Diary of 2nd Lieutenant John S. Morgan: Thursday, February 16, 1865

Revillie early, at 8. A. M. went on board the Ben Stickney, 50th on board Peytonia, both large boats were fired on above Helena. Peytonia had 4 men Killed 4 wounded. Stickny one wonded Genl Lu. Wallace & Luit on board the Ben Stickny. At 8:20 leave for below Meet the A—— with an Ill cav Regt on board meet several boats not loaded with soldiers. Officers on a gay. No enlisted men allowed in cabin this evening. going to dance. 2 recruits reed 13th assigned to co G. fills our co to the minmium. finest kind of weather

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, 33rd Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 13, No. 8, April 1923, p. 574

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: May 26, 1865

At one o'clock this morning the guard was called out to stop a negro dance, some trouble having broken out, caused by outsiders. The guard must act as police, keep things quiet. At 9 A. M. relieved and returned to camp.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 153

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Monday, March 14, 1864

Beautiful day. Most of the officers met at the hall this forenoon to make arrangements for another ball this evening; am on the committee to decorate the hall; have worked very hard all day, but am well repaid as all seem to be pleased with what I have done. Pretty decorations always add to the pleasure of all such gatherings. A large party was present.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 26

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Tuesday, March 8, 1864

It has been raining quite hard all day. The entertainment did not close last night till 2 a. m. today; have been returning the things borrowed for the hall last night; am feeling dull; no drill to-day; expect to be reviewed by General French to-morrow.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 24

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Saturday, May 2, 1863

As the steamer had not arrived in the morning, I left by railroad for Galveston. General Scurry insisted upon sending his servant to wait upon me, in order that I might become acquainted with “an aristocratic negro.” “John” was a very smart fellow, and at first sight nearly as white as myself.

In the cars I was introduced to General Samuel Houston, the founder of Texan independence. He told me he was born in Virginia seventy years ago, that he was United States senator at thirty, and governor of Tennessee at thirty-six. He emigrated into Texas in 1832; headed the revolt of Texas, and defeated the Mexicans at San Jacinto in 1836. He then became President of the Republic of Texas, which he annexed to the United States in 1845. As Governor of the State in 1860, he had opposed the secession movement, and was deposed. Though evidently a remarkable and clever man, he is extremely egotistical and vain, and much disappointed at having to subside from his former grandeur. The town of Houston is named after him. In appearance he is a tall, handsome old man, much given to chewing tobacco, and blowing his nose with his fingers.¹

I was also introduced to another “character,” Captain Chubb, who told me he was a Yankee by birth, and served as coxswain to the United States ship Java in 1827. He was afterwards imprisoned at Boston on suspicion of being engaged in the slave trade; but he escaped. At the beginning of this war he was captured by the Yankees, when he was in command of the Confederate States steamer Royal Yacht, and taken to New York in chains, where he was condemned to be hung as a pirate; but he was eventually exchanged. I was afterwards told that the slave-trading escapade of which he was accused consisted in his having hired a coloured crew at Boston, and then coolly selling them at Galveston.

At 1 P.M., we arrived at Virginia Point, a tête-de-pont at the extremity of the main land. Here Bates's battalion was encamped — called also the “swamp angels,” on account of the marshy nature of their quarters, and of their predatory and irregular habits. The railroad then traverses a shallow lagoon (called Galveston Bay) on a trestle-bridge two miles long; this leads to another tête-de-pont on Galveston island, and in a few minutes the city is reached.

In the train I had received the following message by telegraph from Colonel Debray, who commands at Galveston: — “Will Col. Fremantle sleep to-night at the house of a blockaded rebel?” I answered:— “Delighted;” and was received at the terminus by Captain Foster of the Staff, who conducted me in an ambulance to headquarters, which were at the house of the Roman Catholic bishop. I was received there by Colonel Debray and two very gentlemanlike French priests.

We sat down to dinner at 2 P.M., but were soon interrupted by an indignant drayman, who came to complain of a military outrage. It appeared that immediately after I had left the cars a semi-drunken Texan of Pyron's regiment had desired this drayman to stop, and upon the latter declining to do so, the Texan fired five shots at him from his “six-shooter,” and the last shot killed the drayman's horse. Captain Foster (who is a Louisianian, and very sarcastic about Texas) said that the regiment would probably hang the soldier for being such a disgraceful bad shot.

After dinner Colonel Debray took me into the observatory, which commands a good view of the city, bay, and gulf.

Galveston is situated near the eastern end of an island thirty miles long by three and a half wide. Its houses are well built; its streets are long, straight, and shaded with trees; but the city was now desolate, blockaded, and under military law. Most of the houses were empty, and bore many marks of the illdirected fire of the Federal ships during the night of the 1st January last.

