Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 24, 1863

After breakfast had a visit with Henry Drake. Examination for commissions. Henry went in. None in before allowed. A very pleasant day. About noon rations came. Issued in the P. M. A little slave child buried. Exercises by the chaplain. Serious thoughts. An immortal soul gone out of a poor slave. Wrote to Will in the evening. Read Independent. Letter from home.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 66-7

3rd Sergeant Charles Wright Wills: October 18, 1861

Bird's Point, October 18, 1861

We yesterday drew our overcoats, and splendid ones they are. The cloth is light blue and they reach nearly to our feet. They have capes on them that come over a fellow's head nicely nights. The weather is about like you have I expect, but I know we will be very comfortable with the clothing we have in any weather. I wouldn't have the war end before next spring for anything, for I want to try a winter out doors. Every one of the Canton boys is in excellent health and all very well satisfied. The boys are receiving letters almost every day that read “we have heard that so and so is sick,” and this morning John Wallace got one that said that Sam Nutt and three others were shot while on guard. You may know that such reports are always lies unless you see it with the names in the papers long before a letter would reach you from here. John Wallace is just one of the best boys in the camp. It would do you good to see how contentedly the boys all take things. There is more life and fun in our tent every night than we ever had at home. Sam and Fred Norcott make more noise and sport in an evening than all Canton can furnish in a week. We love and respect all our officers but one, and he is the best officer we have, but a little too much regular army about him. Our captain is what the girls would call a “dear old fellow,” though he does have his own way every time. It seems to be the right way always so we think the world of him. They are just burying some poor fellow. We have had several deaths in the regiment lately. They do not play the prettiest dead marches here. I have been detached from the company for a week acting as sheriff of a court martial. Colonel Marsh, Colonel Logan, Colonel Tuttle of the Iowa 2d, and a couple of captains form the court. I have four men a day to guard the prisoners and two orderlies to send errands for me, so I play big injun strongly. The prisoner murdered a comrade while we were down at Norfolk. Smote him on the head with a club. He is from Company B of our regiment. That company, besides this case, had a man shot dead the other day by one of their own company. An accident. This morning they had a man stabbed, and day before yesterday they confined one of their men for trying to kill two others. For all this they are really a good company of men. We had a review Tuesday this week of 6 regiments, 2 batteries and 400 or 500 cavalry. Very fine. I suppose you saw an account of the Pekin company of our regiment killing four or five Rebels that made an attack on them while they were guarding a bridge. Ten of them stood their ground against a large party, and held the ground too. We buried two secesh and they carried off four. We lost none. The best fight yet was ten miles below here the other day between 26 of our men and 160 Rebels. You've seen it in the papers. Sam Nutt and John Wallace stood guard two nights before at the place where the first fight was. Oh heavens, I hope I can date my next from somewhere else.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 37-8

Diary of Lieutant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Tuesday, September 2, 1862

Upton's. — A clear, cold, windy day; bracing and Northern. No news except a rumor that the armies are both busy gathering up wounded and burying dead; that the enemy hold rather more of the battlefield than we do.

12:30 P. M. — I have seen several accounts of the late battles, with details more or less accurate. The impression I get is that we have rather the worst of it, by reason of superior generalship on the part of the Rebels.

9:30 P. M. — New and interesting scenes this P. M. The great army is retreating, coming back. It passes before us and in our rear. We are to cover the retreat if they are pursued. They do not look or act like beaten men; they are in good spirits and orderly. They are ready to hiss McDowell. When General Given announced that General McClellan was again leader, the cheering was hearty and spontaneous. The camps around us are numerous. The signal corps telegraphs by waving lights to the camps on all the heights. The scene is wild and glorious this fine night. Colonel White of the Twelfth and I have arranged our plans in case of an attack tonight. So to bed. Let the morrow provide for itself.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 339

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant John S. Morgan: Thursday, April 6, 1865

The Rebs in front of us fired but little during the night, they shelled our working party at the 6 gun battery close by us from the mortar battery. In the Afternoon, I worked the men some. The Rebs were quieter than usual all day, our batteries give them a few rounds in the evening. After dark the mortar battery of the Rebs opens on our working party again. Several bombs are thrown at it by our mortar batteries. Some think by the signs of the times that the Jonnies are silently leaving the place, the news from Grant Sherman & Thomas is good, in honor of which successes by order of Genl Canby a salute of 100 guns is fired by the Gunboats & the land batteries. I am told by those who had an opportunity to know, that during the cannonading the evening of the 4th something blew up in Spanish fort throwing 5 men 10 or 15 ft above the work. Men on picket that night say they said 16 men carried out of the same fort & buried. The battery men say the cannonading killed & wounded 100 rebels. I don't know how they get their information. I am relieved at 8. P. M. by co "C" & march the co to camp, find supper ready. Temp & I put up our tent gather bedding and retire at 11. P. M. at which hour shells are flying freely on the right & centre.

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, 33rd Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 13, No. 8, April 1923, p. 584-5

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Saturday, November 1, 1862

Lay in camp. Men save ours were mustered for pay. The boys went out and got the body of the Butternut, and buried him in the cornfield — shot in the neck. Wrote home. Bought a jacket of T. R. S. Saw Major P.'s ring we boys have bought for him — nice. Went to bed rather early. Commenced a letter to Fannie. Interrupted to go out scouting. In the P. M. Capt. Welch with Stewart and Lisering and 25 men went out seven or eight miles expecting to find some bushwhackers seen by a 9th Wis. Found nobody. Stopped at three houses and got horses. One girl, husband pressed into rebel army, plead so earnestly for her pony. It was touching. Finally the captain gave it back. Reached camp at 1 A. M.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 40

