Captain Charles Fessenden Morse: May 7, 1863

Stafford C. H., May 7, 1863.

I am going to give you, without any introduction, a history of this last campaign against Richmond by the army under the great Joe Hooker. I believe I have seen it and judged it fairly.

On Monday, April 27th, our corps broke camp early in the morning and marched to Hartwood Church, ten miles; there it went into camp for the night. The Eleventh and Fifth Corps also came up there and camped in our vicinity; next morning, we all moved and camped that night near Kelly's Ford. A pontoon bridge was thrown across and the Eleventh was over before daylight Wednesday; the other corps followed rapidly and the advance began towards the Rapidan. The Eleventh and Twelfth marched on the road to Germana Ford, the Fifth on the road to Ely's Ford; all three of the corps were under command of General Slocum. I was detailed, the morning of the advance, as Aide to General Slocum, and another officer was made Acting Provost Marshal. All the companies of the Second Massachusetts were sent to the Regiment. We skirmished all the way to Germana Ford; there we met quite a determined resistance; our cavalry was drawn in and the Second Massachusetts and the Third Wisconsin sent forward to clear the way; they drove everything before them and, by their heavy fire, forced the rebels at the Ford to surrender (about one hundred officers and men). We lost in this skirmish about a dozen killed and wounded.

General Slocum now determined to cross the Rapidan, though there was no bridge and the ford was almost impassable. He sent the First and Third Brigade, (First Division, Twelfth Corps), through the water although it was more than waist deep, also five batteries of artillery, which took position on the other side of the river. A bridge was then constructed, and before daylight Thursday morning, the remainder of the Twelfth and Eleventh Corps were across the river. By eight o'clock, A. M., we were moving again. The rebels kept attacking us on our flank with cavalry and artillery, and any less bold officer than General Slocum would have halted his column and delayed the march; but he kept along steadily, detaching a small force at intervals to repel the enemy. I had the pleasure of superintending, at one of these skirmishes, having in charge the Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania Regiment; we drove the rebels before us for nearly a mile, almost capturing their artillery, taking a large number of prisoners. At about noon, we arrived at Chancellorsville, and found the Fifth Corps already there. We had a small cavalry skirmish, in which Colonel McVicars was killed with about a dozen of his men, but besides that, nothing of importance occurred that day; the troops were formed in line of battle, but were not attacked. Up to this time you see everything had gone well and success seemed certain.

Towards night, General Hooker arrived with his staff, and we heard of the crossing at the U. S. Ford of the Second, Third and First Corps. All the headquarters were in the vicinity of the Chancellor House, a large, fine brick mansion. General Hooker took supper with General Slocum; he didn't seem to be able to express his gratification at the success of General Slocum in bringing the three corps up so rapidly. Then, in the most extravagant, vehement terms, he went on to say how he had got the rebels, how he was going to crush them, annihilate them, etc.

The next morning at ten, the Fifth and Twelfth Corps advanced in order of battle on two parallel roads; we soon met the enemy and skirmished for about two miles, when they appeared in considerable force and the battle began. We were in a splendid position and were driving the enemy when an order came to General Slocum to retire his command to its former position. No one could believe that the order was genuine, but almost immediately, another of General Hooker's staff brought the same order again. Now, perhaps, you don't know that to retire an army in the face of an enemy when you are engaged, is one of the most difficult operations in war; this we had to do. I carried the order to General Geary to retire his division in echelon by brigades, and stayed with him till the movement was nearly completed. It was a delicate job; each brigade would successively bear the brunt of the enemy's attack. Before the last brigades of the Fifth and Twelfth Corps were in position, the enemy made a furious attack on the Chancellor House; luckily, we had considerable artillery concentrated there and they were driven back. The next attack was on our corps, but the enemy were severely repulsed. This about ended the fighting on Friday; we lost, I suppose, about five hundred men.

During the night, the men were kept at work digging trenches and throwing up breastworks of logs. Our headquarters were at Fairview, an open piece of ground rising into quite a crest in the centre. Skirmishing began at daylight next morning and continued without much result to either side, till afternoon, when the enemy began to move, in large force, towards our right, opposite General Howard, Eleventh Corps. This corps was in a fine position in intrenchments, with almost open country in front of them, the right resting on Hunting creek. At about four P. M., the Third Corps, General Sickles, was moved out to the right of the Twelfth and advanced towards Fredericksburgh. The order then came to General Slocum that the enemy were in full retreat, and to advance his whole line to capture all he could of prisoners, wagons, etc. Our right, General Williams’ Division, advanced without much trouble, driving the enemy before it, but the Second Division had hardly got out of the trenches before it was attacked with great determination, yet it steadily retained its position. At about five P. M., a tremendous and unceasing musketry fire began in the direction of the Eleventh Corps. As it was necessary to know what was going on there in order to regulate the movements of the Twelfth Corps, General Slocum and the rest of us rode for our lives towards this new scene of action. What was our surprise when we found, that instead of a fight, it was a complete Bull Run rout. Men, horses, mules, rebel prisoners, wagons, guns, etc., etc., were coming down the road in terrible confusion, behind them an unceasing roar of musketry. We rode until we got into a mighty hot fire, and found that no one was attempting to make a stand, but every one running for his life. Then General Slocum dispatched me to General Hooker to explain the state of affairs, and three other staff officers to find General Williams and order him back to his trenches with all haste.

I found General Hooker sitting alone on his horse in front of the Chancellor House, and delivered my message; he merely said, “Very good, sir.” I rode back and found the Eleventh Corps still surging up the road and still this terrible roar behind them. Up to this time, the rebels had received no check, but now troops began to march out on the plank road and form across it, and Captain Best, Chief of Artillery of our corps, had on his own responsibility gathered together all the batteries he could get hold of, had put them in position (forty-six guns in all) on Fairview, and had begun firing at the rate of about one hundred guns a minute, into the rebels. This, in my opinion, saved our army from destruction. After delivering my message to General Hooker, I went back and tried to find General Slocum, but it was now after eight o'clock and I was unsuccessful in my search, so I took hold and tried to rally some of the cowardly Dutchmen. With the help of one cavalry orderly, I succeeded in forming a good many of them on the left of the new line, but an unusually heavy volley coming, they broke and ran like sheep. After this little episode, I again searched after the General. Towards ten, I found the rest of the staff, and soon after, we came across the General. At about eleven, the fighting stopped, but we were all hard at work getting the men of our corps into position. You see, while our First Division was advancing, the rebels had routed the Teutons and were now occupying our trenches. The Second and Third Brigades got into their former position, but the First made out only to cut through the rebels, losing a large part of its men and taking a position considerably in the rear of its former one. General Sickles fought his way through with the exception of one division and one battery, which were left out in front of our lines that night. The artillery men were hard at work all night, throwing up traverses to protect their guns, and about two in the morning we all lay down on the ground and slept until about four, when daylight began to appear. Our right was now formed by the Third, Fifth and First Corps, about five hundred yards in the rear of our first position. The rebels began the attack, as soon as there was light enough, from the left of our First Division to about the right of the Third Corps. General Birney's Division of the Third Corps was out in front of General Williams; his men behaved badly, and after a slight resistance, fell back into our lines, losing a battery.

The rebels now charged down our First Division, but were met with such a deadly fire that they were almost annihilated. Their second line was then sent in, but met the same fate, and their third and last line advanced. Our men now had fired more than forty rounds of cartridges and were getting exhausted. General Slocum sent almost every one of his staff officers to General Hooker, stating his position and begging for support; Hooker's answer was, “I can't make men or ammunition for General Slocum.” Meantime, Sickles' Corps was holding its own on the right of ours, but it was rapidly getting into the same condition as the Twelfth. The rebels were driven back every time they advanced, and we were taking large numbers of prisoners and colors. All this time while our infantry was fighting so gallantly in front, our battery of forty-six guns was firing incessantly. The rebels had used no artillery till they captured the battery from Birney, when they turned that on us, making terrible destruction in General Geary's line. General Meade, Fifth Corps, now went to Hooker and entreated that he might be allowed to throw his corps on the rebel flank, but General Hooker said, “No, he was wanted in his own position.” On his own responsibility, General Meade sent out one brigade, which passed out in rear of the enemy's right, recaptured a battery, three hundred of our men who were prisoners, and four hundred of the rebels, and took them safely back to their corps.