The whole of Galveston Bay is very shallow, except a narrow channel of about a hundred yards immediately in front of the now deserted wharves. The entrance to this channel is at the north-eastern extremity of the island, and is defended by the new works which are now in progress there. It is also blocked up with piles, torpedoes, and other obstacles.

The blockaders were plainly visible about four miles from land; they consisted of three gunboats and an ugly paddle steamer, also two supply vessels.

The wreck of the Confederate cotton steamer Neptune (destroyed in her attack on the Harriet Lane), was close off one of the wharves. That of the Westfield (blown up by the Yankee Commodore), was off Pelican Island.

In the night of the 1st January, General Magruder suddenly entered Galveston, placed his field-pieces along the line of wharves, and unexpectedly opened fire in the dark upon the Yankee war vessels at a range of about one hundred yards; but so heavy (though badly directed) was the reply from the ships, that the field-pieces had to be withdrawn. The attack by Colonel Cook upon a Massachusetts regiment fortified at the end of a wharf, also failed, and the Confederates thought themselves “badly whipped.” But after daylight the fortunate surrender of the Harriet Lane to the cotton boat Bayou City, and the extraordinary conduct of Commodore Renshaw, converted a Confederate disaster into the recapture of Galveston. General Magruder certainly deserves immense credit for his boldness in attacking a heavily armed naval squadron with a few field-pieces and two river steamers protected with cotton bales and manned with Texan cavalry soldiers.

I rode with Colonel Debray to examine Forts Scurry, Magruder, Bankhead, and Point. These works have been ingeniously designed by Colonel Sulokowski (formerly in the Austrian army), and they were being very well constructed by one hundred and fifty whites and six hundred blacks under that officer's superintendence, the blacks being lent by the neighbouring planters.

Although the blockaders can easily approach to within three miles of the works, and although one shell will always “stampede” the negroes, yet they have not thrown any for a long time.²

Colonel Debray is a broad-shouldered Frenchman, and is a very good fellow. He told me that he emigrated to America in 1848; he raised a company in 1861, in which he was only a private; he was next appointed aide-de-camp to the Governor of Texas, with the rank of brigadier-general; he then descended to a major of infantry, afterwards rose to a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry, and is now colonel.

Captain Foster is properly on Magruder's Staff, and is very good company. His property at New Orleans had been destroyed by the Yankees.

In the evening we went to a dance given by Colonel Manly, which was great fun. I danced an American cotillon with Mrs Manly; it was very violent exercise, and not the least like anything I had seen before. A gentleman stands by shouting out the different figures to be performed, and every one obeys his orders with much gravity and energy. Colonel Manly is a very gentlemanlike Carolinian; the ladies were pretty, and, considering the blockade, they were very well dressed.

Six deserters from Banks's army arrived here to-day. Banks seems to be advancing steadily, and overcoming the opposition offered by the handful of Confederates in the Teche country.

Banks himself is much despised as a soldier, and is always called by the Confederates Mr Commissary Banks, on account of the efficient manner in which he performed the duties of that office for “Stonewall” Jackson in Virginia. The officer who is supposed really to command the advancing Federals, is Weitzel; and he is acknowledged by all here to be an able man, a good soldier, and well acquainted with the country in which he is manoeuvring.

_______________

¹ He is reported to have died in August 1863.

² Such a stampede did occur when the blockaders threw two or three shells. All the negroes ran, showing every sign of great dismay, and two of them, in their terror, ran into the sea, and were unfortunately drowned. It is now, however, too late for the ships to try this experiment, as some heavy guns are in position. A description of the different works is of course omitted here.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three months in the southern states: April-June, 1863, p. 65-71

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Friday, March 4, 1864

Weather calm and fine; no mud; pickets came in this afternoon; making muster and pay rolls; dance in chapel this evening; got a letter from Pert; has finished her school and all well at home. Lieutenant Thompson arrived in camp this morning.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 23

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Saturday, March 5, 1864

Weather continues fine; completed B Company's muster and pay rolls this forenoon; Sutler George Skiff gave a ball in the chapel this evening; distinguished guests present; fine time. Dr. Child and wife called this evening, also Mrs. Hunt and Morse; no mail.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 24

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Friday, February 26, 1864

Cloudy, high north wind but fair; air full of dust all day; had brigade drill this afternoon; dance in chapel this evening; General W. H. Morris present: Governor Smith has arrived in the army.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 22

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Monday, February 22, 1864

Cloudy and warm. The Second Brigade was out drilling this forenoon as well as a battery; very busy this afternoon; paymaster paying off the regiment; rained a little this evening; got a paper from Vermont but don't know who sent it. There is a ball at First Corps headquarters to-night.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 21

