — dressing the children, and even dolls, in the Confederate colors, and wearing the same in ribbons and bows. The negro population alone seemed just the same as before. . The Secession newspapers of Baltimore have been suppressed, but the editors contrive nevertheless to show their sympathies in the selection of their extracts. In to-day's paper there is an account of a skirmish in the West, given by one of the Confederates who took part in it, in which it is stated that the officer commanding the party “scalped” twenty-three Federals. For the first time since I left the South I see those advertisements headed by the figure of a negro running with a bundle, and containing descriptions of the fugitive, and the reward offered for imprisoning him or her, so that the owner may receive his property. Among the insignia enumerated are scars on the back and over the loins. The whip is not only used by the masters and drivers, but by the police; and in every report of petty police cases sentences of so many lashes, and severe floggings of women of color are recorded.

It is about forty miles from Baltimore to Washington, and at every quarter of a mile for the whole distance a picket of soldiers guarded the rails. Camps appeared on both sides, larger and more closely packed together; and the rays of the setting sun fell on countless lines of tents as we approached the unfinished dome of the Capitol. On the Virginian side of the river, columns of smoke rising from the forest marked the site of Federal encampments across the stream. The fields around Washington resounded with the words of command and tramp of men, and flashed with wheeling arms. Parks of artillery studded the waste ground, and long trains of white-covered wagons filled up the open spaces in the suburbs of Washington.

To me all this was a wonderful sight. As I drove up Pennsylvania Avenue I could scarce credit that the busy thoroughfare — all red, white, and blue with flags, filled with dust from galloping chargers and commissariat carts; the side-walks thronged with people, of whom a large proportion carried sword or bayonet; shops full of life and activity — was the same as that through which I had driven the first morning of my arrival. Washington now, indeed, is the capital of the United States; but it is no longer the scene of beneficent legislation and of peaceful government. It is the representative of armed force engaged in war — menaced whilst in the very act of raising its arm by the enemy it seeks to strike.

To avoid the tumult of Willard's, I requested a friend to hire apartments, and drove to a house in Pennsylvania Avenue, close to the War Department, where he had succeeded in engaging a sitting-room about twelve feet square, and a bedroom to correspond, in a very small mansion, next door to a spirit merchant's. At the Legation I saw Lord Lyons, and gave him a brief account of what I had seen in the South. I was sorry to observe he looked rather careworn and pale.

The relations of the United States Government with Great Britain have probably been considerably affected by Mr. Seward's failure in his prophecies. As the Southern Confederacy develops its power, the Foreign Secretary assumes higher ground, and becomes more exacting, and defiant. In these hot summer days, Lord Lyons and the members of the Legation dine early, and enjoy the cool of the evening in the garden; so after a while I took my leave, and proceeded to Gautier's. On my way I met Mr. Sumner, who asked me for Southern news very anxiously, and in the course of conversation with him I was confirmed in my impressions that the feeling between the two countries was not as friendly as could be desired. Lord Lyons had better means of knowing what is going on in the South, by communications from the British Consuls; but even he seemed unaware of facts which had occurred whilst I was there, and Mr. Sumner appeared to be as ignorant of the whole condition of things below Mason and Dixon's line as he was of the politics of Timbuctoo.

The importance of maintaining a friendly feeling with England appeared to me very strongly impressed on the Senator's mind. Mr. Seward has been fretful, irritable, and acrimonious; and it is not too much to suppose Mr. Sumner has been useful in allaying irritation. A certain despatch was written last June, which amounted to little less than a declaration of war against Great Britain. Most fortunately the President was induced to exercise his power. The despatch was modified, though not without opposition, and was forwarded to the English Minister with its teeth drawn. Lord Lyons, who is one of the suavest and quietest of diplomatists, has found it difficult, I fear, to maintain personal relations with Mr. Seward at times. Two despatches have been prepared for Lord John Russell, which could have had no result but to lead to a breach of the peace, had not some friendly interpositor succeeded in averting the wrath of the Foreign Minister.

