Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 6, 1861

I introduce the following letter to a friend, as sufficiently explicit as to the occurrences since the last date:

CHAIN BRIDGE, VA., Sept. 6, 1861.

 

I commence this letter with the reiteration, Poor Virginia! That State, which for forty years has stood as the guiding star of our galaxy of States,—that State, which alone could, six months ago, have assumed the position of umpire to the belligerents, and which only would have been respected in the assumption—now stands at the very foot of the list. In the commencement of this contest she degraded herself by offering to become the cat's paw for South Carolina, and was still farther degraded by South Carolina rejecting the proposition to become her menial. By her officious subservience, however, she got her paw into the fire, and how dreadfully it is burned only those who are on her soil can form any idea. Everywhere is the destruction going on. Her soil is the battle-field, and, so far as the destruction of property is concerned, it matters but little which party is successful. Armies must have room to move and manœuvre, soldiers will have the fruits and vegetables which grow around their encampment, and camp life is a poor fertilizer of that moral growth which marks the line of "meum et tuum."

This letter is written on sheets taken from the former residence of Hon. W. W. Slade, once a member of Congress from Virginia. I rode around with a foraging party. We entered his fine old mansion, and I could not but weep over the sad changes which I could see had taken place within a few hours, Within no living soul was left. The soldiers entered; for a time I stood back, but when I did go in what a sight presented itself! Already the floors were covered knee-deep with books and papers, which it must have required a long life of toil and trouble to amass, fine swinging-mirrors shivered into thousands of pieces—a fit emblem of the condition to which efforts are being made to reduce this glorious government—each piece reflecting miniature images of what the whole had shown, but never again to reflect those pigmy images in one vast whole. In the large and spacious drawing-room stood the ruins of one of those old-fashioned sideboards, around which had grown so much of the reputation of Southern high life and hospitality; its doors, wrenched from their hinges, lay scattered on the floor; large mahogany sofas, with their covers torn off, marble-top tables, stationery, china, stoves and spittoons, were there in one promiscuous heap of ruins. I stepped into the library, hoping to bring away some relic that had been untouched by the soldiers, but I was too late—all here was ruin. In a corner I picked up a few yellow pamphlets, and read "Constitution and By-Laws of the National Democratic Association." Sadly enough I left the house, and seated myself, to rest and think, on the spacious verandah. For a moment I looked on the vast orchards, the beautiful flower garden, the long rows of laden grape vines, the broad acres of corn and clover, and thought, "What a place and what a condition to pass old age in comfort and quiet," and my heart began to lighten. How momentary the lightning, for just then company after company from the different regiments came up; gates were thrown open, fences thrown down, and horses, cattle and mules were destroying all these evidences of prosperity and comfort. And this is but one feature in the great haggard countenance of war which stares at us whenever we look at Virginia's "sacred soil." Alas, poor Virginia! This subject alone would give interest to a whole volume, but I must leave it.

On Tuesday night, at half-past ten o'clock, the "long roll" brought our brigade, of five regiments, to their feet, when we found ourselves under orders to march at once for the Virginia side of the river, where, it was said, a large body of rebels had been collecting just at night. We had had slight skirmishing in that neighborhood for several days, and now the crisis was expected, and our regiment was to have a chance. All was excitement, and in half an hour from the alarm we were ready to start. By the time we arrived here it had commenced raining—we found no enemy—bivouaced for the night, and slept in the rain to the music of the tramp, tramp of infantry, and the rattling, roaring tear of artillery wagons over the roughly macademized road which passed by our encampment. Yesterday it rained all day, as if every plug had been pulled out; still we kept on our arms and ready for action—our general and brigade officers dashing about all the time, and warning us to be ready for an attack. Day before yesterday a scouting party of our brigade went in pursuit of a party of cavalry who had been seen hovering about us. When they came in sight the cavalry took to their heels, leaving to us only three large contrabands, who "tink massa oughten to run away from poor nigga so, heah! heah! They just run and leab us to de mercy of de darn abolishuns, heah! heah!" They report that around Fairfax and Centreville there are sixty or seventy regiments, who are well provisioned, but that there is a great deal of sickness among them, measles being the prevailing disease. We had, when we left Kalarama, about twenty-five in the hospital, whom we left there under the charge of Dr. There are three or four here who have sickened in consequence of exposure to the two days and two night's rain, but they will be out in a day or two. We have not yet lost a man by disease or accident, though I hear that one man yesterday received a musket ball through his cap, but as it did not hit his head it is thought he will recover. The musket was carelessly fired by some soldier in our camp.

A little occurrence to-day has caused quite a stir in our camps, and I deem it worthy to be noted here for my remembrance. Capt. Strong, of the Second Regiment of Wisconsin Volunteers, was with a small party on picket guard. He strolled away from his company, and suddenly found himself surrounded by six of the rebel pickets. Being out of reach of help from his men, he surrendered himself a prisoner. After a short consultation as to whether they should kill the "d----d Yankee" on the spot, they concluded that they would first take him into camp. They demanded his pistols, which he took from his belt and presented. But at the moment when the rebels were receiving them, they both went off, killing two of his captors on the spot. But there were four left, two on foot, two on horseback. He dashed into a pine thicket, they discharging their pieces after him and immediately giving chase. He struck into a deep hollow or ravine leading down to the Potomac. It was so precipitous that the horsemen could not follow. But when he emerged from it near the river; he found himself confronted by the two horsemen who had ridden around and reached the spot in time to head him off. He had received a shot through his canteen. Immediately on seeing his pursuers he fired again, killing one more of them, and simultaneously he received another shot through his cheek. He continued firing with his revolvers till he had made in all eleven shots. By this time the fourth man had been unhorsed. The footmen did not pursue, and he made his way into camp. This is the story, though some are so uncharitable as to discredit it, notwithstanding one hole through his canteen and another through his cheek.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 21-5

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: [Sunday], May 8, 1864

VIRGINIA GIRLS OF SWEET SIXTEEN DID NOT LOVE US.

Weather hot; two more trains of Rebel wounded pass. Report that General Wadsworth and others of our valuable generals are killed. At 2 p. m. our train moves for Lynchburg. It is composed of horse and cattle cars all crowded. Charlotteville is beautifully located in a fertile valley. About one mile west is the University of Virginia, founded by Thomas Jefferson. In the vicinity of this edifice were about twenty-five girls. Observing us, they waved their hands in greeting; we waved. We were going slowly; they ran across the green toward Discovering their mistake they bounded up and down and cried "You damned Yankees!" Screaming contemptuously they went back as fast as they came. Procuring a Rebel flag they flirted it at us.

