Diary of Private Lewis C. Paxson: Friday, November 21, 1862

Baker and I were out prospecting; caught one muskrat; set two traps. I sent a letter and $2 for some books at St. Paul.

SOURCE: Lewis C. Paxson, Diary of Lewis C. Paxson: Stockton, N.J., 1862-1865, p. 9

Diary of Lucy Larcom, December 25, 1860

Christmas, 1860. Two or three books I have read lately. Mrs. Jameson's "Legends of the Madonna" is full of that fine appreciation of the deepest beauty, even in the imperfect creations of art, where the creation had in it the breath of spirit life, so peculiar to this gifted woman.

If I were going to travel in Europe, I should want, next to a large historical knowledge, an intimate acquaintance with the writings of Mrs. Jameson, to appreciate the treasures of medieval art.

Whittier's "Home Ballads," dear for friendship's sake, though not directly a gift from him, as were some of the former volumes. I wonder if that is what makes me like the songs in the "Panorama," some of them better than anything in this new volume, although I know that this is more perfect as poetry. I doubt if he will ever write anything that I shall like so well as the "Summer by the Lakeside," in that volume: it is so full of my first acquaintance with the mountains, and the ripening of my acquaintance with him, my poet-friend. How many blessings that friendship has brought me! among them, a glimpse into a true home, a realizing of such brotherly and sisterly love as is seldom seen outside of books, and best of all, the friendship of dear Lizzie, his sole home-flower, the meek lily blossom that cheers and beautifies his life. Heaven spare them long to each other, and their friendship to me!

But the "Ballads are full of beauty and of a strong and steady trust, which grows more firmly into his character and poetry, as the years pass over him. "My Psalm," with its reality, its earnest depth of feeling, makes other like poems, Longfellow's "Psalm of Life," for instance, seem weak and affected. I like, too, the keenness and kindness of the Whitefield poem, in which he has preserved the memory of a Sabbath evening walk I took with him.

Dr. Croswell's poems contain many possibilities of poetry, and some realities; but there always seems to me a close air, as if the church windows were shut, in reading anything written by a devout Episcopalian. Still, there was true Christianity in the man, and it is also in the book.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 79-81

Diary of Private John C. West, Sunday, April 19, 1863

I rested well last night but had the most hideous dreams all night; Mrs. Brownnigg came in early this morning and asked me into her room; I went and found the fire very comfortable; the doctor came to see me and seems to think I am all right now, but must be careful about my diet; says some good brandy is exactly what I need to recruit on; so I missed it by leaving mine at home. Major Holman called to see me this morning; says he will see my transportation fixed all right; offers relief from the loss of my pocketbook; the doctor does likewise; Mrs. Brownnigg offers me money also. I ate nice toast and drank genuine coffee for breakfast; had chicken soup for dinner; spent most of the day in reading one of Bulwer's novels, entitled, "A Strange Story"; have read fifty or sixty pages, but am not much interested yet. My intention now is to leave here so as to remain at Alexandria the shortest time possible. I learn to-day that Mr. A, my hotel landlord, is tired of soldiers, especially sick ones, and grumbles terribly when one gets out of money at his hotel. If this is true, he is not a true man. I would rather be under obligations to the devil.

Little Bettie Brownnigg is quite a nice girl. Hallie Bacon, several years younger, is in a fair way to be spoiled. There is a young lady, Miss Nora Gregg, staying with Mrs. Brownnigg; she seems to be a clever good girl and is finishing my sock, which wife expected Miss Nannie Norton, of Richmond, Va., to knit for me; she has knit thirty pairs of socks in the last two months; she has a most magnificent suit of soft brown hair.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 19-20

Diary of Private John C. West, Wednesday, April 22, 1863

Got up this morning feeling pretty well and concluded to leave to-morrow; went up town and mailed a letter to my wife; saw Dr. Johnson and got a certificate from him accounting for my delay, and a mixture of chalk and laudanum to take on the road; had a long talk with the doctor and Rev. Mr. Wilson about the Downs and Sparks, citizens of Waco; the doctor refused to charge me anything. I borrowed seventy-five dollars from Major Holman and gave him my note. Have been reading Bulwer's “Strange Story" a good deal to-day. Mrs. Weir came in this evening and talked very kindly to me; wants me to stay longer, but I must go; every man ought to go. Witnessed a cock fight in the streets a few minutes ago and rather enjoyed it; wonder how my chickens come on at home, and what my dear wife and dear little Stark and Mary are doing now. Mrs. Bacon has just brought me a pocketbook, and she and Mrs. Brownnigg and Mrs. Weir have offered me money. Miss Gregg has brought me a toddy and I must drink it. Oh! these women!

"The world was sad, the garden was a wild,

 And man, the hermit, sighed till woman smiled."