Mr. Sumner is more sanguine of immediate success than I am, from the military operations which are to commence when General Scott considers the army fit to take the field. A Gautier's I met a number of officers, who expressed a great diversity of views in reference to those operations. General McDowell is popular with them, but they admit the great deficiencies of the subaltern and company officers. General Scott is too infirm to take the field, and the burdens of administration press the veteran to the earth.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, Vol. 1, p. 373-8

Diary of William Howard Russell: July 2, 1861

At early dawn this morning, looking out of the sleeping car, I saw through the mist a broad, placid river on the right, and on the left high wooded banks running sharply into the stream, against the base of which the rails were laid. West Point, which is celebrated for its picturesque scenery, as much as for its military school, could not be seen through the fog, and I regretted time did not allow me to stop and pay a visit to the academy. I was obliged to content myself with the handiwork of some of the ex-pupils. The only camaraderie I have witnessed in America exists among the West Point men. It is to Americans what our great public schools are to young Englishmen. To take a high place at West Point is to be a first-class man, or wrangler. The academy turns out a kind of military aristocracy, and I have heard complaints that the Irish and Germans are almost completely excluded, because the nominations to West Point are obtained by political influence; and the foreign element, though powerful at the ballot-box, has no enduring strength. The Murphies and Schmidts seldom succeed in shoving their sons into the American institution. North and South, I have observed, the old pupils refer everything military to West Point. “I was with Beauregard at West Point. He was three above me.” Or, “McDowell and I were in the same class.” An officer is measured by what he did there, and if professional jealousies date from the state of common pupilage, so do lasting friendships. I heard Beauregard, Lawton, Hardee, Bragg, and others, speak of McDowell, Lyon, McClellan, and other men of the academy, as their names turned up in the Northern papers, evidently judging of them by the old school standard. The number of men who have been educated there greatly exceeds the modest requirements of the army. But there is likelihood of their being all in full work very soon.

At about nine, A. M., the train reached New York, and in driving to the house of Mr. Duncan, who accompanied me from Niagara, the first thing which struck me was the changed aspect of the streets. Instead of peaceful citizens, men in military uniforms thronged the pathways, and such multitudes of United States flags floated from the windows and roofs of the houses as to convey the impression that it was a great holiday festival. The appearance of New York when I first saw it was very different. For one day, indeed, after my arrival, there were men in uniform to be seen in the streets, but they disappeared after St. Patrick had been duly honored, and it was very rarely I ever saw a man in soldier's clothes during the rest of my stay. Now, fully a third of the people carried arms, and were dressed in some kind of martial garb.

The walls are covered with placards from military companies offering inducements to recruits. An outburst of military tailors has taken place in the streets; shops are devoted to militia equipments; rifles, pistols, swords, plumes, long boots, saddle, bridle, camp belts, canteens, tents, knapsacks, have usurped the place of the ordinary articles of traffic. Pictures and engravings — bad, and very bad — of the “battles” of Big Bethel and Vienna, full of furious charges, smoke and dismembered bodies, have driven the French prints out of the windows. Innumerable "General Scott's" glower at you from every turn, making the General look wiser than he or any man ever was. Ellsworths in almost equal proportion, Grebles and Winthrops — the Union martyrs — and Tompkins, the temporary hero of Fairfax court-house.

The “flag of our country” is represented in a colored engraving, the original of which was not destitute of poetical feeling, as an angry blue sky through which meteors fly streaked by the winds, whilst between the red stripes the stars just shine out from the heavens, the flag-staff being typified by a forest tree bending to the force of the blast. The Americans like this idea — to my mind it is significant of bloodshed and disaster. And why not! What would become of all these pseudo-Zouaves who have come out like an eruption over the States, and are in no respect, not even in their baggy breeches, like their great originals, if this war were not to go on? I thought I had had enough of Zouaves in New Orleans, but dȋs aliter visum.

They are overrunning society, and the streets here, and the dress which becomes the broad-chested, stumpy, short-legged Celt, who seems specially intended for it, is singularly unbecoming to the tall and slightly-built American. Songs “On to glory,” “Our country,” new versions of “Hail Columbia,” which certainly cannot be considered by even American complacency a “happy land” when its inhabitants are preparing to cut each other's throats; of the “star-spangled banner,” are displayed in booksellers’ and music-shop windows, and patriotic sentences emblazoned on flags float from many houses. The ridiculous habit of dressing up children and young people up to ten and twelve years of age as Zouaves and vivandières has been caught up by the old people, and Mars would die with laughter if he saw some of the abdominous, be-spectacled light infantry men who are hobbling along the pavement.

