Showing posts with label "On to Richmond". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "On to Richmond". Show all posts

Sunday, March 17, 2024

Diary of Malvina S. Waring, February 24, 1865

"On to Richmond!" is the rallying cry of the period; but this end of the Confederate Treasury can't go on without the means of transportation. The whole South seems to be rallying there.

SOURCE: South Carolina State Committee United Daughters of the Confederacy, South Carolina Women in the Confederacy, Vol. 1, “A Confederate Girl's Diary,” p. 277

Sunday, September 19, 2021

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Wednesday, January 28, 1863

Corinth now presents a more lively appearance—communications regular—mail prompt—papers circulated, and perused eagerly by the soldiers. All are anxious to hear of some change at the seat of war. “Has the old Potomac Army become demoralized,” is the inquiry frequently heard now among the Western soldiers. But we hope not—hope that yet it will make the successful tramp "on to Richmond."

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 135 

Friday, July 23, 2021

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: May 8, 1864

Bright and hot.

The tocsin sounded again this morning. I learned upon inquiry that it was merely for the militia again (they were dismissed yesterday after being called together), perhaps to relieve the local battalions near the city.

The Secretary of War received a dispatch to-day from Gen. Lee, stating that there was no fighting yesterday, only slight skirmishing. Grant remained where he had been driven, in the

“Wilderness,” behind his breastworks, completely checked in his "On to Richmond." He may be badly hurt, and perhaps his men object to being led to the slaughter again.

There has been no fighting below, between this and Petersburg, and we breathe freer, for Beauregard, we know, has made the best use of time. It is said another of the enemy's gun-boats has been destroyed by boarding and burning. We have three iron-clads and rams here above the obstructions, which will probably be of no use at this trying time.

A few days more will tell the story of this combined and most formidable attempt to take Richmond; and if it be the old song of failure, we may look for a speedy termination of the war. So mote it be!

Meantime my vegetables are growing finely, except the corn and lima beans (Yankee), Col. Gorgas's importation, which have not come up.

A cow and calf now sells for $2500. My friend, Dr. Powell, has just sold one for a great price, he would not tell me what. But I told him that the greed for gain was the worst feature in our people, and made me sometimes tremble for the cause. I fear a just retribution may entail ruin on the farmers, who seem to think more of their cattle than of their sons in the field.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2p. 202-3

Saturday, September 22, 2018

Captain Charles Wright Wills: May 21, 1864

May 21, 1864.

The 23d Army Corps moved South yesterday. I hear that they found the enemy on the south bank of the Etowah river, and that he disputes the crossing. Grant seems to be checked in his “on to Richmond.” It seems that Rebel Iverson, whom I saw dead near Adairsville, was a brigadier general and a son of the ex-Congressman. This Kingston has been a gem of a little town, but the Rebels burned most of it when they left. Our railroad men are very enterprising. The cars got here the same night we did, and a dozen or 20 trains are coming per day, all loaded inside with commissary stores and outside with soldiers.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 245

Saturday, March 17, 2018

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 10, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.
December 10th, 1862.
My dear Mother:

I was much disappointed to-night not to hear from you. I had expected a letter all day long, but the usual mail did not arrive. I wanted to hear this time, because tomorrow we believe will be spent amid the deafening roar of cannon, which is to usher in another act, let us hope the final one, of the grand drama popularly known as “Onward to Richmond.” While I write, wagons are moving over the road, and preparations are being completed for to-morrow's engagement. Possibly the enemy may make no resistance here, still their batteries frown ominously upon us. The indications promise the great battle of the war — possibly an Austerlitz for the enemy — we hope a Waterloo for us. I have heretofore, sheltered by the prayers of mother and sisters, been singularly exempt from the accidents of war. The same Power that has already shown so much tenderness, has still the power to spare. But if in His wisdom it seemeth best this time to take my life, then, my dear mother, recognize in it only the Hand of the Inevitable. If my dying hours were only crowned by the certainty of victory, I could then close my eyes in peace. And in the great joy of the Nation, all individual griefs were selfish. So that I would have my mother's heart beat high, and be proud to have contributed a part of its own life's blood to the glorious consummation. With my whole heart I am eager for our success. Should I not see it with my earthly eyes, still let my mother rejoice for me, when all once more is well. But I am not given to entertaining forebodings. It is enough to do one's duty and let Providence provide. I prefer to think of the time when we all will return home, the laurel won. Think of the pride I shall feel as my own Regiment receives its welcome from the joyous citizens of New-York, a welcome deserved by its conduct on many fields. Think of the stories I would have to tell. I believe that Mary's boys — the next generation — will be better when they hear the story of the present. And another generation still, when the dimness of time shall have enhanced the romance, will dearly love to hear the tale of the Great Rebellion from the lips of Uncle Will. I think a wound — not a dangerous one, but some mark to show at the climax of the tale — would both contribute to the interest, and heighten the effect. Let us hope for the best in all things then, and believe that in all things, if we seek, we may always find a best.