Sweet Virginia maids,
    You love the soil where born;
But you bear a flag that fades;
    Yet I forgive your scorn.

You know not what you do,
    Nor do I court debate;
I'll fling a kiss to you,
    As you bestow your hate.

I wish I had a flower;
    I'd toss it on the lea.
It might perfume this hour
    You sour so on me!

Indeed, I love you, quite
    You so much remind
Of Northern girls as bright,
    Sweet girls I left behind.

Your scorn is hot and keen
    As Yankee girls, I trow;
Though you are sweet sixteen,
    Still sweeter girls I know!

But when this war is o'er
    And purged your blood, that's bad
The Union we'll restore
    And you'll not be so mad.

Yes, when this war is over
    And the Union is restored,
You may want a Yankee lover,
    And not try to feel so bored.

Coquette with old Secech!
    Indeed,, it seems quite sad
That such could make a mash
    On girls and be their fad!

Some brutal nigger-driver,
    Who glories in his lash,
Some slavery conniver
    Might favor such a mash.

But your dear Alma Mater
    Is Jefferson's own school;
He was a slavery hater;
    T. J. - he was no fool!

Haughty maids, good-day-
    When shall we meet again?
You don't seem to like my way,
    Mad maids of Old Virgin.

Observing a large crowd to see us in town, the boys sang national songs, as the train drew in, which the officers stopped. The normal population of Charlotteville is 5,500. The greater portion of the crowd were women who looked at us with apparent interest. There are several hospitals here which are being filled with wounded. Four miles further the engine lost power and half our train is left, I being on the rear car. Before dark guards were stationed and we were ordered out of the cars and camped by the side of the railroad to remain all night. To the left of the road was a high steep bank; on the right a steep declivity, on the west the South Mountains. We had a pleasant talk with some guards who expressed Union sentiments, one, a North Carolinian. When home in April, he said, corn was worth $14 per bushel Confederate scrip; only 50c in silver.

A woman passing, said: "It is hard times; the people had not reckoned on the possibility of failure; for myself I did not deem it possible that all their lofty expectations would be realized."

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 41-2

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, February 13, 1863

February 13, 1863.

Tonight I have been talking with Cato Waring, one of my old nurses in the hospital. The attempt to give a report of his history seems futile. He is a quiet old black man, this Cato, with singular combination of intellect and ready shrewdness, a subtlety of character that makes you feel as if a serpent might silently coil around you at any moment, without the rustle of a leaf. He appears dull and heavy, but is full of unspent sharpness and agility. He is old, but not gray, body and spirit alike intact. The night after our return from our expedition, I was telling them in the hospital about it and old Cato sat, with his dull eyes bent upon the fire, seemingly indifferent to all, till I came to the death of the rebel officer in the woods. Then his eyes sparkled and glared at me. “Did you know his name?” “No.” “Oh, I hope to God it was my young master who went down that way.”

Tonight Cato came to my tent and began very quietly to tell me of his life in slavery and his escape from it, but it was not long before his tone and manner became too dramatic for me to take notes, and I felt as if all the horrors of the accursed system were being poured upon my naked nerves. His voice was always low, but commanding. He was born on the Santee river and “raised by Mas'r Cooper as a pet.” But he was sent away to learn the carpenter's trade, and after seven years apprenticeship returned home to find his old master was dead and the estate involved by mismanagement on the part of the widow and children. Finally, he and the other slaves were sold to pay the debts. Dr. Waring, his new master, “was a bad man, but not so bad as his wife.” The Dr.'s family increased rapidly and his expenses were so great that Cato was made not only driver, but overseer of the estate, a position he held till his escape, a period of sixteen years. Dr. Waring and his wife ranked among the affectionate specimens of humanity. “Dey ollus kiss wen he go out an wen he come in.” Mrs. Waring was a neat housewife and made her servants “clean all de brasses an eberyting befo' daylight in de mo'nin.” When she arose in the morning and examined the furniture with her white handkerchief for dust, there were usually one or two victims selected for the lash. It was Cato's business to wait at the door for orders to apply from one hundred to five hundred lashes every morning before going out to the plantation. If the victim was male, he was stripped and cords were fastened to his fingers and then drawn over a horizontal pole above his head, till his toes only, touched the ground; then the master would stand behind Cato with a paddle and knock him over for any delinquency on his part. The same treatment was applied to women, except that instead of stripping off the clothing, the skirts and chemise were drawn up over the head. When the parlor was filled with visitors, the mistress would wind a towel around the end of a stick and have it thrust into the throat of the victim and it would come out all covered with blood thus the screams of the tortured would be smothered. These statements would seem exaggerated to me if I had not, over and over, in my medical examinations in this regiment, found enormous horizontal scars around the body, and, on inquiry, been told “Dat's what my ole Marsa had me whipped.” Never once have these revelations come to me except by inquiry.

Finally, the war began. Old Cato heard the guns of Fort Sumter and waited and waited to hear his master speak of it. He and all his fellow slaves felt that the hour of deliverance had come. Finally, he said one night to his old master, — young Doctor who “had been off to some place dey calls Paris,” and who was worse than the old man ; “What all dat tunder mean way off dar?” “Oh, it's the d----d Yankees who want to steal all our property.” Of course Cato was indignant at the Yankees and promised to stand by his master. Time went on and the rebels began to doubt their success and at the same time began to swear that they would “work de niggers to deat’ [death] before the d----d Yankees should have them.” Cato was compelled to exact tasks of the slaves that were before unheard of. He could not do it, and told his master so one Sunday night. The Doctor swore vehemently and ordered Cato to report himself in the morning for chastisement. Cato said “I tanked him berry much for de information an’ went to my hut an’ hung all de keys whar de ole woman could fin’ ‘em, but did u’t tell her what I’se gwine to do, cause she’d make such a hullaboo about it.” But “Sunday mornin’ befo’ de hen git up,” Cato was in a dugout pushing his way through the rice swamp, so that the dogs could not follow his trail. He had gone far before daylight, and, during the day, lay quietly in his boat. Finally he lost his way and had to leave the swamp and his boat, for he had been three days without eating. When he unexpectedly met a white lady, he assumed nonchalance, touched his hat and said, “howdye,” and told such a plausible story that he got something to eat. At another time he went four days without eating and in the evening saw a black man nailing up a coon-skin by torchlight on the side of a hut. “Dis big ole man look like a religion feller,” and Cato was almost on the point of trusting him enough to go up and ask for food, but finally thought it safer to wait a little and try to steal something. He had just entered the yard when a great dog caught him by the chest, but, fortunately, got only his clothing in his mouth. His hickory cane silenced that dog, but others came, “an’ all de blacks an’ whites came down togedder.” He ran to the woods and found a pond and waded half the night to escape the dogs. “I didn’t git nuffin for eat, but I wasn't hungry no mo’ that night.”

