Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: January 25, 1864

The breach seems to widen between the President and Congress, especially the Senate. A majority of the Committee on Military Affairs have reported that Col. A. C. Myers (relieved last August) is still the Quartermaster-General of the armies, and that Gen. Lawton, who has been acting as Quartermaster-General since then, is not the duly authorized Quartermaster-General: not having given bond, and his appointment not having been consented to by the Senate. They say all the hundreds of millions disbursed by his direction have been expended in violation of law.

For the last few nights Col. Browne, one of the President's A. D. C.'s, and an unnaturalized Englishman, has ordered a guard (department clerks) to protect the President. Capt. Manico (an Englishman) ordered my son Custis to go on guard to-night; but I obtained from the Secretary a countermand of the order, and also an exemption from drills, etc. It will not do for him to neglect his night-school, else we shall starve.

I noticed, to-day, eight slaughtered deer in one shop; and they are seen hanging at the doors in every street. The price is $3 per pound. Wild turkies, geese, ducks, partridges, etc. are also exposed for sale, at enormous prices, and may mitigate the famine now upon us. The war has caused an enormous increase of wild game. But ammunition is difficult to be obtained. I see some perch, chubb, and other fish, but all are selling at famine prices.

The weather is charming, which is something in the item of fuel. I sowed a bed of early York cabbage, to-day, in a sheltered part of the garden, and I planted twenty-four grains of early-sweet corn, some cabbage seed, tomatoes, beets, and egg-plants in my little hotbed—a flour barrel sawed in two, which I can bring into the house when the weather is cold. I pray God the season may continue mild, else there must be much suffering. And yet no beggars are seen in the streets. What another month will develope, I know not; the fortitude of the people, so far, is wonderful.

Major-Gen. Sam. Jones, Dublin, Va., is at loggerheads with Lieut.-Gen. Longstreet about some regiments the latter keeps in East Tennessee. Gen. J. says Averill is preparing to make another raid on the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad, the saltworks, the mines, etc.; and if he is charged with the defense, he must have at least all his regiments. He gets his orders from Gen. Cooper, A. and I. G., who will probably give him what he wants.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 134-5

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: October 4, 1863

The major-quartermasters and the acting quartermaster-generals (during the illness or absence of Gen. Lawton) are buffeting the project some of us set on foot to obtain wood at cost, $8, instead of paying the extortioners $40 per cord. All the wagons and teams of Longstreet's corps are here idle, while the corps itself is with Bragg — and the horses are fed by the government of course. These wagons and teams might bring into the city thousands of cords of wood. The quartermasters at first said there were no drivers; but I pointed out the free Yankee negroes in the prisons, who beg employment. Now Col. Cole, the quartermaster in charge of transportation, says there is a prospect of getting teamsters — but that hauling should be done exclusively for the army — and the quartermaster-general (acting) indorses on the paper that if the Secretary will designate the class of clerks to be benefited, some little wood might be delivered them. This concession was obtained, because the Secretary himself sent my second paper to the quartermaster-general — the first never having been seen by him, having passed from the hands of the Assistant Secretary to the file-tomb.

Another paper I addressed to the President, suggesting the opening of government stores for the sale of perishable tithes, — being a blow at the extortioners, and a measure of relief to the nonproducers, and calculated to prevent a riot in the city, — was referred by him yesterday to the Secretary of War, for his special notice, and for conference, which may result in good, if they adopt the plan submitted. That paper the Assistant Secretary cannot withhold, having the President's mark on it.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 61-2

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 22, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

