Diary of Sarah Morgan: Saturday, March 14, 1863, 5 o’clock P.M.

They are coming! The Yankees are coming at last! For four or five hours the sound of their cannon has assailed our ears. There! — that one shook my bed! Oh, they are coming! God grant us the victory! They are now within four miles of us, on the big road to Baton Rouge. On the road from town to Clinton, we have been fighting since daylight at Readbridge, and have been repulsed. Fifteen gunboats have passed Vicksburg, they say. It will be an awful fight. No matter! With God's help we'll conquer yet! Again! — the report comes nearer. Oh, they are coming! Coming to defeat, I pray God.

Only we seven women remain in the house. The General left this morning, to our unspeakable relief. They would hang him, we fear, if they should find him here. Mass' Gene has gone to his company; we are left alone here to meet them. If they will burn the house, they will have to burn me in it. For I cannot walk, and I know they shall not carry me. I'm resigned. If I should burn, I have friends and brothers enough to avenge me. Create such a consternation! Better than being thrown from a buggy — only I'd not survive to hear of it!

Letter from Lilly to-day has distressed me beyond measure. Starvation which threatened them seems actually at their door. With more money than they could use in ordinary times, they can find nothing to purchase. Not a scrap of meat in the house for a week. No pork, no potatoes, fresh meat obtained once as a favor, and poultry and flour articles unheard of. Besides that, Tiche crippled, and Margret very ill, while Liddy has run off to the Yankees. Heaven only knows what will become of them. The other day we were getting ready to go to them (Thursday) when the General disapproved of my running such a risk, saying he'd call it a d--- piece of nonsense, if I asked what he thought; so we remained. They will certainly starve soon enough without our help; and yet — I feel we should all be together still. That last superfluous word is the refrain of Gibbes's song that is ringing in my ears, and that I am chanting in a kind of ecstasy of excitement: —

“Then let the cannon boom as it will,

We’ll be gay and happy still!”

And we will be happy in spite of Yankee guns! Only — my dear This, That, and the Other, at Port Hudson, how I pray for your safety! God spare our brave soldiers, and lead them to victory! I write, touch my guitar, talk, pick lint, and pray so rapidly that it is hard to say which is my occupation. I sent Frank some lint the other day, and a bundle of it for Mr. Halsey is by me. Hope neither will need it! But to my work again!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 335-6