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 22-3

Diary of Private John C. West, Thursday, April 23, 1863

Got up early this morning and read Bulwer's "Strange Story" until called to breakfast; after breakfast went to the cars and started to Shreveport; the track is laid for sixteen miles to Jonesville; we traveled over this at very good speed, jolting and swinging a good deal; at Jonesville we took a stage and dragged along for five miles very slowly, but after changing horses got on very well to Mrs. Eppe's, where we had the only nice meal I have found at any place on the road; reached Shreveport about 3:30 p. m.; stopped at the Veranda; went to the quartermaster and got transportation to Alexandria; went down to see the gunboat, Missouri, now being built. I do not understand technicalities well enough to describe her; she is about 120 feet long and the most solid, massive piece of work I ever saw, covered with railroad iron. I started out with Lieutenant Ochiltree to find a private boarding house; found one; don't know the name of the proprietress; charges two dollars per day; sent our baggage around; took a seat in front of quartermaster's office to look at the ladies passing, and other interesting sights; saw some really pretty ones and felt better for it; started home to supper and stopped to take a drink, saw a fight between a red-headed member of the Fourth Texas, from Navarro county, and a citizen of Shreveport; Fourth Texas was worsted and was carried off to the guard house; I went on to supper; after supper discovered a Baptist church on opposite side of the street lighted up; went over and found the minister and two men and four women holding prayer meeting; staid until the meeting closed and concluded that the Shreveport church was in a luke-warm condition; after church I stood in the street and heard a hopeful widow sing some very pretty songs; went back to my boarding house.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 23-4

Diary of Private John C. West, Monday, April 27, 1863

After the stage arrived on yesterday evening, I learned that it had come from only about fifty miles below and is not going to Alexandria any more, but is only going forty miles in that direction in order to bring up the stock, etc., on the line. The rumor is that the Federals are in possession of Alexandria; all the troops are retreating in this direction.

I have spent a very disagreeable day; it has been raining all day and kept me confined to the house; I am in a quandary; don't know what to do or where to go; am staying at a Frenchman's house at two dollars and a half per day; have no friend or acquaintance to consult and am utterly at a loss whether to go back to Shreveport or to make an effort to go forward; am afraid to try the latter plan for fear of getting out of money too far from home; think I shall start back to-morrow night.

Read Lycidas' "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso" to-day, and a few chapters in "Old Mortality;" one of the longest and most disagreeable days I ever spent in my life; O, for peace and a quiet day with my dear wife and little darlings.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 26-7

Diary of Private John C. West, Tuesday, April 28, 1863

Have spent another long and weary day and suffered all that is incident to a position of suspense and uncertainty; cannot tell what may await me yet, but thus far in the last three days have spent the most disagreeable period of my life. Read "Old Mortality" awhile this morning; walked up town; saw a good many drunken officers and a great deal of drinking; saw a game of billiards on a table without pockets; sixty points instead of one hundred make a game; came to my boarding house and read "Old Mortality" and tried to take a nap, but was too nervous to sleep. The stage from Mansfield has just arrived; I trust it will take a regular trip back and start early; anything to get out of this dead, still state of uncertainty; I would rather go into battle to-morrow than to remain in this position; it gives me too much time to think of home; there is no happiness in this. My French landlady mended my suspenders and made me a cup of coffee this afternoon; she seems to be a kind-hearted creature. We have just had a shower of rain and there is a most beautiful rainbow in the east.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 27-8

Congressman Horace Mann to E. W. Clap, January 5, 1851

WASHINGTON, Jan. 5, 1851.

To E. W. CLAP, Walpole, Mass.

MY DEAR SIR, — . . . After a week of factious opposition, we have at last, this morning, passed a vote, by a large majority, to do the handsome thing to Kossuth. The South and the "Old Hunkers" have been in a tight place." How could they vote to honor one fugitive from slavery, and chain and send back another? If an Austrian "commissioner" should issue his warrant for Kossuth, and he should kill the marshal, would he, like the Christiana rioters, be guilty of treason?

You see my book* has been prosecuted, in the name of the publishers, for libel. If the greater the truth, the greater the libel, the book must plead guilty. Regards to you all.

As ever, very truly yours,

HORACE MANN.

_______________

* "Of Antislavery Documents and Speeches," which is to be republished with some additional matter.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 345

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, June 1, 1864

Scalding heat during forenoon; heavy showers follow. Water is running through camp like a flood. Prisoners reported missing, rations suspended; Rebels are making a stir on the outside.

Finished "Paradise Lost"; called on Harriman. He supplied us with Pollock's "ourse of Time." We had read this, but it is now more acceptable. In our view it is a work of more natural thought and imbibes less of the unnatural. Milton has soulstirring passages, alive with truth, significant expression and beautiful simplicity. Then he goes deeply into themes beyond most conceptions; we don't wish to not, unless this is "Paradise Lost." Confederacy when he said:

follow him, or cannot, have Did he mean the Southern

"Devils with devils damned firm concord hold."

Did he mean the North when he wrote:

"Men only disagree of creatures rational,

Though under hope of heavenly grace"

how they should save the Union?

The following lines express a truth in human experience:

"God proclaiming peace,

Yet men live in hatred, enmity and strife

Among themselves, and levy cruel wars

Wasting the earth, each other to destroy,

As if man had not hellish foes enough besides,

That day and night for his destruction wait."