Dec. 22nd, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Since the late disastrous affair at Fredericksburg, as before, I look in vain for some tidings from you. These mails! As for me, it is of less importance, for the letters you write me will eventually reach me, but with you I hope that long ere this, you may have had the pleasant tidings of my safety throughout the late battle. Of that fight I have not words to express my indignation. It was so uncalled for. Not being a participant myself, only an anxious witness, I can fully appreciate the terrible character of the massacre. No one was more desirous than I for an onward movement, but not for such an one. The idea of an attempt directly in the front was scouted at by those who professed to know, as sheer madness, concerning which the result could not be doubtful. Yet it was attempted, but at whose orders we cannot tell. Rumors reach us of the resignation of Lincoln's Cabinet. God grant this be true. We may fall into worse hands, but there is the hope of something better. I have lost faith in Halleck, and for this reason. Last summer I wrote Walter I had cheered the last time for McClellan. I did this on the authority of Gen. Halleck. Halleck was an unsuccessful competitor of Stevens for the honors of his class. At Newport News Halleck had an interview with Stevens, the result of which I afterwards learned. In this interview Halleck represented McClellan as solely responsible for the misfortunes of the Peninsula; represented that McClellan had received everything from the administration he had requested; that McClellan was responsible for the division in his command, resulting in the creation of McDowell's Department. This and much else against McClellan, which Halleck's subsequent report, and the revelations from the McDowell Court of Inquiry, prove to have been base and malignant falsehoods. Since then it has been my good fortune to have been twice in battle under McClellan. How admirably those battles were planned and executed, I, who have seen so much mismanagement, so many defeats, know best how to appreciate. Therefore I say, as I heard a rebel officer once say “God bless old Stonewall Jackson,” ‘God bless McClellan.” We have had enough of Halleck — and disgrace.

Mother, do not wonder that my loyalty is growing weak. I love the Nation too well to willingly pardon the “unfortunate Abraham Lincoln” as the London Times so aptly calls him. With resources enough to have long since ended the controversy, with resources enough to end it before the opening of Spring, sixty years will not end it if we are obliged to sustain the paltry policy of the administration. I am sick and tired of disaster, and the fools that bring disaster upon us. I believe Burnside to be brave and honest, a good soldier and worthy of honor, but I know that no one in this country has a heartier esteem for McClellan than he. No one bends more to McClellan than Gen. Burnside. The President I doubt not is honest, but “let the shoemaker stick to the last.” Let Lincoln turn his talents to splitting rails. I prefer George McClellan to Abraham Lincoln, as the Commander-in-Chief of the Army. The same energy, the same good-sense, the same foresight exhibited by us that the South has shown, and the rebellion is a dead letter. The same fatal disregard of common sense on our part, and the Southern independence is won. At least so I feel, and so I write strongly, who so earnestly pray for the triumph of our cause.

I have just received your letter, and feel truly thankful to learn you had heard of my safety previous to the arrival of my own letter written the day after we recrossed the Rappahannock. Day before yesterday I was on picket, and saw several officers of the rebel service who came to our lines under a flag of truce. One of them who came from near Atlanta, told me he knew Alfred Tyler; that it was a mistake that Alfred was on Gen. Lawton's staff; that, on the contrary, he still was employed on the Macon and Atlanta R. R., and was reputed to be one of the truest supporters of the Southern movement in his district. The same officer, Capt. McBride, appeared to know enough of Tyler's family and family affairs to make his statement worthy of credit. The same officer further told me that among the brave officers of his army that fell at Fredericksburg, was Henry Lord King, whom you will remember was an old admirer of Sarah Phelps. King fell, pierced by nine minie balls, in the attack made on our left (Franklin's Division). Morrison professes to be a strong supporter of mine now. He says that there had been so much intriguing in the Regiment, that he suspected me for some time, but my action with regard to More has fully satisfied him, and he professes himself anxious to serve me in any way. What the professions are worth I have yet to learn.

Give my best, my dearest love to my sisters. Tell Uncle Phelps that I leave my proposition to be settled according to his judgment, and with best love to him and all my friends, I remain,

Your affec. son,

W. T. Lusk.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 254-7

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: August 8, 1863

There is nothing new from any of the armies, except that my old friend, Gen. Rains, sent to Mississippi, stopped and stampeded Grant's army, after Johnston retreated from Jackson, with his "subterra batteries." It appears that hundreds of the enemy and their horses were killed and wounded by the shells planted by him beneath the surface of the earth, and which ignited under the pressure of their weight. They knew not where to go to avoid them, and so they retreated to Vicksburg. This invention may become a terror to all invading.

A letter received some days ago from a Mr. Bible, in Georgia, proposing to contribute one-quarter of his slaves as teamsters, cooks, etc. for the army, came back from the President, to-day, approved, with directions to quartermasters to employ in such capacities all that could be procured.