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 27, 1863

Stormy and disagreeable weather. From fifteen to twenty and twenty-five die every day and are buried just outside the prison with no coffins — nothing but canvas wrapped around them. Eight sticks of four foot wood given every squad of one hundred men to-day, and when split up and divided it amounted to nothing towards warming a person. Two or three can put their wood together and boil a little coffee made from bread crusts. The sick are taken out every morning and either sent over to the city or kept in the hospital just outside the prison and on the island. None admitted unless carried out in blankets and so far gone there is not much chance of recovery. Medical attendance is scarce.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 13-4

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Tuesday, June 7, 1864

It has been very quiet along the lines all day; both sides seem to be tired of sharpshooting. Another flag of truce was sent out to-day, I think to get permission to bury our dead between the lines of which there are many plainly to be seen and they are commencing to smell bad; am told Major Crandall of the Sixth Vermont, just to the right of us, was shot to-day by a sharpshooter. He was a popular student once at Barre Academy, Vermont. Captain Edwin Dillingham reported for duty to-day; has been prisoner of war at Richmond since the battle of Locust Grove, Va. last fall; never saw him looking better; is a handsome man, anyway, and a gentleman. Our army seems to be lying idle now, except the heavy artillery which is building forts in our rear; occasionally hear the report of siege guns to our left —  or we suppose them to be siege guns.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 77-8

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: May 28, 1863

At 3 a. m. another tremendous storm of shot and shell. But all except the guard lay sleeping behind the bluff, so that the torrent of lead and iron passed harmlessly over our heads.

At noon another truce was agreed upon until 7 p. m., to bury the dead. Our forces occupied the time in strengthening their works along the bluff, so that when hostilities began again we had very nice breastworks and could stand up and fire, whereas before, in many places, the men had to lie down to fire in order to avoid exposure. At 7 p. m. a rebel gun on the left (an 8 inch Parrot, called the Lady Davis) proclaimed the truce at an end. Now the conflict began with redoubled fury.

A laughable occurrence happened about this time. A shell burst in close proximity to our line, throwing stones and dirt all over us, at the same time knocking down little Pat Murphy. He jumped up, exclaiming, “Be jobbers, an ’twas the strongest wind I ever filt.”

Firing ceased at 8 p. m.

SOURCE: Abstracted from George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 66-7

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Friday, July 3, 1863

At 6 A.M. I rode to the field with Colonel Manning, and went over that portion of the ground which, after a fierce contest, had been won from the enemy yesterday evening. The dead were being buried, but great numbers were still lying about; also many mortally wounded, for whom nothing could be done. Amongst the latter were a number of Yankees dressed in bad imitations of the Zouave costume. They opened their glazed eyes as I rode past in a painfully imploring manner.

We joined Generals Lee and Longstreet's Staff: they were reconnoitring and making preparations for renewing the attack. As we formed a pretty large party, we often drew upon ourselves the attention of the hostile sharpshooters, and were two or three times favoured with a shell. One of these shells set a brick building on fire which was situated between the lines. This building was filled with wounded, principally Yankees, who, I am afraid, must have perished miserably in the flames. Colonel Sorrell had been slightly wounded yesterday, but still did duty. Major Walton's horse was killed, but there were no other casualties amongst my particular friends.

The plan of yesterday's attack seems to have been very simple — first a heavy cannonade all along the line, followed by an advance of Longstreet's two divisions and part of Hill's corps. In consequence of the enemy's having been driven back some distance, Longstreet's corps (part of it) was in a much more forward situation than yesterday. But the range of heights to be gained was still most formidable, and evidently strongly intrenched.

The distance between the Confederate guns and the Yankee position — i.e., between the woods crowning the opposite ridges — was at least a mile, — quite open, gently undulating, and exposed to artillery the whole distance. This was the ground which had to be crossed in to-day's attack. Pickett's division, which had just come up, was to bear the brunt in Longstreet's attack, together with Heth and Pettigrew in Hill's corps. Pickett's division was a weak one (under 5000), owing to the absence of two brigades.

At noon all Longstreet's dispositions were made; his troops for attack were deployed into line, and lying down in the woods; his batteries were ready to open. The General then dismounted and went to sleep for a short time. The Austrian officer and I now rode off to get, if possible, into some commanding position from whence we could see the whole thing without being exposed to the tremendous fire which was about to commence. After riding about for half an hour without being able to discover so desirable a situation, we determined to make for the cupola, near Gettysburg, Ewell's headquarters. Just before we reached the entrance to the town, the cannonade opened with a fury which surpassed even that of yesterday.

Soon after passing through the toll-gate at the entrance of Gettysburg, we found that we had got into a heavy cross-fire; shells both Federal and Confederate passing over our heads with great frequency. At length two shrapnel shells burst quite close to us, and a ball from one of them hit the officer who was conducting us. We then turned round and changed our views with regard to the cupola — the fire of one side being bad enough, but preferable to that of both sides. A small boy of twelve years was riding with us at the time: this urchin took a diabolical interest in the bursting of the shells, and screamed with delight when he saw them take effect. I never saw this boy again, or found out who he was. The road at Gettysburg was lined with Yankee dead, and as they had been killed on the 1st, the poor fellows had already begun to be very offensive. We then returned to the hill I was on yesterday. But finding that, to see the actual fighting, it was absolutely necessary to go into the thick of the thing, I determined to make my way to General Longstreet. It was then about 2.30. After passing General Lee and his Staff, I rode on through the woods in the direction in which I had left Longstreet. I soon began to meet many wounded men returning from the front; many of them asked in piteous tones the way to a doctor or an ambulance. The further I got, the greater became the number of the wounded. At last I came to a perfect stream of them flocking through the woods in numbers as great as the crowd in Oxford Street in the middle of the day. Some were walking alone on crutches composed of two rifles, others were supported by men less badly wounded than themselves, and others were carried on stretchers by the ambulance corps; but in no case did I see a sound man helping the wounded to the rear, unless he carried the red badge of the ambulance corps. They were still under a heavy fire; the shells were continually bringing down great limbs of trees, and carrying further destruction amongst this melancholy procession. I saw all this in much less time than it takes to write it, and although astonished to meet such vast numbers of wounded, I had not seen enough to give me any idea of the real extent of the mischief.