Milton seems to have designed to impress the thought that man had hellish foes distinct from his race, awaiting his destruction, which originated through rebellious war in heaven. I think the causes of our troubles lie in our lack of knowledge and misconception of our social relations, wicked ambition, foolish pride, and that these lines better fit an earthly than a heavenly realm.

The usual monotony except an unusual amount of firing by sentry. Prisoners arrive daily from both our great armies. Men crowd near them to get news and hardtack; occasionally old friends meet. About half the camp draw raw meal; we are of that half this week; have the trouble of cooking it without salt or seasoning or wood, half the time. We stir it in water, bake it on plates held over a splinter fire with a stiff stick, or boil it into mush or dumplings, baking or boiling as long as fuel lasts.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 70-1

Diary of George Templeton Strong: January 5, 1860

With Ellie to the Artists’ “Reception” in Dodworth’s Rooms; a vast crowd. Discovered Mrs. D. C. Murray and Mrs. John Weeks, General Dix, Wenzler, Stone, Rossiter, Mrs. Field (commonly distinguished as “the murderess,” being mixed up a little with the Due de Praslin affair),¹ the Rev. Mr. Frothingham, Lewis Rutherfurd, and others. Many bad pictures on the walls, and some few good ones. Eastman Johnson and Charles Dix are making progress. Wenzler has a lovely portrait of one of Dr. Potts’s daughters. Stone’s portrait of my two little men was there, and people praised it—to me.

Monday the second was kept for New Year’s Day. It was a fine specimen of crisp frosty weather, with a serene sky and a cutting wind from the northwest. I set forth at eleven o’clock in my own particular hack, en grand seigneur, and effected more than twenty calls, beginning with Mrs. Samuel Whitlock in 37th Street. My lowest south latitude was Dr. Berrian’s and the Lydigs’. There were no incidents. Bishop Potter’s drawing-room was perhaps the dullest place I visited. The Bishop is always kindly and cordial, but nature has given him no organ for the secretion of the small talk appropriate to a five minutes’ call. He feels the deficiency and is nervous and uncomfortable. Very nice at Mrs. George F. Jones’s, and at Mrs. William Schermerhorn’s. At Mrs. Peter A. Schermerhorn’s, in University Place, I discovered the mamma and Miss Ellen, both very gracious. At Mrs. William Astor’s, Miss Ward (the granddaughter of the house; Sam Ward’s daughter by his first wife) talked of her friend Miss Annie Leavenworth. . . . Mrs. Edgar was charming in her little bit of a house, the “Petit Trianon.” Poor Mrs. Douglas Cruger seems growing old, is less vivacious and less garrulous. At Mrs. Serena Fearing’s I was honored with a revelation of the baby that was produced last summer.

Pleasant visit to Mrs. Christine Griffin, nee Kean—where little Miss Mary was looking her loveliest. That little creature will make havoc in society a year or two hence, when she "comes out.” She is very beautiful and seems full of life and intelligence. Mrs. Isaac Wright in Waverley Place, with her brood of four noble children rampaging about her, was good to see. . . .

Home at six, tired after a pleasant day’s work. We had a comfortable session at dinner with Dr. Peters and Mrs. Georgey Peters, Miss Annie Leavenworth, Miss Josephine Strong, Walter Cutting, Richard Hunt, Murray Hoffman, George C. Anthon, Jem Ruggles, and Jack Ehninger. Dinner was successful.

_______________

* Henry M. Field, brother of Cyrus W. and David Dudley Field, had married (May, I85i) Laure Desportes, who was innocently involved in the famous Choiseul-Praslin murder case in France. Rachel Field has told the story in All This and Heaven Too (1938).

SOURCE: Allan Nevins and Milton Halset Thomas, Editors, Diary of George Templeton Strong, Vol. 3, p. 2-3

Diary of George Templeton Strong: January 10, 1860

House of Representatives not yet organized, no Speaker elected and government at a deadlock. Members spend their time during the interval between the ballotings in speech-making about John Brown, fugitive slaves, Hinton Rowan Helper’s Impending Crisis, and the irrepressible nigger generally. That black but comely biped is becoming a bore to me. No doubt he is a man and a brother, but his monopoly of attention is detrimental to the rest of the family; and I don’t believe he cares much about having his wrongs redressed or his rights asserted. Our politicians are playing on Northern love of justice and a more or less morbid Northern philanthropy for their own selfish ends by putting themselves forward as Cuffee’s champion. But the South is so utterly barbaric and absurd that I’m constantly tempted to ally myself with Cheever and George Curtis.²

_______________

² The Rev. George B. Cheever, author of God Against Slavery (1857); George William Curtis, now attacking slavery in his speeches and writings.