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: July 27, 1864

General Early has returned from Maryland, bringing horses, cattle, etc. While near Washington, the army burned Mr. Montgomery Blair's house, which I cannot persuade myself to regret, and spared the residence of his father, by order, it is said, of General Breckinridge. I know that General B. was right, but I think it required great forbearance, particularly in the soldiers, who have felt in their own persons and families the horrors of this cruel war of invasion. It seems to our human view that unless the war is severely felt by those in high authority, it will never cease. Hunter has just passed through the upper part of the Valley of Virginia, his pathway marked by fire and sword; and Sheridan has followed Early into Virginia, with no very gentle intent, I fear. I am glad that Maryland was spared as a general thing, particularly as our friends might have suffered with our foes, for it would have been difficult to discriminate; but I cannot avoid thinking that if other places, besides Governor Bradford's house and the town of Chambersburg, had been burnt, it would shorten the war. Yet God has said, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay;" and I hope that Christian principles will ever be observed by our commanders. There seems to be no touch of pity in the hearts of many of the Federal generals. Women and children are made homeless at midnight, and not allowed to save any thing, even their clothes. When houses are not burned, they are robbed of every thing which a rapacious soldiery may desire. The last barrel of flour, the last ham, is taken from store-rooms; and this is done, not in Virginia only; nor are Hunter, Sheridan, Kilpatrick, or Stoneman the only men who do it; but every State in the Confederacy has felt the heel of the despot. North and South Carolina have suffered on their eastern borders most severely; the same of Georgia and Florida. Alabama has had much to bear. The Mississippi country in Louisiana, Arkansas, and the State of Mississippi, has been ravaged and desolated; Tennessee has perhaps had more to bear than any of them. But poor old Virginia has been furrowed and scarred until her original likeness is gone. From the Potomac to the Roanoke, from the seaboard to the Kentucky boundary, including the downtrodden Eastern Shore, she could scarcely be recognized by her sons. Marked by a hundred battle-fields, and checkered by fortifications, almost every spot is classic ground. From the beginning she has acted her part nobly, and has already covered herself with glory; but when the war is over, where shall we find her old churches, where her noble homesteads, scenes of domestic comfort and generous hospitality? Either laid low by the firebrand, or desecrated and desolated. In the march of the army, or in the rapid evolutions of raiding parties, woe betide the houses which are found deserted! In many cases the men of the family having gone to the war, the women and children dare not stay; then the lawless are allowed to plunder. They seem to take the greatest delight in breaking up the most elegant or the most humble furniture, as the case may be; cut the portraits from the frames, split pianos in pieces, ruin libraries, in any way that suits their fancy; break doors from their hinges, and locks from the doors; cut the windows from the frames, and leave no pane of glass unbroken; carry off house-linen and carpets; the contents of the store-rooms and pantries, sugar, flour, vinegar, molasses, pickles, preserves, which cannot be eaten or carried off, are poured together in one general mass; the horses are of course taken from the stables; cattle and stock of all kinds driven off or shot in the woods and fields. Generally, indeed I believe always when the whole army is moving, inhabited houses are protected. To raiders such as Hunter and Co. is reserved the credit of committing such outrages in the presence of ladies — of taking their watches from their belts, their rings from their fingers, and their ear-rings from their ears; of searching their bureaux and wardrobes, and filling pockets and haversacks in their presence. Is it not then wonderful that soldiers whose families have suffered such things could be restrained when in a hostile country? It seems to me to show a marvellous degree of forbearance in the officers themselves, and of discipline in the troops.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 282-4

A Woman's Diary Of The Siege Of Vicksburg: April 28, 1863

I never understood before the full force of those questions — What shall we eat? what shall we drink? and wherewithal shall we be clothed? We have no prophet of the Lord at whose prayer the meal and oil will not waste. Such minute attention must be given the wardrobe to preserve it that I have learned to darn like an artist. Making shoes is now another accomplishment. Mine were in tatters. H–– came across a moth-eaten pair that he bought me, giving ten dollars, I think, and they fell into rags when I tried to wear them; but the soles were good, and that has helped me to shoes. A pair of old coat-sleeves saved — nothing is thrown away now — was in my trunk. I cut an exact pattern from my old shoes, laid it on the sleeves, and cut out thus good uppers and sewed them carefully; then soaked the soles and sewed the cloth to them. I am so proud of these home-made shoes, think I'll put them in a glass case when the war is over, as an heirloom. H–– says he has come to have an abiding faith that everything he needs to wear will come out of that trunk while the war lasts. It is like a fairy-casket. I have but a dozen pins remaining, so many I gave away. Every time these are used they are straightened and kept from rust. All these curious labors are performed while the shells are leisurely screaming through the air; but as long as we are out of range we don't worry. For many nights we have had but little sleep, because the Federal gun-boats have been running past the batteries. The uproar when this is happening is phenomenal. The first night the thundering artillery burst the bars of sleep, we thought it an attack by the river. To get into garments and rush upstairs was the work of a moment. From the upper gallery we have a fine view of the river, and soon a red glare lit up the scene and showed a small boat towing two large barges, gliding by. The Confederates had set fire to a house near the bank. Another night, eight boats ran by, throwing a shower of shot, and two burning houses made the river clear as day. One of the batteries has a remarkable gun they call “Whistling Dick,” because of the screeching, whistling sound it gives, and certainly it does sound like a tortured thing. Added to all this is the indescribable Confederate yell, which is a soul-harrowing sound to hear. I have gained respect for the mechanism of the human ear, which stands it all without injury. The streets are seldom quiet at night; even the dragging about of cannon makes a din in these echoing gullies. The other night we were on the gallery fill the last of the eight boats got by. Next day a friend said to H––, “It was a wonder you didn't have your heads taken off last night I passed and saw them stretched over the gallery, and grape-shot were whizzing up the street just on a level with you.” The double roar of batteries and boats was so great, we never noticed the whizzing. Yesterday the Cincinnati attempted to go by in daylight, but was disabled and sunk. It was a pitiful sight; we could not see the finale, though we saw her rendered helpless.