When I got close up to General Longstreet, I saw one of his regiments advancing through the woods in good order; so, thinking I was just in time to see the attack, I remarked to the General that “I wouldn't have missed this for anything.” Longstreet was seated at the top of a snake fence at the edge of the wood, and looking perfectly calm and imperturbed. He replied, laughing, “The devil you wouldn't! I would like to have missed it very much; we've attacked and been repulsed: look there!”

For the first time I then had a view of the open space between the two positions, and saw it covered with Confederates slowly and sulkily returning towards us in small broken parties, under a heavy fire of artillery. But the fire where we were was not so bad as further to the rear; for although the air seemed alive with shell, yet the greater number burst behind us.

The General told me that Pickett's division had succeeded in carrying the enemy's position and capturing his guns, but after remaining there twenty minutes, it had been forced to retire, on the retreat of Heth and Pettigrew on its left. No person could have been more calm or self-possessed than General Longstreet under these trying circumstances, aggravated as they now were by the movements of the enemy, who began to show a strong disposition to advance. I could now thoroughly appreciate the term bulldog, which I had heard applied to him by the soldiers. Difficulties seem to make no other impression upon him than to make him a little more savage.

Major Walton was the only officer with him when I came up — all the rest had been put into the charge. In a few minutes Major Latrobe arrived on foot, carrying his saddle, having just had his horse killed. Colonel Sorrell was also in the same predicament, and Captain Goree's horse was wounded in the mouth.

The General was making the best arrangements in his power to resist the threatened advance, by advancing some artillery, rallying the stragglers, &c. I remember seeing a General (Pettigrew, I think it was)* come up to him, and report that “he was unable to bring his men up again.” Longstreet turned upon him and replied with some sarcasm, “Very well; never mind, then, General; just let them remain where they are: the enemy's going to advance, and will spare you the trouble.”

He asked for something to drink: I gave him some rum out of my silver flask, which I begged he would keep in remembrance of the occasion; he smiled, and, to my great satisfaction, accepted the memorial. He then went off to give some orders to M'Laws's division. Soon afterwards I joined General Lee, who had in the meanwhile come to that part of the field on becoming aware of the disaster. If Longstreet's conduct was admirable, that of General Lee was perfectly sublime. He was engaged in rallying and in encouraging the broken troops, and was riding about a little in front of the wood, quite alone — the whole of his Staff being engaged in a similar manner further to the rear. His face, which is always placid and cheerful, did not show signs of the slightest disappointment, care, or annoyance; and he was addressing to every soldier he met a few words of encouragement, such as, “All this will come right in the end: we'll talk it over afterwards; but, in the mean time, all good men must rally. We want all good and true men just now,” &c. He spoke to all the wounded men that passed him, and the slightly wounded he exhorted “to bind up their hurts and take up a musket” in this emergency. Very few failed to answer his appeal, and I saw many badly wounded men take off their hats and cheer him. He said to me, “This has been a sad day for us, Colonel — a sad day; but we can't expect always to gain victories.” He was also kind enough to advise me to get into some more sheltered position, as the shells were bursting round us with considerable frequency.

Notwithstanding the misfortune which had so suddenly befallen him, General Lee seemed to observe everything, however trivial. When a mounted officer began licking his horse for shying at the bursting of a shell, he called out, “Don't whip him, Captain; don't whip him. I've got just such another foolish horse myself, and whipping does no good.”

I happened to see a man lying flat on his face in a small ditch, and I remarked that I didn't think he seemed dead; this drew General Lee's attention to the man, who commenced groaning dismally. Finding appeals to his patriotism of no avail, General Lee had him ignominiously set on his legs by some neighbouring gunners.

I saw General Willcox (an officer who wears a short round jacket and a battered straw hat) come up to him, and explain, almost crying, the state of his brigade. General Lee immediately shook hands with him and said, cheerfully, “Never mind, General, all this has been MY fault — it is I that have lost this fight, and you must help me out of it in the best way you can.” In this manner I saw General Lee encourage and reanimate his somewhat dispirited troops, and magnanimously take upon his own shoulders the whole weight of the repulse. It was impossible to look at him or to listen to him without feeling the strongest admiration, and I never saw any man fail him except the man in the ditch.

It is difficult to exaggerate the critical state of affairs as they appeared about this time. If the enemy or their general had shown any enterprise, there is no saying what might have happened. General Lee and his officers were evidently fully impressed with a sense of the situation; yet there was much less noise, fuss, or confusion of orders than at an ordinary field-day: the men, as they were rallied in the wood, were brought up in detachments, and lay down quietly and coolly in the positions assigned to them.

We heard that Generals Garnett and Armistead were killed, and General Kemper mortally wounded; also, that Pickett's division had only one field-officer unhurt. Nearly all this slaughter took place in an open space about one mile square, and within one hour.

At 6 P.M. we heard a long and continuous Yankee cheer, which we at first imagined was an indication of an advance; but it turned out to be their reception of a general officer, whom we saw riding down the line, followed by about thirty horsemen. Soon afterwards I rode to the extreme front, where there were four pieces of rifled cannon almost without any infantry support. To the non-withdrawal of these guns is to be attributed the otherwise surprising inactivity of the enemy. I was immediately surrounded by a sergeant and about half-a-dozen gunners, who seemed in excellent spirits and full of confidence, in spite of their exposed situation. The sergeant expressed his ardent hope that the Yankees might have spirit enough to advance and receive the dose he had in readiness for them. They spoke in admiration of the advance of Pickett's division, and of the manner in which Pickett himself had led it. When they observed General Lee they said, “We've not lost confidence in the old man: this day's work won't do him no harm. ‘Uncle Robert’ will get us into Washington yet; you bet he will?” &c. Whilst we were talking, the enemy's skirmishers began to advance slowly, and several ominous sounds in quick succession told us that we were attracting their attention, and that it was necessary to break up the conclave. I therefore turned round and took leave of these cheery and plucky gunners.