It was now after seven o'clock. Our men had fired their sixty rounds of cartridges and were still holding their position; everything that brave men could do, these men had done, but now nothing was left but to order them to fall back and give up their position to the enemy. This was done in good order and they marched off under a heavy fire to the rear of our batteries. The rebels, seeing us retreating, rushed forward their artillery and began a fearful fire. I found I could be useful to Captain Best, commanding our artillery, so I stayed with him. I never before saw anything so fine as the attack on that battery; the air was full of missiles, solid shot, shells, and musket balls. I saw one solid shot kill three horses and a man, another took a leg off one of the captains of the batteries. Lieutenant Crosby of the Fourth Artillery was shot through the heart with a musket ball; he was a particular friend of Bob Shaw and myself; he lived just long enough to say to Captain Best, “Tell father I die happy.”

The rebels came up to the attack in solid masses and got within three hundred yards, but they were slaughtered by the hundreds by the case-shot and canister, and were driven back to the woods. Still not an infantry man was sent to the support of the guns. More than half the horses were killed or wounded; one caisson had blown up, another had been knocked to pieces; in ten minutes more, the guns would have been isolated. They, too, therefore, were ordered to retire, which they did without losing a gun. You see, now, our centre was broken, everything was being retired to our second line, the rebel artillery was in position, their line of battle steadily advancing across our old ground. This fire of the batteries was concentrated on the Chancellor House, Hooker's original headquarters, and it was torn almost to pieces by solid shot and was finally set on fire by a shell.

The army was now put in position in the second line; the centre was on a rising piece of ground and protected by a battery of forty or fifty guns. The Fifth Corps was on the right and was the last to fall back out of the woods and it was closely followed by the rebel masses, but these were met by such a tremendous artillery fire that they were actually rolled back into the woods. Our corps was ordered to support first the Third, afterwards the Second and Eleventh. Towards night the enemy made another desperate assault on our centre, but they were again repulsed. Our corps was now ordered to the extreme left to form behind the Eleventh. I believe that General Slocum remonstrated with General Hooker so firmly that he finally got permission to put the Twelfth Corps on the extreme left and to have only one division of the Eleventh in the trenches on his right.

You can easily see that, if the enemy once forced our right or left, our communications would at once be cut and all possibility of retreat prevented. Late that night, we lay down close beside the Rappahannock. By three o'clock next morning, we were awakened by a heavy artillery fire and shells bursting over us. Our guns replied and kept at it for about an hour, when the enemy's batteries were silenced. We now mounted our horses and rode along the lines to look at our position; we found that it was a very strong one and capable of being made very much more so.

We found that the sharpshooters were getting altogether too attentive to our party, so we moved back to our line and had hardly turned away, when a sergeant was shot dead almost on the spot where the general had been standing. All that day, our men were hard at work throwing up breastworks, cutting abattis, etc. No attack was made on us, but throughout that day and night, we heard Sedgwick fighting in the direction of Fredericksburgh.

Tuesday morning, I knew by appearances that a retreat was to be effected, as a large part of the artillery, all the ambulances, etc., were removed across the river, although the men were kept at work making line after line of trenches and breastworks. Just before dark, the order of retreat came, the Fifth and Twelfth Corps being the last to cross. About four o'clock that afternoon it began to rain in torrents. There were originally three pontoon bridges, but before most of the crossing had been effected, the river became so swollen that one of the bridges had to be taken up to piece out the other two; this caused a great delay. At about twelve, I was sent down to the ford to examine into the condition of things; it was a terrible night, the wind blowing a gale and the rain pouring, the road for a mile full of artillery. I found, at the bridge, that not a thing was moving, and learned from General Patrick that the order for retreat had been suspended and everything was to move back to its former position. This order came, remember, when half of the artillery was on the north side of the Rappahannock, the soldiers without a ration and the supply trains ten miles the other side of the river. I ran my horse back to headquarters and made my report; the telegraph was down between U. S. Ford and Falmouth, where General Hooker was. General Slocum wrote a dispatch, saying, that unless the movement was continued, our army would have to be surrendered within twenty-four hours; this was sent by an orderly who was ordered to kill his horse carrying it. Then to prepare for the worst, General Slocum sent one of his aides and myself back to the Ford to get our artillery ready to move back into position, that our corps might, at least, be ready to make a desperate fight in the morning; but at about two-thirty A. M., the messenger returned from General Hooker with orders for the movement to continue.

At about five, one of our divisions began to cross. The two or three succeeding hours were the most anxious I ever passed in my life. A large part of our army was massed on the south side of the river, only two bridges for the whole of it to cross, the river full to the edge of its banks; a very little extra strain would have carried away the upper bridge, and this would have swept away the lower one and all retreat would have been cut off. The rebel artillery began to fire on our troops and bridges, but was silenced by our guns; we had sixty in position on the north side.

It soon became evident that the enemy were not in force in our vicinity, but for all that, it was one of the happiest moments of my life when I saw the last of our corps over the bridge. We all started then for Stafford C. H., where our corps was ordered to its old camp. We arrived at our old headquarters at about two P. M., and found, to our joy, that our wagons had arrived and tents were being pitched. It was not until after we were in comfortable quarters that the terrible fatigue of the last ten days began to tell on us. Since we had left Stafford, we had been without wagons or blankets, with nothing to eat except pork and hard bread, and half the time not even that, and we had averaged each day at least twelve or sixteen hours in the saddle. The moment we touched a seat, we sunk into the most profound sleep and stayed in this condition for several hours. It may seem strange to you that I speak of being happy to get back into our old quarters, but you must remember that we had been through danger and hardship for ten days and had met with constant disappointment and were now safe back again where we were going to have sleep, rest, and food.

Now, let us see what this campaign shows. It seems to me that the plan was a very good one, with the exception of separating Sedgwick with thirty thousand men from the army, and that it was carried out with great success till General Hooker arrived at Chancellorsville. The next thing shown is that the commander of our army gained his position by merely brag and blow, and that when the time came to show himself, he was found without the qualities necessary for a general. If another battle had been fought on Monday, it would have been by the combined corps commanders, and the battle would have been won.

I doubt if, ever in the history of this war, another chance will be given us to fight the enemy with such odds in our favor as we had last Sunday, and that chance has been worse than lost to us. I don't believe any men ever fought better than our Twelfth Corps, especially the First Division; for two hours, they held their ground without any support, against the repeated assaults of the enemy; they fired their sixty rounds of cartridges and held their line with empty muskets till ordered to fall back. The old Second, of course, did splendidly, and lost heavily, twenty-two killed, one hundred and four wounded, ten missing; my company had five killed and eleven wounded. Lieutenant Fitzgerald was killed, Coggswell, Grafton, Perkins, and Powers, wounded. George Thompson had a narrow escape; a grape shot tore one leg of his trousers and his coat almost off and grazed his leg. Our colors got thirty new holes in them and the staff (the third one), was smashed to pieces.*

You cannot imagine the amount of admiration I have for General Slocum, for the gallant way in which he conducted himself throughout the campaign, and his skillful management of his command; then besides all that, we have been so together, that he has seemed almost like my old friends in the regiment.

I have written in this letter a pretty full account of the operations as I have seen them, and I don't believe any one has had a better chance, for during the fighting, I was at different times at every part of our lines, and in communication with General Hooker and other generals.

Our staff casualties were as follows: — Lieutenant Tracy, badly wounded in right arm, his horse shot in four places; one of our orderlies shot and two more horses. I feel thankful to have come out unharmed from so much danger. Tracy was carrying an order to General Williams, when he was hit: somehow, he got outside our lines and was ordered to surrender; he said he thought he wouldn't, turned his horse and ran for it, while the rebels put two volleys after him.

I telegraphed, last Monday, that I was all right; I hope you received the message.