There has been indeed a change in New York; externally it is most remarkable, but I cannot at all admit that the abuse with which I was assailed for describing the indifference which prevailed on my arrival was in the least degree justified. I was desirous of learning how far the tone of conversation “in the city” had altered, and soon after breakfast I went down Broadway to Pine Street and Wall Street. The street in all its length was almost draped with flags — the warlike character of the shops was intensified. In front of one shop window there was a large crowd gazing with interest at some object which I at last succeeded in feasting my eyes upon. A gray cap with a tinsel badge in front, and the cloth stained with blood was displayed, with the words, “Cap of Secession officer killed in action.” On my way I observed another crowd of women, some with children in their arms standing in front of a large house and gazing up earnestly and angrily at the windows. I found they were wives, mothers, and sisters, and daughters of volunteers who had gone off and left them destitute.

The misery thus caused has been so great that the citizens of New York have raised a fund to provide food, clothes, and a little money — a poor relief, in fact, for them, and it was plain they were much needed, though some of the applicants did not seem to belong to a class accustomed to seek aid from the public. This already! But Wall Street and Pine Street are bent on battle. And so this day, hot from the South and impressed with the firm resolve of the people, and finding that the North has been lashing itself into fury, I sit down and write to England, on my return from the city. “At present dismiss entirely the idea, no matter how it may originate, that there will be, or can be, peace, compromise, union, or secession, till war has determined the issue.”

As long as there was a chance that the struggle might not take place, the merchants of New York were silent, fearful of offending their Southern friends and connections, but inflicting infinite damage on their own government and misleading both sides. Their sentiments, sympathies, and business bound them with the South; and, indeed, till “the glorious uprising” the South believed New York was with them, as might be credited from the tone of some organs in the press, and I remember hearing it said by Southerners in Washington, that it was very likely New York would go out of the Union! When the merchants, however, saw the South was determined to quit the Union, they resolved to avert the permanent loss of the great profits derived from their connection with the South by some present sacrifices. They rushed to the platforms — the battle-cry was sounded from almost every pulpit — flag-raisings took place in every square, like the planting of the tree of liberty in France in 1848, and the oath was taken to trample Secession under foot, and to quench the fire of the Southern heart forever.

The change in manner, in tone, in argument, is most remarkable. I met men to-day who last March argued coolly and philosophically about the right of Secession. They are now furious at the idea of such wickedness — furious with England, because she does not deny their own famous doctrine of the sacred right of insurrection. “We must maintain our glorious Union, sir.” “We must have a country.” “We cannot allow two nations to grow up on this Continent, sir.” “We must possess the entire control of the Mississippi.” These “musts,” and can’ts,” and “won'ts,” are the angry utterances of a spirited people who have had their will so long that they at last believe it is omnipotent. Assuredly, they will not have it over the South without a tremendous and long-sustained contest, in which they must put forth every exertion, and use all the resources and superior means they so abundantly possess.

It is absurd to assert, as do the New York people, to give some semblance of reason to their sudden outburst, that it was caused by the insult to the flag at Sumter. Why, the flag had been fired on long before Sumter was attacked by the Charleston batteries! It had been torn down from United States arsenals and forts all over the South; and but for the accident which placed Major Anderson in a position from which he could not retire, there would have been no bombardment of the fort, and it would, when evacuated, have shared the fate of all the other Federal works on the Southern coast. Some of the gentlemen who are now so patriotic and Unionistic, were last March prepared to maintain that if the President attempted to reenforce Sumter or Pickens, he would be responsible for the destruction of the Union. Many journals in New York and out of it held the same doctrine.

One word to these gentlemen. I am pretty well satisfied that if they had always spoken, written, and acted as they do now, the people of Charleston would not have attacked Sumter so readily. The abrupt outburst of the North and the demonstration at New York filled the South, first with astonishment, and then with something like fear, which was rapidly fanned into anger by the press and the politicians, as well as by the pride inherent in slaveholders.

I wonder what Mr. Seward will say when I get back to Washington. Before I left, he was of opinion — at all events, he stated — that all the States would come back, at the rate of one a month. The nature of the process was not stated; but we are told there are 250,000 Federal troops now under arms, prepared to try a new one.