At last he found shelter and food and rest under the roof of a negro whom he could trust. He was then twenty-two miles from the river and in the night a black horseman came and said a Yankee gunboat was “comin’ up de ribber, an’ de Cap'n was holdin’ out his arms an’ beck’nin’ de niggahs fus’ from one sho’ an’ den from de odder.” Cato straightway started toward the river, but there were many roads. The horseman agreed to break off pine boughs and drop one in the right path at the parting of the ways. All during the dark night Cato would get on his hands and knees to find the boughs at such partings and then go on rejoicing. By some mistake he did not reach the river at the point designated, and afterwards learned that his mistake had saved him from a trap of the rebels for whom the black horseman was acting.

Another night he was lying under a garden fence when a rebel was leaning over it, watching, intently, the house beyond, ready to shoot him when he should jump from a window. My heart did beat so hard I wondered he didn't hear it, but he didn't an’ wen dey come to sarch de garden, I crawl on my belly till I jump troo de gate an’ it rain so fass I knowed deyre guns wouldn't go wen dey snapped em at me.” At last after wandering about “from de secon’ week in May till de las’ week in June I reach de gunboat.” His approach to the boat was full of apprehension. Before he could be certain of the boat, he saw soldiers on the shore and did not quite know whether they were Yankees or rebels. So he wavered between holding up his "white rag" and keeping out of sight. At last they saw him in his little boat, which he had somewhere confiscated, and “I hol’ up de rag an’ de mo’ de boat come, de mo’ I draw back, but oh, wen I git on de boat I thought I was in hebben.”

I shall not trouble you with more slave stories. It is too much like trying to relate a tragedy acted by Rachel — very tame.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 362-4

Captain Charles Wright Wills: October 26, 1863

Iuka, Miss., October 26, 1863.

Let your pocket ’kerchief float out on the breeze, halloo a little and throw up your bonnet. It's only a “march at 12 o'clock to-night” but that's good enough. We've been here a week now, drawing clothing and making all kinds of preparations for a “forward,” and the blessed word has come at last. I don't believe anybody enjoys anything better than I do marching. I feel as coltish all the time on a move as I used to, when after a long week of those short winter days at school, with just time enough between the school hours and dark to cut the next day's wood (how I did work), Job Walker and I would plunge into those dear old Big Creek woods with our guns or skates, and make such a day of it that I would almost wish all time was cut up into Saturdays. I was on picket last night; full moon, splendid post, right on the old Iuka battle ground, where the fight was the hottest; the old clothes, straps, cartridge boxes and litter always found in such places, the scarred trees, and the mounds a little further up the road, marking the pits where lay the glorious dead, then a half dozen neatly marked single graves, showing the care of some company commander, all tempted me to commit some more poetry. You know I can. But I nobly resisted the temptation. There were no coons or owls. I wished for them. My picketing the last year has almost all been in swamps, and I have learned to love the concerts those innocent animals improvise. When I got in this morning found orders to be ready to move at 12 this p. m. We cross the Tennessee river, I suppose, near Eastport. This beats me all hollow. Can't see the point, unless we're moving to check some of Bragg's flanking motions. Anything for a move. I put the profile of a fort here the other day under the direction of Sherman's engineer, and the chief told me if I would like it he would have me detailed to assist him. Have had enough of staff duty and excused myself. The men are rapidly becoming more healthy. I have but one person sick now. Dorrance arrived here a few days since, and brought a splendid long letter from you. Have to go to work on some ordnance reports now.

Am half inclined to think that our big march is played out. Rather think now that we will stop at Eastport on the Tennessee river. Isn't that heavy? Eight miles only and then go to guarding navigation on a river that's a twin sister of Big Creek. Can't tell though, one rumor says that we will go 128 miles beyond the river. These generals are positively getting so sharp that a man can't tell one month ahead what they are going to do.

One of my men who was captured down near Panola, Miss., last April returned to the company for duty yesterday. Some Confederate soldiers captured him and some citizens offered them $10 to each captor for the privilege of hanging the d----d Yanks. They couldn't make a bargain. Transferred five men to the invalid corps yesterday. Jacob J. Nicholson among them.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 197-8

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 2, 1864

A crazy man was shot dead by the guard an hour ago. The guard dropped a piece of bread on the inside of the stockade, and the fellow went inside the dead line to get it and was killed. The bread wagon was raided upon as soon as it drove inside today and all the bread stolen, for which offense no more will be issued today. As I write Wirtz is walking about the prison revolver in hand, cursing and swearing The men yell out “Hang him up!” “Kill the Dutch louse!” “Buck and gag him!” “Stone him to death I” &c., and he all the time trying to find out who it is insulting him so. “I vish I find out who calls me such insulting vords, I kill the dam Yankee as soon I eat my supper!” And every few minutes a handful of dirt is thrown by some one. Wreaks his vengeance by keeping back rations from the whole camp.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 54

Diary of John Hay: January 2, 1864

Point Lookout. The President and Secretary of War to-day (Jan. 2, 1864), commissioned me to go down to Point Lookout, and deliver to Gen. Marston the book of oaths and the accompanying blanks, and explain to him the mode in which they are to be used. Gen. Butler was ordered by telegraph to meet me there and consult as to the manner of carrying out the President's plan for pardoning and enlisting the repentant rebels. I bore a letter for Gen. Butler’s instruction.

I went on board a little tug at the Seventh Street Wharf, and rattled and rustled through the ice to Alexandria where I got on board the Clyde, most palatial of steam tugs, fitted up with a very pretty cabin and berths heated by steam and altogether sybaritic in its appointments.