_______________

* Actual loss: 31 killed and mortally wounded, 91 wounded, 7 prisoners. Total loss, 129.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 127-39

Diary of Major-General John A. Dix: May 6, 1863

Another day of intense anxiety and suspense. We are without any official information, and the inference is that the Government has none to give. Every kind of rumor is afloat. It would seem that Hooker has beaten Lee, and that Lee has beaten Hooker; that we have taken Fredericksburg, and that the rebels have taken it also; that we have 4500 prisoners, and the rebels 5400; that Hooker has cut off Lee's retreat, and Lee has cut off Sedgwick's retreat, and Sedgwick has cut off everybody's retreat generally, but has retreated himself, although his retreat was cut off; that Longstreet has left Suffolk to re-enforce Lee, but that Longstreet has not left Suffolk at all, and, again, that he has never been there. In short, all is utter confusion. Everything seems to be everywhere, and everybody all over, and there is no getting at any truth.

SOURCE: Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John Adams Dix, Volume 2, p. 57

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: February 28, 1864

Our hearts ache for the poor. A few days ago, as E. was walking out, she met a wretchedly dressed woman, of miserable appearance, who said she was seeking the Young Men's Christian Association, where she hoped to get assistance and work to do. E. carried her to the door, but it was closed, and the poor woman's wants were pressing. She then brought her home, supplied her with food, and told her to return to see me the following afternoon. She came, and with an honest countenance and manner told me her history. Her name is Brown; her husband had been a workman in Fredericksburg; he joined the army, and was killed at the second battle of Manassas. Many of her acquaintances in Fredericksburg fled last winter during the bombardment; she became alarmed, and with her three little children fled too. She had tried to get work in Richmond; sometimes she succeeded, but could not supply her wants. A kind woman had lent her a room and a part of a garden, but it was outside of the corporation; and although it saved house-rent, it debarred her from the relief of the associations formed for supplying the city poor with meal, wood, etc. She had evidently been in a situation little short of starvation. I asked her if she could get bread enough for her children by her work? She said she could sometimes, and when she could not, she “got turnip-tops from her piece of a garden, which were now putting up smartly, and she boiled them, with a little salt, and fed them on that.” “But do they satisfy your hunger,” said I? “Well, it is something to go upon for awhile, but it does not stick by us like as bread does, and then we gets hungry again, and I am afraid to let the children eat them too often, lest they should get sick; so I tries to get them to go to sleep; and sometimes the woman in the next room will bring the children her leavings, but she is monstrous poor.” When I gave her meat for her children, taken from the bounty of our Essex friends, tears of gratitude ran down her cheeks; she said they “had not seen meat for so long.” Poor thing, I promised her that her case should be known, and that she should not suffer so again. A soldier's widow shall not suffer from hunger in Richmond. It must not be, and will not be when her case is known. Others are now interested for her. This evening Mrs. R. and myself went in pursuit of her; but though we went through all the streets and lanes of “Butcher Flat” and other vicinities, we could get no clue to her. We went into many small and squalid-looking houses, yet we saw no such abject poverty as Mrs. Brown's. All who needed it were supplied with meal by the corporation, and many were supporting themselves with Government work. One woman stood at a table cutting out work; we asked her the stereotyped question — “Is there a very poor widow named Brown in this direction?” “No, ladies; I knows two Mrs. Browns, but they ain't so poor, and ain't no widows nuther.” As neither of them was our Mrs. B., we turned away; but she suddenly exclaimed, “Ladies, will one of you read my husband's last letter to me? for you see I can't read writing.” As Mrs. R. took it, she remarked that it was four weeks old, and asked if no one had read it to her?” Oh yes, a gentleman has read it to me four or five times; but you see I loves to hear it, for may-be I shan't hear from him no more.” The tears now poured down her cheeks. “He always writes to me every chance, and it has been so long since he wrote that, and they tell me that they have been fighting, and may-be something has happened to him.” We assured her that there had been no fighting — not even a skirmish. This quieted her, and Mrs. R. read the badly written but affectionate letter, in which he expresses his anxiety to see her and his children, and his inability to get a furlough. She then turned to the mantelpiece, and with evident pride took from a nail an old felt hat, through the crown of which were two bullet-holes. It was her husband's hat, through which a bullet had passed in the battle of Chancellorsville, and, as she remarked, must have come “very nigh grazing his head.” We remarked upon its being a proof of his bravery, which gratified her very much ; she then hung it up carefully, saying that it was just opposite her bed, and she never let it be out of her sight. She said she wanted her husband to fight for his country, and not “to stand back, like some women's husbands, to be drafted; she would have been ashamed of that, but she felt uneasy, because something told her that he would never get back.” Poor woman! we felt very much interested in her, and tried to comfort her.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 252-5

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: Wednesday, May 13, 1863

I have just heard that my dear nephew, Will’by N., was wounded at Chancellorsville, and that his left leg has been amputated. He is at Mr. Marye's, near Hamilton's Crossings, receiving the warm-hearted hospitality of that house, now so widely known. His mother has reached him, and he is doing well. I pray that God may have mercy upon him, and raise him up speedily, for the Saviour's sake.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 213

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: Saturday Night, May 9, 1863

So much has happened since I last wrote in my diary, that I can scarcely collect my thoughts to give a plain detail of facts as they occurred. Ten days ago, Mr. ––– and myself went in to spend two days with our children who are living in Richmond. It soon became apparent that we could not return, as the Government had taken the cars for the purpose of transporting soldiers to Fredericksburg. Hooker was making immense demonstrations, and was crossing 159,000 men. They fought on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, at different points, principally at Chancellorsville, and the enemy was repulsed at all points. Hooker and his host retired to the Rappahannock, and recrossed, I think, on Wednesday. It is said that General Lee would have followed him, but for the dreadful storm of Monday night and Tuesday. General Lee in his official report speaks of it as a “signal victory.” Our army was smaller than usual, as Longstreet was still near Suffolk, and could not get up in time. It is pretty certain that Hooker — fighting Joe!! — had two to Lee's one, and was defeated. But General Jackson was wounded severely. The great Stonewall is lost to us for a time; his left arm has been amputated, and there is a severe wound in his right hand. Oh, I pray that God may raise him up to be a continued blessing to the country. His wife has gone to him. The best surgical skill of the army, the sympathy and anxiety of the whole South, and the prayers of the country, are his. General Paxton, of the Stonewall Brigade was killed, and many, ah, how many, valuable lives were lost! it is impossible for us yet to know, as the telegraphic wires are cut, and mail communication very uncertain. From my own family boys we have not heard, and we are willing to believe that “no news is good news.” Two more of the dear ones over whose youth we so anxiously watched have fallen — Hill Carter, of Shirley, and Benjamin White, of Charlestown, Jefferson County. Thank God, they were both Christians! My heart aches for their parents. The last was an only son, and justly the pride and joy of his household. His parents are in the enemy's lines. O Lord, uphold that tender mother when the withering stroke is known to her! Major Channing Price and Colonel Thomas Garnett are gone! God help our country! We can't afford to lose such men.

While our army was busily engaged last Sunday, the Yankees took occasion to send out a raiding party of their superfluous numbers. A party of several hundred came here about three o'clock in the afternoon. They knew that the cars containing the wounded from the battle-field would be here. The cars arrived, and were immediately surrounded and the soldiers paroled. The ladies all the while were in the cars administering comfort to the wounded. They remained about three hours, took off every horse they could find, and every servant that they could induce to go, which was very few, and then rode off without burning the houses or offering other injury to the villagers. They belonged to Stoneman's command. They went over this county, Goochland, Louisa, and a part of Fluvanna, without molestation. They became alarmed, however, and cut their career short. They went to Columbia for the purpose of destroying the canal, but in their haste did it very little injury. The injury to the railroads was slight, and easily repaired. To individuals they did some mischief; at W. they fed four hundred horses at my brother's barn, took his buggy horse, and rode off. His neighbours, and others in their route, fared very much in the same way. In Richmond the excitement was terrible. The alarm-bell pealed out its startling notes; citizens were armed, and sent out to man the batteries; extemporaneous cavalry companies were formed and sent out; women were seen crying and wringing their hands on the streets; wild rumours were afloat; but it all ended in the raiders not attempting to get to the Richmond batteries, and the city in a few hours became perfectly quiet.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 209-11

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 5, 1864

Tom Ferguson walked home with me. He told me of Colonel Dahlgren's¹ death and the horrid memoranda found in his pocket. He came with secret orders to destroy this devoted city, hang the President and his Cabinet, and burn the town! Fitzhugh Lee was proud that the Ninth Virginia captured him.