Col. Myers, the Quartermaster-General, who is charged with saying “Let them suffer,” when the soldiers wanted blankets last winter, is to go out of office at last — to be succeeded by Brig.-Gen. Lawton.

Oak-wood is selling to-day for $35 per cord; coal, $25 per cartload; and flour, $45 per barrel. Mr. Warwick, however, sells any family one barrel for $34. I got one from him, and the promise of another for $33 — from Commissary Warner; and I hope to get two loads of coal, under the navy contract, at $20 each. There is much excitement against the speculators in food and fuel — and some harsh proceeding may ensue.

The Tribune (New York) now says no terms will be listened to so long as we are in arms. We will not yield our arms but with life — and this insures independence.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 8-9

Diary of William Howard Russell: May 1, 1861

May Day, — Not unworthy of the best effort of English fine weather before the change in the calendar robbed the poets of twelve days, but still a little warm for choice. The young American artist Moses, who was to have called our party to meet the officers who were going to Fort Pulaski, for some reason known to himself remained on board the Camilla, and when at last we got down to the river side I found Commodore Tatnall and Brigadier Lawton in full uniform waiting for me.

The river is about the width of the Thames below Gravesend, very muddy, with a strong current, and rather fetid. That effect might have been produced from the rice-swamps at the other side of it, where the land is quite low, and stretches away as far as the sea in one level green, smooth as a billiard-cloth. The bank at the city side is higher, so that the houses stand on a little eminence over the stream, affording convenient wharfage and slips for merchant vessels.

Of these there were few indeed visible—nearly all had cleared out for fear of the blockade; some coasting vessels were lying idle at the quay side, and in the middle of the stream near a floating dock the Camilla was moored, with her club ensign flying. These are the times for bold ventures, and if Uncle Sam is not very quick with his blockades, there will be plenty of privateers and the like under C. S. A. colors, looking out for his fat merchantmen all over the world.

I have been trying to persuade my friends here they will find very few Englishmen willing to take letters of marque and reprisal.

The steamer which was waiting to receive us had the Confederate flag flying, and Commodore Tatnall, pointing to a young officer in a naval uniform, told me he had just “come over from the other side,” and that he had pressed hard to be allowed to hoist a Commodore or flag-officer's ensign in honor of the visit and of the occasion. I was much interested in the fine white-headed, blue-eyed, ruddy-cheeked old man — who suddenly found himself blown into the air by a great political explosion, and in doubt and wonderment was floating to shore, under a strange flag in unknown waters. He was full of anecdote too, as to strange flags in distant waters and well-known names. The gentry of Savannah had a sort of Celtic feeling towards him in regard of his old name, and seemed determined to support him.

He has served the Stars and Stripes for three fourths of a long life — his friends are in the North, his wife's kindred are there, and so are all his best associations — but his State has gone out. How could he fight against the country that gave yhim birth! The United States is no country, in the sense we understand the words. It is a corporation or a body corporate for certain purposes, and a man might as well call himself a native of the common council of the city of London, or a native of the Swiss Diet, in the estimation of our Americans, as say he is a citizen of the United States; though it answers very well to say so when he is abroad, or for purposes of a legal character.

Of Fort Pulaski itself I wrote on my return a long account to the “Times.”

When I was venturing to point out to General Lawton the weakness of Fort Pulaski, placed as it is in low land, accessible to boats, and quite open enough for approaches from the city side, he said, “Oh, that is true enough. All our seacoast works are liable to that remark, but the Commodore will take care of the Yankees at sea, and we shall manage them on land.” These people all make a mistake in referring to the events of the old war. “We beat off the British fleet at Charleston by the militia — ergo, we'll sink the Yankees now.” They do not understand the nature of the new shell and heavy vertical fire, or the effect of projectiles from great distances falling into works. The Commodore afterwards, smiling, remarked, “I have no fleet. Long before the Southern Confederacy has a fleet that can cope with the Stars and Stripes, my bones will be white in the grave.”