The day was bitterly cold, and the wind was malignant on the Potomac. I shut myself up in my gorgeous little cabin and scribbled and read and slept all day. The captain thought best to lay to for a while in the night, so we put in at Smith's Creek, and arrived at Point Lookout in the early morning. I went to the head-quarters of the General, accompanied by a young officer who asked my name and got it. I felt little interest in his patronymic, and it is now gone into the oblivion of those ante Agamemnona. It was so cold that nobody was stirring. A furry horse was crouching by the wall. “Hello, Billy! cold! Ain't it?” said my companion. Billy was indignantly silent. We stumbled on over the frozen ground past the long line of cottages that line the beach, built by the crazy proprietor of the land who hoped to make here a great watering-place which would draw the beauty and fashion of the country away from Long Branch, and make Newport a Ranz des Vaches. We came up to a snug-looking frame house which had been the dwelling of the adventurous lunatic. A tall young man, with enormous blonde moustache and a general up-too-early air about him, hove in sight, and my guide and friend introduced me. “Yes, I have heard of you, Mr. Hale. I got a despatch from the General saying you would be here. When did you arrive, Mr. Kay? Rather cold weather! Any ice on the river, Mr. Day?” All this in a voice like a rumbling of distant thunder, measured and severe, and with a manner of preternatural solemnity. “The General will soon be up, Mr. Hayes.” My mild insinuation as to my cognomen having brought him that near to my christening at last.

He disappeared, and coming back beckoned me out. I followed him across a little entry into a room opposite. There stood in the attitude in which, if Comfort ever were deified, the statues should be posed, — parted coat-tails, — a broad plenilunar base exposed to the grateful warmth of the pine-wood fire, — a hearty Yankee gentleman, clean-shaven, — sunny and rosy, — to whom I was presented, and who said laconically, “Sit there!” pointing to a warm seat by a well-spread breakfast table. I had an appetite engendered by a day and night of river air, and I ate breakfast till the intelligent contraband, who served us, caught the infection and plied me with pork-steaks till hunger cried quarter. The General told a good yarn on a contraband soldier who complained of a white man abusing him: — “I doesn't objeck to de pussonal cuffin, but he must speck de unicorn.”

The General's flock are a queer lot. Dirty, ragged, yet jolly. Most of them are still rebellious, but many are tired and ready to quit, while some are actuated by a fierce desire to get out of the prison, and by going into our army, avenge the wrongs of their forced service in the rebel ranks.

They are great traders. A stray onion, — a lucky treasure-trove of a piece of coal, — is a capital for extensive operations in Confederate trash. They sell and gamble away their names with utter recklessness. They have the easy carelessness of a about their patronymics. They sell their names when drawn for a detail to work, a great prize in the monotonous life of every day. A small-pox patient sells his place on the sick-list to a friend who thinks the path to Dixie easier from the hospital than the camp. The traffic in names on the morning of Gen. Butler’s detail of 500 for exchange was as lively as Wall Street on days when Taurus climbs the Zenith, or the “Coal Hole” when gold is tumbling ten per cent. an hour.

They live in a 30-acre lot fenced around by themselves. They put up the fence with great glee, saying, “they would fence out the d----d Yankees and keep respectable.”

Rather a pleasant place, on a pleasant day, is Point Lookout. To-day it was dreary and cold. I could not but think of the winter life of the sanguine lunatic who built the little village intended for the summer home of beauty and chivalry, and destined for the malodorous abode and the unfragrant belongings of a great hospital in busy war-times.

My little boat got frightened at the blow that freshened in the evening, and I sent her up to snooze the night away in Smith's Creek.

In the dusk of the evening Gen. Butler came clattering into the room where Marston and I were sitting, followed by a couple of aides. We had some hasty talk about business: — he told me how he was administering the oath at Norfolk; how popular it was growing; children cried for it; how he hated the Jews; how heavily he laid his hand on them; — “A nation that the Lord had been trying to make something of for three thousand years, and had so far utterly failed.” “King John knew how to deal with them — fried them in swine's fat.”

After drinking cider we went down to the Hudson City, the General's flagship. His wife, niece and excessively pretty daughter; tall, statuesque and fair, and named, by a happy prophecy of the blonde beauty of her maturity, Blanche, were there at tea. I sent my little web-footed sulky word to get home as she could, and sailed with the Butler’s for Baltimore.

At night, after the ladies had gone off to bed — they all said retired, but I suppose it meant the same thing in the end, — we began to talk about some queer matters. Butler had some odd stories about physical sympathies; he talked also about the Hebrew jurisprudence and showed a singular acquaintance with biblical studies; his occasional references to anatomy and physiology evidently surprised the surgeon, to whom he respectfully deferred from time to time. He talked till it grew late and we dispersed to bed. I slept on the guards: a pleasant bed-room, but chilly; and listened till I slept, to the cold and shuddering roar of the water under the wheels.

At Baltimore we took a special car and came home. I sat with the General all the way and talked with him about many matters; Richmond and its long immunity. He says he can take an army within thirty miles of Richmond without any trouble; from that point the enemy can either be forced to fight in the open field south of the city; or submit to be starved into surrender.

He was very severe on McClellan for his action about the New Orleans expedition. He says that before the expedition was resolved on, by the President, McClellan said it would require 50,000 men; after it was resolved on, he said 5,000 would be enough. He said he did not like to attack McC. Nil nisi bonum, etc. But he might have to exploit that matter sometime.

I told him of the night of October 21.

He gave me some very dramatic incidents of his recent action in Fortress Monroe, smoking out adventurers and confidence men, testing his detectives, and matters of that sort. He makes more business in that sleepy, little Department than anyone would have dreamed was in it.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 146-52; for the entire diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letter of John Hay, p. 148-51.

Colonel George H. Gordon to Captain William D. Wilkins, May 28, 1862

HEADQUARTERS THIRD BRIGADE,

Camp near Williamsport, Md.

[May 28, 1862.]

CAPTAIN: Agreeably to instructions received from headquarters of the division, I have the honor to report the movements of my brigade in all engagement with the enemy on the 25th instant in front of and less than a third of a mile from the town of Winchester, Va.. At dawn in the morning I received information through the officer commanding the pickets that the enemy in large numbers were driving them in and approaching the town. I immediately formed my brigade in line of battle, the right resting upon the commanding ridge, the left extending into the valley. The ridge surrounds the town, which it holds as in a basin. It is less than one-third of a mile distant, and presents many key-points for positions. I placed my artillery, Battery M, of First New York, composed of six 6-pounder Parrotts, under Lieutenant Peabody, upon the ridge, and thus awaited further developments.