Combined with the feeling of animosity to the rebels, there is, I perceive, a good deal of ill-feeling towards Great Britain. The Southern papers are so angry with us for the Order in Council closing British ports against privateers and their prizes, that they advise Mr. Rust and Mr. Yancey to leave Europe. We are in evil case between North and South. I met a reverend doctor, who is most bitter in his expressions towards us; and I dare say, Bishop and General Leonidas Polk, down South, would not be much better disposed. The clergy are active on both sides; and their flocks approve of their holy violence. One journal tells, with much gusto, of a blasphemous chaplain, a remarkably good rifle shot, who went into one of the skirmishes lately, and killed a number of rebels — the joke being, in fact, that each time he' fired and brought down his man, he exclaimed, piously, “May Heaven have mercy on your soul!” One Father Mooney, who performed the novel act, for a clergyman, of “christening” a big gun at Washington the other day, wound up the speech he made on the occasion, by declaring “the echo of its voice would be sweet music, inviting the children of Columbia to share the comforts of his father's home.” Can impiety and folly and bad taste go further?

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, Vol. 1, p. 367-72

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: September 4, 1863

There is a rumor that Gen. Lee (who is still here) is to take the most of his army out of Virginia, to recapture the Southern territory lost by Loring, Pemberton, and Bragg. I doubt this; for it might involve the loss of Richmond, and indeed of the whole State of Virginia. It would be a sad blow to the extortionate farmers, it is true; but we cannot afford to lose the whole country, and sacrifice the cause, to punish the speculators. It may be, however, that this is a ruse, and if so, Lee is preparing for another northern campaign.

The project of the Hon. Mr. Boteler to place Rains's subterra shells under the Orange and Alexandria Railroad used by the enemy, was referred by the Secretary to Col. J. Gorgas, the Northern Chief of Ordnance, who says he can furnish the shells, but advises against the use of them, as they will “only irritate the enemy, and not intimidate them.” For this presumptuous advice, which was entirely gratuitous, I do not learn that the Secretary has rebuked him.

Letters from Western North Carolina show that the defection is spreading. In Wilkes County, Gideon Smoot is the commander of the insurgents, and has raised the United States flag. I have not learned, yet, whether Lieut.-Col. Lay, of the Bureau of Conscription, reached that far; and I was amazed when the good nature of Col. Preston yielded to his solicitations to go thither. What possible good could he, a Virginian, and formerly an aid of Gen. Scott, effect in that quarter?

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 32-3

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: August 31, 1863

Governor Vance writes that large bodies of deserters in the western counties of North Carolina are organized, with arms, and threaten to raise the Union flag at the courthouse of Wilkes County on next court-day. The Governor demands a brigade from Virginia to quell them. Lieut.-Col. Lay has been sent thither, by the new good-natured chief of the Bureau of Conscription, to cure the evil. We shall see what good this mission will effect. Col. Preston writes to the Secretary to-day that disorders among the conscripts and deserters are now occurring in South Carolina for the first time — and proposes shortly to visit them himself. The best thing that can be done is to abolish the Bureau of Conscription, and have the law enforced by the military commanders in the field.

I saw to-day a letter to the Secretary of War, written by Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, on the 18th inst., referring to a Mr. Jno. Robertson, an artist, whom the Secretary of War promised a free passage in a government steamer to Europe. Mr. B. says the promise was made in the President's room, and he asks if Mr. Seddon could not spare an hour in his office, for Mr. R. to take his portrait. He says Mr. R. has the heads of the President, all the heads of departments (except Mr. Seddon, I suppose), and the principal generals. It does not appear what was done by Mr. Seddon, but I presume everything asked for by Mr. Benjamin was granted. But this matter has not exalted the President and his “heads of departments” in my estimation. If it be not “fiddling while Rome is burning,” it is certainly egotizing while the Confederacy is crumbling. On that day Sumter was falling to pieces, and some 40 locomotives and hundreds of cars were burning in Mississippi, and everywhere our territory passing into the hands of the invader!

Mr. Robertson, I believe, is a stranger and an Englishman, and a free passage in a government ship is equivalent to some $2000, Confederate States currency. Almost every day passages are denied to refugees, natives of the South, who have lost fortunes in the cause, and who were desirous to place their children and non-combatants in a place of security, while they fight for liberty and independence. The privileged passage is refused them, even when they are able and willing to pay for the passage, and this refusal is recommended by Col. Gorgas, a Northern man. They do not propose to immortalize “the President, the heads of departments, and the principal generals.” But Mr. Benjamin has nothing else to do. Washington would accept no meed of praise until his great work was accomplished.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 28-9