We got back by eight o'clock, P. M., after a pleasant day. What I saw did not satisfy me that Pulaski was strong, or Savannah very safe. At Bonaventure, yesterday, I saw a poor fort, called “Thunderbolt,” on an inlet from which the city was quite accessible. It could be easily menaced from that point, while attempts at landing were made elsewhere, as soon as Pulaski is reduced. At dinner met a very strong and very well-informed Southerner — there are some who are neither — or either — whose name was spelled Gourdin, and pronounced Go-dine — just as Huger is called Hugee—and Tagliaferro, Telfer, in these parts.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 155-7

Diary of William Howard Russell: April 30, 1861

At 1:30 P. M. a small party started from Mr. Green's to visit the cemetery of Bonaventure, to which every visitor to Savannah must pay his pilgrimage; difficiles aditus primos habet — a deep sandy road which strains the horses and the carriages; but at last “the shell road is reached — a highway several miles long, consisting of oyster shells — the pride of Savannah, which eats as many oysters as it can to add to the length of this wonderful road. There is no stone in the whole of the vast alluvial ranges of South Carolina and Maritime Georgia, and the only substance available for making a road is the oyster-shell. There is a toll-gate at each end to aid the oyster-shells. Remember they are three times the size of any European crustacean of the sort.

A pleasant drive through the shady hedgerows and bordering trees lead to a dilapidated porter's lodge and gateway, within which rose in a towering mass of green one of the finest pieces of forest architecture possible; nothing to be sure like Burnham Beeches, or some of the forest glades of Windsor, but possessed, nevertheless, of a character quite its own. What we gazed upon was, in fact, the ruin of grand avenues of live-oak, so well-disposed that their peculiar mode of growth afforded an unusual development of the “Gothic idea,” worked out and elaborated by a superabundant fall from the overlacing arms and intertwined branches of the tillandsia, or Spanish moss, a weeping, drooping, plumaceous parasite, which does to the tree what its animal type, the yellow fever — vomitoprieto — does to man — clings to it everlastingly, drying up sap, poisoning blood, killing the principle of life till it dies. The only differ, as they say in Ireland, is, that the tillandsia all the time looks very pretty, and that the process lasts very long. Some there are who praise this tillandsia, hanging like the tresses of a witch's hair over an invisible face, but to me it is a paltry parasite, destroying the grace and beauty of that it preys upon, and letting fall its dull tendrils over the fresh lovely green, as clouds drop over the face of some beautiful landscape. Despite all this, Bonaventure is a scene of remarkable interest; it seems to have been intended for a place of tombs. The Turks would have filled it with turbaned white pillars, and with warm ghosts at night. The French would have decorated it with interlaced hands of stone, with tears of red and black on white ground, with wreaths of immortelles. I am not sure that we would have done much more than have got up a cemetery company, interested Shilliber, hired a beadle, and erected an iron paling. The Savannah people not following any of these fashions, all of which are adopted in Northern cities, have left everything to nature and the gatekeeper, and to the owner of one of the hotels, who has got up a grave-yard in the ground. And there, scattered up and down under the grand old trees, which drop tears of Spanish moss, and weave wreaths of Spanish moss, and shake plumes of Spanish moss over them, are a few monumental stones to certain citizens of Savannah. There is a melancholy air about the place independently of these emblems of our mortality, which might recommend it specially for picnics. There never was before a cemetery where nature seemed to aid the effect intended by man so thoroughly. Every one knows a weeping willow will cry over a wedding party if they sit under it, as well as over a grave. But here the Spanish moss looks like weepers wreathed by some fantastic hand out of the crape of dreamland. Lucian's Ghostlander, the son of Skeleton of the Tribe of the Juiceless, could tell us something of such weird trappings. They are known indeed as the best bunting for yellow fever to fight under. Wherever their flickering horsehair tresses wave in the breeze, taper end downwards, Squire Black Jack is bearing lance and sword. One great green oak says to the other, “This fellow is killing me. Take his deadly robes off my limbs!” “Alas! see how he is ruining me! I have, no life to help you.” It is, indeed, a strange and very ghastly place. Here are so many querci virentes, old enough to be strong, and big, and great, sapful, lusty, wide-armed, green-honored — all dying out slowly beneath tillandsia, as if they were so many monarchies perishing of decay — or so many youthful republics dying of buncombe brag, richness of blood, and other diseases fatal to overgrown bodies politic.