About 5 a.m. skirmishers from the Second Massachusetts, on the right and crest of the hill, became sharply engaged. At about the same time I directed the battery to open upon the columns of the enemy evidently moving into position just to the right and front of my center. This was done with admirable effect. The columns disappeared over the crest. For more than an hour a fire of shell and canister from several rebel batteries was directed upon my position. My brigade, being somewhat protected by a ravine, suffered but little loss. The fire of our skirmishers and the spirited replies of the battery, with heavy musketry and artillery firing on our left in Donnelly's brigade, were the only marked features of the contest until after 6 a.m.

At about 6.30, perhaps nearer 7 a.m. large bodies of infantry could be seen making their way in line of battle toward my right. They moved under cover of the dense wood, thus concealing somewhat their numbers. I directed the Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania Regiment, Colonel Murphy, and the Twenty-seventh Indiana Regiment, Colonel Colgrove, to change position from the left to the right of line, holding the Second Massachusetts, Lieutenant-Colonel Andrews, first on the right, in the center, the Third Wisconsin Regiment, Colonel Ruger, forming the left. This movement I had hardly completed, despite a new battery which opened upon my line, when three large battalions of infantry moving in order of battle, came out from their cover and approached my brigade. They were received with a destructive fire of musketry, poured in from all parts of my line that could reach them. Confident in their numbers and relying upon larger sustaining bodies (suspicions of which behind the covering timbers in our front were surely confirmed), the enemy's lines moved on, but little shaken by our fire. At the same time, in our front, a long line of infantry showed themselves, rising the crest of the bills just beyond our position. My little brigade, numbering in all just 2,102, in another moment would have been overwhelmed. On its right, left, and center immensely superior columns were pressing. Not another man was available; not a support to be found in the remnant of his army corps left General Banks. To withdraw was now possible; in another moment it would have been too late.

At this moment I should have assumed the responsibility of requesting permission to withdraw, but the right fell back under great pressure, which compelled the line to yield. I fell back slowly, but generally in good order, the Second Massachusetts, in column of companies, moving by flank; the Third Wisconsin, in line of battle, moving to the rear. On every side above the surrounding crest surged the rebel forces. A sharp and withering fire of musketry was opened by the enemy from the crest upon our center, left, and right. The yells of a victorious and merciless foe were above the din of battle, but my command was not dismayed. The Second Massachusetts halted in a street of the town to reform its line, then pushed on with the column, which, with its long train of baggage wagons, division, brigade, and regimental, was making its way in good order toward Martinsburg.

My retreating column suffered serious loss in the streets of Winchester. Males and females vied with each other in increasing the number of their victims, by firing from the houses, throwing hand grenades, hot water, and missiles of every description. The hellish spirit of murder was carried on by the enemy's cavalry, who followed to butcher, and who struck down with saber and pistol the hapless soldier, sinking from fatigue, unheeding his cries for mercy, indifferent to his claims as a prisoner of war.

This record of infamy is preserved for the females of Winchester. But this is not all. Our wounded in hospital, necessarily left to the mercies of our enemies, I am credibly informed, were bayoneted by the rebel infantry. In the same town, in the same apartments where we, when victors on the fields of Winchester, so tenderly nursed the rebel wounded, were we so more than barbarously rewarded. The rebel cavalry, it would appear, give no quarter. It cannot be doubted that they butchered our stragglers; that they fight under a black flag; that they cried as they slew the wearied and jaded, “Give no quarter to the damned Yankees.”

The actual number of my brigade engaged was 2,102.

In estimating the force of the enemy I turn for a moment to the movement of the First Division from Strasburg to Winchester on the preceding day, the 24th, and my engagement with the enemy during the march, which assured me of their presence in great force upon our right flank.

The capture and destruction of Colonel Kenly's command (First Brigade) on the 23d at Front Royal while guarding our railroad communication with Washington and the facts set forth in my report of my engagement on the 24th tended to a conviction of the presence of a large force under General Ewell in the valley of the Shenandoah. The union of Jackson with Johnson, composing an army larger by many thousands than the two small brigades, with some cavalry and sixteen pieces of artillery,, which comprised the entire army corps of General Banks, furnishes evidence justifying a belief of the intention of the enemy to cut us off first from re-enforcements, second to capture us and our material, beyond peradventure.

From the testimony of our signal officers and from a fair estimate of the number in rebel lines drawn up on the heights, from fugitives and deserters, the number of regiments in the rebel army opposite Winchester was 28, being Ewell's division, Jackson's and Johnson's forces, the whole being commanded by General Jackson. These regiments were full, and could not have numbered much less than 22,000 men, with a corresponding proportion of artillery, among which were included two of the English Blakely guns. Less than 4,000 men in two brigades, with sixteen pieces of artillery, kept this large and unequal force in check for about three hours; then retreating in generally good order, preserved its entire trains and accomplished a march of 36 miles.

Where all the regiments in my brigade behaved so well it is not intended to reflect in the least upon others in mentioning the steadiness and perfect discipline which marked the action of the Second Massachusetts, Lieutenant-Colonel Andrews, and Third Wisconsin, Colonel Ruger. The enemy will long remember the destructive fire which three or four companies of the Third Wisconsin and a like number of the Second Massachusetts poured into them as these sturdy regiments moved slowly in line of battle and in column from the field.

I herewith inclose a list* of the killed, wounded, and missing of the several regiments of my brigade, hoping that the numbers will hereafter be reduced by arrivals of those marked missing. How many were captured it is impossible now to determine.

Colonel Murphy, Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania, is known to be a prisoner. Major Dwight, of the Second Massachusetts, while gallantly bringing up the rear of the regiment, was missed somewhere near or in the outskirts of the town. It is hoped that this promising and brave officer, so cool upon the field, so efficient everywhere, so much beloved by his regiment, and whose gallant services on the night of the 24th instant will never be forgotten by them, may have met no worse fate than to be held a prisoner of war.

To my personal staff, Lieut. C. P. Horton, Second Massachusetts Regiment, my assistant adjutant-general; to Lieut. H. B. Scott, of the same regiment, my aide-de-camp, I am indebted for promptness in transmission of orders, for efficiency and gallant services in action.

I desire to express my thanks to Colonels Murphy, Ruger, Colgrove, and Andrews, and to the officers and men generally of my command, especially to officers and men of Battery M, whose skill and courage tended so much by their destructive fire to disconcert the enemy and hold him in check.

In fine, in the two days of the 24th and 25th of May the larger portion of my brigade marched 61 miles, the Second Massachusetts skirmishing on the 24th for more than six hours with infantry, cavalry, and artillery, the entire command on the 25th fighting a battle.