SOURCE: George W. Cable, “A Woman's Diary Of The Siege Of Vicksburg”, The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXX, No. 5, September 1885, p. 768-9

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: June 5, 1864

Our daughter-in-law, Mrs. Dr. –––, came from Charlottesville this evening. The regular communication being cut off, she went up to Lynchburg, taking that route to Richmond; but the Government having impressed the cars, she was obliged to take a freight-train, and was fortunate in finding a friend coming down in the same way, who acted as her escort. At Burkesville (shall I record it of a Virginia house of any degree ?) she was treated with such inhospitality, that she was compelled to pass the night in a car filled with bags of corn, which the gentlemen fixed so carefully as to give her almost a comfortable restingplace. When she returned from her unsuccessful application for quarters, one of the soldiers said to her, (she was the only lady in the company,) “Lady, where are you from?” “The Valley of Virginia,” was her reply. He instantly sprang up: “Boys, we must burn that house!” he exclaimed; “they won't take in this lady from the ‘Valley,’ where we have been treated so kindly.” Of course he had no idea of burning the house, though he seemed highly indignant. She came to us looking well after a three days' journey, having borne her difficulties with great cheerfulness.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 276

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, March 12, 1865

We remained in our bivouac all day, the boys putting in the time in mending their shoes and clothing. The Fifteenth Corps came in today. The engineers laid the pontoons across the river. Fayetteville is just across on the east bank of the river, and is at the head of navigation, ninety miles from Wilmington on the coast. A boat came up this morning from Wilmington. Our men did not burn much property in town, only the public buildings were fired.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 261

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Tuesday, November 18, 1862

A note just came from mother, telling me that the most awful Yankees were coming to burn Linwood and take Port Hudson, and so this evening I must walk down to the cars with a chair to rest in until they came, and must certainly be in Clinton to-night. Delightful arrangement! I wrote to ask if she knew that my legs were of no more service to me than to her? Dr. Dortch has again been murdering me . . . says perhaps I can stand by Sunday. If the Yankees come before —

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 289-90

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Monday, March 6, 1865

Pleasant weather. We started at 9 a. m., marched eight miles and went into bivouac near Bennettsville. We are marching through a fine country and have plenty of forage. There are no rebels in front of us at present. We are nearing the state line now between South Carolina and North Carolina, and our army has certainly made a wide path of desolation through the state.¹

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¹ In our march through South Carolina every man seemed to think that he had a free hand to burn any kind of property he could put the torch to. South Carolina paid the dearest penalty of any state in the Confederacy, considering the short time the Union army was in the state, and it was well that she should; for, if South Carolina had not been so persistent in going to war, there would have been no war for years to come. — A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 259

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Wednesday, March 8, 1865

We started at 9 a. m. and marched seventeen miles, going into camp for the night at Floral College, North Carolina. It rained all day and the roads became very muddy. The First Brigade on guard with the supply trains is in camp about six miles in the rear. We entered the state of North Carolina about 10 a. m. and received orders that there should be no burning of property; that any soldier caught in the act of starting a fire should be shot on the spot.¹

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¹ This was a proper order, for the war was about over, and the order was generally respected. — A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 260

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: March 19, 1862

Camp Hayes, Raleigh, Virginia. — Before breakfast. A lovely day. Captain Haven returned last night after an extensive scout; burned seven empty houses — occupants gone bushwhacking. Burned none with women in them.