Found Mrs. Semmes covering her lettuces and radishes as calmly as if Yankee raiders were a myth. While “Beast'” Butler holds Fortress Monroe he will make things lively for us. On the alert must we be now.

_______________

¹ Colonel Ulric Dahlgren was a son of the noted Admiral, John H. Dahlgren, who, in July, 1863, had been placed in command of the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron and conducted the naval operations against Charleston, between July 10 and September 7, 1863. Colonel Dahlgren distinguished himself at Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg. The raid in which he lost his life on March 4, 1864, was planned by himself and General Kilpatrick.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 294

Major-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, May 25, 1863

May 25, 1863.

My dear sister:

I received your letter of the 19th instant last night. Everything remains as it did when I last wrote, and will probably for some time to come. We are discharging at the rate of two or three regiments a day, and no reinforcements.

I am well satisfied with the part my corps took in the late actions, and I believe all men are of the same way of thinking. At first I believed that an effort would be made to throw the blame of a failure on this corps, but it has been given up, if ever entertained. I have many letters from persons whom I did not know, and more from my friends, congratulating me upon the part we took. One was from Mr. Horatio Ames (who I suppose is our Falls Village friend), a long and flattering one, which I have not answered. I wish you would write a note to the Litchfield paper to send my copy here, “Army of Potomac.” It goes now to Old Point. I was reminded of this by receiving two copies yesterday of about a month old.

My old division is getting up a testimonial for me. They have raised seventeen hundred dollars, and I hear the testimonial is to consist of a horse and equipments complete, sword, etc. The sword they have sent to Paris for, and costs one thousand dollars. The presentation is expected now to come off about the 10th of next month. You may hear more about that time. Write often.

With much love,

Your affectionate brother,

J. s.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 129-30

Major-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, May 15, 1863

May 15, 1863.

My dear sister:

I received yours of the 11th instant yesterday. Captain Halsted wrote you last night a description of the crossing and recrossing of the river. I wrote you that I apprehended the General would attempt to throw an undue share of the failure on the 6th Corps. The pressure was too great for him to attempt it. We have received nothing but congratulations for the heroic conduct of the soldiers, and credit for some skill in handling. What future operations are to be, no one here knows. We are discharging at the rate of one thousand men a day, and by the 15th of June will have discharged thirty thousand men. I presume they know in Washington where the reinforcements are to come from.

I cannot see when I shall be at home, unless something should turn up. I cannot anticipate now. There must be some change. I hope it may be such an one as will satisfy the army. With much love to all,

Your affectionate brother,

J. s.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 128-9

Major-General Joseph Hooker’s General Orders No. 49

GENERAL ORDERS No. 49.

HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,

Camp near Falmouth, Va., May 6, 1863.

The major-general commanding tenders to this army his congratulations on its achievements of the last seven days. If it has not accomplished all that was expected, the reasons are well known to the army. It is sufficient to say they were of a character not to be foreseen or prevented by human sagacity or resource.

In withdrawing from the south bank of the Rappahannock before delivering a general battle to our adversaries, the army has given renewed evidence of its confidence in itself and its fidelity to the principles it represents. In fighting at a disadvantage, we would have been recreant to our trust, to ourselves, our cause, and our country.

Profoundly loyal, and conscious of its strength, the Army of the Potomac will give or decline battle whenever its interest or honor may demand. It will also be the guardian of its own history and its own fame.

By our celerity and secrecy of movement, our advance and passage of the rivers were undisputed, and on our withdrawal not a rebel ventured to follow.

The events of the last week may swell with pride the heart of every officer and soldier of this army. We have added new luster to its former renown. We have made long marches, crossed rivers, surprised the enemy in his intrenchments, and whenever we have fought have inflicted heavier blows than we have received.

We have taken from the enemy 5,000 prisoners; captured and brought off seven pieces of artillery, fifteen colors; placed hors de combat 18,000 of his chosen troops; destroyed his depots filled with vast amounts of stores; deranged his communications; captured prisoners within the fortifications of his capital, and filled his country with fear and consternation.

We have no other regret than that caused by the loss of our brave companions, and in this we are consoled by the conviction that they have fallen in the holiest cause ever submitted to the arbitrament of battle.

By command of Major-General Hooker.

 S. WILLIAMS,

 Assistant Adjutant-General.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 25, Part 1 (Serial No. 39), p. 171

Captain Richard F. Halstead to Miss Sedgwick, May 13, 1863

Headquarters 6th Corps,

Camp Near White Oak Church,

May 13, 1863.

My dear Miss Sedgwick:

The General has just informed me that you were quite anxious to learn some of the particulars of our late movement on the other side of the Rappahannock, and asked me if I would like to make the attempt to give you an idea of what the 6th Corps had done. I am sure that I feel a great pleasure in doing anything I can to give you all that I know, but I am also sure that, however hearty my efforts may be, I shall fall far short of reality, very far short, I fear, of making the matter interesting. It requires one of two things to be able to do this well, neither of which do I possess, namely, long experience or genius. I am neither a Russell nor a Smalley. Do you remember the latter's remarkable description of the battle of Antietam, published in the “Tribune,” and so very extensively copied?

When this late campaign began the General — I mean your brother — had quite a little army under his command. General Hooker sent about four corps to cross the river at United States Ford, leaving the General in command of three corps, the 1st, 3rd, and his own, amounting to about fifty thousand men. The general plan was that we, i.e., these three corps under the General, should make a strong demonstration just below Fredericksburg, at and below the place where Franklin made his crossing under Burnside, while Hooker was to make the main attack, if possible, on their rear and left flank. Our action depended entirely on the movements of the enemy. He might force us to convert our feigned attack into a real one, and for this reason a strong force was left here. The previous movements of our cavalry under Stoneman were, as you will have already learned from the newspapers, to prepare for the total defeat of the army under Lee by cutting or interrupting his communications.

It was, I think, on the 28th of April (dates have been so confused in my mind lately that I shall have to trust to you to make obvious corrections) that the order — the final order — to move came to us. Generals Sickles (3rd Corps) and Reynolds (1st) were to report to the General. It was a dismally rainy day. One large brigade, known as the “Light Division,” was sent to the pontoon train to carry the boats about two miles to the bank of the river, a most fatiguing and, some of us thought, a very unnecessary proceeding.

The ground on this side of the river is for about a third of a mile a perfect flat, evidently an old water bottom. Then comes a range of low hills, cut here and there by ravines — just the ground in and by which to conceal large numbers of men. Behind and quite near were woods, in and behind which the corps encamped the first night. The pontoon train was moved up as far by the teams as was safe from observation by the enemy. Luckily there was something of a fog, which increased as night came on. At eleven P.M. the men detailed for the purpose were to begin carrying the pontoons to the place of crossing. At a given point other men from General Brooks's division (the 1st of our corps) were to meet the boats in parties of sixty to each boat, to cross the river and take possession of the opposite bank. I do not know how many men it required to carry each boat; it was so dark I could not see, although many times close to them. I should think not less than twenty-five. Poor devils! they had a hard task. The approach to the river was very slow. Before daylight about twenty boats had been placed in the water. Everything on the other side was perfectly quiet; nothing unusual was observed. The fog was quite dense, but before the boats began to arrive the enemy's pickets were occasionally heard talking among themselves or singing. The boats were carried with as little noise as possible, but the distance to the other side — about four hundred feet — was too small to prevent some noise being heard. At the last, however, it became useless to attempt a longer concealment of the mere noise. Then matters were rushed through with a will. All this time the dense fog continued. Finally, at the first dawn of light, the boats, about fifteen in number, I think, — I could not see them well enough to count them, — were manned by the engineer soldiers who were to row them and were filled by the designated troops, which were of General Russell's brigade, and, as nearly as possible, they all pushed off together. Not a sound was heard from the other side. Officers on our side and some in the boats were giving orders and directions in loud tones. The boats moved on in the dim light, and in a very few seconds faded away into faint, uncertain shadows. We could hear the oars, we could even hear the beaching of the boats on the opposite bank; the noise became a little fainter, and we felt sure that they must have landed; another moment of suspense, and then there shone out through the fog just one bright spark of fire, followed instantly by the report of a musket, and then succeeded a volley, a rattling volley, from about a regiment of men in the rifle-pits near the bank. But their firing was wild. The most of the bullets came whistling over the heads of the men on the bluff on this side, not less than fifty feet above the level of the water. Very few men in the boats were injured, one killed and eight wounded. After the, first volley by the enemy there was no further interference with our possession of the position occupied. The boats were at once brought back, refilled with men, and sent to the other side, until two brigades were on that bank. Then the work of constructing two bridges was at once begun. Artillery was posted on this side in such manner as to support the troops thrown over. The bridges being completed, the rest of General Brooks's division passed over and strengthened their position as soon as possible by means of rifle-pits.

