Showing posts with label The Star Spangled Banner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Star Spangled Banner. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, May 26, 1862

Camp Flat Top, May 26, 1862.

Dearest: — Your excellent letters of [the] 17th and 19th came this morning — only a week in getting to me. I wrote you yesterday by the soldiers, Corporal West and Harper, but I must give you another by the sutler who goes in the morning, just to show how much I think of you and your lettersWe are now at rest on a mountain top with no immediate prospect of anything stirring. We stand for the moment on the defensive, and are not likely to be disturbed. We have been having exchanges of wounded and prisoners with the enemy. They have behaved very well to our men, and were exceedingly civil and hospitable in our negotiations with them. They feel a good deal discouraged with the general prospect, but are crowding our small armies under Banks and Fremont pretty severely. All will be well if we carry the pivots at Richmond and Corinth. Enough of this.

I still feel just as I told you, that I shall come safely out of this war. I felt so the other day when danger was near. I certainly enjoyed the excitement of fighting our way out of Giles to the Narrows as much as any excitement I ever experienced. I had a good deal of anxiety the first hour or two on account of my command, but not a particle on my own account. After that, and after I saw we were getting on well, it was really jolly. We all joked and laughed and cheered constantly. Old Captain Drake said it was the best Fourth of July he ever had. I had in mind Theo. Wright singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” “The bombs bursting in air” began before it was quite light, and it seemed to me a sort of acting of the song, and in a pleasant way, the prayer would float through my thoughts, “In the dread hour of battle, O God, be thou nigh!”

A happy thing you did for the sick soldiers, good wife!* “I love you so much.” Well, that is all I wrote to tell you. I must repeat again, send the Commercial “for the war.” Tell Webb Lieutenant Kennedy was delighted with the picture, and will try to send his to Webb some day. Send me one of all the boys if you get them — Webb's of course. I am much pleased that you are to stay in Cincinnati. Love to all the boys and Grandma. Send me by sutler Harper and Atlantic for June. Good-bye, dearest.

Affectionately ever,
R.

P. S. — I enclose you a letter which I wish Dr. Murphy [to read] or somebody to read to him. He behaves badly, I suspect. In short, darling, all men who manage to keep away from their regiments are to be suspected. They are generally rascals.

Mrs. Hayes.
_______________


SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 280-2

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: May 23, 1863

We arrived [at Simsport]. This place is simply a point where the Red River road crosses the Atchaffalaya Bayou. There are two or three houses in sight. On the way heavy cannonading was heard in the direction of Port Hudson, and an orderly came back and reported that Vicksburg had fallen and Port Hudson was on fire and about ready to surrender. So the army halted in the road under a broiling sun, and the band played “The Star Spangled Banner,” and the army cheered to the echo. Many negroes had collected here from the surrounding plantations. At 8 p. m. the First Louisiana embarked on the St. Maurice bound for Bayou Sara. Stayed up until we passed into Red River, thence into the Mississippi, when I retired.

SOURCE: Abstracted from George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 55-6

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Major Wilder Dwight: February 9, 1862

Cantonment Hicks, February 9, 1862, near Frederick.

If I could take the wings of this brisk, sunny morning, I would certainly fold them on our front-door steps in Brookline. Nor would I then proceed to hide my head under the wings, but, having flapped them cheerfully, I would thereupon crow!

But, as the wings and a furlough are both wanting, I must content myself with a web-footed, amphibious existence in the mud of Maryland.

There is a secession song which enjoys a surreptitious parlor popularity here. It is called, “Maryland, — my Maryland!” and rehearses, among other things, that “the despot's heel is on thy breast!” If that be so, all I have got to say is, that, just now, the heel has the worst of it. Yet there is a just satisfaction in this morning's inspection of men, tents, and kitchens, — to see how, by discipline, method, and fidelity, there is a successful contest maintained with all the elements. The neatness and order of our camp, in spite of mud, is a “volunteer miracle.”

You will be glad to know that the regiment is now in fine health. We already begin to count the days till spring. Of course, it is unsafe to predict the climate. I remember very well, however, that last February was quite dry, and that early in March dust, and not mud, was the enemy I found in Washington. It may well be, therefore, that there is a good time coming.

Indeed, has it not, in one sense, already come? Can you blind yourself to the omens and the tendencies? What shall we say of those statesmen of a budding empire, a new State, which is to give the law to the commerce and industry of the world through a single monopoly? What shall we say of the statesmen (Cobb, Toombs, etc.) who counsel their happy and chivalrous people to a general bonfire of house, home, and product? There's a new industry for a new State. King Cotton is a rare potentate. He proposes to be, himself, his own circulating medium, among other eccentricities.