About noon a gentleman rode up and inquired for the colonel commanding. He turned out to be Clifton W. Tayleure, a local editor, formerly of Baltimore American, lately of Richmond Enquirer. Left Richmond a week ago to avoid the draft. All between eighteen and forty-five to be drafted to fill up the old regiments; all between sixteen and eighteen and forty-five and fifty-five to be enrolled as home guards to protect the homes and guard the slaves. He is a South Carolinian by birth; lived there until he was fifteen; came North; has been a “local” in various cities since; has a family in Baltimore; went to Richmond to look after property in August last; couldn't get away before; got off by passes procured by good luck, etc., etc.; is a Union man by preference, principle, etc., etc. This is his story. He is about thirty-three years of age, of prepossessing appearance, intelligent and agreeable. Gives us interesting accounts of things in the Capital of Secession. Says the trades-people are anxious for peace — ready for the restoration of the old Union. He seems to be truthful. I shall give him a pass to General Cox there to be dealt with as the general sees fit. — Will he visit them (Colonel Jones and General Cox) and report himself, or will he hurry by?

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 212-3

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, February 9, 1865

We remained in camp until noon, when we moved forward again about ten miles and went into bivouac on the east bank of the Edisto river. The First Division waded the river to drive the rebels back so that the engineers with our corps could lay the pontoons for the corps to cross. The Fifteenth Corps crossed the river about a mile above. A great deal of property is being destroyed by our army on this raid. The familiar clouds of smoke are becoming more numerous every day, while out on the left we can count from ten to twenty of the red clouds in the heavens every night.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 251-2

Brigadier-General James Chesnut Jr., to Mary Boykin Chesnut, February 28, 1865

Camp Near Charlotte, February 28.

I thank you a thousand, thousand times for your kind letters. They are now my only earthly comfort, except the hope that all is not yet lost. We have been driven like a wild herd from our country. And it is not from a want of spirit in the people or soldiers, nor from want of energy and competency in our commanders. The restoration of Joe Johnston, it is hoped, will redound to the advantage of our cause and the reestablishment of our fortunes! I am still in not very agreeable circumstances. For the last four days completely water-bound.

I am informed that a detachment of Yankees were sent from Liberty Hill to Camden with a view to destroying all the houses, mills, and provisions about that place. No particulars have reached me. You know I expected the worst that could be done, and am fully prepared for any report which may be made.

It would be a happiness beyond expression to see you even for an hour. I have heard nothing from my poor old father. I fear I shall never see him again. Such is the fate of war. I do not complain. I have deliberately chosen my lot, and am prepared for any fate that awaits me. My care is for you, and I trust still in the good cause of my country and the justice and mercy of God.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 355-6

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Tuesday, January 10, 1865

Our division moved out to the front about five miles and went into camp again. We had to move because we had burned up all the fallen timber around our camp, while at the new camp we will have plenty. It rained quite hard this afternoon and then turned colder at night. The country through which we passed is on a dead level, and the plantations lie idle. All of the buildings and fences were burned by our armies operating in this part of the state before our arrival.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 246

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 21, 1862

Miriam and mother are going to Baton Rouge in a few hours, to see if anything can be saved from the general wreck. From the reports of the removal of the Penitentiary machinery, State Library, Washington Statue, etc., we presume that that part of the town yet standing is to be burnt like the rest. I think, though, that mother has delayed too long. However, I dreamed last night that we had saved a great deal, in trunks; and my dreams sometimes come true. Waking with that impression, I was surprised, a few hours after, to hear mother's sudden determination. But I also dreamed I was about to marry a Federal officer! That was in consequence of having answered the question, whether I would do so, with an emphatic “Yes! if I loved him,” which will probably ruin my reputation as a patriot in this parish. Bah! I am no bigot! — or fool either. . . .

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 184

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 17, 1862

Another Sunday. Strange that the time, which should seem so endless, flies so rapidly! Miriam complains that Sunday comes every day; but though that seems a little too much, I insist that it comes twice a week. Let time fly, though; for each day brings us so much nearer our destiny, which I long to know.