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Tuesday, February 23, 1864

A very pleasant day, but lonely in camp; dancing in the chapel this evening; moon shining brightly, and not a breath of air stirring, but for all this I can't study; no letters from home; all's quiet as midnight save the music in the chapel.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 21

Diary of William Howard Russell: May 10, 1861

The cabin of one of these steamers, in the month of May, is not favorable to sleep. The wooden beams of the engines creak and scream “consumedly,” and the great engines themselves throb as if they would break through their  thin, pulse covers of pine, — and the whistle sounds, and the calliope shrieks out “Dixie” incessantly. So, when I was up and dressed, breakfast was over, and I had an opportunity of seeing the slaves on board, male and female, acting as stewards and stewardesses, at their morning meal, which they took with much good spirits and decorum. They were nicely dressed — clean and neat. I was forced to admit to myself that their Ashantee grandsires and grandmothers, or their Kroo and Dahomey progenitors were certainly less comfortable and well clad, and that these slaves had other social advantages, though I could not recognize the force of the Bishop of Georgia's assertion, that from slavery must come the sole hope of, and machinery for, the evangelization of Africa. I confess I would not give much for the influence of the stewards and stewardesses in Christianizing the blacks.

The river, the scenery, and the scenes were just the same as yesterday's — high banks, cotton-slides, wooding stations, cane brakes, —and a very miserable negro population, if the specimens of women and children at the landings fairly represented the mass of the slaves. They were in strong contrast to the comfortable, well-dressed domestic slaves on board, and it can well be imagined there is a wide difference between the classes, and that those condemned to work in the open fields must suffer exceedingly.

A passenger told us the captain's story. A number of planters, the narrator among them, subscribed a thousand dollars each to get up a vessel for the purpose of running a cargo of slaves, with the understanding they were to pay so much for the vessel, and so much per head if she succeeded, and so much if she was taken or lost. The vessel made her voyage to the coast, was laden with native Africans, and in due time made her appearance off Mobile. The collector heard of her, but, oddly enough, the sheriff was not about at the time, the United States Marshal was away, and as the vessel could no[t] be seen next morning, it was fair to suppose she had gone up the river, or somewhere or another. But it so happened that Captain Maher, then commanding a river steamer called the Czar (a name once very appropriate for the work, but since the serf emancipation rather out of place), found himself in the neighborhood of the brig about nightfall; next morning, indeed, the Czar was at her moorings in the river; but Captain Maher began to grow rich, he had fine negroes fresh run on his land, and bought fresh acres, and finally built the “Southern Republic.” The planters asked him for their share of the slaves. Captain Maher laughed pleasantly; he did not understand what they meant. If he had done anything wrong, they had their legal remedy. They wrere completely beaten; for they could not have recourse to the tribunals in a case which rendered them liable to capital punishment. And so Captain Maher, as an act of grace, gave them a few old niggers, and kept the rest of the cargo.

It was worth while to see the leer with which he listened to this story about himself. “Wall now! You think them niggers I’ve abord came, from Africa! I'll show you. Jist come up here, Bully!" A boy of some twelve years of age, stout, fat, nearly naked, came up to us; his color was jet black, his wool close as felt, his cheeks were marked with regular parallel scars, and his teeth very white, looked as if they had been filed to a point, his belly was slightly protuberant, and his chest was marked with tracings of tattoo marks.

“What's your name, sir?”

“My name Bully.”

"Where were you born?"

"Me born Sout Karliner, sar!'

“There, you see he wasn't taken from Africa," exclaimed the Captain, knowingly. "I've a lot of these black South Caroliny niggers abord, haven't I, Bully?”

“Yas, sar.”

“Are you happy, Bully?”

“Yas, sar.”

"Show how you're happy."

Here the boy rubbed his stomach, and grinning with delight, said, “Yummy! yummy! plenty belly full.”

“That's what I call a real happy feelosophical chap,” quoth the Captain. “I guess you've got a lot in your country can't at their stomachs and say, ‘yummy, yummy, plenty belly full!’”

“Where did he get those marks on his face?”

“Oh, them? Wall, it's a way them nigger women has of marking their children to know them; isn't it, Bully?”

“Yas, sar! me 'spose so!”

“And on his chest?”

“Wall, r'ally I do b'l'eve them's marks agin the smallpox.”

“Why are his teeth filed?”

“Ah, there now! You'd never have guessed it; Bully done that himself, for the greater ease of biting his vittels.”

In fact, the lad, and a good many of the hands, were the results of Captain Maher's little sail in the Czar.