Give my best love to Tom and Lilly, Hunt, Mary and the boys, Walter, Ellen and Nellie, Cousin Louisa. Pshaw! My dear friends are so numerous that I cannot mention them without surely omitting many often in remembrance, so good-bye.

Affec'y. your son,
Will.

[Note appended in his mother s handwriting:]

My dear, dear child, he has a nobler, purer, better, more unselfish heart, than the poor weak mother who gave him birth.


SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 242-4

Saturday, June 3, 2017

3rd Sergeant Charles Wright Wills: December 29, 1861

Bird's Point, December 29, 1861.

Your letter giving us notice of your sending a box came to hand yesterday with express charges inclosed. I shall go over to Cairo to-morrow to get them if they are there. I haven't been to Cairo for a month. All of the 7th cavalry are on this side now and there are about a dozen of them here all the time. Colonel Kellogg will be here next week. One company in that regiment did the first scouting for the 7th this morning. They rode out southwest about 15 miles and brought in 22 prisoners. ’Tis said there are two or three officers among them, but I rather think they are only a lot of swamp farmers. The boys got only three or four guns it is said, and that is not more than the complement of one woodsman in this country. The boys think they have almost taken Columbus. It was not our Canton company. We are at last established in our quarters and thoroughly “fixed up” with all the modern improvements in the housekeeping line, coupled with the luxuries of the ancients and the gorgeous splendor and voluptuousness of the middle ages. We have a chimney whose base is rock, the age of which man cannot tell, whose towering top is constructed of costly pecan wood boughs embalmed in soft Missouri mud cement. We have a roof and floor, beds and door, of material carved or sawed from the lofty pines of Superior's rock-bound shores. Our door latch is artfully contrived from the classic cypress, and curiously works by aid of a string pendant on the outside, and when our string is drawn inside who can enter? We have tables and chairs and shelves without number and a mantle piece, and, crowning glories, we have good big straw sacks, a bootjack and a dutch oven. Government has also furnished a stove for each mess of 15 in our regiment, so we have nothing more to ask for; not a thing. This is just no soldiering at all. Its hard, but its true that we can't find a thing to pick trouble out of. We are to-day more comfortable than 45 out of 50 people in old Canton. Our building 1s warmer than our house at home, our food is brought to us every third day in such abundance that we can trade off enough surplus to keep us in potatoes, and often other comforts and luxuries. Within 500 yards of us there is wood enough for 10,000 for 20 years, and — I can't half do it justice, so I'll quit. I borrowed a horse of the cavalry, Christmas, slipped past our picket through to the brush and had a long ride all over the country around Charleston. No adventures though. General Paine took command here to-day. He is an old grannie. We are glad he is here though, for we will get our colonel back by it. You can't imagine what a change the last month of cool weather has produced in our troops. From a sick list six weeks ago of nearly 300 in our regiment, with 65 in the hospital, we have come down or up rather, to eight in hospital, and not over 25 or 30 on the “sick in quarters” list. It is astonishing! And here these “damphool” “Forward to Richmond” papers are talking about the fearful decimation that winter will make in our ranks. They “don't know nothing” about soldiering.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 49-50

Saturday, March 4, 2017

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 4, 1863

The enemy bombarded Fort McAlister again yesterday, several gun-boats opening fire on it. It lasted all day; during winch one of the iron-clads retired, perhaps injured. We had only two men wounded and one gun (8 in. columbiad) dismounted. The fort was but little injured.