Meanwhile General Reynolds, who was to effect a crossing about half a mile below, had been unsuccessful in making lodgment on the south bank. I think that it was not till the afternoon that he effected his purpose, with a loss considerably heavier than at the crossing of the 6th Corps. He also began to put himself in a position to hold the ground, and by his making rifle-pits finally drew upon himself the fire from a strong, well-posted battery within good range. To this fire our heavy batteries on this side replied, though without apparent effect, the distance being too great. General Reynolds lost a few men, less than half a dozen, I think, by this fire.

Having effected our lodgment on that side of the river, and finding that the enemy was disposed not to try to drive us back, General Hooker took from us the 3rd Corps, and the following day, if I remember rightly, ordered General Reynolds also to join him near Chancellorsville. This left the 6th Corps alone in its glory. Reynolds's bridges were taken up, and we awaited orders. These came to us so irregularly from defects in the telegraph that it was impossible to execute some of them. General Brooks's men had made themselves comfortable on the other side. His skirmishers were within little more than pistol-shot of those of the enemy. Their line of battle was distinctly visible in the line of the railroad, and the only disposition they had shown to be at all disagreeable was by a harmless artillery fire at intervals, entirely unprovoked on our part.

Lying thus in suspense, an order came to us to pursue the enemy on the Bowling Green Road (south from Fredericksburg), that they were flying, routed to Richmond. Then came another order to march to Chancellorsville, to unite with Hooker, crushing and destroying any force which we might find opposed to us. This was Saturday night. At about one o'clock A.M. the head of the column was in motion toward Fredericksburg. We had information from Butterfield, Hooker's Chief of Staff, that there were but three regiments in front of us, in the works on the heights. The road was bad for artillery, and our progress was slow. At daybreak the head of the column was halted at the entrance to the town, General Newton not wishing to run the risk of anything like a panic through a surprise. About sunrise the General and his staff came up to where the first troops were halted. There had been, I should have said, some skirmishing nearly all the way to the town, losses not large. A movement upon the enemy's works was at once ordered. The regiments sent up could not see a sign of a rebel. They were quite near the first line of works when they were saluted by a heavy musketry and artillery fire, and repulsed; i.e., they did not gain the works, but they remained on the ground, lying down, protected by a slight elevation. Immediately batteries were ordered into position to shell the works; but it was all, or nearly all, uphill work, and not much damage could have been done. All it did accomplish was to make the enemy keep his head out of sight. One or two of our regiments were sent into the town, to prevent anything like a surprise on our flank. We then found that our engineers had already commenced a bridge directly opposite the town, over which, as soon as completed, General Gibbon of the 2nd Corps was to march his division. An hour or so elapsed before his men came into the town, and then he reported to the General, who directed him to move to the right, to try to obtain a position that would command the works directly in front of us. General Gibbon moved his men up, crossed a canal in rear of the town, but found his further progress impeded by a second canal, over which there was no bridge or other means of crossing. The rifle-pits in front of him were also well manned, and his movements unsuccessful, as they were not made without loss. Finding this plan fail, as did also an attempt to make a similar attack on the left, in front of General Howe, commanding our 2nd Division, and for a similar reason, the General finally organized a strong attack at about the centre of the works. In front of this point — which, by the way, can scarcely be called a point, for it was not less than three to four hundred yards in extent — was a slope almost entirely free from obstructions, and therefore completely under the enemy's fire, both of artillery and infantry. Then came a sunken road, lined on each side by a stone wall about four feet high, thus forming a strong and effective covering for the defenders. Beyond this was a short but somewhat steep slope to the crest of the heights, in which were the batteries. All these works were commanded and protected by each other, so that the position was a very strong one. The storming columns were formed, partly in column and partly in line, and ordered to move up at double-quick without firing a shot. Our artillery was ordered to open the hottest kind of a fire the instant our storming party should move. This fire was directed from each flank, and kept up as long as possible with safety to our own men. General Howe was directed to move upon the position in front of him, on the extreme left, in conjunction with the attack at the centre. At last everything was arranged, and the storming party began at a given signal to move from the streets where the different regiments were formed. The artillery opened a tremendous fire. As soon as the head of the columns made their appearance on the long slope, the enemy's fire opened upon them very heavily, both from guns and infantry, and, with the exception of one regiment, the whole force moved on steadily, magnificently, without firing a shot, the men dropping like leaves in autumn. Their approach to the works seemed, from where we stood watching, terribly slow. Every second that the dreadful fire continued diminished the strength of the attacking party by scores. One portion of the force almost seemed to come to a halt just on the edge of the sunken road of which I spoke. It was a very anxious moment; but it was only a moment, for the very next saw our men climbing the steep slope beyond the road, directly in front of the batteries. One single color (that of the 6th Maine) never for one second faltered until the very crest of the heights was gained, and it became a sign of victory and a rallying-point for the men who had met more obstacles in their way. There were only a few of us gathered about the General at this moment, but a cheer, weak as it was, could not be refused. The entire line of the works on those fearful heights was gained. General Howe had watched his opportunity, and carried the rifle-pits and batteries in his front in a very spirited manner. General Gibbon, at the earliest moment, brought his men through the town to our support, following the approach we had made.

The enemy fled in large numbers from his works, leaving many dead and wounded, fifteen pieces of artillery, and a considerable number of small arms. Our loss was, I think, about one thousand. The three rebel regiments which Butterfield told us occupied the position were found to be, upon inquiry of prisoners, five brigades. We captured between three and four hundred men; but of the fifteen guns taken, there were unfortunately but nine sent in. The others were retaken on the following day. This was no fault of the 6th Corps, which, in order to execute the order received to march to join General Hooker, could spare not a man or horse to send in the guns. General Gibbon, whose division remained in the town, should have attended to the matter, and, indeed, if he could have foreseen the events of the following day would, no doubt, have brought in all captured property of any value.

The heights once gained, our force moved on very steadily to a line of hills still higher, and distant about half or three quarters of a mile. Our broken line was reformed, our batteries brought up, and everything prepared to move forward. Our line of march was the plank road leading from Fredericksburg nearly due west to Chancellorsville, where, as Hooker informed the General, we would find the enemy's right flank entirely exposed to our attack. We moved on cautiously, skirmishers well in the advance. The enemy had succeeded in carrying off a couple of guns, by means of which he caused us not a little annoyance. He would take advantage of every good position, which was by no means seldom, to throw a few shells at our advancing column. Then it became necessary to dislodge them, which could be done only by artillery, which had first to be brought into proper position to reply. Artillery cannot march across country as infantry can, prepared at any moment to deliver its fire. All this took time, valuable time. The ground was undulating, and here and there slightly wooded. We went on slowly but carefully, so as not to be drawn into any trap. At last we approached a wood which covered the whole of the ground over which we were to advance. There we met their infantry in force, and there we had a very hard fight. Some of our regiments were broken into the merest fragments. Our approach had been slow enough to allow them, the enemy, to bring up reinforcements from Banks's Ford, distant from our right flank only about a mile, and also from the force in front of Hooker. At all events, wherever it came from, the force was sufficient to check us effectively until night came on. Thus finished Sunday. At daybreak on the morning of Monday the General sent me in to see General Butterfield, to tell him the position we were in, and to try to get communication with General Hooker, then not more than five or six miles distant from us. If we could only crash through, if Hooker would only cooperate with us, all might be well. I heard all Butterfield had to say, and rode on, crossed the river, passed through Fredericksburg, and had gone about half a mile beyond the town when I found a very serious obstacle to my further progress, in the shape of quite a large force of the enemy coming from the southwest directly toward the town, thus placing themselves between the town and the rear of our corps. I was thus prevented from joining the General, and turned back to try to make my way to him by way of Banks's Ford, but getting astray, did not succeed until about eleven at night, so that of the operations of our corps on that day (Monday) I can give you only what I have heard from those who were on the ground. The General had early notice of the movement of the enemy upon his rear, and he quickly made the necessary preparation to meet an attack from that direction. After taking possession of the very heights we had captured, the evident intention of the enemy was to cut the corps off from its only remaining line of retreat, namely, Banks's Ford. For this purpose a very heavy force was led by General Lee in person from the position in front of Hooker around our left, to fall upon what he supposed would be our rear and right flank. But the General had already established a portion of the corps in a new line of battle facing to the rear, and although the attack made by Lee was, according to all the accounts of those who saw it, the most furious of the war, it was most gallantly met and repulsed by a far inferior force.