“We're obleeged to let 'em in some times to keep up the balance agin the niggers you run into Canaydy.”

From 1848 to 1852 there were no slaves run; but since the migrations to Canada and the personal liberty laws, it has been found profitable to run them. There is a bucolic ferocity about these Southern people which will stand them good stead in the shock of battle. How the Spartans would have fought against any barbarians who came to emancipate their slaves, or the Romans have smitten those who would manumit slave and creditor together!

To-night, on the lower deck, amid wood fagots, and barrels, a dance of negroes was arranged by an enthusiast, who desired to show how “happy they were.” That is the favorite theme of the Southerners; the gallant Captain Maher becomes quite eloquent when he points to Bully's prominent “yummy,” and descants on the misery of his condition if he had been left to the precarious chances of obtaining such developments in his native land; then turns a quid, and, as if uttering some sacred refrain to the universal hymn of the South, says, ‘Yes, sir, they're the happiest people on the face of the airth!”

There was a fiddler, and also a banjo-player, who played uncouth music to the clumsiest of dances, which it would be insulting to compare to the worst Irish jig; and the men with immense gravity and great effusion of sudor, shuffled and cut and heeled and buckled to each other with an overwhelming solemnity, till the rum-bottle warmed them up to the lighter graces of the dance, when they became quite overpowering. “Yes, sir, jist look at them, how they're enjoying it; they're the happiest people on the face of the earth.” When “wooding” and firing up, they don't seem to be in the possession of the same exquisite felicity.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 186-9

John L. Motley to Mary Lothrop Motley, March 16, 1862

Vienna,

March 16, 1862.

Darling Little Woggins: Lily has told you something, I dare say, about this society. The young ladies are a power here. They are called “Comtessen,” for of course no one is supposed to have a lower rank. They have been very civil to Lily, and this is thought a great wonder, for it is not the rule, but the exception. But there is not much advance beyond the circumference of society. There is no court this winter.

When the empress's health permits her to be in Vienna, there is one court ball in the year, to which diplomats are asked, and two a week, to which they are not asked. The society, by which, of course, I mean the crème de la crème, is very small in number and much intermarried. The parties are almost like family parties; but you must confine yourself to this society, for they never mix with what is called second society. So far as manner goes, nothing can be more natural or high-bred than that of the Viennese aristocracy. And there is no such thing as literary or artistic circles. In short, you must be intimate with the Pharaohs or stay at home. Now I have painted the picture, I think, truthfully. Lily came out in England, and has never been out in America. She longs to be there, and will go, if we can manage it, before next winter. If you should decide to come, however, she would stay, for you would get on much better with her assistance, as she already knows familiarly all the Comtessen. As for ourselves, we do not care much for society. The pleasantest things we have here are our occasional dinners. Most of our colleagues have invited us. I have not been able to pay my debts this year, as my apartments are not fit to give diplomatic dinners in. Next winter I hope to clear off the score.

I think we have dined three times at Viennese houses — once at Prince Esterhazy's, once at Prince Liechtenstein's, and once at Baron Rothschild's. I must except our bankers, who ask us very often, and give very pleasant dinners. Everybody goes to the Burg Theater every evening. The opera is not very good, but the house is better. Moreover, the Viennese are under the impression that they are going to have a new opera-house. The foundation is dug. Yesterday we invited our American monde to dine, to celebrate our victories, of which you may suppose our heads and hearts are full. The Americans are very few in number here. Besides Mr. Lippitt, secretary of legation, and Mr. Delaplaine, there were three young medical students, Ropes of Boston, Walcot of Salem, and Caswell of Providence, and the consul, Mr. Canisius, and Mr. Thayer, who has lived here a good while, a studious hermit kind of life, engaged in writing the life of Beethoven. We like him very much. We are intensely anxious for American news, and the steamers in this stormy season make long passages.

Your affectionate

Papa.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 248-50

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Thursday, October 16, 1862

It seems an age since I have opened this book. How the time has passed since, I have but a vague idea, beyond that it has passed very pleasantly. . . . Once since, I have been with Mrs. Badger to a Mr. Powell, who has started quite an extensive shoemaking establishment, in the vain attempt to get something to cover my naked feet. I am so much in need that I have been obliged to borrow Lydia's shoes every time I have been out since she returned. This was my second visit there, and I have no greater satisfaction than I had at first. He got my measure, I got his promise, and that is the end of it, thus far. His son, a young man of about twenty-four, had the cap of his knee shot off at Baton Rouge. Ever since he has been lying on his couch, unable to stand; and the probability is that he will never stand again. Instead of going out to the manufactory, Mrs. Badger has each time stopped at the house to see his mother (who, by the way, kissed me and called me “Sissie,” to my great amusement) and there I have seen this poor young man. He seems so patient and resigned that it is really edifying to be with him. He is very communicative, too, and seems to enjoy company, no matter if he does say “her’n” and “his’n.” Wonder why he doesn't say “shisen” too? The girls are highly amused at the description I give of my new acquaintance, but still more so at Mrs. Badger's account of the friendship of this poor young cripple, and his enjoyment of my visits. Of course it is only her own version, as she is very fond of jokes of all kinds.