Recent Northern papers assert that their gun-boats have all passed through the canal opposite Vicksburg. This is not true yet.

Lincoln is now Dictator, his Congress having given him power to call out all the male population between the ages of twenty and thirty-five years, and authority to declare martial law whenever he pleases. The Herald shouts for Lincoln — of course. We must fight and pray, and hope for revolution and civil war in the North, which may occur any day.

Our cavalry, under Gen. Jones, has done some brilliant skirmishing recently in the vicinity of Winchester; and as soon as the March winds dry the earth a little, I suppose Hooker will recommence the “On to Richmond.” We shall be weaker the next campaign, but our men are brave.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 267

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: December 16, 1862

To-day the city is exalted to the skies! Gen. Lee telegraphed that the enemy had disappeared from his front, probably meditating a design to cross at some other place. Such were his words, which approach nearer to a practical joke, and an inkling of exultation, than anything I have seen from his pen. He has saved the capital. Before the enemy could approach Richmond from “some other place,” Lee would be between him and the city, and if he could beat him on the Rappahannock he can beat him anywhere.

Doubtless Burnside has abandoned his heavy stores, siege guns, etc., and at this moment our army must occupy the town. Lee allowed the invaders to cross the river, and, in exact accordance with his promise, made a month ago, before they could advance from Fredericksburg, his “whole army was in position.” They could not debouch without passing through our crescent line, the extreme ends of which touched the river above and below them. They attempted this on Saturday, and met with a bloody defeat, and until last night, when they retraced their steps, were confined to an exceedingly narrow and uncomfortable strip of land along the south bank of the river.

Our loss in the battle will not exceed, perhaps, 2000 men, not more than 500 being slain. It is estimated that the enemy's loss is over 10,000, and it may greatly exceed that number, as our positions were strong and our batteries numerous. The enemy fought well, charging repeatedly over the plain swept completely by our guns, and leaving the earth strewn with their dead. We have many prisoners, but I have heard no estimate of the number.

The enemy have taken Kinston, N. C, having overwhelming numbers, and a letter from Gen. Bragg, dated at Raleigh, yesterday, says it is probable Goldsborough will fall into their hands. This will cut our railroad communication with Wilmington, which may likewise fall — but not without its price in blood.

Why not let the war cease now? It is worse than criminal to prolong it, when it is apparent that subjugation is an impossibility.

There were no stragglers from Lee's army, and never were men in better spirits and condition. They are well clad and fed, and exceedingly anxious for Burnside to resume his “On to Richmond” after the skirmish of Saturday. They call it but a skirmish, for not a brigade was blown, not a regiment fatigued.

Although men shake hands over this result, they all say they never looked for any other termination of Burnside. The ladies say he is now charred all over. Well, he may come again by some other route, but I have doubts. The rigors of winter are sufficient punishment for his troops. It is said Burnside intended to resume the battle on Sunday morning, but his generals reported that their men could not be relied upon to approach our batteries again. I shall look with interest for the next Northern papers.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 214-5

Monday, August 10, 2015

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, July 12, 1862

Camp Near Warrenton,
July 12, 1862.

Last Sunday our division broke camp, and after a tedious day's march, accomplished only about five miles, the whole day being used up getting the wagon train across the Shenandoah. The weather was fearfully hot, equal to the famous eighth, last July. When we formed line before going into camp, many men fell fainting in the ranks.

Monday, we made an early start, and crossed the Blue Ridge through Chester Gap. The scenery was beautiful, but the weather was fearful; we camped for the night in a fine wood near the village of Flint Hill. Next morning we went on, five miles farther, to near Amesville. We stayed there until yesterday, when we marched to this camp, two miles west of Warrenton. All along our route, the men have almost subsisted on cherries and blackberries, both growing in the greatest profusion here; the men would fill their quart dippers in less than ten minutes.