It has been estimated that the force which Lee brought in this attack was not less than twenty thousand. Even supposing the number to have been no more than twelve to thirteen thousand, it was brought to bear upon very little more than two brigades of ours — not more than six to seven thousand men. This attack took place late in the afternoon, and, like the action of the previous day, was brought to a close by night setting in. During the evening the corps was moved to a position near to the bridges which had been laid at Banks's Ford, and before daylight the whole command had recrossed the river, and the bridges were taken up, the crossing and removal of the bridges being effected under an annoying but harmless artillery fire.

Several men — I heard of two or three — died from mere exhaustion before the corps recrossed the river. The day had been very hot, and the night even was unseasonably warm. It is by no means a pleasant thing for us — of the 6th Corps, I mean—to look back at the results of our short campaign; to think of the will with which the troops went to their work, and the fruitless results. I say fruitless; just look at it. Here we are just where we started from; we have lost nearly five thousand men, and what have we gained? Nothing, surely, in our position. We took about fifteen hundred prisoners and fifteen guns minus six, and we inflicted upon the enemy a loss in killed and wounded certainly not less than that sustained by ourselves; it is estimated by every one as greater, for our artillery made sad havoc in their dense attacking masses on Monday afternoon.

How different everything might, nay, would have been, if we had had the cooperation of even a small part of the immense force with Fighting Joe Hooker! Why did he not keep Lee occupied so that he would not have dared to turn his back to Chancellorsville, to fall upon us? Or if, finding that he had so left him, why did he not know it and act accordingly; fall upon the rear of his column as it came down upon us? What was Hooker there for? To entrench himself, with six corps under his command, and expect and even order one single corps to march right through the enemy, to “crush and destroy,” were the words of his order to the General, “any force which might oppose itself to” our march? Would it not have been quite as reasonable an undertaking for him to have marched with his force to join us, say, upon the heights of Fredericksburg, which we could so easily have held? You never saw a more bitter set of men than we were when we saw the way things were going. I saw General Hooker myself on Monday afternoon. I took considerable trouble to see him, thinking it might be some satisfaction to him to communicate with some staff-officer of the General's; but when I told him of the hard fight the corps had had the previous day, he said, in a very disagreeable way, that he had heard of it, and then added: “There were very few troops in front of you, however.” My reply was very short, and I left him. And now look at the order he issues congratulating the army on its achievements:

"If it [the army] has not accomplished all that was expected, the reasons are well known to the army. It is sufficient to say they were of a character not to be foreseen or prevented by human sagacity or resource.” Indeed, the “reasons” are very well known to the army. And if he had not sufficient sagacity to meet and overcome greater obstacles than he found, the best thing he can do is to resign. He says: “We have taken from the enemy five thousand prisoners captured and brought off seven pieces of artillery,” etc., when the only artillery taken was by our corps, a command so disconnected from him that he wrote to the General: “You are too far for me to direct.” He says nothing of all the artillery which he lost; and the “splendid achievements” of which he boasts in a previous order are as yet quite unknown to us. If he had but left us either one of the two corps — the 1st or 3rd — which were under the General's command when we first began operations, we could have gone through anything. If the rest of the army had fought as this corps did, we should have been in Richmond before this time.

After we returned to our old camps, and the pickets had resumed their old positions on the banks of the river, the rebel pickets called out to ours, saying that none of our army could ever cross that river again except “the fellows who took those heights.”

General Hooker was at first disposed to make this corps the scapegoat for his failure, but he soon found that he stood alone in his estimate of what had really been accomplished by it. The army — so far as we could learn, the whole army — stood to endorse the General, and to uphold him even against Hooker. It has, take it all together, been a magnificent opportunity thrown away — such an one as we can scarcely ever hope to have again. At no time did Hooker have more than one single corps engaged. Two of the corps with him did not fire a shot. Corps commanders begged for permission to attack, but were kept back. Hooker seemed to have just lost his head entirely.

I wish I could tell you of the thousand incidents of our short campaign. One sees so much that it is impossible to remember. In such times one lives on excitement. Eating and drinking is too insignificant a matter to think about. As for sleep, a few minutes thrown in here and there seem to be quite sufficient for the needs of nature, although, of course, such a state of things cannot last many days.

One of our staff, a volunteer aide, Mr. Farrar of Maine, was captured. Lieutenant-Colonel Kent, our Inspector-General, was slightly wounded. These are our only accidents.

I am very respectfully yours,

R. F. Halsted.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 110-29

Major-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, May 6, 1863

May 6, 1863.

My dear sister:

Our campaign was very brief, but very unfortunate. I am perfectly satisfied with the part my corps took in it, and their conduct was admirable. All the success we had was obtained by this corps. Believe little that you see in the papers. There will be an effort to throw the blame for the failure on me, but it will not succeed. My friends here will do me justice.

One of my staff was wounded and one taken prisoner. Captain Halsted is all right. What the next move will be no one knows. I will write when a little settled.

J. S.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 92-3

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: September 10, 1863

CAMDEN, S. C. — It is a comfort to turn from small political jealousies to our grand battles — to Lee and Kirby Smith after Council and Convention squabbles. Lee has proved to be all that my husband prophesied of him when he was so unpopular and when Joe Johnston was the great god of war. The very sound of the word convention or council is wearisome. Not that I am quite ready for Richmond yet. We must look after home and plantation affairs, which we have sadly neglected. Heaven help my husband through the deep waters

The wedding of Miss Aiken, daughter of Governor Aiken, the largest slave-owner in South Carolina; Julia Rutledge, one of the bridesmaids; the place Flat Rock. We could not for a while imagine what Julia would do for a dress. My sister Kate remembered some muslin she had in the house for curtains, bought before the war, and laid aside as not needed now. The stuff was white and thin, a little coarse, but then we covered it with no end of beautiful lace. It made a charming dress, and how altogether lovely Julia looked in it! The night of the wedding it stormed as if the world were coming to an end — wind, rain, thunder, and lightning in an unlimited supply around the mountain cottage.

The bride had a duchesse dressing-table, muslin and lace; not one of the shifts of honest, war-driven poverty, but a millionaire's attempt at appearing economical, in the idea that that style was in better taste as placing the family more on the same plane with their less comfortable compatriots. A candle was left too near this light drapery and it took fire. Outside was lightning enough to fire the world; inside, the bridal chamber was ablaze, and there was wind enough to blow the house down the mountainside.

The English maid behaved heroically, and, with the aid of Mrs. Aiken's and Mrs. Mat Singleton's servants, put the fire out without disturbing the marriage ceremony, then being performed below. Everything in the bridal chamber was burned up except the bed, and that was a mass of cinders, soot, and flakes of charred and blackened wood.

At Kingsville I caught a glimpse of our army. Longstreet's corps was going West. God bless the gallant fellows! Not one man was intoxicated; not one rude word did I hear. It was a strange sight — one part of it. There were miles, apparently, of platform cars, soldiers rolled in their blankets, lying in rows, heads all covered, fast asleep. In their gray blankets, packed in regular order, they looked like swathed mummies. One man near where I sat was writing on his knee. He used his cap for a desk and he was seated on a rail. I watched him, wondering to whom that letter was to go — home, no doubt. Sore hearts for him there.