I herewith inclose such reports of colonels of regiments as have been forwarded.

Respectfully,

 GEO. H. GORDON,

Colonel Second Massachusetts Regt., Comdg. Third Brigade.

 Capt. WILLIAM D. WILKINS,

 A. A. G., -Fifth Army Corps.

_______________

* See revised statement, p. 553

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 247; The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 12, Part 1 (Serial No. 15), p. 616-8

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Sardis Birchard, March 24, 1862

Raleigh, Virginia, March 24, 1862.

Dear Uncle: — Your letter of the 14th came to hand the day before yesterday. We all feel pleased to be in Fremont's division. The only drawback is that it seems to keep us in the mountains, and we have had about enough of the snows, winds, and rains of the mountains. We have had a five-days snowstorm. It seems to be now clearing off bright. We occupy ourselves in these storms very much as you do, reading newspapers and discussing the war news. The recent victories convince a great many in the region south of us that the game is up. On the other hand, the Government at Richmond is making desperate efforts to get out under arms nearly the whole male population of military age. Many are running away from the drafting. Being the extreme outpost we see daily all sorts of queer characters. They sometimes come in boldly, sometimes with fear and trembling. I am often puzzled what to do with them, but manage to dispose of them as fast as they come.

An odd laughable incident occurred to Joe the other day. You know his fondness for children. He always talks to them and generally manages to get them on his knee. Stopping at a farm-house he began to make advances towards a little three-year old boy who could scarcely talk plain enough to be understood. The doctor said, “Come, my fine little fellow. I want to talk to you.” The urchin with a jerk turned away saying something the doctor did not comprehend. On a second approach the doctor made it out “Go to Hell, you dam Yankee!” This from the little codger was funny enough. . . .

I send you a dime shinplaster. — Good-bye.

Sincerely,

R. B. Hayes.

S. BlRCHARD.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 217-8

Count Adam Gurowski to James S. Pike, Thursday [April 26], 1860

Thursday.

Damn Yankee: I lose with you all the cold blood in my veins and all patience. Why misuse, desecrate, the holiest words and conceptions? What for I write books and give to you specially long lectures? Again you speak of the two civilizations. Shame! shame! If you northern wiseacres do not stop such balderdash, I shall be obliged to pitch into you all, and expose your ignorance rivalling that of the South. One of the banditti, Wigfall or Iverson, said in the Senate, “the South will organize a confederacy or government never yet known in the world.” Tell him that he is an ass, as they are all. History knows already, and has recorded a society, community, and government based upon piracy, enslavement, rapine, and slave-traffic. It existed about nineteen hundred years ago for the first time, in Kilikia, or Cilicia, in Asia Minor, and was destroyed by Pompey (not African). Only the Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Syrians, representants of civilization at that era, called the Kilikians pirates, and not a different state of civilization. How can you make such confusion and offend the civilized Northern villages, operatives, farmers, mechanics? Atone for it. I suggest to you for the next definition to use the expression, two different and opposed to each other social conditions, as piracy is a social condition after all. How much did T. Weed get for his pacificatory article? The South will be amazed to hear soon the terrible thunder and malediction coming from the other side. Already a forerunner arrived in the London Saturday Review, the best and most independent English weekly, and a Tory. It answers to the menaces made previous to the election. It is splendid, vigorous, and going to the bottom. And what will they say when they learn the fact?

The Saturday Review takes, in the name of civilization (there is only one civilization, recollect that), of Europe and of England, the same ground as did the Tribune of November 28th. Guess who wrote it?

My respectful compliments to Mrs. Pike, and my sincere love to my young great favorite, Miss Mary. You are not worthy to have such a daughter. Tell to Sumner that I regret not to have seen him, but that does not interfere with my hearty friendship. .

Good-by. Stand firm, but believe that the going out of the slave or cotton States will not ruin the country or the principles. Quite the contrary. After one or two years of confusion, unavoidable in every transition, the Free States will take a new start, and more grand and brilliant than was the past. A body, politic or animal, to be healthy, to function normally, must throw out the deleterious poison from its vitals.

This is my deliberate conclusion and creed, based on much philosophizing within myself, and looking from all points of view on the thus called secession. Truth, mankind, liberty, civilization, and manhood will be great winners by secession.

Yours,

Gurowski.

_______________

* This letter is dated only as “Thursday.”  By the fact James S. Pike places this letter between April 16 and May 12, 1860 in his book, and taking into account the speed of the mail, I made an educated guess that the date this letter was written was probably about half way between the two letters mentioned above and Thursday, April 26, 1860 seemed the most appropriate date.  But again it is only a guess on my part, purely for purposes of fitting it into my timeline.

SOURCE: James Shepherd Pike, First Blows of the Civil War: The Ten Years of Preliminary Conflict in the United States from 1850 to 1860, p. 514-5

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, March 28, 1862

Camp South Of Strasburg, March 28, 1862.

You must be expecting, by this time, to hear some account of what we have been up to for these last ten days. I will give you a journal of things as they have happened.

Last Friday afternoon, our brigade received orders for a four days' march to Centreville, fifty-five miles across the Shenandoah and over the mountains; the Second brigade had gone the day before; the First was to follow us. Our brigade formed line and started at ten Saturday morning, and made a good march of fifteen miles to Snicker's Ferry on the Shenandoah, passing through Berryville; we camped there. Reveille the next morning was beaten at five o'clock; at seven, things were moving; our regiment that day being put in the rear of everything. The Third Wisconsin, Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania, and Twenty-seventh Indiana, had crossed the bridge and half the supply train was over, when a refractory team of mules succeeded in making a bad break, two mules were drowned, and of course our chance of crossing was small until the bridge was repaired.

It was near night before it was ready, and we were ordered to camp again where we were. Reveille Monday morning at five o'clock. Mounted orderlies coming at the gallop brought us news of a fight at Winchester. Our march was countermanded and we were ordered back with a section of artillery and some cavalry to Berryville. Here we stayed, guarding the approaches till noon, when the rest of the brigade came up. Starting at about one, we marched back to Winchester, arriving there just before dark. Our regiment was quartered in some empty warehouses. We officers had the ticket office of the railroad for our quarters. I will give you now an account of the skirmish and fight of Saturday and Sunday, as I have heard it from eye-witnesses and from soldiers engaged. A few hours after the First and Third brigades had marched away from Winchester, Colonel Ashby, with a few hundred cavalry and a battery of artillery, drove in the pickets of General Shields' division, and came with his force almost into town; our side pitched in and took a good many prisoners; no great harm was done except that General Shields had his arm fractured by a shell grazing it.