Night before last Lydia got playing the piano for me in the darkened parlor, and the old tunes from her dear little fingers sent me off in a sea of dreams. She too caught the vision, and launched off in a well-remembered quadrille. The same scene flashed on us, and at each note, almost, we would recall a little circumstance, charming to us, but unintelligible to Anna, who occupied the other side. Together we talked over the dramatis persona. Mrs. Morgan, Jr., in dark blue silk with black flounces, a crimson chenille net on her black hair, sits at the piano in her own parlor. On the Brussels carpet stands, among others, Her Majesty, Queen Miriam, in a lilac silk, with bare neck and arms save for the protection afforded by a bertha of appliqué lace trimmed with pink ribbon, with hair à la madonna, and fastened low on her neck. Is she not handsome as she stands fronting the folding doors, her hand in tall Mr. Trezevant's, just as she commences to dance, with the tip of her black bottine just showing? Vis-à-vis stands pretty Sophie, with her large, graceful mouth smiling and showing her pretty teeth to the best advantage. A low neck and short-sleeved green and white poplin is her dress, while her black hair, combed off from her forehead carelessly, is caught by a comb at the back and falls in curls on her shoulders. A prettier picture could not be wished for, as she looks around with sparkling eyes, eager for the dance to begin. There stands calm Dena in snuff-colored silk, looking so immeasurably the superior of her partner, who, I fancy, rather feels that she is the better man of the two, from his nervous way of shifting from one foot to the other, without saying a word to her. Nettie, in lilac and white, stands by the mantel laughing undisguisedly at her partner, rather than with him, yet so good-humoredly that he cannot take offense, but rather laughs with her. Lackadaisical Gertrude, whose face is so perfect in the daytime, looks pale and insipid by gaslight, and timidly walks through the dance. Stout, good-natured Minna smiles and laughs, never quite completing a sentence, partly from embarrassment, partly because she hardly knows how; but still so sweet and amiable that one cannot find fault with her for so trifling a misfortune. At this point, Lydia suggests, “And Sarah, do you forget her?” I laugh; how could I forget? There she stands in a light blue silk checked in tiny squares, with little flounces up to her knee. Her dress fits well, and she wears very pretty sleeves and collar of appliqué. Lydia asks if that is all, and how she looks. The same old song, I answer. She is looking at Miriam just now; you would hardly notice her, but certainly her hair is well combed. That is all you can say for her. Who is she dancing with? A youth fond of "dreams"; futile ones, at that, I laughingly reply. He must be relating one just now, for there is a very perceptible curl on her upper lip, and she is looking at him as though she thought she was the tallest. Lydia dashes off into a lively jig. “Ladies to the right!” I cried. She laughed too, well knowing that that part of the dance was invariably repeated a dozen times at least. She looked slyly up: “I am thinking of how many hands I saw squeezed,” she said. I am afraid it did happen, once or twice.

Eighteen months ago! What a change! One who was prominent on such occasions — Mr. Sparks — they tell me is dead. May God have mercy on his soul, in the name of Jesus Christ! I did not ask even this revenge.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 256-60

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Wednesday, April 8, 1863

Poor Don Pablo was “taken ill” at breakfast, and was obliged to go to bed. We were all much distressed at his illness, which was brought on by over-anxiety connected with his official duties; and the way he is bothered by English and “Blue-nose”¹ skippers is enough to try any one.

Mr Behnsen and Mr Colville returned from Bagdad this afternoon, much disgusted with the attractions of that city.

General Bee's orderly was assaulted in Matamoros yesterday by a renegado with a six-shooter. This circumstance prevented the General from coming to Matamoros as he had intended.

At 5 P.M. Captain Hancock and I crossed over to Brownsville, and were conducted in a very smart ambulance to General Bee's quarters, and afterwards to see a dress parade of the 3d Texas infantry.

Lieutenant-Colonel Buchel is the working man of the corps, as he is a professional soldier. The men were well clothed, though great variety existed in their uniforms. Some companies wore blue, some grey, some had French kepis, others wideawakes and Mexican hats. They were a fine body of men, and really drilled uncommonly well. They went through a sort of guard-mounting parade in a most creditable manner. About a hundred out of a thousand were conscripts.²

After the parade, we adjourned to Colonel Luckett's to drink prosperity to the 3d Regiment.