We have got into a new country in appearance; the mountains have entirely disappeared and given place to splendid, great rolling hills and valleys, with beautiful woods scattered over them. The views that you get in this State are certainly wonderful in their extent. From the top of a comparatively slight elevation you can see for a distance of twenty miles all about you. I think that there is to be a large army concentrated here, and that, then, we are to move “On to Richmond,” by the present indications; there is already considerable force here and it is increasing.

I rode into Warrenton yesterday with Bob Shaw and Dr. Stone; we found the place a great improvement on most southern towns. There are some very pretty houses and well kept lawns and gardens in the vicinity. We took tea at the “Warren Green Hotel,” regaling ourselves on iced milk and corn-bread, finishing the evening by smoking our cigars on the piazza. Just as we were coming away, Charley Horton arrived with his General; it was a great mutual surprise to us and a very pleasant one. We have received orders to-day to turn in all tents except a limited number for the officers, to send away all trunks, each officer to keep only a small valise and roll of blankets. Regiments, etc., are also to keep constantly on hand ten days' rations, so you see we are all ready for a long march; don't care how soon it comes if it carries us towards Richmond! I am acting Adjutant for the present, but shall not be appointed, as Colonel Andrews says the time will be too short before I get my promotion, to make it worth while.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 70-2

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Charlotte Cross Wigfall to Louise Wigfall, June 25, 1862

richmond, June 25th, 1862.

. . . I am getting a great deal better, and went out this afternoon to take a drive with your father. We stopped at Genl. Johnston's to see how he was, and Mrs. Johnston came out and sat in the carriage with me. He is recovering rapidly, but will not be in the fight, which has in fact, begun. There has been very heavy firing all the afternoon, and there will be a regular attack made at daybreak to-morrow, if the present plan is followed out. I presume it will be, as Genl. Jackson is to move into position to-night, and of course, has to be supported. This was agreed upon last night. What has caused the fight this afternoon we do not know — but I trust it is all right. Jackson and his forces are to make the attack on the rear, and I trust it has all been so planned that McClellan will find himself glad enough to take the road away from, instead of on to Richmond.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 80

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: November 30, 1862

The Yankee army ravaging Stafford County dreadfully, but they do not cross the river. Burnside, with the “greatest army on the planet,” is quietly waiting and watching our little band on the opposite side. Is he afraid to venture over? His “On to Richmond” seems slow.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 173-4

Monday, September 23, 2013

The Democratic Alternative

A systematic effort is being made by politicians of the old Democratic school, to create such a feeling in favor of Gen. McClellan, that he can be taken up and run for the next Presidency, on the ground of distinguished services performed for his country.  The cue has been given to the press, and every little pro-slavery sheet at the North – and we presume at the South, so far as they dare give utterance to sentiments laudatory of a Northern commander – is engaged in trumpeting the fame of Gen. McClellan and investing with sublime importance every act he commits.  Further than that, the plans of those his superior in command, where meritorious, are claimed for him, and full credit is given him for their execution.  Now, we would not detract one iota from the justly merited fame of Gen. McClellan, but the effort to hoist him before the public as the military man of the age, skilled in all the elements of Generalship, for a sinister object, is so transparent as to be exceedingly repulsive to any one who regards the suppression of the rebellion at the present juncture of paramount importance to plotting for the next Presidency.

The demagogues of the defunct Democratic party have never been in quite so much of a quandary as the present time.  Unless that political organization be resurrected, to them “Othello’s occupation is gone,” and they must turn their peculiar talents into less congenial channels.  The efforts of Vallandigham et al. to reconstruct the party is a failure, so as a last resort they have issued their edict to ‘Tray, Blanche and Sweetheart,’ and curs of low degree, to bark in unison over the prowess of Gen. McClellan, that the honor and glory of war be detached from President Lincoln and wreathe the brow of the young commander on the Potomac.