The void left in the midst of all these designed walks and stately avenues, by the absence of any suitable centre, increases the seclusion and solitude. A house ought to be there somewhere you feel — in fact there was once the mansion of the Tatnalls, a good old English family, whose ancestors came from the old country, ere the rights of man were talked of, and lived among the Oglethorpes, and such men of the pigtail school, who would have been greatly astonished at finding themselves in company with Benjamin Franklin or his kind. I don't know anything of old Tatnall. Indeed who does? But he had a fine idea of planting trees, which he never got in America, where he would have received scant praise for anything but his power to plant cotton or sugar-cane just now. In his knee breeches, and top boots, I can fancy the old gentleman reproducing some home scene, and boasting to himself, “I will make it as fine as Lord Nihilo's park.” Could he see it now? — A decaying army of the dead. The mansion was burned down during a Christmas merrymaking, and was never built again, and the young trees have grown up despite the Spanish moss, and now they stand, as it were in cathedral aisles, around the ruins of the departed house, shading the ground, and enshrining its memories in an antiquity which seems of the remotest, although it is not as ancient as that of the youngest oak in the Squire's park at home.

I have before oftentimes in my short voyages here, wondered greatly at the reverence bestowed on a tree. In fact, it is because a tree of any decent growth is sure to be older than anything else around it; and although young America revels in her future, she is becoming old enough to think about her past.

In the evening Mr. Green gave a dinner to some very agreeable people, Mr. Ward, the Chinese Minister — (who tried, by the by, to make it appear that his wooden box was the Pekin State carriage for distinguished foreigners) — Mr. Locke, the clever and intelligent editor of the principal journal in Savannah, Brigadier Lawton, one of the Judges, a Britisher, owner of the once renowned America which, under the name of Camilla, was now lying in the river (not perhaps without reference to a little speculation in running the blockade, hourly expected), Mr. Ward and Commodore Tatnall, so well known to us in England for his gallant conduct in the Peiho affair, when he offered and gave our vessels aid, though a neutral, and uttered the exclamation in doing so, — in his despatch at all events, — “that blood was thicker than water.” Of our party was also Mr. Hodgson, well known to most of our Mediterranean travellers some years back, when he was United States Consul in the East. He amuses his leisure still by inditing and reading monographs on the languages of divers barbarous tribes in Numidia and Mauritania.

The Georgians are not quite so vehement as the South Carolinians in their hate of the Northerners; but they are scarcely less determined to fight President Lincoln and all his men. And that is the test of this rebellion's strength. I did not hear any profession of a desire to become subject to England, or to borrow a prince of us; but I have nowhere seen stronger determination to resist any reunion with the New England States. “They can't conquer us, sir?” “If they try it, we'll whip them.”

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 151-4

Diary of William Howard Russell: April 29, 1861

This morning up at six, A.M., bade farewell to our hostess and Barnwell Island, and proceeded with Trescot back to the Pocotaligo station, which we reached at 12:20. On our way Mr. Heyward and his son rode out of a field, looking very like a couple of English country squires in all but hats and saddles. The young gentleman was good enough to bring over a snake-hawk he had shot for me. At the station, to which the Heywards accompanied us, were the Elliotts and others, who had come over with invitations and adieux; and I beguiled the time to Savannah reading the very interesting book by Mr. Elliott, senior, on the Wild Sports of Carolina, which was taken up by some one when I left the carriage for a moment and not returned to me. The country through which we passed was flat and flooded as usual, and the rail passed over dark deep rivers on lofty trestle-work, by pine wood and dogwood-tree, by the green plantation clearing, with mud bank, dike, and tiny canal mile by mile, the train stopping for the usual freight of ladies, and negro nurses, and young planters, all very much of the same class, till at three o'clock, P. M., the cars rattled up along-side a large shed, and we were told we had arrived at Savannah.

Here was waiting for me Mr. Charles Green, who had already claimed me and my friend as his guests, and I found in his carriage the young American designer, who had preceded me from Charleston, and had informed Mr. Green of my coming.