We afterwards had a very agreeable dinner with General Bee; Colonels Luckett and Buchel dined also. The latter is a regular soldier of fortune. He served in the French and Turkish armies, as also in the Carlist and the Mexican wars, and I was told he had been a principal in many affairs of honour; but he is a quiet and unassuming little man, and although a sincere Southerner, is not nearly so violent against the Yankees as Luckett.

At 10 P.M. Captain Hancock and myself went to a ball given by the authorities of the “Heroica y invicta ciudad de Matamoros” (as they choose to call it), in honour of the French defeat. General Bee and Colonel Luckett also went to this fete, the invitation being the first civility they had received since the violation of the Mexican soil in the Davis-Mongomery affair. They were dressed in plain clothes, and carried pistols concealed in case of accidents.

We all drove together from Brownsville to the Consulate, and entered the ball-room en masse.

The outside of the municipal hall was lit up with some splendour, and it was graced by a big placard, on which was written the amiable sentiment, “Muera Napoleon—viva Mejico!” Semi-successful squibs and crackers were let off at intervals. In the square also was a triumphal arch, with an inscription to the effect that “the effete nations of Europe might tremble.” I made great friends with the gobernador and administrador, who endeavoured to entice me into dancing, but I excused myself by saying that Europeans were unable to dance in the graceful Mexican fashion. Captain Hancock was much horrified when this greasy-faced gobernador (who keeps a small shop) stated his intention of visiting the Immortality with six of his friends, and sleeping on board for a night or two.

The dances were a sort of slow valse, and between the dances the girls were planted up against the wall, and not allowed to be spoken to by any one. They were mostly a plain-headed, badly-painted lot, and ridiculously dressed.

_______________

¹ Nova-Scotian.

² During all my travels in the South I never saw a regiment so well clothed or so well drilled as this one, which has never been in action, or been exposed to much hardship.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three months in the southern states: April-June, 1863, p. 15-18

Francis H. Wigfall, April 9, 1864

April 9.

. . . The sham battle of General Hardee's Corps took place on Thursday, and was witnessed by a large number of ladies from all parts of the State. There was a party of them at Gen. Hood's for several days and the evening after the battle we had a dance at Hd. Qurs. to which was gathered “the beauty and the chivalry.” It was a decided success and was almost fashionably crowded. I indulged slightly in the galop and deuxtemps and wish L. could have seen me. There are to be some tableaux a few miles below here at a country house on the railroad Monday evening, to which the General and his staff are invited. I expect there will be a good deal of gaiety in Dalton, (that is, for the army) until the war begins, which from all appearance is as far off as ever. Tell Papa that the army is very much “down on” Congress for the ration bill and ask him to be sure and have it remedied as soon as the session begins. I have heard several plans proposed by officers for inviting one or two members of Congress now with the army to a “one ration a day dinner.” Something of this sort, for instance: The entertainer would be very generous and have the whole day's ration served for dinner. He would divide the pound and a quarter of meal, the quarter of a pound of hominy and the third of a pound of bacon into three parts and give his guest one, take one himself and set one aside for his servant. However, we all live in hope of the better time coming.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 174-5

Major-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, March 27, 1864

March 27, 1864.

My dear sister:

Yours of the 19th came last night. General Grant arrived yesterday, and established his headquarters in Culpeper, about five miles from General Meade's. I have not yet seen him since his return. I liked his appearance and the general tone of his remarks and comments very much; but I doubt whether he will be able to effect much more than other Generals we have had in command here. The truth is, we are on the wrong road to take Richmond. The army has been reorganized by General Meade, my corps considerably increased. I hope when the campaign opens to have twenty-five thousand men and forty-eight pieces of artillery — a small army in itself.

Cousin Charles's wife's daughter and three young ladies made me a visit, staying three days. They came down to attend a ball, and the first intimation I had they drove up to my quarters; but we made them very comfortable, and had a delightful time. Tell Eliza, if Harry cannot get an appointment to West Point (and I do not think he can), that he would have no difficulty in getting one as civil engineer in the navy. It is not only a respectable one, but it is a rising place, and that department is to become an important one in our navy.

With much love, I am, as ever,

Your affectionate brother,

J. S.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 178-9

John L. Motley to Mary Lothrop Motley, February 16, 1862

Vienna, February 16, 1862.