SOURCE: Allan Nevins and Milton Halset Thomas, Editors, Diary of George Templeton Strong, Vol. 3, p. 3-4

Diary of Private Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Tuesday, February 17, 1863

Received twenty-four boxes, saddles, bridles, halters, etc. Sent to Camp. Got a detail and put them all in a house and locked them up. We took charge of the Clerk's Office to sleep in, tied our horses in Court Yard and got our forage from the farmers around. Secured boarding at Maj. Holden's, a clever gentleman and nice family; has one grown daughter, Miss Emma, a nice young lady. Remained here Wednesday, 18th-Monday, 23rd. During this time had nothing to do but write letters, visit MY GIRL THAT PAWS IVORY, and make acquaintances. Among them Miss Lou Hill I prize highest. We had prayer meeting and church. I purchased four books and left them with Miss Emma: Mormon's at Home, Pilgrim's Progress, Bayard Taylor's Travels and Bible Union Dictionary.

SOURCE: Ephraim Shelby Dodd, Diary of Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Member of Company D Terry's Texas Rangers, p. 8

Governor Rutherford B. Hayes to Charles Nordhoff, November 10, 1869

COLUMBUS, OHIO, November 10, 1869.

DEAR NORDHOFF: You are not the only "wretch" (I have adopted that good word from you) who harrows up the feelings of my wife by sending the Harper's picture of me. It has driven me into the photograph business and I am now jawing back in this way.

I want to send Walter "The President's Words" the book of Lincoln's wisdom, I named to you. How—by express or mail, and direction?

I have not seen Aunty Davis since your article on the Bible question. I fear she will think you have gone back on her hopes of you. I take the Bible side, largely because this war on the Good Book is in disguise a war on all free schools.

Sincerely,

R. B. HAYES.

CHARLES NORDHOFF.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 3, p. 70-1

Diary of Private William S. White, December 1861

Our Third and Fourth Detachments are camped for the winter at Land's End, under the command of Lieutenant John M. West, and supported by the Fourteenth Virginia Infantry, Colonel Hodges commanding. The third gun is stationed immediately on the James River where the Warwick empties into it, and the fourth gun one-and-a-half miles up the Warwick River, supported by Company "K," Fourteenth Virginia Infantry, Captain Claiborne, of Halifax county, Va., commanding. We have comfortable log cabins, built by our own men, with glass windows, plank floors, kitchen attached, etc., and our cuisine bears favorable comparison with home fare. Time does not hang very heavily on my hands, for I am now drilling a company of infantry from Halifax county, Captain Edward Young's, in artillery tactics, previous to their making a change into that branch of the service. Then we get up an occasional game of ball, or chess, or an old hare hunt, or send reformed Bob to the York River after oysters, we preferring the flavor of York River oysters to those of Warwick River.

Fortunately we have managed to scrape up quite a goodly number of books, and being in close communication with Richmond, we hear from our friends daily.

Soon the spring campaign will open, and then farewell to the quiet pleasures of "Rebel Hall," farewell to the old messmates, for many changes will take place upon the reorganization of our army during the spring. No more winters during the war will be spent as comfortably and carelessly as this[.] Soon it will be a struggle for life, and God only knows how it will all end.

My health has but little improved, but I had rather die in the army than live out.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 110

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 24, 1864

Another night cramped up on the cars; another night of painful nipping at napping amidst the roar, the heat and jogging of the train. Everybody wanted to lie down, but everybody was in the way; everybody wanted to straighten out, but no one could. Once in a while one lifts his aching legs over heads and bodies, or stands up to straighten them. Oh, the weary night, the sweat, the heated air of the car, wherein were jammed 80 men till no more could get in, with the doors closed. It is sickening to endure! Not a drop of water to cool thirst, not a moment of ease for weary bodies; no rest for aching heads; not an overdose of patience for one another. Morning came and we were still rolling on through the pine, the barren waste, the plantation, with its mansion aloof, and slave huts; the thatched roof shanty of poor white, and now and then halting at small stations "to feed the hoss."

Villages of any account are far apart. At all these places the negro is chief; Nig does the work, eats the poorest victuals, is an all around man. At every depot, every shed, wood pile and water tank, the darky "am de man." He engineers, fires, he brakes. This animal runs the Confederacy. Everything is very unlike our Northern routes, in wood, in field, in civilization. It appears to me like "Reducing the white man to the level of the negro “—indeed it does, Jeff!” These motley crowds, these black white faces, these white black faces, look like amalgamation, you conservators of an oligarchial, doomed institution upon which you seek to rear an oligarchy!

At 6 a. m. the whistle blows at Macon, Ga., and we stop. The doors open and a few slide to the ground to straighten out, to limber up and to try and get a drink; but few succeeded in getting out, however. A citizen told me the population of Macon was 20,500. It is located in a basin formed by sloping hills around it, near the Ocmulgee River. At 7:30 a. m. we start southward towards Americus about 70 miles south. The country is more thickly inhabited, is a richer region. Fort Valley is 30 miles south of Macon. Here were plenty of customers for anything we had to sell. Men came out with corn bread to exchange for wallets and it didn't take them long to "get shut on't"; both sexes, all colors, all grades. We were not the first load of "hyenas" that had gone down, so they did not come out to see the show, but wanted to know "Whar you'ns all from" and to traffic. It began to be hinted that we were not going to Americus, where the guard had told us our prisoners are; that it is a splendid camp, greensward, beautiful shade trees, nice tents and a right smart river, those that had "been thar a heep o' times with you'ns fellers." We had hoped that such might be our lot; but now everyone was wonderfully ignorant. When asked they would say, "can't tell you sar." At Oglethorpe I asked a citizen how far it was to Americus.