A feeling of awful depression laid hold of me. All these fine fellows were going to kill or be killed. Why? And a phrase got to beating about my head like an old song, “The Unreturning Brave.” When a knot of boyish, laughing, young creatures passed me, a queer thrill of sympathy shook me. Ah, I know how your home-folks feel, poor children! Once, last winter, persons came to us in Camden with such strange stories of Captain ——, Morgan's man; stories of his father, too; turf tales and murder, or, at least, how he killed people. He had been a tremendous favorite with my husband, who brought him in once, leading him by the hand. Afterward he said to me, “With these girls in the house we must be more cautious.” I agreed to be coldly polite to ——. “After all,” I said, “I barely know him.”

When he called afterward in Richmond I was very glad to see him, utterly forgetting that he was under a ban. We had a long, confidential talk. He told me of his wife and children; of his army career, and told Morgan stories. He grew more and more cordial and so did I. He thanked me for the kind reception given him in that house; told me I was a true friend of his, and related to me a scrape he was in which, if divulged, would ruin him, although he was innocent; but time would clear all things. He begged me not to repeat anything he had told me of his affairs, not even to Colonel Chesnut; which I promised promptly, and then he went away. I sat poking the fire thinking what a curiously interesting creature he was, this famous Captain, when the folding-doors slowly opened and Colonel Chesnut appeared. He had come home two hours ago from the War Office with a headache, and had been lying on the sofa behind that folding-door listening for mortal hours.

“So, this is your style of being ‘coldly polite,’” he said. Fancy my feelings. “Indeed, I had forgotten all about what they had said of him. The lies they told of him never once crossed my mind. He is a great deal cleverer, and, I dare say, just as good as those who malign him.”

Mattie Reedy (I knew her as a handsome girl in Washington several years ago) got tired of hearing Federals abusing John Morgan. One day they were worse than ever in their abuse and she grew restive. By way of putting a mark against the name of so rude a girl, the Yankee officer said, “What is your name?” “Write ‘Mattie Reedy’ now, but by the grace of God one day I hope to call myself the wife of John Morgan.” She did not know Morgan, but Morgan eventually heard the story; a good joke it was said to be. But he made it a point to find her out; and, as she was as pretty as she was patriotic, by the grace of God, she is now Mrs. Morgan! These timid Southern women under the guns can be brave enough.

Aunt Charlotte has told a story of my dear mother. They were up at Shelby, Ala., a white man's country, where negroes are not wanted. The ladies had with them several negroes belonging to my uncle at whose house they were staying in the owner's absence. One negro man who had married and dwelt in a cabin was for some cause particularly obnoxious to the neighborhood. My aunt and my mother, old-fashioned ladies, shrinking from everything outside their own door, knew nothing of all this. They occupied rooms on opposite sides of an open passage-way. Underneath, the house was open and unfinished. Suddenly, one night, my aunt heard a terrible noise — apparently as of a man running for his life, pursued by men and dogs, shouting, hallooing, barking. She had only time to lock herself in. Utterly cut off from her sister, she sat down, dumb with terror, when there began loud knocking at the door, with men swearing, dogs tearing round, sniffing, racing in and out of the passage and barking underneath the house like mad. Aunt Charlotte was sure she heard the panting of a negro as he ran into the house a few minutes before. What could have become of him? Where could he have hidden? The men shook the doors and windows, loudly threatening vengeance. My aunt pitied her feeble sister, cut off in the room across the passage. This fright might kill her!

The cursing and shouting continued unabated. A man's voice, in harshest accents, made itself heard above all: “Leave my house, you rascals!” said the voice. “If you are not gone in two seconds, I'll shoot!” There was a dead silence except for the noise of the dogs. Quickly the men slipped away. Once out of gunshot, they began to call their dogs. After it was all over my aunt crept across the passage. “Sister, what man was it scared them away?” My mother laughed aloud in her triumph, “I am the man,” she said.

“But where is John?” Out crept John from a corner of the room, where my mother had thrown some rubbish over him. “Lawd bless you, Miss Mary opened de do' for me and dey was right behind runnin' me —“ Aunt says mother was awfully proud of her prowess. And she showed some moral courage, too!

At the President's in Richmond once, General Lee was there, and Constance and Hetty Cary came in; also Miss Sanders and others. Constance Cary¹ was telling some war anecdotes, among them one of an attempt to get up a supper the night before at some high and mighty F. F. V.'s house, and of how several gentlefolks went into the kitchen to prepare something to eat by the light of one forlorn candle. One of the men in the party, not being of a useful temperament, turned up a tub and sat down upon it. Custis Lee, wishing also to rest, found nothing upon which to sit but a gridiron.

One remembrance I kept of the evening at the President's: General Lee bowing over the beautiful Miss Cary's hands in the passage outside. Miss ––– rose to have her part in the picture, and asked Mr. Davis to walk with her into the adjoining drawing-room. He seemed surprised, but rose stiffly, and, with a scowling brow, was led off. As they passed where Mrs. Davis sat, Miss –––, with all sail set, looked back and said: “Don't be jealous, Mrs. Davis; I have an important communication to make to the President.” Mrs. Davis's amusement resulted in a significant “Now! Did you ever?'”

During Stoneman's raid, on a Sunday I was in Mrs. Randolph's pew. The battle of Chancellorsville was also raging. The rattling of ammunition wagons, the tramp of soldiers, the everlasting slamming of those iron gates of the Capitol Square just opposite the church, made it hard to attend to the service.

Then began a scene calculated to make the stoutest heart quail. The sexton would walk quietly up the aisle to deliver messages to worshipers whose relatives had been brought in wounded, dying, or dead. Pale-faced people would then follow him out. Finally, the Rev. Mr. Minnegerode bent across the chancel-rail to the sexton for a few minutes, whispered with the sexton, and then disappeared. The assistant clergyman resumed the communion which Mr. Minnegerode had been administering. At the church door stood Mrs. Minnegerode, as tragically wretched and as wild-looking as ever Mrs. Siddons was. She managed to say to her husband, “Your son is at the station, dead!” When these agonized parents reached the station, however, it proved to be some one else's son who was dead — but a son all the same. Pale and wan came Mr. Minnegerode back to his place within the altar rails. After the sacred communion was over, some one asked him what it all meant, and he said: “Oh, it was not my son who was killed, but it came so near it aches me yet!”

At home I found L. Q. Washington, who stayed to dinner. I saw that he and my husband were intently preoccupied by some event which they did not see fit to communicate to me. Immediately after dinner my husband lent Mr. Washington one of his horses and they rode off together. I betook myself to my kind neighbors, the Pattons, for information. There I found Colonel Patton had gone, too. Mrs. Patton, however, knew all about the trouble. She said there was a raiding party within forty miles of us and no troops were in Richmond! They asked me to stay to tea — those kind ladies — and in some way we might learn what was going on. After tea we went out to the Capitol Square, Lawrence and three men-servants going along to protect us. They seemed to be mustering in citizens by the thousands. Company after company was being formed; then battalions, and then regiments. It was a wonderful sight to us, peering through the iron railing, watching them fall into ranks.

Then we went to the President's, finding the family at supper. We sat on the white marble steps, and General Elzey told me exactly how things stood and of our immediate danger. Pickets were coming in. Men were spurring to and from the door as fast as they could ride, bringing and carrying messages and orders. Calmly General Elzey discoursed upon our present weakness and our chances for aid. After a while Mrs. Davis came out and embraced me silently.

“It is dreadful,” I said. “The enemy is within forty miles of us — only forty!” “Who told you that tale?” said she, “They are within three miles of Richmond!” I went down on my knees like a stone. “You had better be quiet,” she said, “The President is ill. Women and children must not add to the trouble.” She asked me to stay all night, which I was thankful to do.

We sat up. Officers were coming and going; and we gave them what refreshment we could from a side table, kept constantly replenished. Finally, in the excitement, the constant state of activity and change of persons, we forgot the danger. Officers told us jolly stories and seemed in fine spirits, so we gradually took heart. There was not a moment's rest for any one. Mrs. Davis said something more amusing than ever: “We look like frightened women and children, don't we?”

Early next morning the President came down. He was still feeble and pale from illness. Custis Lee and my husband loaded their pistols, and the President drove off in Dr. Garnett's carriage, my husband and Custis Lee on horseback alongside him. By eight o'clock the troops from Petersburg came in, and the danger was over. The authorities will never strip Richmond of troops again. We had a narrow squeeze for it, but we escaped. It was a terrible night, although we made the best of it.