The drive through such portion of Savannah as lay between the terminus and Mr. Green's house, soon satisfied my eyes that it had two peculiarities. In the first place, it had the deepest sand in the streets I have ever seen; and next, the streets were composed of the most odd, quaint, green-windowed, many-colored little houses I ever beheld, with an odd population of lean, sallow, ill-dressed unwholesome-looking whites, lounging about the exchanges and corners, and a busy, well-clad, gayly-attired race of negroes, working their way through piles of children, under the shade of the trees which bordered all the streets. The fringe of green, and the height attained by the live-oak, Pride of India, and magnolia, give a delicious freshness and novelty to the streets of Savannah, which is increased by the great number of squares and openings covered with something like sward, fenced round by white rail, and embellished with noble trees to be seen at every few hundred yards. It is difficult to believe you are in the midst of a city, and I was repeatedly reminded of the environs of a large Indian cantonment — the same kind of churches and detached houses, with their plantations and gardens not unlike. The wealthier classes, however, have houses of the New York Fifth Avenue character: one of the best of these, a handsome mansion of rich red-sandstone, belonged to my host, who coming out from England many years ago, raised himself by industry and intelligence to the position of one of the first merchants in Savannah. Italian statuary graced the hall; finely carved tables and furniture, stained glass, and pictures from Europe set forth the sitting-rooms; and the luxury of bath-rooms and a supply of cold fresh water, rendered it an exception to the general run of Southern edifices. Mr. Green drove me through the town, which impressed me more than ever with its peculiar character. We visited Brigadier-General Lawton, who is charged with the defences of the place against the expected Yankees, and found him just setting out to inspect a band of volunteers, whose drums we heard in the distance, and whose bayonets were gleaming through the clouds of Savannah dust, close to the statue erected to the memory of one Pulaski, a Pole, who was mortally wounded in the unsuccessful defence of the city against the British in the War of Independence. He turned back and led us into his house. The hall was filled with little round rolls of flannel. “These,” said he, “are cartridges for cannon of various calibres, made by the ladies of Mrs. Lawton's ‘cartridge class.’” There were more cartridges in the back parlor, so that the house was not quite a safe place to smoke a cigar in. The General has been in the United States' army, and has now come forward to head the people of this State in their resistance to the Yankees.

We took a stroll in the park, and I learned the news of the last few days. The people of the South, I find, are delighted at a snubbing which Mr. Seward has given to Governor Hicks of Maryland, for recommending the arbitration of Lord Lyons, and he is stated to have informed Governor Hicks that “our troubles could not be referred to foreign arbitration, least of all to that of the representative of a European monarchy." The most terrible accounts are given of the state of things in Washington. Mr. Lincoln consoles himself for his miseries by drinking. Mr. Seward follows suit. The White House and capital are full of drunken border ruffians, headed by one Jim Lane, of Kansas. But, on the other hand, the Yankees, under one Butler, a Massachusetts lawyer, have arrived at Annapolis, in Maryland, secured the “Constitution” man-of-war, and are raising masses of men for the invasion of the South all over the States. The most important thing, as it strikes me, is the proclamation of the Governor of Georgia, forbidding citizens to pay any money on account of debts due to Northerners, till the end of the war. General Robert E. Lee has been named Commander-in-Chief of the Forces of the Commonwealth of Virginia, and troops are flocking to that State from Alabama and other States. Governor Ellis has called out 30,000 volunteers in North Carolina, and Governor Rector of Arkansas has seized the United States' military stores at Napoleon. There is a rumor that Fort Pickens has been taken also, but it is very probably untrue. In Texas and Arkansas the United States regulars have not made an attempt to defend any of the forts.

In the midst of all this warlike work, volunteers drilling, bands playing, it was pleasant to walk in the shady park, with its cool fountains, and to see the children playing about — many of them, alas! “playing at soldiers” — in charge of their nurses. Returning, sat in the veranda and smoked a cigar; but the mosquitoes were very keen and numerous. My host did not mind them, but my cuticle will never be sting-proof.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 149-151

Charlotte Cross Wigfall to Lieutenant Francis H. Wigfall, June 27, 1863

orange C. H., June 27th, 1863.