"Oh, right smart, I reckon; you'ns not going thar though."

"Where are we going?" I asked another.

"Oh, just down thar where all o' you'ns fellers goes."

"How far?"

"Right smart bit, I reckon."

"Well, how many miles?"

"Good bit, fo' mile, reckon—you'ns got any rings?"

"What place?"

"Andersonville, they call it I reckon."

"How do they fare?"

"Right good—don't know; die mighty fast, I har."

A gentleman of leisure said, "You bet they do.”

"It is a hard place, is it?"

"You will see all you want to see before long"

"Have shelter, of course?"

"Guess so-you'll see, pretty soon.”

Heaving a long sigh we cursed their blasted Confederacy and black infamous cause, then took it cool. In 30 minutes the train halted again. There was a newly built storehouse consisting of pine slabs set up on end, and appearances of a hastlily constructed military station. Preparations were made to disimbark. I looked out, saw but one house in the place, country looked barren, uninviting. About half a mile east was a large pen filled with men. At a glance I caught a view of thousands of prisoners; ragged, rusty blankets put up in all conceivable modes to break the blistering sun rays. It was a great mass of grim visages, a multitude of untold miseries. It reminded me first of a lately seared fallow, then a foul ulcer on the face of nature, then of a vast ant hill alive with thousands of degraded insects. The degradation that pervades the lowest and meanest beings in nature struck me as beneficent compared with the desperately barbarous conditions imposed upon the inmates of those roofless walls. Not a shed or a sheltering tree was in the place. Some whose senses were not benumbed, exclaimed, "My God that is the place, see the prisoners; they will not put us in there, there is no room! By this time men were getting off and straggling along the sandy road to the prison. About half way we halted to form and an officer on horseback met us heading a new guard. "Git into fo's thar," was the order. We moved to the right near the south side of the prison near Captain Wirz's headquarters, and formed into detachments of 270 in charge of sergeants. We were suffering from thirst, heat, hunger, fatigue. Presently the commandant of the prison with a lieutenant and sergeant came down the line. I asked to go to the creek and fill some canteens, pleading our suffering condition. In a passion, pistol in hand, the officer turned with a ferocious oath, putting the pistol to my nose saying, “I'll shoot you if you say dot again." Stepping back he yelled:

"If another man ask for water I shoot him."

To the left a poor fellow had squat in the ranks. This officer whom I found to be Captain Wirz, rushed upon him with an oath, kicking him severely and yelled savagely, "Standt up in ter ranks!"

The ground was covered with small bushes. While waiting some worked industriously pulling and packing in bundles to carry in for shelter. After two hours we started, but all were forced by bayonets to drop the bushes. As the column was pouring through the gate, a comrade said "Take a long breath North; it is the last free air we shall breath soon." Oh, how many lingering looks and despondent sighs were cast, as we were driven like brutes into a worse than brutish pen!

We entered the south gate. A narrow street runs nearly through the prison from east to west, the narrowest way. I had reached nearly midway when the column halted. Old prisoners gathered frantically about, begging for hardtack, or something else. The air was suffocating, the sights beheld are not to be described. The outside view was appalling; contact a thousand times more horrible!

On my right, as we entered, I saw men without a thread of clothing upon their dirty skeletons, some panting under old rags, or blankets raised above them. One was trying to raise himself; getting upon his hands and feet, his joints gave way; he pitched like a lifeless thing in a heap, uttering the most wailful cry I ever heard. Such things are frequent. The simile strikes me that they are like beings scarce conscious of life, moved by a low instinct, wallowing in the filth and garbage where they happen to be. On the left the scene was equally sickening. The ground for several yards from the gate was wet with excrement, diarrhoea being the disease wasting the bodies of men scarce able to move. Need I speak of the odor? Then the wounds of eight months were visible and disgusting! We dare not look around! At a halt we asked where are we to go? Why do they not take us on?

"You can't get no further; as much room here as anywhere,” said an Ohio man.

"For God's sake," I said to the anxious gazers that thronged around asking to be given something—"Give me just one hardtack," begged starved creatures—"stand back and give us a chance! We have no hardtack."

Finding a spot eight of us deposited our luggage and claimed it by right of [“]squatter sovereignty." Eight of us are so fortunate as to have five woolen blankets, our party consisting of Orderly Sergeant G. W. Mattison, Second Sergeant O. W. Burton, W. Boodger, Stephen Axtel, Waldo Pinchen, H. B. Griffith, Lloyd G, Thompson and myself. Here we took up our abode together. I obtained three sticks split from pine, saved at the time the stockade was opened, four and six feet long, upon which we erected three of the blankets in the form of a tent. For these I paid 50c, each.