Thursday, we heard from a lady just from town that our house was standing the day before, which somewhat consoled us for the loss of our silver and clothing; but yesterday came the tidings of new afflictions. I declare we have acted out the first chapter of Job, all except that verse about the death of his sons and daughters. God shield us from that! I do not mind the rest. “While he was yet speaking, another came in and said, ‘Thy brethren and kinsmen gathered together to wrest thine abode from the hand of the Philistines which pressed sore upon thee; when lo! the Philistines sallied forth with fire and sword, and laid thine habitation waste and desolate, and I only am escaped to tell thee.’” Yes! the Yankees, fearing the Confederates might slip in unseen, resolved to have full view of their movements, so put the torch to all eastward, from Colonel Matta's to the Advocate. That would lay open a fine tract of country, alone; but unfortunately, it is said that once started, it was not so easy to control the flames, which spread considerably beyond their appointed limits. Some say it went as far as Florida Street; if so, we are lost, as that is a half-square below us. For several days the fire has been burning, but very little can be learned of the particulars. I am sorry for Colonel Matta. Such a fine brown stone front, the finest in town. Poor Minna! poverty will hardly agree with her. As for our home, I hope against hope. I will not believe it is burnt, until somebody declares having been present on that occasion. Yet so many frame houses on that square must have readily caught fire from the sparks.

Wicked as it may seem, I would rather have all I own burned, than in the possession of the negroes. Fancy my magenta organdie on a dark beauty! Bah! I think the sight would enrage me! Miss Jones's trials are enough to drive her crazy. She had the pleasure of having four officers in her house, men who sported epaulets and red sashes, accompanied by a negro woman, at whose disposal all articles were placed. The worthy companion of these “gentlemen” walked around selecting things with the most natural airs and graces. “This,” she would say, “we must have. And some of these books, you know; and all the preserves, and these chairs and tables, and all the clothes, of course; and yes! the rest of these things.” So she would go on, the “gentlemen” assuring her she had only to choose what she wanted, and that they would have them removed immediately. Madame thought they really must have the wine, and those handsome cut-glass goblets. I hardly think I could have endured such a scene; to see all I owned given to negroes, without even an accusation being brought against me of disloyalty.¹ One officer departed with a fine velvet cloak on his arm; another took such a bundle of Miss Jones's clothes, that he had to have it lifted by some one else on his horse, and rode off holding it with difficulty. This I heard from herself, yesterday, as I spent the day with Lilly and mother at Mr. Elder's, where she is now staying. Can anything more disgraceful be imagined? They all console me by saying there is no one in Baton Rouge who could possibly wear my dresses without adding a considerable piece to the belt. But that is nonsense. Another pull at the corset strings would bring them easily to the size I have been reduced by nature and bones. Besides, O horror! Suppose, instead, they should let in a piece of another color? That would annihilate me! Pshaw! I do not care for the dresses, if they had only left me those little articles of father's and Harry's. But that is hard to forgive.

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¹ The Act of July 16th, 1862, authorized the confiscation of property only in the cases of rebels whose disloyalty was established. — W. D.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 176-9

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 12, 1862

Linwood.

Another resting-place! Out of reach of shells for the first time since last April! For how long, I wonder? For wherever we go, we bring shells and Yankees. Would not be surprised at a visit from them out here, now!

Let me take up the thread of that never-ending story, and account for my present position. It all seems tame now; but it was very exciting at the time.

As soon as I threw down bonnet and gloves, I commenced writing; but before I had halfway finished, mother, who had been holding a consultation downstairs, ran up to say the overseer had advised us all to leave, as the place was not safe; and that I shall not soon forget them. Mr. Cain told mother he believed he would keep me; at all events, he would make an exchange, and give her his only son in my place. I told him I was willing, as mother thought much more of her sons than of her daughters.

I forgot to say that we met General Allen's partner a mile or two from Dr. Nolan's, who told us it was a wise move; that he had intended recommending it. All he owned had been carried off, his plantation stripped. He said he had no doubt that all the coast would be ravaged, and they had promised to burn his and many other houses; and Dr. Nolan's — though it might possibly be spared in consideration of his being a prisoner, and his daughter being unprotected — would most probably suffer with the rest, but even if spared, it was no place for women. He offered to take charge of us all, and send the furniture into the interior before the Yankees should land, which Phillie gladly accepted.

What a splendid rest I had at Mrs. Cain's! I was not conscious of being alive until I awaked abruptly in the early morning, with a confused sense of having dreamed something very pleasant.