Then, too, what admirable inferiority of fortification they succeed in erecting! Will our fleet of gunboats have as easy victories over all their river defences? and, if so, how far are we from Memphis? and where is Porter going with his “Mortar Fleet.” Among the ablest of our naval commanders, he is not bent on a fool's errand. When Jeff Davis sleeps o’ nights, does he dream of power?

But I've given you too many questions. In the midst of all this jubilant interrogatory, when will our time come? Just as soon as the mud dries, without a doubt.

Our life jogs on here without variety. For the most part, we spend our time in reading military books and talking military talk.

I am just now a good deal disturbed by the prospect of disbanding the bands. A greater mistake could not be made. The man with so little music in his soul as to vote for it is fit for — a Secessionist. Marshal Saxe, in introducing the cadenced step in the French infantry, says, “Music exerts a great and secret power over us. It disposes ‘nos organes aux exercises du corps, les soulagent dans ces exercises. On danse toute une nuit au son des instruments mais personne ne resterait à danser pendant un quart d’heure, seulement, sans musique.’” I have seen many a practical verification of this in the gathering freshness and quickness with which jaded men went on their march when the music called and cheered them.

Besides, we want the Star Spangled Banner, and its melody, as allies against the Rebel seductions.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 194-6

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Major Wilder Dwight: Sunday, December 22, 1861

It is now Sunday morning, and quite cold. We have been building a log-kitchen, and are now building a stable. The government has, I understand, decided to allow us lumber enough to make us quite comfortable. And I think we shall give the coming week to it. If we are to remain for the winter, I incline to think I shall build me a house, by way of pastime, if not for comfort.

This fine open weather, which has hastened the month of December to its close, seems made for use. Perhaps if McClellan could have foreseen it, he would have used it. Now, however, it is too late. Still, events march, — Kentucky swarming with Union soldiers, and soon to be a battle-field; Missouri even now the scene of Federal victory

I think the birds of spring will sing Hail Columbia and the Star Spangled Banner all over the South, though the Christmas chimes and carols may be sadly out of tune. I hope this letter may reach you in season to bring my greeting for Christmas eve. We can hardly receive the Christmas message, “On earth peace, good-will toward men,” in any obvious and literal sense this year. It is said to be the appointed time for a holiday massacre and uprising among the slaves. It is certain that few Christmas firesides which do not miss a soldier from their circle can gather in our land. “Not peace, but a sword.” Yet I can confidently wish a Merry Christmas to you, and look forward to a happier New Year. We are fighting a good fight; if only we can be true to our cause and ourselves, we have the right to indulge the brightest hopes and rely on the best promises. God is with us.

Hang up every sign of Christmas, — the freshest green. Commemorate the message and the Prince of Peace. Gather the Christmas family-circle, and remember the absent; for family ties are never so close as in these days of separation and trial. Love to all at home. I wish I could send a token to every one, but, instead, must content myself with good wishes.

Remember me most kindly to all friends. I should like to drop down among you Christmas morning and catch C——, as I certainly should, after my reveillé experience of the past six months.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 178-9

Saturday, December 6, 2014

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, July 30, 1861

Harper's Ferry, Va., July 30, 1861.

Our regiment is now left here alone, the whole army having moved across the Potomac together with all our baggage-wagons. We are quartered in some of the least ruined government buildings; our picket guards extend some two miles out into the country around.

There was quite an excitement here the night we first raised the American flag on the staff at the Arsenal. There was a large fragment of the secession flag flying at the head of it when we arrived in town, but it was so securely fastened that it could not be taken down without a person's climbing to the top. As the staff was one hundred and five feet high, this was quite an undertaking. Several tried, but had to give it up. Finally, our First Sergeant secured fresh halyards and raised the Stars and Stripes. Half the town had gathered together in the yard, together with a great part of our regiment. As our flag was run up, the band struck up “Yankee Doodle,” following with the “Star Spangled Banner.” The excitement was, for this latitude, immense.

Those who have been abroad say that this town reminds them strongly of foreign towns by its narrow, dark streets, dirty, steep alley-ways, peculiar stone houses, etc. Our mess chests have been extremely useful to us. Wherever we could get at our wagons, we have used them entirely to get our meals with and to eat from, our servants managing the cooking of chickens, mutton chops, tea, coffee, etc., very well. Our mess consists of Captain Curtis, Captain Mudge, Bob Shaw, Tom Robeson and myself; we have very good times whenever we can all get together, which is not very often, there being so much special service.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 12