‘On to Richmond’ is now the cry in good faith, and since the noble Generals and brave men of the West, who have done nearly all the hard fighting, have paved the way for the flower of the American army to advance, there will be little difficulty in reaching the whilom capital of the old Dominion and the new Confederacy.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Wednesday Morning, May 14, 1862, p. 2

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Letter From Orpheus C, Kerr

Pegasus Recovered – the Dog Bologna – Repudiation of Captain Villiam Brown’s Proclamation – the Sambory Guard – Advance on Richmond

(From the N. Y. Sunday Mercury.)

Rejoice with me, my boy, that I have got back my gothic steed, Pegasus, from the Government chap who borrowed him for a desk.  The splendid architectural animal has just enough slant from his backbone to his hips to make a capital desk, and then his tail is so handy to wipe pens on.  In a moment of thirst he swallowed a bottle of ink, and some fears were entertained for his life, but a gross of steel pens and a ream of blotting paper immediately administered caused him to come out all write.

In a gothic sense, my boy the charger continues to produce architectural illusions.  He was standing on a hillside the other day with his rear elevation toward the spectators, his head up and ears touching at the top, when a chap who had been made pious by frequent conversation with the contrabands, noticed him afar off, and says he to the soldier, “What church is that I behold in the distance, my fellow worm of the dust?”  The military veteran looked and says he, “It does look like a church, but it’s only an animated hay rack belonging to the cavalry.”

“I see,” says the pious chap, moving on, “the beast looks like a church because he’s been accustomed to steeple chases.”

I have also much satisfaction in the society of my dog, Bologna, who has already become so attached to me that I believe he would defend me against any amount of meat.  Like the Old Guard of France, he’s always around the bony parts thrown, and like a bon vivant is much given to whining after his dinner.

The last time I was at Paris my boy, this interesting animal made a good breakfast off the calves of the General of the Mackerel Brigadier’s leg’s, causing that great strategical commander to issue enough oaths for the whole Southern Confederacy.  “Thunder!” says the General, at the conclusion of his cursory remarks, “I shall have the hydrophobia and bite somebody.  It’s my opinion,” says the General, hastily licking a few grains of sugar from the spoon he was holding at the time, “It’s my opinion, that I shall go rabid as soon as I see water.”

“Then you’re perfectly safe, my conquering hero,” says I, “for when you see water, the Atlantic ocean will be principally composed of brandy pale.”

Speaking of Paris, it pains me, my boy, to say that Captain Villiam Brown’s proclamation for the conciliation of Southern Union men has been repudiated by the General of the Mackerel Brigade.  “Thunder!” says the General, taking a cork from his pocket in mistake for a watch key, “it’s against the Constitution to open a bar so far away from where Congress sits.”  And he at once issued the following:


PROCLAMATION

WHEREAS There appears in the public prints what presumptuously pretends to be a proclamation of Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, in the words following, to wit.


PROCLAMATION – The Union men of the South are hereby informed, that the United States of America has reasserted hisself, and will shortly open a bar-room in Paris.  Also, cigars and other necessaries of life.

By Order of

CAPT. VILLIAM BROWN, ESKEVIRE


And whereas, the same is producing much excitement among those members from the border States who would prefer that said bar-room should be nearer Washington in case of sickness, Therefore, I, General of the Mackerel Brigade, do proclaim and declare that the Mackerel Brigade cannot stand this sort of thing, and that neither Captain Villiam Brown, nor any other commander, has been authorized to declare free lunch, either by implication or otherwise, in any State, much less in a state of intoxication, of which there are several.

To persons in this State, now, I earnestly appeal.  I do not argue, I beseech you to mix your own liquors.  You can not, if you would, be blind to the signs of the times, when such opportunity is offered to see double.  I beg of a calm and immense consideration of them (signs), ranging, it may be, above personal liquor establishments.  The change you may receive after purchasing your materials will come gently as the dues from heaven – not rending nor wrecking anything.  Will you not embrace me?  May the extensive future not have to lament that you have neglected to do so.

Yours, respectfully, the

GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE
(Green seal.)