At 7 P.M., General Lee received a report that Johnson's division of Ewell's corps had been successful on the left, and had gained important advantages there. Firing entirely ceased in our front about this time; but we now heard some brisk musketry on our right, which I afterwards learned proceeded from Hood's Texans, who had managed to surround some enterprising Yankee cavalry, and were slaughtering them with great satisfaction. Only eighteen out of four hundred are said to have escaped.

At 7.30, all idea of a Yankee attack being over, I rode back to Moses's tent, and found that worthy commissary in very low spirits, all sorts of exaggerated rumours having reached him. On my way I met a great many wounded men, most anxious to inquire after Longstreet, who was reported killed; when I assured them he was quite well, they seemed to forget their own pain in the evident pleasure they felt in the safety of their chief. No words that I can use will adequately express the extraordinary patience and fortitude with which the wounded Confederates bore their sufferings.

I got something to eat with the doctors at 10 P.M., the first for fifteen hours.

I gave up my horse to-day to his owner, as from death and exhaustion the Staff are almost without horses.

_______________

* This officer was afterwards killed at the passage of the Potomac.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 268-78

Journal of Major Wilder Dwight: May 30, 1862

Winchester, Virginia, Friday, May 30, 1862,

Braddock Street, at Mr. Bernhardt's.

The first news of an attack on Banks's column reached the camp of the Second Massachusetts Regiment at Strasburg, Virginia, on Friday evening after parade (May 23). The Third Wisconsin Regiment was despatched by Colonel Gordon, commanding brigade, toward Front Royal, to protect the bridges. At eleven o'clock that night we were ordered to pack wagons. After despatching our train we lay down and spent the night in bivouac. No marching orders came. It was understood by us that many of the other trains had not yet gone toward Winchester. At or near ten o'clock, A.M., Saturday, the order came for us to march. As we passed head-quarters on the way to Winchester, it was reported that the Rebel forces were pushing forward direct from Front Royal to Winchester, and we were hurried on, as it was said, to meet them or anticipate them. When we drew near the bridge over Cedar Creek, the battery was ordered forward in haste, and it was said that part of our train at Newtown had been attacked by cavalry. We pushed forward, found the trains halted, and some evidences of panic and disorder. We halted half an hour before reaching Middletown. Then pushed on again. The day, which had been rainy and clouded, grew more clear and hot. The march was through the trains, and a rapid push toward Winchester. Donnelly's brigade was before ours. Between Middletown and Newtown it became evident that our rear was being pressed. The rear-guard had been composed of cavalry and artillery. A large drove of loose horses overtook us near Newtown; one of cattle soon came also; the wagons, also, were crowding the way. Still we pushed on. At about two miles beyond Newtown General Banks appeared, and announced to Colonel Gordon that our advance was in Winchester, and all quiet there. The evidences of panic and pursuit in the rear had been rapidly multiplying, and it had been reported that our train was cut at Middletown by a force coming by the Front Royal road. The Twenty-seventh Indiana Regiment had been ordered to return to the rear with a section of Best's battery at Newtown. As soon as General Banks announced the entry of our force into Winchester, he ordered the Second Massachusetts Regiment to the rear to protect the train. The regiment, jaded by their march and fatigue, sprang to the duty. At Bartonsville, a little more than a mile this side of Newtown, we left our knapsacks, and pushed on.

As we came near Newtown, evidences of panic filled the road, — abandoned wagons, flying teamsters, &c. The regiment formed near the edge of the town. Two companies were deployed as skirmishers on each side of the road. Two companies were ordered to support Best's section, and the rest of the regiment moved into the town by the road by the flank. They had just entered the town, when the enemy's artillery from the other end of the town threw a few shells at them with skill. The shell burst directly over the battalion. Colonel Andrews ordered them within the yards on the right of the road. The skirmishers and reserve moved on, and the rest of the regiment followed, keeping within shelter of buildings. Before entering the town we had seen cavalry on our right and left. The line of skirmishers was halted in a hollow just beyond the town, and the reserves and battalion kept within the town. The artillery of both sides kept up a rapid fire. It was, perhaps, five, P. M., when we turned back. We held the position till sunset. At the edge of the town, on a door-step, was a half-eaten pile of corn. The man of the house said Ashby's horse was eating there when we came into town. I fed my horse with what was left. This was the only forage, I believe, taken from the enemy. Before we withdrew from Newtown we set fire to the abandoned wagons. It grew dark rapidly as we withdrew. I had a detail of two companies, A and C, as a rear-guard. One platoon of each company was deployed in the fields, on each side of the road. The reserves were united within the road. The enemy soon followed our retreat. As they came in sight of the burning wagons their yells and shouts were demoniacal. Expecting an attack by their cavalry upon the rear-guard, I prepared for it. When we came near Bartonsville a halt was ordered, to pick up the knapsacks. We could hear the yells of the men coming on. Soon the sound of approaching horses was heard. The growing darkness, confused by the glare of the burning wagons, compelled us to trust our ears. I drew the line of skirmishers into groups near the road, formed the reserve into a square, and directed the three bodies, so formed, to pour their fire upon the approaching cavalry at the command from me. The cavalry came on. The fire was ordered and delivered. The cavalry went back.

Their advance seemed checked. I rode back up the hill over which the cavalry had come, but could hear no sound. It then became necessary to draw in and relieve the rear-guard, to enable it to take its knapsacks. At the foot of the hill on which we had been posted was a little run which the road crossed over a small bridge. The rear-guard was drawn in across that run, together with Company B, which had come out to their support.