That night, every precaution was taken to guard against surprise. The next morning, the enemy again appeared in small numbers, and there was cannonading on both sides throughout the day till three o'clock, when their infantry appeared. Our line was formed and the fight began. We had six regiments engaged; their force must have been between seven and eight thousand. The fighting was of the fiercest description for two hours, when the rebels gave way and retreated, leaving in our hands two hundred and forty-two prisoners, and between two and three hundred dead on the field and several hundred wounded. Our loss was about a hundred killed and four or five hundred wounded. The rebels fought as well as they ever can fight. They were close to their homes, numbers of them living in Winchester, and we whipped them by sheer hard fighting at short range. Persons who were near by told me that for two hours there was not an interval of a second between the firing of the musketry. Captain Carey, of our regiment, whose company is on provost marshal duty in Winchester, had a pretty hard duty that night; he had to provide quarters for the wounded of both sides as they were brought into town. All night long they were brought in by the wagon load, every empty house and room in town was filled with them; the poor fellows had to be laid right down on the floor, nothing, of course, being provided for them. Monday they were gradually made more comfortable, yet as late as Monday night, when we arrived in town, there were numbers of wounded who had not seen a surgeon.

Tuesday morning, I went into the Court House, which had been turned into a hospital. In the yard, there were two cannon which we had captured; one of them was taken from us at Bull Run and belongs to a battery in our division. Just in the entrance were about twenty of our men that had died, laid out in their uniform for burial, their faces covered by the cape of their overcoat. The sight inside was of the most painful description; there were sixty or seventy of the wounded in the room, mostly of the enemy, and the most of them very severely wounded. Generally they did not seem to suffer much, but there were some in dreadful agony. I saw one nice-looking young fellow that I pitied very much. He could not have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old, and was mortally wounded, shot through the body. He was sitting up resting against the wall; his eyes were closed and there was almost a smile on his face. You could see, though, by the deathly color of his face, that he had only a few minutes to live. It seemed hard that he should have to die there with no one near that knew him. There was one rebel captain who was shot across the forehead, blinded and mortally wounded, who, when our surgeon attempted to help him, slapped him in the face and said he wouldn't let any “damned Yankee” touch him; he relented, however, in the afternoon and had his wounds dressed. I will say this for our two surgeons, they worked nobly for nearly twenty-four hours without rest.

During the day, the ladies of the town brought a great many comforts to the wounded of their side, but everything was refused for particular individuals, and they became more charitable and gave a great deal of aid to the surgeons.

One of the rebel wounded was George Washington, of the present Sophomore class at Cambridge; as he was brought in, he recognized Lieutenant Crowninshield, who was his classmate, and spoke to him. G. W. is of the old Washington family and, of course, one of the “F. F. Vs.” He was serving as a private; he has been made a great hero of in Winchester; he is said to be mortally wounded.

About ten o'clock, after visiting the hospital, Captains Savage and Russell and myself walked out to the battle-field, four or five miles from town. On the road as we approached it, were the marks of shells, dead horses and cows lying about where they were struck. At the side of the road where our artillery turned off, we found one of our men, the top and back of whose head had been entirely knocked off by a shell. The hardest fighting was along a ridge which the enemy attempted to hold. Along it for nearly a mile, the bodies of our soldiers and those of the enemy were scattered thick, although most of them were the enemy. In one little piece of thick woods, there were at least thirty of the enemy lying just as they fell; they were sheltered by a ledge of rocks, and most of them were shot through the head and had fallen directly backwards, lying flat on their backs with their arms stretched out in an easy, natural manner over their heads. Some were terrible to look at, but others looked as peaceful as if they were asleep. Men killed by a shot scarce ever have an expression of pain on their faces. It is astonishing how much less repulsive the bodies were that were lying about in this manner, than those that were regularly laid out in rows for burial.

The countrymen about here had, when we visited the ground, taken every button and other article of value off the bodies. I saw one who had had a daguerreotype cut out from a case that was hanging around his neck; almost all had had their boots taken off their feet. A number of people were out from Winchester, trying to recognize their townsmen. The bushes and trees here were completely riddled with bullets; there was not a twig the size of your finger that was not cut off, and trees the size of a man's body had every one at least three or four bullets in it. Our men shot remarkably well, as these things go to show. Several soldiers of Captain Carey's company got passes and went out to the fight and joined the Seventh Ohio; they fought well and took two prisoners and two rifles.

One of Captain Quincy's company, who was taken prisoner at Maryland Heights last year, and was released about a month ago, arrived at Winchester, on his way to join the regiment, the day of the fight; he went out to the battle and took a prisoner and a gun. At six o'clock that night (Tuesday), we got marching orders; at seven, we were on the way to Strasburg; we marched thirteen miles to just the other side of Middleton, arriving there between one and two A. M. We built fires here and lay down till daylight, then proceeded on to Strasburg, where we marched into a wood to bivouac. There was a good deal of sleeping done that night although we lay on the ground with nothing over our heads. Thursday morning, as we were quietly sitting around our fires, we heard the long roll beaten at the guard tent. An attack had been made on our outposts, and all disposable forces were marched in that direction. After going four miles, the firing stopped. Our brigade was halted in a fine wood where we are now camping.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 43-8

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Bettie Smith, April 19, 1865

Headquarters District Of South Alabama,

Fort Gaines, Ala., April 19, 1865.

My Dear Daughter Bettie:

I have just returned from Mobile, where I have been sojourning for three or four days past, and you will want some description of the city and what I saw there. You must know that Mobile, the principal city and only seaport of Alabama, was the original seat of French colonization in the southwest, and for many years the capital of the colony of Louisiana. I shall transcribe for you a little bit of history, while for its geographical position you must go to the map. In 1702, Lemoine de Bienville, acting under the instructions of his brother Iberville, transferred the principal seat of the colony from Biloxi, where it had been established three years previously, to a point on the river Mobile, supposed to be about twenty miles above the present site of the city, where he established a post to which he gave the name of “St. Louis de la Mobile.” At the same time he built a fort and warehouse on “Isle Dauphine,” at the entrance of Mobile Bay (where my headquarters now are).