When Villiam read this conservative proclamation, my boy, he looked thoughtfully into a recently occupied tumbler for a few moments, and then says he:

“There’s some intelleck in that.  The General covers the whole ground.  Ah!” says Villiam, preparing, in a dreamy manner, to wash out the tumbler with something from a decanter, “the General so completely covers the whole ground sometimes that the police departmink is required to clear it.”

I believe him, my boy!

The intelligent and reliable contrabands, my boy, who have come into Paris from time to time, with the valuable news concerning all recent movements not taking place in the Confederacy were formed lately, by Villiam, into a military company, called the Sambory Guard, Captain Bob Shorty being deputed to drill them in the colored manual of arms.  They were dressed in flaming read breeches and black coats, my boy, and each chaotic chap looked like a section of stove pipe walking about on two radishes.

I attended the first drill my boy, and found the oppressed Africans standing in line about as regular as so many trees in a maple swamp.

Captain Bob Shorty whipped out his sleepless sword, straightened it on a log, stepped to the front, and was just about to give the first order, when, suddenly he started, threw up his nose, and stood paralyzed.

“What’s the matter, my blue and gilt,” says I.

He stood like one in a dream and says he:

“‘Pears to me I smell something.”

“Yes,” says I, “‘tis the scent of the roses that hang around it still.”

“True,” says Captain Bob Shorty, recovering, “it does smell like a cent, and I haven’t seen a cent of my pay for such a long time, that the novelty of the odor knocked me.  Attention, company!”

Only five of the troops were enough startled by the sudden order, my boy, to drop their guns, and only four stooped down to tie their shoes.  One very reliable contraband left the ranks, and says he:

“Mars’r, hadn’t Brudder Rhett bett gub out de hymn before de service commence?”

“Order in the ranks!” says Capt. Bob Shorty, with some asperity, “Attention, company! – Order arms.”

The troops did this very well, my boy, the muskets coming down at intervals of three minutes, bringing each man’s cap with them and pointing so regularly toward all points of the compass, that no foe could possibly approach from any direction without running on a bayonet.

“Excellent!” says Captain Bob Shorty, with enthusiasm.  “Only, Mr. Rhett, you needn’t hold your gun quite so much like a hoe.  Carry Arms!”

Here Mr. Dana stepped out from the ranks, and says he: “Carry who, mars’r?”

“Go to the rear,” says Capt. Bob Shorty, indignantly.  “Present Arms!”

If Present Arms means to sick your bayonet into the next mans side, my boy, the troops did it very well.

Splendid!” says Capt. Bob Shorty.  “Shoulder Arms – Eyes right – double quick, march!  On to Richmond!”

The troops obeyed the order, my boy, and haven’t been seen since.  Perhaps they’re going yet, my boy.

Company Three, Regiment 5 Mackerel Brigade, started for an advance on Richmond yesterday, and by a forced march got within three miles of it.  Another march brought them within five miles of the place, and the last dispatch stated that they had but ten miles to go before reaching the rebel capital.

Military travel, my boy, is like the railroad at the West, where they had to make chalk marks on the track to see which way the train was going.

Yours on time,
ORPHEUS C. KERR

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, June 7, 1862, p. 1

Thursday, January 20, 2011

The Martyr Corcoran

A large number of prisoners of war were released a few days ago from Richmond, but, long and anxiously as he has been expected, Colonel Corcoran was not among them.  What does it mean?  Why is this brave man kept so long and against repeated promises, in the wretched tobacco warehouse at Richmond?  Is it because he is an Irishman – one of those “mudsills” against whom the rebel aristocrats have so loudly denounced vengeance?  We remember a passage in Mr. Russell’s letters to the London Times where a leading rebel is quoted as remarking that “after the war not an Irishman or German should vote.”  Is this another sample of their hatred of the foreign born citizens who have so generally proven faithful to the land and Government of their adoption?

A few days more must release the brave Corcoran, unless, indeed, his tormenters force him away from Richmond to some new prison house.  Doubtless, not an Irishman in McClellan’s army but cries “on to Richmond” – Corcoran must be released.

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, May 24, 1862, p. 2