Company I had been ordered to report to me as a rearguard; Colonel Andrews stating that he thought the pursuit checked. Company I came down near the run to wait there till the knapsacks should be taken and till the column should move. Hardly had they got there when I could hear voices beyond the run. It had been reported to me that orders were being given to infantry. I heard a voice saying, “There they are! there they are! in the road!” As a few shells had been thrown at us when we were in position beyond the run, I thought the enemy might intend some such compliment, and I directed the company which was in column by platoon to break back against the roadsides. The doubt was soon scattered. A galling and severe infantry fire opened on us. Company I replied at once, and with admirable coolness and effect. In spite of their inferior numbers, and of the wounded falling about, they kept their position and maintained their fire. I sent back to Colonel Andrews for support, and parts of Companies C and B in the clover-field on the right of the road soon opened a fire that relieved us speedily.

Company I, however, had lost eight or ten killed or wounded in this sudden and vigorous attack.

We withdrew slowly, the column having now got in motion again. The enemy pressed us only a little way; then all was quiet. When we came to a brick house our wounded were carried into it, and a halt was ordered till ambulances, which were sent for, could be brought back for them.

I posted a line of sentries across the road and in the fields, and posted the reserve of Company I within that line, and the regiment was taking some rest, while Dr. Leland¹ was busy dressing the wounded in the house. After about half an hour the sentries reported sounds as of an advancing column. Upon going back, I found that I could hear it, and so reported to Colonel Andrews. Colonel Andrews expressed an unwillingness to leave the wounded unless we were compelled to do so, and ordered me to return again. I did so; and leaving word with my sentinels to fire at once upon hearing or seeing anything suspicious, I was on my way to report to Colonel Andrews that the enemy were certainly approaching, when I was stopped by a fire from the direction of the sentinels. Immediately a sharp and extended line of fire opened from the enemy's skirmishers close upon us. The column moved at once, as soon as it could be got in order.

Our sentinels and reserve from Company I stood their ground under a second severe fire. Part of Companies B and C were rapidly deployed, and we moved on in retreat. Part of Company D, under Lieutenant Abbott, was unluckily left behind on our right, where they had been deployed as flankers. For a moment they were between two fires, but the fact was discovered in season to avoid disaster. We were compelled, however, to leave Dr. Leland and the wounded prisoners in the hands of the enemy. The enemy pursued us closely beyond Kernstown. Soon after passing that village, I drew in the skirmishers, and followed the column rapidly. We passed our cavalry picket at the tollgate. Between twelve and one o'clock the whole regiment lay down to a dreary bivouac just outside of Winchester on the left of the road.

I met Colonel Gordon on the road, and went with him into town. He sent out his Adjutant, Lieutenant Horton, to attend to the posting of pickets. We went to see General Banks. I had only a few words with him. I told him the nature of the pursuit, and intimated the opinion which I had formed, that an attack would be made at daylight. I got no orders nor any intimation of any plan or purpose for the next day. I went back and lay down by a small fire for about an hour.

Soon after three o'clock, A. M., Colonel Andrews requested me to go into town, to hurry out some ammunition for our regiment. I saw Colonel Gordon, but could get no ammunition. When I came out of Colonel Gordon's room I met a messenger from Colonel Andrews, saying that an attack seemed imminent, and there was no general officer on the field. As I went back to the regiment I met Generals Williams and Hatch, and gave them the message. I then went back to the regiment. I found Colonel Andrews and Colonel Ruger together. I said to the former: “Ought we not to take possession of that ridge?” pointing to the one on the right of the road. Colonel Andrews said, “I have already selected it, but where is Colonel Gordon?” I replied he was coming. The regiment was formed, and Colonel Gordon, on his arrival, sanctioning the position, the regiment moved by the flank, across the road, and up the hillside.

We had just crossed the road when a Rebel regiment, in line (Fifth Virginia), appeared on the ridge, showing that they had anticipated us.

As we moved up the hill Colonel Andrews told me to ride forward, to examine the position. I did so. A fire from some sharpshooters saluted me, and I could see a battery and some regiments opposite the position that we were advancing to occupy. Meantime, Cothren's battery opened on the Fifth Virginia Regiment, and scattered them out of view. The Second Massachusetts moved on to its position, and took the line of a broken stone-wall, the right of the regiment resting on the crest of the hill. The rest of the regiments of the brigade formed on our left down to the pike. The battery was posted on a rise of ground behind our regiment. The Second Massachusetts was ordered to lie down. Part of Company D was deployed on the right as skirmishers. There was a warm fire of artillery and musketry on our position. The three right companies kept up a brisk fire on the battery and infantry opposite; rising and lying down again. Colonel Andrews and I dismounted. We could see one of the enemy's guns deserted. The enemy's pieces, I have since found out, belonged to the Rockbridge artillery. Our fire drove them from their guns, and I have also heard that their loss at this point was considerable. Soon, however, their fire ceased, for the most part, to annoy us; though their battery and ours kept up a rapid interchange over our heads, with more or less effect on both sides.

I happened to notice one or two mounted officers of the enemy pointing and gesticulating in the direction of our right flank, and suggested to Colonel Andrews whether they did not mean to send round a force to flank us. He seemed to think it probable. There was a stone-wall on our right and in front of our line about thirty yards or forty. Colonel Andrews ordered Companies D and I to deploy forward to that wall as skirmishers to protect that flank, and also to observe and harass any movement of the enemy like the one anticipated. At about this time a sharp fire of grape and spherical case, as I suppose, began upon the wall and the field in rear of us. I have since found out that the guns of the Rockbridge artillery were ordered to divide their fire between this wall and the battery to prevent our pushing a regiment up to the wall.

I went forward to the wall, dropping occasionally, as I saw the flash of the enemy's guns, to avoid their somewhat importunate projectiles. It appeared that the expected movement had commenced. There was one piece of low ground where the enemy's flank was exposed in their movement. They then passed behind a wooded knoll which covered them. Colonel Andrews ordered me to go to Colonel Gordon to report the movement. I did so, finding him in a hollow in rear of the centre of the brigade. He directed me to return, and ascertain in what force the enemy were moving. I went out to the wall, and ascertained that two or more regiments had already passed. Our skirmishers were exposed to a sharp fire at the wall. I reported the fact of the number of the enemy moving on our right to Colonel Gordon. He told me to tell Colonel Andrews to throw back the right of the regiment, and he would send up a force to support him. He also directed me to see that some of the artillery moved forward and to the right to play upon the enemy at this point; I was busy attending to these matters.