The settlement at Biloxi was soon afterwards broken up. In 1704, there was an arrival of twenty young girls from France, and the next year of twenty-three others, selected and sent out under the auspices of the Bishop of Quebec, as wives for the colonists. Many of the original settlers were Canadians, like Iberville and Bienville. In 1705, occurred a severe epidemic, supposed to be the first recorded visitation of yellow fever, by which thirty-five persons were carried off.

The year 1706 is noted for the “petticoat insurrection,” which was a threatened rebellion of females in consequence of the dissatisfaction with the diet of Indian corn, to which they were reduced. The colony meanwhile frequently suffered from famine as well as from the attacks of Indians although relieved by occasional supplies sent from the mother country. In 1711 the settlement was nearly destroyed by a hurricane and flood in consequence of which it was removed to its present situation. In 1712 the King of France made a grant of the whole colony to Antoine Crozat, a wealthy French merchant, and in the following year Bienville was superseded as governor by M. de la Motte Cadillac. In 1717 Crozat relinquished his grant to the French government, and Bienville was reinstated. In 1723, the seat of the colonial government was transferred to New Orleans. In 1763, by the treaty of Paris, Mobile with all that portion of Louisiana lying east of the Mississippi and north of Bayou Iberville, Lake Maurepas, and Pontchartrain, passed into the possession of Great Britain. In 1780, the Fort, the name of which had been changed into Fort Condé, and subsequently by the British to Fort Charlotte, was captured by the Spanish General, Don Galvez, Governor of Louisiana, and in 1783, its occupancy was confirmed to Spain by the cession to that power of all the British possession on the Gulf of Mexico. On the 13th of April, 1813, just fifty-two years before the time it had been taken possession of by General Canby, the Spanish Commandant Gayatama Perez surrendered the fort and town to General Wilkinson. At that period, the population, which in 1785 had amounted to eight hundred and forty-six, was estimated at only five hundred, half of whom were blacks. In December, 1819, Mobile was incorporated as a city. Mobile is now a city of moderate size, a population of probably forty thousand inhabitants and before the war was opulent and characterized as the most aristocratic city of the South, though I suppose Charleston would dispute, or rather would have disputed, this point. There has evidently been a lavish display of money and many of the houses and public buildings are elegant and tasteful in their style and adornment. The luxuriance of vegetation in this climate gives great advantages in the adornment of the streets and grounds with shade trees and beautiful shrubs, vines and flowers. The present season corresponds with June with you, and to me it was a rare and beautiful sight yesterday to look down the long vista of “Government” street, their principal avenue through the aisle of magnolia in full leaf and bloom, the pride of China, the crape myrtle and many other trees, the names of which I do not know, but all laden with bud and leaf and flower; while in relief, the houses were wreathed with ivy, climbing roses, while the sweet-scented double violet added delicious perfume to the fragrance of countless varieties of standard roses. The people have great taste and wonderful love for flowers in the South; even the ragged urchins and barefooted little girls carry bouquets that would be the envy of a ball-room belle in Cincinnati. The streets are very broad, and have been paved with shells, but the sandy nature of the soil has caused them to disappear beneath the surface. The sidewalks are brick, as in Cincinnati. The city was like a city of the dead. The principal men being in the army, were either prisoners or had fled. The ladies secluded themselves from the public gaze. A semi-official notice from the headquarters of the rebel General Maury had warned them that General Canby had promised his soldiers three days' pillage; consequently, the people, when our troops took possession, were frightened and anticipated all sorts of enormities. Since, they have been in a constant state of profound astonishment. The drinking houses were all closed, and a rigid system of discipline has been enforced, quiet and order prevails.

While in Mobile, I was the guest of General Canby, who has taken quarters at one of the best houses. I met there in the family of the owner a fair sample of the young and middle-aged ladies of the place, and the schoolgirls.

Everything is as old-fashioned as four years non-intercourse with the “outside barbarians,” as they would style us, would be apt to induce. This in dress, literature, and conversation. You will hear that there is Union sentiment in Mobile, perhaps that not more than ten per cent, of its people are secessionists; but my word for it, that not a man, woman, or child, who has lived in Mobile the last four years, but who prays death and destruction to the “damned Yankees.”

Well, I have given you a birds-eye view of the city. If there is anything more you want to know, you must ask. In case anybody should ask the question, you may say, that there were taken with Mobile upwards of thirty-five thousand bales of cotton, over a million bushels of corn, twenty thousand bushels of wheat, and large stores of tobacco. I don't think that mother, for some time hereafter, will be compelled to give a dollar a yard for domestics and double the price for calico. You must all have new dresses. I am glad to get back from Mobile to my little island. There the weather was warm and the air close and heavy, here I have always a delicious sea breeze. It is very cool and pleasant. I have a fine hard beach as level as your parlor floor, upon which I can ride for twenty miles and see the great ocean with its mighty pulses break at my feet. I have a little fleet of boats; one, a beautiful steamer called the Laura, that had been built by the rebels as a blockade runner, as quick as lightning and elegantly fitted up, was sunk a day or two since by running on to a pile. I am now having her raised again. I have also a beautiful little yacht, a light sailboat rigged as a sloop with one mast bowsprit and jib. She sails beautifully on the wind; is large enough to carry half a dozen very well. I have just had her elegantly painted, and one of my officers is to-day manufacturing a streamer for her. She has been called the Vivian, but I am going to change her name and rechristen her the Bessie and Belle. When I get a little more leisure I shall sail in her down to the coral reefs and fish for pompino, sheepsheads and poissons rouge. Oysters now are going out of season. I am told they eat them here all the year round, but to my notion they are becoming milky. I shall now take to crabs and fish. I have been keeping Lent admirably.

You say you hope “peace will be declared.” I should be glad, my dear daughter, to see your hopes fulfilled; but peace will be long coming to our country and papa; it would do to dream and talk of, but the snake is only scotched, not killed. Our hope may rest on a foreign war, and to-day I could unite many of our enemies to march with us under the folds of our own starry banner to fight the swarthy Mexicans or the dull, cold Englishman, but without this event we must fight on among ourselves for many a year to come. God grant our jubilee may not have rung out too soon. How long will it take the North to learn the South? But these are questions, my dear daughter, not for your consideration, yet, at least. Study your books, my child, and learn to love God and keep his commandments, and when you pray, pray first for wisdom and then for strength, and if you want your prayers answered, study your books and go about much in the open air.

I send you some lines you may put away in your scrapbook and when you get to be an old lady like grandma, and have your own grandchildren on your knee, one day you may get out the old battered book and read to them what your father sent you from the war.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 387-91