Mr. Cain accompanied us to the ferry some miles above, riding by the buggy; and leaving us under care of Mr. Randallson, after seeing us in the large flat, took his leave. After an hour spent at the hotel after landing on this side, we procured a conveyance and came on to Mr. Elder's, where we astonished Lilly by our unexpected appearance very much. Miriam had gone over to spend the day with her, so we were all together, and talked over our adventures with the greatest glee. After dinner Miriam and I came over here to see them all, leaving the others to follow later. I was very glad to see Helen Carter once more. If I was not, I hope I may live in Yankee-land! — and I can't invoke a more dreadful punishment than that.

Well! here we are, and Heaven only knows our next move. But we must settle on some spot, which seems impossible in the present state of affairs, when no lodgings are to be found. I feel like a homeless beggar. Will Pinckney told them here that he doubted if our house were still standing, as the fight occurred just back of it, and every volley directed towards it. He says he thought of it every time the cannon was fired, knowing where the shot would go.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 170-4

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 11, 1862

At Randallson's Landing, August 11th.

I don't mean those ladies were, but that I am at present. I’ll account for it after I have disposed of the stampede. Imagine no interruption, and continue — in the carriage urging Uncle Will to hurry on, and I had hardly time to thrust my sack under their feet before they were off. Lilly and Miss Walters were already in the buggy, leaving Ginnie and me to follow on horseback. I ran up after my riding-skirt, which I was surprised to find behind a trunk, and rolled up in it was my running-bag, with all my treasures! I was very much provoked at my carelessness; indeed, I cannot imagine how it got there, for it was the first thing I thought of. When I got back, there was no one to be seen except Ginnie and two negroes who held our horses, and who disappeared the instant we were mounted; with the exception of two women who were running to the woods, we were the only ones on the lot, until Mr. Watson galloped up to urge us on. Again I had to notice this peculiarity about women — that the married ones are invariably the first to fly, in time of danger, and always leave the young ones to take care of themselves. Here were our three matrons, prophesying that the house would be burnt, the Yankees upon us, and all murdered in ten minutes, flying down the Guerrilla Lane, and leaving us to encounter the horrors they foretold, alone.

It was a splendid gallop in the bright moonlight, over the fields, only it was made uncomfortable by the jerking of my running-bag, until I happily thought of turning it before. A hard ride of four miles in about twenty minutes brought us to the house of the man who so kindly offered his hospitality. It was a little hut, about as large as our parlor, and already crowded to overflowing, as he was entertaining three families from Baton Rouge. Can't imagine where he put them, either. But it seems to me the poorer the man, and the smaller the house, the greater the hospitality you meet with. There were so many of us that there was not room on the balcony to turn. The man wanted to prepare supper, but we declined, as Phillie had sent back for ours which we had missed. I saw another instance of the pleasure the vulgar take in the horrible. A Mr. Hill, speaking of Dr. Nolan, told Phillie “he had no doubt he had been sent to New Orleans on the Whiteman, that carried General Williams's body; and that every soul had gone down on her.” Fortunately, just then the overseer brought a letter from him saying he had gone on another boat, or the man's relish of the distressing might have been gratified.

It was so crowded there that we soon suggested going a short distance beyond, to Mr. Lobdell's, and staying there for the night, as all strenuously objected to our returning home, as there was danger from prowling Yankees. So we mounted again, and after a short ride we reached the house, where all were evidently asleep. But necessity knows no rules; and the driver soon aroused an old gentleman who came out and invited us in. A middle-aged lady met us, and made us perfectly at home by leaving us to take care of ourselves; most people would have thought it indifference; but I knew it was manque de savoir faire, merely, and preferred doing as I pleased. If she had been officious, I would have been embarrassed. So we walked in the moonlight, Ginnie and I, while the rest sat in the shade, and all discussed the fun of the evening, those who had been most alarmed laughing loudest. The old gentleman insisted that we girls had been the cause of it all; that our white bodies (I wore a Russian shirt) and black skirts could easily have caused us to be mistaken for men. That, at all events, three or four people on horseback would be a sufficient pretext for firing a shell or two. “In short, young ladies,” he said, “there is no doubt in my mind that you were mistaken for guerrillas, and that they only wanted to give you time to reach the woods where they heard they have a camp, before shooting at you. In short, take my advice and never mount a horse again when there is a Yankee in sight.” We were highly gratified at being mistaken for them, and pretended to believe it was true. I hardly think he was right, though; it is too preposterous.