One of Cothren's pieces was brought forward, our skirmishers were withdrawn from the wall, the Twenty-seventh Indiana and Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania moved up to our right. I had dismounted to go down toward the wall, and was directing the officer in charge of the piece where his fire could be directed with most effect, when I heard a cry. I turned and saw that the Twenty-seventh Indiana, which had just opened its fire, had broken and was running. I saw that the enemy were pouring up the hillside and round on our right. I saw, also, that the Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania had broken and was following the Twenty-seventh Indiana. The enemy were coming on at a run, with yells, but not in any regular order. The officer commanding the piece said to me, “What shall I do? I have got no support for my gun.” “Blaze away at ’em,” said I. “I shall lose my gun,” said he. “Well,” said I, “you must do as you choose.” I turned and found that our regiment was withdrawing. I could not see my horse anywhere, and so I followed on foot. As we passed off the hill the enemy rose on its crest. Their cracking and whistling fire followed us closely. I recollected an unmailed letter in my pocket, and preferring to have it unread, rather than read by hostile eyes, I tore it up as we went down the hill. A few of our men would turn and fire up the hill, reloading as they went on. I delayed a little to applaud their spunk.

But the flight before me and the flight behind me are not reminiscences on which I like to dwell.

We passed down into the edge of the town. As I came along, a young soldier of Company C was wounded in the leg. I gave him my arm, but, finding that he was too much injured to go on, advised him to get into a house, and went on. The regiment was forming in line when I reached it. Before I had time to go to the left, where Colonel Andrews was, the regiment moved off again, and I followed. It now became a run. A fire began to assail us from the cross streets as well as from the rear. I turned in at the Union Hotel Hospital to get on to the next street, but found the same fire there. Just as I was near the edge of the town one of our soldiers called out to me, “Major, I'm shot.” I turned to him, and took him along a few steps, and then took him into a house. I told the people they must take care of him, and laid him down on a bed, and opened his shirt. I then turned to go out, but the butternut soldiery were all around the house, and I quietly sat down. “Under which king,” &c. A soldier soon came in and took me prisoner. I made friendly acquaintance with him. He went with me for a surgeon for my wounded soldier, and also to pick up the overcoat which I had thrown off in the heat. I soon went down with my captor to the Taylor House, where I found Colonel Bradley Johnson, First Maryland Regiment, who took charge of me.

As I came back through the streets secession flags were flying from many of the houses; the town was full of soldiers and rejoicing. I found many of our soldiers prisoners in the court-house yard. I was busy about the wounded, and was allowed to go out to get a dinner.

In the afternoon I went upon the field with some of the prisoners of our regiment and buried our dead: two of our own regiment and two from some other. They were buried under the cedar at the right of our line on the hill, and I read a portion of Scripture over their open grave.²

In the evening I went up to the Academy Hospital, where I found Major Wheat of Wheat's battalion, who took care of me, and with whom I passed the night, and who treated me with the utmost kindness and courtesy.

The next morning (Monday, May 26) Major Wheat took me, together with Colonel Murphy, to breakfast at the Taylor House. There I saw Pendleton, of General Jackson's staff, and through him sent in a request to General Jackson. First, to see him; this was refused. Second, to send information, by a flag, to our friends of our number of prisoners, wounded, and dead; this was refused, on the ground that General Banks, after the battle of Kernstown, took no such step; and, as the aid said, “If it had not been for our private sources of information we could have known nothing of our wounded and prisoners.” Third, for a parole for our soldiers who were suffering from want of food; this was also refused on similar ground to the former. Fourth, then for a parole for myself, to enable me to board at some private house in Winchester; this was granted.

I went to the house of Mr. George Barnhardt, on Braddock Street, where I had stopped when we were in Winchester before.

I was at the Union Hotel Hospital on Tuesday morning, May 27, where our wounded were being collected, when I was delighted to see Colonel Kenly, of the First Maryland, from Front Royal, wounded with a sabre-cut on the head, but not dead, as reported. The Colonel came with me to Mr. Barnhardt's house, and has been with me ever since.

On Wednesday, May 28, I attended the funeral of Sergeant Williams, Company F, who died on Tuesday morning soon after I left him. General Jackson gave permission to eight of the Second Massachusetts prisoners to go out with me as an escort for the burial of their companion.

The number of killed, wounded, and prisoners of the Second Massachusetts may be approximately stated thus: killed, eight; wounded, thirty; prisoners, ninety.

Our men have suffered from want of food, but only because the Confederates had it not to give them.

The wounded are doing well, and are in fine spirits. Company I, especially, is in fine spirits.

It should not be omitted in the record of the scenes of Sunday, that, in the retreat through the town, citizens fired from the houses upon our flying and straggling soldiers.

Within an hour after the Rebel occupation of the town, Confederate flags were flying from windows, the women appeared gayly dressed on the streets, with Confederate colors, and wearing also little flags. The houses were vocal with “Maryland! my Maryland!” and “The Bonnie Blue Flag!”

There is little doubt, however, that the Rebel loss far exceeded ours. The hospitals are crowded with their wounded. They lost, also, many officers. Their wounded are much more severely wounded than ours. I have heard that the official reports show the loss on Sunday to be ninety-six killed and one hundred and ninety-two wounded.

I got, from conversations with various officers and soldiers, certain interesting facts connected with the pursuit and retreat. I inquired about the charge of cavalry near Bartonsville. “Who was it ambuscaded us there?” was their inquiry. And it seemed, from further conversation, that it was a serious interruption of their advance, and a cause of loss to them. It led them to bring forward their infantry, which gave us a fortunate delay to get our knapsacks. At General Jackson's head-quarters I saw the Lieutenant-Colonel of the Fifth or Second Virginia Regiment. He asked, with interest, who it was that was at the run near Bartonsville. I told him I had that honor. He said that he had three companies deployed there of his regiment, and he added that he did not care to fight us again in the dark. Privates of the Fifth and Second Virginia reported that Jackson told them they should be in Winchester on Saturday night. The Fifth and Second are from the neighborhood of Winchester, and were coming home. Some unexplained cause led Jackson to hold them back at Newtown, otherwise they would have attacked us there.