My Darling Mary: You complain of not getting letters often enough, and you think I might write more than I do. But, my dear child, you must remember how little of interest we have to speak to you about, and how many correspondents. I have this moment counted the letters lying unanswered on my table. There are seventeen. And yet I write letters all day long. I do not complain, for I am so greedy to receive letters from America that I am very willing to do my part in the correspondence. You are where all our interests and all our thoughts are. Here, when I have told you that your mama and Lily and I are well, and that Susie was jolly by the last accounts, I have said all. Our life is very humdrum. Once in a while we dine out, not very often, and the dinner is not an institution as in London. The hour is generally five, and it is all over by seven, for that is the hour at which the theater begins, and everybody thinks it necessary to go, or to make believe to go, either to the opera or the theater. Both these houses are very small for a large town, and all the boxes are taken by the season, so that it is only when some of our friends send us a box that we can go. In self-defense, when the season for hiring arrives, we must take one.

The opera-house is tolerably good, the singing so-so. The theater, the Burg Theater, as it is called, because it makes part of the imperial castle or palace, is the funniest, shabbiest ramshackle old place you can imagine. The chandelier would hardly give sufficient light for an ordinary saloon. There are two little rows of about a dozen oil-lamps in it, and one with a few more. Yon can hardly see across the house, although it is very narrow and as straight as an omnibus. All your friends and acquaintances are in the boxes, and you can just discern their noble features glimmering through the darkness. En revanche, the acting is excellent. Every part is well sustained in comedy and farce, and there are one or two rather remarkable actors. I have not yet seen a tragedy; we are sufficiently dismal in the world without weeping over fictitious woes. On the whole, there is something to my mind rather aristocratic and imperial in this very shabby, dingy little theater, with its admirable acting, with its boxes filled with archdukes and princes and ambassadors. You can have gorgeously gilt, brand-new theaters anywhere in Paris or Buffalo, but you would find it difficult to find so select a set of actors and spectators.

Lily has been to a few balls, all that have been given; the picnics, five of them — subscription assemblies, like Almack's or Papanti's. The last one, the most brilliant of the season, at Marquis Pallavicini's, she lost, because it was on a Sunday. To-morrow night we go to one at Prince Schwarzenberg's, which will be very fine, I doubt not, and, as they say, the last of the season. You see we do not lead very dissipated lives. We take the deepest interest in American affairs. In truth, we never think or talk of anything else.

Your loving

Papa.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 237-9

John L. Motley to Mary Lothrop Motley, January 22, 1862

Vienna, January 22, 1862.

Dearest Little Mary: There is much sympathy for us in Austria, more, I should say, than in any country in Europe. The most widely circulated journal of Vienna, “Die Presse,” has a leading article almost every day on the subject, as warm, as strong, as sympathetic, and as well informed even to the minutest details as if it were written in Washington or Boston. This moment I have been interrupted by a visit from a field-marshal, whom I did not know, but who introduced himself to ask my advice about a young military friend who wished to serve in our army. Another gentleman called yesterday in behalf of a young man, son of one of the ministers of the grand duchy of Baden. I receive letters daily from officers in all parts of Austria, and two or three warriors were here this morning before I was up. I could have furnished half a dozen regiments since I have been here, but of course I can only say that I have nothing to do with the War Department, and that any one who wishes to try his chance must betake himself to Washington.

Lily has been to two or three balls, and enjoyed herself. The picnic balls, something like Almack's, are once a fortnight. The first took place last week, and Lily danced till three. She went with her mother, and I was allowed to stay at home, as it is not very amusing for an elderly party like me to look on at the mazy dance.

Ever your affectionate

Papagei.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 231-2

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: January 25, 1864

The President walked home with me from church (I was to dine with Mrs. Davis). He walked so fast I had no breath to talk; so I was a good listener for once. The truth is I am too much afraid of him to say very much in his presence. We had such a nice dinner. After dinner Hood came for a ride with the President.

Mr. Hunter, of Virginia, walked home with me. He made himself utterly agreeable by dwelling on his friendship and admiration of my husband. He said it was high time Mr. Davis should promote him, and that he had told Mr. Davis his opinion on that subject to-day.