I was walking on Franklin Street when I met my husband. “Come with me to the War Office for a few minutes,” said he, “and then I will go home with you.” What could I do but go? He took me up a dark stairway, and then down a long, dark corridor, and he left me sitting in a window, saying he “would not be gone a second”; he was obliged to go into the Secretary of War's room. There I sat mortal hours. Men came to light the gas. From the first I put down my veil so that nobody might know me. Numbers of persons passed that I knew, but I scarcely felt respectable seated up there in that odd way, so I said not a word but looked out of the window. Judge Campbell slowly walked up and down with his hands behind his back — the saddest face I ever saw. He had jumped down in his patriotism from Judge of the Supreme Court, U. S. A., to be under-secretary of something or other — I do not know what — C. S. A. No wonder he was out of spirits that night!

Finally Judge Ould came; him I called, and he joined me at once, in no little amazement to find me there, and stayed with me until James Chesnut appeared. In point of fact, I sent him to look up that stray member of my family.

When my husband came he said: “Oh, Mr. Seddon and I got into an argument, and time slipped away! The truth is, I utterly forgot you were here.” When we were once more out in the street, he began: “Now, don't scold me, for there is bad news. Pemberton has been fighting the Yankees by brigades, and he has been beaten every time; and now Vicksburg must go!” I suppose that was his side of the argument with Seddon.

Once again I visited the War Office. I went with Mrs. Ould to see her husband at his office. We wanted to arrange a party on the river on the flag-of-truce boat, and to visit those beautiful places, Claremont and Brandon. My husband got into one of his “too careful” fits; said there was risk in it; and so he upset all our plans. Then I was to go up to John Rutherford's by the canal-boat. That, too, he vetoed “too risky,” as if anybody was going to trouble us!

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¹ Miss Constance Cary afterward married Burton Harrison and settled in New York where she became prominent socially and achieved reputation as a novelist.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 240-8

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: August 1, 1862

FLAT ROCK, N. C. — Being ill I left Mrs. McMahan's for Flat Rock.¹ It was very hot and disagreeable for an invalid in a boarding-house in that climate. The La Bordes and the McCord girls came part of the way with me.

The cars were crowded and a lame soldier had to stand, leaning on his crutches in the thoroughfare that runs between the seats. One of us gave him our seat. You may depend upon it there was no trouble in finding a seat for our party after that. Dr. La Borde quoted a classic anecdote. In some Greek assembly an old man was left standing. A Spartan gave him his seat. The Athenians cheered madly, though they had kept their seats. The comment was, “Lacedemonians practise virtue; Athenians know how to admire it.”

Nathan Davis happened accidentally to be at the station at Greenville. He took immediate charge of Molly and myself, for my party had dwindled to us two. He went with us to the hotel, sent for the landlord, told him who I was, secured good rooms for us, and saw that we were made comfortable in every way. At dinner I entered that immense dining-room alone, but I saw friends and acquaintances on every side. My first exploit was to repeat to Mrs. Ives Mrs. Pickens's blunder in taking a suspicious attitude toward men born at the North, and calling upon General Cooper to agree with her. Martha Levy explained the grave faces of my auditors by saying that Colonel Ives was a New Yorker. My distress was dire.

Louisa Hamilton was there. She told me that Captain George Cuthbert, with his arm in a sling from a wound by no means healed, was going to risk the shaking of a stagecoach; he was on his way to his cousin, William Cuthbert's, at Flat Rock. Now George Cuthbert is a type of the finest kind of Southern soldier. We can not make them any better than he is. Before the war I knew him; he traveled in Europe with my sister, Kate, and Mary Withers. At once I offered him a seat in the comfortable hack Nathan Davis had engaged for me.

Molly sat opposite to me, and often when I was tired held my feet in her lap. Captain Cuthbert's man sat with the driver. We had ample room. We were a dilapidated company. I was so ill I could barely sit up, and Captain Cuthbert could not use his right hand or arm at all. I had to draw his match, light his cigar, etc. He was very quiet, grateful, gentle, and, I was going to say, docile. He is a fiery soldier, one of those whose whole face becomes transfigured in battle, so one of his men told me, describing his way with his company. He does not blow his own trumpet, but I made him tell me the story of his duel with the Mercury's reporter. He seemed awfully ashamed of wasting time in such a scrape.

That night we stopped at a country house half-way toward our journey's end. There we met Mr. Charles Lowndes. Rawlins Lowndes, his son, is with Wade Hampton.

First we drove, by mistake, into Judge King's yard, our hackman mistaking the place for the hotel. Then we made Farmer's Hotel (as the seafaring men say).

Burnet Rhett, with his steed, was at the door; horse and man were caparisoned with as much red and gold artillery uniform as they could bear. He held his horse. The stirrups were Mexican, I believe; they looked like little sidesaddles. Seeing his friend and crony, George Cuthbert, alight and leave a veiled lady in the carriage, this handsome and undismayed young artillerist walked round and round the carriage, talked with the driver, looked in at the doors, and at the front. Suddenly I bethought me to raise my veil and satisfy his curiosity. Our eyes met, and I smiled. It was impossible to resist the comic disappointment on his face when a woman old enough to be George Cuthbert's mother, with the ravages of a year of gastric fever, almost fainting with fatigue, greeted his vision. He instantly mounted his gallant steed and pranced away to his fiancée. He is to marry the greatest heiress in the State, Miss Aiken. Then Captain Cuthbert told me his name.

At Kate's, I found Sally Rutledge, and then for weeks life was a blank; I remember nothing. The illness which had been creeping on for so long a time took me by the throat. At Greenville I had met many friends. I witnessed the wooing of Barny Heyward, once the husband of the lovely Lucy Izard, now a widower and a bon parti. He was there nursing Joe, his brother. So was the beautiful Henrietta Magruder Heyward, now a widow, for poor Joe died. There is something magnetic in Tatty Clinch's large and lustrous black eyes. No man has ever resisted their influence. She says her virgin heart has never beat one throb the faster for any mortal here below — until now, when it surrenders to Barny. Well, as I said, Joseph Heyward died, and rapidly did the bereaved beauty shake the dust of this poor Confederacy from her feet and plume her wings for flight across the water.

[Let me insert here now, much later, all I know of that brave spirit, George Cuthbert. While I was living in the winter of 1863 at the corner of Clay and Twelfth Streets in Richmond, he came to see me. Never did man enjoy life more. The Preston girls were staying at my house then, and it was very gay for the young soldiers who ran down from the army for a day or so. We had heard of him, as usual, gallantly facing odds at Sharpsburg.² And he asked if he should chance to be wounded would I have him brought to Clay Street.

He was shot at Chancellorsville,³ leading his men. The surgeon did not think him mortally wounded. He sent me a message that “he was coming at once to our house.” He knew he would soon get well there. Also that “I need not be alarmed; those Yankees could not kill me.” He asked one of his friends to write a letter to his mother. Afterward he said he had another letter to write, but that he wished to sleep first, he felt so exhausted. At his request they then turned his face away from the light and left him. When they came again to look at him, they found him dead. He had been dead for a long time. It was bitter cold; wounded men lost much blood and were weakened in that way; they lacked warm blankets and all comforts. Many died who might have been saved by one good hot drink or a few mouthfuls of nourishing food.

One of the generals said to me: “Fire and reckless courage like Captain Cuthbert's are contagious; such men in an army are invaluable; losses like this weakened us, indeed.” But I must not linger longer around the memory of the bravest of the brave — a true exemplar of our old regime, gallant, gay, unfortunate. — M. B. C]

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¹ Flat Rock was the summer resort of many cultured families from the low countries of the South before the war. Many attractive houses had been built there. It lies in the region which has since become famous as the Asheville region, and in which stands Biltmore.

² The battle of Sharpsburg, or Antietam, one of the bloodiest of the war, was fought in western Maryland, a few miles north of Harper's Ferry, on September 16 and 17, 1862, the Federals being under McClellan, and the Confederates under Lee.

³ The battle of Chancellorsville, where the losses on each side were more than ten thousand men, was fought about fifty miles northwest of Richmond on May 2, 3, and 4, 1863. The Confederates were under Lee and the Federals under Hooker. In this battle Stonewall Jackson was killed.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 210-4