In the battle on Sunday morning, it was Taylor's Louisiana brigade that went round to our right. Wheat's battalion was a part of that command, and he told me about the movement. Jackson had a very large force, eight or ten thousand men, moving on the pike. On our left was a part of Ewell's force, which engaged the First Brigade. One of their regiments (a North Carolina regiment) suffered severely from the fire of the Fifth Connecticut; but their force swept into the town even before the Louisiana brigade turned our right.

Jackson's forces were so jaded and worn down that they could not keep up the pursuit. The infantry was halted about four miles from town. The cavalry continued the pursuit. The colonels of the infantry regiments kept sending word to Jackson that their men could not keep on. Jackson had been marching his men without baggage, almost without food, from Franklin, where he had engaged Milroy. He crossed the Massanattan Gap at New Market, kept up the Valley at Front Royal. The number of his forces must have been between twenty and thirty thousand. It consisted of Ewell's and Johnson's (Edward) and his own command. They pushed rapidly on, and were promised that they should go into Maryland!

The young soldier who took possession of me was on foot, but he told me he belonged to the Second Virginia Cavalry. “Where is your horse?” said I. “He was shot last night when we were ambuscaded,” was the reply. Then I informed him that we shot him.

To-night (Friday evening, May 30) there is every evidence of alarm and retreat on the part of our captors. We are expecting every kind of good news, and hoping that they will be too late to carry us off on their retreat.

_______________

¹ Dr. Francis Leland, Surgeon of the Second Massachusetts Infantry.

² Four years later, almost on the very anniversary of this burial, friends of Major Dwight sought and found the consecrated spot. They were guided thither by a man from the immediate vicinity, who, when asked if he remembered, on Sunday afternoon, after General Banks's retreat in May, 1862, seeing a Union officer with some of his men, under a Rebel guard, come out upon the hill yonder to bury four Union soldiers, replied, “I should think I ought to remember it; I helped to dig the graves.” The cedar had been recently cut down, but the stump remained, and beside it were the four graves. The bodies had only the week before been removed to a soldiers' cemetery in Winchester, and those who visited the spot stood, as Major Dwight had stood, over the open graves. The form of the bodies was distinctly visible, and outside the graves were portions of the blankets in which they were wrapped, the visor of one of their caps, and other relics of them. Nearby was the “broken stone-wall,” behind which the two of the buried men belonging to the Second Massachusetts had perished, and within sight were all the most interesting points connected with the battle and the retreat.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 252-63

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Tuesday, August 19, 1862

Breakfasted at Johnstown. As usual boys went for chickens, corn and anything to eat. People have felt our march through their country. Report came that the enemy were at Osceola, 30 miles southeast. Continued our march Osceolaward. Stopped two or three miles from Johnstown and fed mules and ourselves — three hours. Moved on. Report came that Cloud's advance was fighting with rear guard of the enemy. One man killed on the prairie, just buried. Changed our course towards Stubbleville. Reached that place in the morning, sunrise. In the afternoon my horse troubled me so getting away that I got on bareback. Got a saddle and rode all night. Very sleepy. Slept on my horse. Major Miner fell from his horse. Pat Collopy fell twice. It was almost impossible for the rear guard to get the sleeping ones awake and along.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 27

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes, Sunday, April 20, 1862

Rained four or five hours, part very violently. I fear we can't cross Piney. Sent to Piney; find it too high to cross teams, but not so high as to preclude the hope that it will run down in a few hours after the rain stops falling.

A cold rain coming; men sing, laugh, and keep mirthful. I poke about from [the] major's tent to my own, listen to yarns, crack jokes, and the like. Avery won a knife and fifty cents of Dr. McCurdy (a cool-head Presbyterian) today at (what is it?) freezing poker! The doctor couldn't play himself and sent for Bottsford to play his game. This, Sunday! Queer antics this life plays with steady habits!

Received by Fitch, Company E, a Commercial of 16th. Pittsburg battle not a decided victory. Beauregard in a note to Grant asks permission to bury his dead; says that in view of the reinforcements received by Grant and the fatigue of his men after two days' hard fighting, “he deemed it his duty to withdraw his army from the scene of the conflict.” This is proof enough that the enemy was repulsed. But that is all. Two or three Ohio regiments were disgraced; [the] Seventy-seventh mustered out of service, [the] Seventy-first has its colors taken from it, etc., etc Lieutenant De Charmes, the brother of Lucy's friend, killed.

What a day this is! Cold rain, deep mud, and “Ned to pay.” Cold and gusty. Will it snow now?

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 231-2

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Monday, November 30, 1863

Our distress about Gibbes has been somewhat relieved by good news from Jimmy. The jolliest sailor letter from him came this morning, dated only the 4th instant from Cherbourg, detailing his cruise on the Georgia from leaving England, to Bahia, Trinidad, Cape of Good Hope, to France again. Such a bright, dashing letter! We laughed extravagantly over it when he told how they readily evaded the Vanderbilt, knowing she would knock them into “pie”; how he and the French Captain quarreled when he ordered him to show his papers, and how he did not know French abuse enough to enter into competition with him, so went back a first and second time to Maury when the man would not let him come aboard, whereupon Maury brought the ship to with two or three shots and Jimmy made a third attempt, and forced the Frenchman to show his papers. He tells it in such a matter-of-fact way! No extravagance, no idea of having been in a dangerous situation, he a boy of eighteen, on a French ship in spite of the Captain's rage. What a jolly life it must be! Now dashing in storms and danger, now floating in sunshine and fun! Wish I was a midshipman! Then how he changes, in describing the prize with an assorted cargo that they took, which contained all things from a needle to pianos, from the reckless spurt in which he speaks of the plundering, to where he tells of how the Captain, having died several days before, was brought on the Georgia while Maury read the service over the body and consigned it to the deep by the flames of the dead man's own vessel. What noble, tender, manly hearts it shows, those rough seamen stopping in their work of destruction to perform the last rites over their dead enemy. One can fancy their bare heads and sunburned faces standing in solemn silence around the poor dead man when he dropped into his immense grave. God bless the “pirates”!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 422-3

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: October 28, 1864

Very much interested lately in the hospitals; not only in our own, “the Robertson hospital,” but in Mr. –––’s, the officers’ hospital.”