Tuesday, Barny Heyward went with me to the President's reception, and from there to a ball at the McFarlands'. Breckinridge alone of the generals went with us. The others went to a supper given by Mr. Clay, of Alabama. I had a long talk with Mr. Ould, Mr. Benjamin, and Mr. Hunter. These men speak out their thoughts plainly enough. What they said means “We are rattling down hill, and nobody to put on the brakes.” I wore my black velvet, diamonds, and point lace. They are borrowed for all “theatricals,” but I wear them whenever they are at home.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 283-4

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: August 10, 1863

RICHMOND, Va. — To-day I had a letter from my sister, who wrote to inquire about her old playmate, friend, and lover, Boykin McCaa. It is nearly twenty years since each was married; each now has children nearly grown. “To tell the truth,” she writes, “in these last dreadful years, with David in Florida, where I can not often hear from him, and everything dismal, anxious, and disquieting, I had almost forgotten Boykin's existence, but he came here last night; he stood by my bedside and spoke to me kindly and affectionately, as if we had just parted. I said, holding out my hand, ‘Boykin, you are very pale.’ He answered, ‘I have come to tell you goodby,’ and then seized both my hands. His own hands were as cold and hard as ice; they froze the marrow of my bones. I screamed again and again until my whole household came rushing in, and then came the negroes from the yard, all wakened by my piercing shrieks. This may have been a dream, but it haunts me.

'”Some one sent me an old paper with an account of his wounds and his recovery, but I know he is dead.” “Stop!” said my husband at this point, and then he read from that day's Examiner these words: “Captain Burwell Boykin McCaa found dead upon the battle-field leading a cavalry charge at the head of his company. He was shot through the head.”

The famous colonel of the Fourth Texas, by name John Bell Hood,¹ is here — him we call Sam, because his classmates at West Point did so — for what cause is not known. John Darby asked if he might bring his hero to us; bragged of him extensively; said he had won his three stars, etc., under Stonewall's eye, and that he was promoted by Stonewall's request. When Hood came with his sad Quixote face, the face of an old Crusader, who believed in his cause, his cross, and his crown, we were not prepared for such a man as a beau-ideal of the wild Texans. He is tall, thin, and shy; has blue eyes and light hair; a tawny beard, and a vast amount of it, covering the lower part of his face, the whole appearance that of awkward strength. Some one said that his great reserve of manner he carried only into the society of ladies. Major Venable added that he had often heard of the light of battle shining in a man's eyes. He had seen it once — when he carried to Hood orders from Lee, and found in the hottest of the fight that the man was transfigured. The fierce light of Hood's eyes I can never forget.

Hood came to ask us to a picnic next day at Drury's Bluff.² The naval heroes were to receive us and then we were to drive out to the Texan camp. We accused John Darby of having instigated this unlooked-for festivity. We were to have bands of music and dances, with turkeys, chickens, and buffalo tongues to eat. Next morning, just as my foot was on the carriage-step, the girls standing behind ready to follow me with Johnny and the Infant Samuel (Captain Shannon by proper name), up rode John Darby in red-hot haste, threw his bridle to one of the men who was holding the horses, and came toward us rapidly, clanking his cavalry spurs with a despairing sound as he cried: “Stop! it's all up. We are ordered back to the Rappahannock. The brigade is marching through Richmond now.” So we unpacked and unloaded, dismissed the hacks and sat down with a sigh.

“Suppose we go and see them pass the turnpike,” some one said. The suggestion was hailed with delight, and off we marched. Johnny and the Infant were in citizens' clothes, and the Straggler — as Hood calls John Darby, since the Prestons have been in Richmond — was all plaided and plumed in his surgeon's array. He never bated an inch of bullion or a feather; he was courting and he stalked ahead with Mary Preston, Buck, and Johnny. The Infant and myself, both stout and scant of breath, lagged last. They called back to us, as the Infant came toddling along, “Hurry up or we will leave you.”

At the turnpike we stood on the sidewalk and saw ten thousand men march by. We had seen nothing like this before. Hitherto we had seen only regiments marching spick and span in their fresh, smart clothes, just from home and on their way to the army. Such rags and tags as we saw now. Nothing was like anything else. Most garments and arms were such as had been taken from the enemy. Such shoes as they had on. “Oh, our brave boys!” moaned Buck. Such tin pans and pots as were tied to their waists, with bread or bacon stuck on the ends of their bayonets. Anything that could be spiked was bayoneted and held aloft.

They did not seem to mind their shabby condition; they laughed, shouted, and cheered as they marched by. Not a disrespectful or light word was spoken, but they went for the men who were huddled behind us, and who seemed to be trying to make themselves as small as possible in order to escape observation.

Hood and his staff finally came galloping up, dismounted, and joined us. Mary Preston gave him a bouquet. Thereupon he unwrapped a Bible, which he carried in his pocket. He said his mother had given it to him. He pressed a flower in it. Mary Preston suggested that he had not worn or used it at all, being fresh, new, and beautifully kept. Every word of this the Texans heard as they marched by, almost touching us. They laughed and joked and made their own rough comments.

_______________

¹ Hood was a native of Kentucky and a graduate of West Point.

² Drury's Bluff lies eight miles south of Richmond on the James River. Here, on May 16, 1864, the Confederates under Beauregard repulsed the Federals under Butler.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 229-32