Pourtant, Sunday morning the Yankees told a negro they did not mean to touch the house, but were shooting at some guerrillas at a camp just beyond. We know the last guerrilla left the parish five days ago.

Our host insisted on giving us supper, though Phillie represented that ours was on the road; and by eleven o'clock, tired alike of moonlight and fasting, we gladly accepted, and rapidly made the preserves and batter-cakes fly. Ours was a garret room, well finished, abounding in odd closets and corners, with curious dormer windows that were reached by long little corridors. I should have slept well; but I lay awake all night. Mother and I occupied a narrow single bed, with a bar of the thickest, heaviest material imaginable. Suffocation awaited me inside, gnats and mosquitoes outside. In order to be strictly impartial, I lay awake to divide my time equally between the two attractions, and think I succeeded pretty well. So I spent the night on the extreme edge of the bed, never turning over, but fanning mother constantly. I was not sorry when daybreak appeared, but dressed and ascended the observatory to get a breath of air.

Below me, I beheld four wagons loaded with the young Mrs. Lobdell's baggage. The Yankees had visited them in the evening, swept off everything they could lay their hands on, and with a sick child she was obliged to leave her house in the night and fly to her father-in-law. I wondered at their allowing her four wagons of trunks and bundles; it was very kind. If I were a Federal, I think it would kill me to hear the whisper of “Hide the silver” wherever I came. Their having frequently relieved families of such trifles, along with negroes, teams, etc., has put others on their guard now. As I sat in the parlor in the early morning, Mrs. Walters en blouse volante and all échevelée, came in to tell me of Mr. Lobdell's misfortunes. “They took his negroes [right hand up]; his teams [left hand up]; his preserves [both hands clutching her hair]; they swept off everything, except four old women who could not walk! they told him if he didn't come report himself, they'd come fetch him in three days! They beggared him!” [Both eyes rolling like a ship in a storm.] I could not help laughing. Mr. Bird sat on the gallery, and had been served in the same way, with the addition of a pair of handcuffs for a little while. It was not a laughing matter; but the old lady made it comical by her gestures.

When we suggested returning, there was another difficulty. All said it was madness; that the Yankees would sack the house and burn it over our heads; we would be insulted, etc. I said no one yet had ever said an impudent thing to me, and Yankees certainly would not attempt it; but the old gentleman told me I did not know what I was talking about; so I hushed, but determined to return. Ginnie and I sat an hour on horseback waiting for the others to settle what they would do; and after having half-roasted ourselves in the sun, they finally agreed to go, too, and we set off in a gallop which we never broke until we reached the house, which to our great delight we found standing, and not infested with Yankees.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 165-70

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, December 3, 1864

We started off on our railroad destroying this morning at 7 o'clock. Our corps destroyed about ten miles of road, from Millen down to Station No. 70, where we went into camp for the night. The Fourteenth and Twentieth Corps are off on our left, destroying the railroad from Millen toward Augusta. At Millen there was located one of those hell-holes, a rebel prison, where the rebels kept about thirteen hundred of our men as prisoners. They rushed them off on the train for Charleston, South Carolina, just before our army arrived. I never saw a feed-yard looking so filthy and forsaken as this pen.¹ We burned everything here that a match would ignite.

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¹ The treatment which our soldiers received in the Confederate prisons is the one dark, damnable stain that the South of that time will always have to carry. The North can forgive, but it cannot forget. — A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 234

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: July 3, 1863

The scarcity of blank-books, and the very high prices, make them unattainable to me; therefore I have determined to begin another volume of my Diary on some nice wrapping-paper which I happen to have; and though not very pleasant to write on, yet it is one of the least of my privations.