Diary of William Howard Russell: June 24, 1861

Just at dawn, I woke up and got out on the platform of the carriage, which is the favorite resort of smokers and their antithetics, those who love pure fresh air, notwithstanding the printed caution, “It is dangerous to stand on the platform;” and under the eye of early morn saw spread around a flat sealike expanse, not yet warmed into color and life by the sun. The line was no longer guarded from daring Secessionists by soldiers' outposts, and small camps had disappeared. The train sped through the centre of the great verdant circle as a ship through the sea, leaving the rigid iron wake behind it tapering to a point at the horizon and as the light spread over it, the surface of the crisping corn waved in broad undulations beneath the breeze from east to west. This is the prairie indeed. Hereabouts it is covered with the finest crops, some already cut and stacked. Looking around one could see church spires rising in the distance from the white patches of houses, and by degrees the tracks across the fertile waste became apparent, and then carts and horses were seen toiling through the rich soil.

A large species of partridge or grouse appeared very abundant, and rose in flocks from the long grass at the side of the rail or from the rich carpet of flowers on the margin of the corn-fields. They sat on the fence almost unmoved by the rushing engine, and literally swarmed along the line. These are called “prairie chickens” by the people, and afford excellent sport. Another bird about the size of a thrush, with a yellow breast and a harsh cry, I learned was “the sky-lark;” and apropos of the unmusical creature, I was very briskly attacked by a young lady patriot for finding fault with the sharp noise it made. “Oh, my! And you not to know that your Shelley loved it above all things! Didn't he write some verses — quite beautiful, too, they are — to the sky-lark?” And so “the Britisher was dried up,” as I read in a paper afterwards of a similar occurrence.

At the little stations which occur at every few miles — there are some forty of them, at each of which the train stops, in 365 miles between Cairo and Chicago — the Union flag floated in the air; but we had left all the circumstance of this inglorious war behind us, and the train rattled boldly over the bridges across the rare streams, no longer in danger from Secession hatchets. The swamp had given place to the cornfield. No black faces were turned up from the mowing and free white labor was at work, and the type of the laborers was German and Irish.

The Yorkshirenian expatiated on the fertility of the land, and on the advantages it held out to the emigrant. But I observed all the lots by the side of the rail, and apparently as far as the eye could reach, were occupied. “Some of the very best land lies beyond on each side,” said he. “Out over there in the fat places is where we put our Englishmen.” By digging deep enough good water is always to be had, and coal can be carried from the rail, where it costs only 7s. or 8s. a ton. Wood there is little or none in the prairies, and it was rarely indeed a clump of trees could be, detected, or anything higher than some scrub brushwood. Those little communities which we passed were but the growth of a few years, and as we approached the northern portion of the line we could see, as it were, the village swelling into the town, and the town spreading out to the dimensions of the city. “I dare say, Major,” says one of the passengers, “this gentleman never saw anything like these cities before. I'm told they've nothing like them in Europe?” “Bless you,” rejoined the Major, with a wink, “just leaving out London, Edinbro', Paris, and Manchester, there's nothing on earth to ekal them.” My friend, who is a shrewd fellow, by way of explanation of his military title, says, “I was a major once, a major in the Queen's Bays, but they would put troop-sergeant before it them days.” Like many Englishmen he complains that the jealousy of native-born Americans effectually bars the way to political position of any naturalized citizen, and all the places are kept by the natives.

The scene now began to change gradually as we approached Chicago, the prairie subsided into swampy land, and thick belts of trees fringed the horizon; on our right glimpses of the sea could be caught through openings in the wood — the inland sea on which stands the Queen of the Lakes. Michigan looks broad and blue as the Mediterranean. Large farmhouses stud the country, and houses which must be the retreat of merchants and citizens of means; and when the train, leaving the land altogether, dashes out on a pier and causeway built along the borders of the lake, we see lines of noble houses, a fine boulevard, a forest of masts, huge isolated piles of masonry, the famed grain elevators by which so many have been hoisted to fortune, churches and public edifices, and the apparatus of a great city; and just at nine o'clock the train gives its last steam shout and comes to a standstill in the spacious station of the Central Illinois Company, and in half-anhour more I am in comfortable quarters at the Richmond House, where I find letters waiting for me, by which it appears that the necessity for my being in Washington in all haste, no longer exists. The wary General who commands the army is aware that the advance to Richmond, for which so many journals are clamoring, would be attended with serious risk at present, and the politicians must be content to wait a little longer.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, Vol. 1, p. 351-3