. . . I was very glad to get your note of the 18th June, and only wish I knew where you were now. We are all an anxious set of women at present. Mrs. Gordon (J. B.) leaves to-day for Winchester to try and hear something of her husband. He commands Lawton's old brigade. . . .

We are all much delighted with the accounts from the Yankee papers — of their alarm and dismay — but it seems unaccountable, after their disgraceful and barbarous treatment of our people that we should not be repaying them in their own coin.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 137

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: January 15, 1864

What a day the Kentuckians have had! Mrs. Webb gave them a breakfast; from there they proceeded en masse to General Lawton's dinner, and then came straight here, all of which seems equal to one of Stonewall's forced marches. General Lawton took me in to supper. In spite of his dinner he had misgivings. “My heart is heavy,” said he, “even here. All seems too light, too careless, for such terrible times. It seems out of place here in battle-scarred Richmond.” “I have heard something of that kind at home,” I replied. “Hope and fear are both gone, and it is distraction or death with us. I do not see how sadness and despondency would help us. If it would do any good, we would be sad enough.”

We laughed at General Hood. General Lawton thought him better fitted for gallantry on the battle-field than playing a lute in my lady's chamber. When Miss Giles was electrifying the audience as the Fair Penitent, some one said: “Oh, that is so pretty!” Hood cried out with stern reproachfulness: “That is not pretty; it is elegant.”

Not only had my house been rifled for theatrical properties, but as the play went on they came for my black velvet cloak. When it was over, I thought I should never get away, my cloak was so hard to find. But it gave me an opportunity to witness many things behind the scenes — that cloak hunt did. Behind the scenes! I know a little what that means now.

General Jeb Stuart was at Mrs. Randolph's in his cavalry jacket and high boots. He was devoted to Hetty Cary. Constance Cary said to me, pointing to his stars, “Hetty likes them that way, you know — gilt-edged and with stars.”

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 276-7

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: December 5, 1863

Wigfall was here last night. He began by wanting to hang Jeff Davis. My husband managed him beautifully. He soon ceased to talk virulent nonsense, and calmed down to his usual strong common sense. I knew it was quite late, but I had no idea of the hour. My husband beckoned me out. “It is all your fault,” said he. “What?” “Why will you persist in looking so interested in all Wigfall is saying? Don't let him catch your eye. Look into the fire. Did you not hear it strike two?”

This attack was so sudden, so violent, so unlooked for, I could only laugh hysterically. However, as an obedient wife, I went back, gravely took my seat and looked into the fire. I did not even dare raise my eyes to see what my husband was doing — if he, too, looked into the fire. Wigfall soon tired of so tame an audience and took his departure.

General Lawton was here. He was one of Stonewall's generals. So I listened with all my ears when he said: “Stonewall could not sleep. So, every two or three nights you were waked up by orders to have your brigade in marching order before daylight and report in person to the Commander. Then you were marched a few miles out and then a few miles in again. All this was to make us ready, ever on the alert. And the end of it was this: Jackson's men would go half a day's march before Peter Longstreet waked and breakfasted. I think there is a popular delusion about the amount of praying he did. He certainly preferred a fight on Sunday to a sermon. Failing to manage a fight, he loved best a long Presbyterian sermon, Calvinistic to the core.

“He had shown small sympathy with human infirmity. He was a one-idea-ed man. He looked upon broken-down men and stragglers as the same thing. He classed all who were weak and weary, who fainted by the wayside, as men wanting in patriotism  If a man's face was as white as cotton and his pulse so low you scarce could feel it, he looked upon him merely as an inefficient soldier and rode off impatiently. He was the true type of all great soldiers. Like the successful warriors of the world, he did not value human life where he had an object to accomplish. He could order men to their death as a matter of course. His soldiers obeyed him to the death. Faith they had in him stronger than death. Their respect he commanded. I doubt if he had so much of their love as is talked about while he was alive. Now, that they see a few more years of Stonewall would have freed them from the Yankees, they deify him. Any man is proud to have been one of the famous Stonewall brigade. But, be sure, it was bitter hard work to keep up with him as all know who ever served under him. He gave his orders rapidly and distinctly and rode away, never allowing answer or remonstrance. It was, ‘Look there — see that place — take it!’ When you failed you were apt to be put under arrest. When you reported the place taken, he only said, ‘Good!’”