We are still worried by reports that the Yankees are very near us, and we are constantly expecting them to raid upon Ashland. We have a good force at “The Junction,” and at the bridge just above us, which they may respect, as they are dreadfully afraid of our forces.

Spent yesterday in the hospital; the wounded are getting on well. The city was put into a blaze of excitement by the report that General Dix was marching on it from the White House. I dare say they think that General Lee has left it undefended, in which surmise they are vastly mistaken. Our troops seem to be walking over Pennsylvania without let or hindrance. They have taken possession of Chambersburg, Carlisle, and other smaller towns. They surrendered without firing a gun. I am glad to see that General Lee orders his soldiers to respect private property; but it will be difficult to make an incensed soldiery, whose houses have in many instances been burned, crops wantonly destroyed, horses stolen, negroes persuaded off, hogs and sheep shot down and left in the field in warm weather — it will be difficult to make such sufferers remember the Christian precept of returning good for evil. The soldiers in the hospital seem to think that many a private torch will be applied “just for revenge.” It was in vain that I quoted to them, “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” One stoutly maintained that he would like to go North “just to burn two good houses: one in return for my own house on Mississippi River; the other for that of my brother-in-law, both of which they burned just after landing from their boat, with no pretence at an excuse for it; and when I think of my wife and children homeless, I feel as if I could set all Yankeedom in a blaze.” Poor fellow! he became so excited that he arose in his bed, as if impatient to be off and at his work of vengeance. I am glad to hear that quantities of horses and fat cattle are driven into Virginia.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 225-6

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: June 7, 1863

We are living in fear of a Yankee raid. They have a large force on York River, and are continually sending parties up the Pamunky and Mattapony Rivers, to devastate the country and annoy the inhabitants. Not long ago a party rode to the house of a gentleman on Mattapony; meeting him on the lawn, the commander accosted him: “Mr. R., I understand you have the finest horses in King William County?” “Perhaps, sir, I have,” replied Mr. R. “Well, sir,” said the officer, “I want those horses immediately.” “They are not yours,” replied Mr. R, “and you can't get them.” The officer began to curse, and said he would burn every house on the place if the horses were not produced. Suiting the action to the word, he handed a box of matches to a subordinate, saying, “Burn!” In half an hour Mr. R. saw fourteen of his houses in a light blaze, including the dwelling, the kitchen, corn-houses and barn filled with grain, meat-house filled with meat, and servants' houses. Scarcely any thing was saved, not even the family clothes. But he did not get the horses, which were the objects of his peculiar wishes; the faithful servants had carried them away to a place of safety. How strange it is that we can be so calm, surrounded as we are by danger!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 222

Diary of Sarah Morgan: July 10, 1862

A proclamation is out announcing that any one talking about the war, or present state of affairs, will be “summarily” dealt with. Now, seems to me “summarily” is not exactly the word they mean, but still it has an imposing effect. What a sad state their affairs must be in, if they can't bear comment. An officer arrived day before yesterday, bringing the surprising intelligence that McClellan had captured Richmond and fifty thousand prisoners; that is the time they talked. But when we received yesterday confirmation of his being finally defeated by our troops, and the capture of his railroad train twelve miles in length, they forbid further mention of the subject. I wonder if they expect to be obeyed? What a stretch of tyranny! O free America! You who uphold free people, free speech, free everything, what a foul blot of despotism rests on a once spotless name! A nation of brave men, who wage war on women and lock them up in prisons for using their woman weapon, the tongue; a nation of free people who advocate despotism; a nation of Brothers who bind the weaker ones hand and foot, and scourge them with military tyrants and other Free, Brotherly institutions; what a picture! Who would not be an American? One consolation is, that this proclamation, and the extraordinary care they take to suppress all news except what they themselves manufacture, proves me our cause is prospering more than they like us to know. I do believe day is about to break!

If our troops are determined to burn our houses over our heads to spite the Yankees, I wish they would hurry and have it over at once. Ten regiments of infantry are stationed at Camp Moore, and Scott's cavalry was expected at Greenwell yesterday, both preparing for an attack on Baton Rouge. If we must be beggars, let it come at once; I can't endure this suspense.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 111-3