Nothing of the rules and regulations of the prison were announced by the authorities, in consequence of which, I learned after, many a man lost his life by being shot. Soon after arriving I went to the stream to drink and wash. Being ignorant of the supposed existence of a dead line, and, to escape the crowd, I stepped over where it was supposed to be. Immediately I was caught by a man who drew me back shouting: "Come out, they will shoot you!" Looking up I saw the sentries, one on each side with their pieces fixed upon me. I then learned that the order was to shoot any man, without a word, who steps beyond the line, or where it should be. I was partly forced, by the crowding, into that vacancy, and partly tempted by the clear water which was pouring through the stockade a few feet to the west, the water in the stream appearing very filthy. With feelings of thankfulness towards the strangers who frightened that rule into me, I shall ever remember. I thought of the maxim in Seneca, "Let every man make the best of his lot," and prepare for the worst. So I determined to do what I could to inform new men of the danger at this point, for I soon learned that nearly every day, since new prisoners had been coming in, men had been shot at this place under the same circumstances.

After being settled Thompson and I took a stroll to find, if possible, a better place, without avail. Passing down the older settled and thickly crowded part where there are small dirt huts which were early erected, I observed a man sitting under an old tent with a book. This was unexpected. "Here is a book of poems," I said to Thompson, halting.

"Yes, sir, Milton's 'Paradise Lost," said he, handing it to me. He was an old prisoner from Rosecrans army, having wintered at Danville, Va., a prisoner since Chickamauga. He told us freely all he knew about our new world, appeared a perfect gentleman, manifested very friendly feeling, urged us to accept his book and call often. The mellow beam of a genial nature shone in his face. Although we did not learn his name that day, we felt him to be a friend. I had a paper, purchased at Augusta, having accounts of Johnston's run before Sherman, how one of Johnston's men cried, "General, we are marching too fast; we don't want to retreat, had rather fight." "We are not retreating, boys, we are only falling back so Sherman won't get round our flank," said Johnston, which I gave him.

The stockade is made from pine trees cut, from the prison ground, into 25 feet lengthts, feet of which is set into the ground, and the timbers are strongly pinned together. Until last winter this was primeval forest, heavily timbered with pine. The sentry boxes are six to eight rods apart near the top of the wall, each box having a roof, the platform being reached by stairs. The ground is said to contain 13 acres, including the lagoon of about two acres, which cannot be occupied except a few islands

in the midst. A small stream runs through from west to east. The water is nearly as black as the mud of its mirey banks, and tastes of it, and nearly divides the camp equally, both the north and south parts sloping towards it. There are some log huts built by the first prisoners when the stockade was opened, from the waste timber left on the ground. Now even the stumps have been dug up for wood. Two large tall pines are left standing in the southeast corner; otherwise there is not a green thing in sight. The dead line is a board laid and nailed on tops of posts, four feet high, about six yards from the stockade. There are two gates on the west side, north and south of the brook. Sinks are dug on the bank near the swamp on the east side, but not sufficient to accommodate a tenth part of the persons on the south side to which it alone is accessible; so the north edge of the swamp, parallel with the stream, is used for the same purpose. Just at dark two mule teams were driven with rations, to be delivered to sergeants in charge of detachments for distribution to their men. We get two ounces of bacon, a piece of corn bread 2x4 inches for one day. There are over 14,000 men here, mostly old prisoners from Belle Isle, Libby and Danville prisons. The bacon is so stale, that a light stroke from the finger knocks it to pieces, leaving the rind in the hand.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 55-60

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, May 25, 1864

The air is purified by rain during the night. At first dawn we go to the stream for a bath. Knowing the difficulty to keep clear of lice and dirt, we take the first precaution. Found plenty of the same opinion. Breakfast from our scanty lump of bread and lump of bacon. Roll call at 8 o'clock whereat Rebel sergeants attend. The purpose is to see if all are present. In the event of any being absent, the detachment is deprived of rations for the day whether the missing man appears or not. The bread is of course unsifted meal, mixed without leaven or seasoning, baked in creased cards two feet square. The cry of "raiders" awoke us last night. We were told by old prisoners yesterday, about gangs of thieves composed of brutal men who steal everything that they can use or sell to Rebels; and in some cases they brutally beat and kill. These organizations have grown rapidly since arrival of new prisoners, and act in concert in their nefarious practice. They boldly take blankets from over men's heads, pieces of clothing, anything that can be carried away, standing over men with clubs threatening to kill if they move. They are led by desperate characters said to have been bounty jumpers. They bear the name of raiders. Going among men of our company I found they had not realized their danger; some had lost boots, knapsack with contents, blankets, provisions and other things. In some parts, we hear of pocket picking, assaults with clubs, steel knuckles and knives. This happens every night; in some places at day, especially after new arrivals.

The rumor circulated last night that there was a plot to break out of prison on an extensive plan, has some weight and is the topic of the day. Near the gate an address is posted signed by Henri Wirz, captain commanding prison, saying the plot is discovered; he is fully apprised; warns all to abandon the design; that if any unusual movement is made, the camp will be immediately swept with grape and cannister from the artilery; that all must know what the effect will be on a field so thickly covered with men. Evidently the strictest vigilance is kept over us day and night as shown by the movements of the military posts from the outside.