Spent seventy-five dollars to-day for a little tea and sugar, and have five hundred left. My husband's pay never has paid for the rent of our lodgings. He came in with dreadful news just now. I have wept so often for things that never happened, I will withhold my tears now for a certainty. To-day, a poor woman threw herself on her dead husband's coffin and kissed it. She was weeping bitterly. So did I in sympathy.

My husband, as I told him to-day, could see me and everything that he loved hanged, drawn, and quartered without moving a muscle, if a crowd were looking on; he could have the same gentle operation performed on himself and make no sign. To all of which violent insinuation he answered in unmoved tones: “So would any civilized man. Savages, however — Indians, at least — are more dignified in that particular than we are. Noisy, fidgety grief never moves me at all; it annoys me. Self-control is what we all need. You are a miracle of sensibility; self-control is what you need.” “So you are civilized!” I said. “Some day I mean to be.”

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 261-3

General Robert E. Lee to Brigadier General Alexander R. Lawton, January 18, 1864

HEADQUARTERS ARMY, 18th January, 1864.

BRIG.-GEN. A. R. LAWTON,

Quartermaster-General, Richmond.

GENERAL: The want of shoes and blankets in this army continues to cause much suffering and to impair its efficiency. In one regiment I am informed that there are only fifty men with service able shoes, and a brigade that recently went on picket was compelled to leave several hundred men in camp who were unable to bear the exposure of duty, being destitute of shoes and blankets

The supply by running the blockade has become so precarious that I think we should turn our attention chiefly to our own resources, and I should like to be informed how far the latter can be counted upon. . . .

I trust that no efforts will be spared to develop our own resources of supply, as a further dependence upon those from abroad can result in nothing but increased suffering and want.

I am, with great respect, your obedient servant,

R. E. LEE,

General.

SOURCE: John William Jones, Life and Letters of Robert Edward Lee: Soldier and Man, p. 321-2

Southern News

WASHINGTON, May 3.

According to reliable information from Richmond the planters have determined to raise no tobacco this season, and the military had received the stock on hand to prevent its falling into the hands of the Federal army.  The Richmond Examiner of May 2d contains the annexed news and items:

SAVANNAH, May 1.

A dispatch from the Corinth correspondent of the Republican, dated 28th April, says the enemy have been reinforced and are advancing.  There is heavy skirmishing daily.  Quite an affair occurred to-day this side of Monterey.

MOBILE, May 1.

A special dispatch to the Mobile Advertiser, from Corinth, 26th ult., says that Col. Scott, of the Louisiana Cavalry, with two companies, had driven out a regiment of Federals from Tuscumbia, killing several and taking 40 prisoners.  The enemy burnt their stores and were pursued by the Confederates.  The result is unknown.  The telegraph operator from the Bay St. Louis has telegraphed the Mobile office that the stores at New Orleans were being emptied of sugar and molasses, which were thrown into the streets and river.  The city was to have been formally surrendered on the 16th ult., but the time was extended.  Some of the enemy’s vessels have gone up river.

AUGUSTA, April 30.

The New Orleans Bulletin of Friday, says that F. D. Renshaw, Confederate States Navy Agent telegraphed from Point Alabasche on the 26th, that seven of our gunboats had been fired after being overpowered by the enemy.

The Navy Department received a similar dispatch last Saturday, but it is not known what boats are referred to.

SAVANNAH, May 1.

Gen. Lawton has formally communicated to the city council his determination to surrender the city.  The council have resolved to sustain Gen. Lawton.

MEMPHIS, April 29.

Dr. Foulkes, editor of the Memphis Avalanche, has been arrested for publishing an article calculated to array the planters against the government.

CHARLESTON, May 1.

The Federals have captured a small battery of two guns near White’s Point, twenty two miles from Charleston.

Gen. Evans has sent a force to look after the Yankees.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Monday Morning, May 5, 1862, p. 1