Inquiring in reference to the matter, I learned that a large number of western men had formed a plan to undermine a section of the stockade from which point the artillery and other arms were most available, and had tunneled along the wall underground, having approached it from a tunnel from the interior with a view, at a given signal, when the wall is sufficiently weakened, to rush upon it with as much force as could be concentrated, push it down and sieze the guns while the Rebels are sleeping. It was a daring plot, easily discovered and defeated.

Thompson and I go in search of "Paradise Lost" to quaff from the Parnassian springs of Milton. After a long search, for we became bewildered in the crowds, we found our friend who welcomed us. After exchanging addresses and a glance with the mind's eye over his field of philosophy, we bore away the prize. Could that great author, Milton, have thought of a title more appropriate to the place into which the work of his genius has fallen? Foe without, foe within, robbery, murder, sickness, starvation, death, rottenness, brutality and degradation everywhere! Fumes of corruption greet our nostrils; the air is impregnated with morbific effluvium. It seems impossible that fearful epidemic can be stayed. A few weeks hence but few may be left to tell the tale of misery. The sacred realm of nature and its virgin purity have been invaded by the crushing power of tyranny and ravished by the cruel hand of false ambition. Where but lately the songs of happy birds rang from lofty pines through heavenly air, today we hear the groans of men in unrestrained agony. On the foul atmosphere is wafted the expiring breath of men wasted and wasting in their prime. Daily they sink as if their feet were planted on a thinly crusted marsh,

and, as they sink, there is nothing to which their hands can cling; no power can reach that would save, while around hisses the foe who madly thrust us into this worse than den of lions.

W. H. Harriman, Zanesville, Ohio, 15th U. S. Infantry, our new acquaintance, is a finely organized man, possessing a calm, genial nature, of sterling intelligence. He has patience, faith, hope, and enjoys their blessed fruits. He has a fine sense of things, takes a comprehensive view of the crisis, how results one way or another, will affect the interests of mankind. The right is clear to him; he has faith it will triumph; regrets that any doubt. His knowledge of things common to schools and men of thought, proves him of a reflective mind; his candor, brotherly conduct, render him a noble companion.

We are camped in the midst of Ohio boys belonging to the 7th cavalry. Thirteen were taken, only seven alive. One has a malignant sore on his arm caused by vaccination. It has eaten to the bone, nearly around the arm; gangrene is spreading. He is very poor; soon must die. (Note—June 13th, he died. He had a wife and comfortable possesions in Ohio.)

A sergeant of the same company is afflicted with scurvy in the feet. They are terribly swollen, nearly black, give almost unendurable pain; still he is kind, cheerfully sings for our diversion in the inimitable tone the western country boys have in their songs, "The Battle of Mill Spring," "Putting on Airs," etc., accompanied by his brother whose limb is contracted from the same disease. (Note—He became helpless, was carried to the hospital in a hopeless condition in June.)

I speak of this as a few incidents among hundreds all over the camp, illustrative of patient suffering of as noble young men as grace family households, under circumstances that have no parallel in affliction.

At 8 o'clock this evening a sentinel fired. Going to the vicinity I learned a man who came in today, knowing nothing of the dead lines, lay down near it, was shot in the side and borne away by friends.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 60-2

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 28, 1863

Newport News is a military post, and is of no importance in any other sense. There were no villages or cities here previous to the war. Now there are quite a number of temporary buildings, and barracks to accommodate 60,000 men. It is an ideal camping ground, lying on the north bank of Hampton Roads and inclining gently to the northeast. The soil is light sand, which absorbs the rain as fast as it falls and is never muddy. The Ninth Corps, composed of forty-eight regiments, is extended in a direct line along the beach, covering about two miles in length. Stringent rules have been adopted, which, if carried out, will greatly enhance the efficiency of the men in field operations. We are to have revielle at six, when every man must turn out to roll call; breakfast call at seven, when we fall in line, march to the cook's quarters and receive our allowance of "grub.” Immediately after breakfast we are marched to the creek, where every man is required to wash hands, face and neck. From eight to half-past, police duty, or cleaning up in front of tents; from eight-thirty to ten-thirty, company drill; from this time until noon, clean guns, brasses and do any little jobs we may have on hand; dinner at twelve; from one-thirty to two thirty, skirmish drill; from three to four, battalion drill, after which is dress parade; at eight-thirty, tattoo, or go to bed; at nine, taps, or lights out.

Saturday is set apart for washing and cleaning up generally. Sunday morning at eight o'clock is inspection of arms, and at two o'clock divine service.

Some of the boys think the regular routine is reversed in our case—fighting first and drill afterward. Poor fellows; I expect they will see fighting enough yet. I have not seen a newspaper since our arrival, and know as little of what is going on in the world as did Cruso on his desert island.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 34-5

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Monday, September 22, 1862

Knapsack drill to-day,—something new to me, though I am told it is to take place every Sunday morning when in camp. As we were not here yesterday, it was put off until to-day. We marched out to the drill ground with our knapsacks on, expecting to practice as usual, except that we were loaded that much heavier. As all our belongings were in our knapsacks, they were quite heavy. We formed in column by companies and were told to "unsling knapsacks." We all had to be coached, but we finally stood at attention with our knapsacks lying on the ground wide open before us. Then the colonel, the major and the captain of the company being inspected, marched along and with the tip of their swords poked over the contents, regardless of how precious they might be to us. And such a sight as they saw! Besides our extra underclothing, some clean and some unclean, there were Bibles, whiskey bottles, novels, packs of cards, love letters and photographs, revolvers and dirk knives, pen and ink, paper and envelopes and postage stamps, and an endless variety of odds and ends we had picked up in our travels.

As soon as the inspection was over with Company A, they were marched back to camp and so all along the line until Company B, the last of all, was reached. When we got back to camp some of the companies had been there long enough to get asleep. Nothing more was required of us, and we put in the time as we chose, provided always that we observed the camp regulations.

I may never have so good a chance, so I will try and explain some of the things we have learned to do and how we do it. Begin with roll-call. The orderly sergeant, Lew Holmes, has our names in a book, arranged in alphabetical order in one place, and in the order in which we march in another. If it is simply to see if we are all here, he sings out "Fall in for roll-call" and we get in line, with no regard to our proper places, and answer to our names as called from the alphabetical list. If for drill, "Fall in for drill!" and then we take our places with the tallest man at the right, and so on, till the last and shortest man is in place on the left. We are then in a single line, by company front. The orderly then points at the first man and says "One," which the man repeats. He then points to the second man and says "Two," which is also repeated. So it goes down the line, the one, two, being repeated, and each man being careful to remember whether he is odd or even. When that is done, and it is very quickly done, the orderly commands, "Right face!" The odd-numbered men simply swing on the left heel one quarter of the way around and stand fast. The even-numbered men do the same, and in addition step obliquely to the right of the odd-numbered man, bringing us in a double line and one step apart, which distance we must carefully keep, so that when the order "Front!" is given, we can, by reversing the movement of "Right face!" come to our places without crowding. When coming to a front, the line is not apt to be straight and the order "Right dress!" is given, when the man on the right stands fast and the one next to him puts himself squarely by his side. The next moves back or forth until he can just see the buttons on the coat of the second man to his right,—that is, with his head erect, he must look past one man and just see the buttons on the coat of the second man from him. That makes the line as straight as you can draw a string. "Left face!" is the same thing reversed. In marching, one has only to keep step with the one next in front of him. If this is done, the blame for irregular time all comes upon the file leaders, which are the two in front; they must keep step together. If Company B is going out to drill by itself it is now ready. If, however, the entire regiment is to drill together, as it has a few times, Company A marches out first, and as the rear passes where Company F is standing the latter falls in, close behind; and so each company, until Company B, which is the left of the line, and the last to go, falls in and fills up the line, Why the companies are arranged in the line as they are is a mystery I have so far failed to find out. From right to left they come in the following order: A, F, D, I, C, H, E, K, G and B. A is said to have the post of honor, because in marching by the right flank it is ahead, and meets danger first if there be any. Company B has the next most honorable position, because in marching by the left flank it is in the lead. There is a great advantage in being in the lead. On a march the files will open, more or less, and when a halt is ordered the company in the lead stops short. The other companies keep closing up the files, and by the time the ranks are closed "Attention!" may sound, and another start be made. The first company has had quite a breathing spell, while the last has had very little, if any. If I were to enlist again, I would try hard to get in Company A, for all the marching we have so far done has been by the right flank, Company A at the head and Company B bringing up the rear. When we reach the field we are generally broken up into companies, each company drilling in marching by the front, wheeling to the right and left, and finally coming together again before marching back to camp.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 34-6

Governor Rutherford B. Hayes to Sardis Birchard, January 18, 1869

COLUMBUS, January 18, 1869.

DEAR UNCLE:—I received yours enclosing draft for $551.68, proceeds of bond for which I am obliged.

We are all very well. The Legislature comes together in good feeling, and the past week has been an animated time, meeting friends, acquaintances, and strangers. Mr. Emmitt has placed two more statues in the rotunda which I suppose are really by Mead. They are about one-third life-size and very pretty.

The best book of the sort I have seen is "Personal Sketches of Grant" by Richardson, author of "Field, Dungeon, and Escape," which you have. I will bring it up when I come two or three weeks hence.

Sincerely,

R. B. HAYES.

S. BIRCHARD.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 3, p. 57

Diary of Malvina S. Waring, February 9, 1865

Finished Les Miserables, Victor Hugo's grand work. What munificence of power! What eloquence! What strength! How sublime even its absurdities! A waggish acquaintance of mine calls it Lee's miserables. I must write a little note to James Wood Davidson and thank him for this treat. He is ever kind to think of me when it comes to a literary tid-bit.

SOURCE: South Carolina State Committee United Daughters of the Confederacy, South Carolina Women in the Confederacy, Vol. 1, “A Confederate Girl's Diary,” p. 273