He has just told me of a case which has interested me deeply. An officer from the far South was brought in mortally wounded. He had lost both legs in a fight below Petersburg. The poor fellow suffered excessively; could not be still a moment; and was evidently near his end. His brother, who was with him, exhibited the bitterest grief, watching and waiting on him with silent tenderness and flowing tears. Mr. ––– was glad to find that he was not unprepared to die. He had been a professor of religion for some years, and told him that he was suffering too much to think on that or any other subject, but he constantly tried to look to God for mercy. Mr. ––– then recognized him, for the first time, as a patient who had been in the hospital last spring, and whose admirable character had then much impressed him. He was a gallant and brave officer, yet so kind and gentle to those under his control that his men were deeply attached to him, and the soldier who nursed him showed his love by his anxious care of his beloved captain. After saying to him a few words about Christ and his free salvation, offering up a fervent prayer in which he seemed to join, and watching the sad scene for a short time, Mr. ––– left him for the night. The surgeons apprehended that he would die before morning, and so it turned out; at the chaplain's early call there was nothing in his room but the chilling signal of the empty “hospital bunk.” He was buried that day, and we trust will be found among the redeemed in the day of the Lord. This, it was thought, would be the last of this good man; but in the dead of night came hurriedly a single carriage to the gate of the hospital. A lone woman, tall, straight, and dressed in deep mourning, got quickly out, and moved rapidly up the steps into the large hall, where, meeting the guard, she asked anxiously, “Where's Captain T.?” Taken by surprise, the man answered hesitatingly, “Captain T. is dead, madam, and was buried to-day.” This terrible announcement was as a thunderbolt at the very feet of the poor lady, who fell to the floor as one dead. Starting up, oh, how she made that immense building ring with her bitter lamentations! Worn down with apprehension and weary with travelling over a thousand miles by day and night, without stopping for a moment's rest, and wild with grief, she could hear no voice of sympathy — she regarded not the presence of one or many; she told the story of her married life, as if she were alone — how her husband was the best man that ever lived; how everybody loved him; how kind he was to all; how devoted to herself; how he loved his children, took care of, and did every thing for them; how, from her earliest years almost, she had loved him as herself; how tender he was of her, watching over her in sickness, never seeming to weary of it, never to be unwilling to make any sacrifice for her comfort and happiness; how that, when the telegraph brought the dreadful news that he was dangerously wounded, she never waited an instant nor stopped a moment by the way, day nor night, and now “I drove as fast as the horses could come from the depot to this place, and he is dead and buried! — I never shall see his face again!” “What shall I do?” — “But where is he buried?” They told her where. “I must go there; he must be taken up; I must see him!” “But, madam, you can't see him; he has been buried some hours.” “But I must see him; I can't live without seeing him; I must hire some one to go and take him up; can't you get some one to take him up? I'll pay him well ; just get some men to takt him up. I must take him home; he must go home with me. The last thing I said to his children was, that they must be good children, and I would bring their father home, and they are waiting for him now! He must go; I can't go without him; I can't meet his children without him!” and so, with her woman's heart, she could not be turned aside — nothing could alter her purpose. The next day she had his body taken up and embalmed. She watched by it until every thing was ready, and then carried him back to his own house and his children, only to seek a grave for the dead father close by those he loved, among kindred and friends in the fair sunny land he died to defend. Many painfully interesting scenes occur, which I would like so much to write in my diary, but time fails me at night, and my hours of daylight are very closely occupied.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 311-4

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Thursday, August 28, 1862

I am satisfied. I have seen my home again. Tuesday I was up at sunrise, and my few preparations were soon completed, and before any one was awake,

I walked over to Mr. Elder's, through mud and dew, to meet Charlie. Fortunate was it for me that I started so early; for I found him hastily eating his breakfast, and ready to leave. He was very much opposed to my going; and for some time I was afraid he would force me to remain; but at last he consented, — perhaps because I did not insist, — and with wet feet and without a particle of breakfast, I at length found myself in the buggy on the road home. The ride afforded me a series of surprises. Half the time I found myself halfway out of the little low-necked buggy when I thought I was safely in; and the other half, I was surprised to find myself really in when I thought I was wholly out. And so on, for mile after mile, over muddy roads, until we came to a most terrific cross-road, where we were obliged to pass, and which is best undescribed. Four miles from town we stopped at Mrs. Brown's to see mother, and after a few moments' talk, went on our road.

I saw the first Yankee camp that Will Pinckney and Colonel Bird had set fire to the day of the battle. Such a shocking sight of charred wood, burnt clothes, tents, and all imaginable articles strewn around, I had never before seen. I should have been very much excited, entering the town by the route our soldiers took; but I was not. It all seemed tame and familiar. I could hardly fancy I stood on the very spot where the severest struggle had taken place. The next turn of the road brought us to two graves, one on each side of the road, the resting-place of two who fell that day. They were merely left in the ditch where they fell, and earth from the side was pulled over them. When Miriam passed, parts of their coats were sticking out of the grave; but some kind hand had scattered fresh earth over them when I saw them. Beyond, the sight became more common. I was told that their hands and feet were visible from many. And one poor fellow lay unburied, just as he had fallen, with his horse across him, and both skeletons. That sight I was spared, as the road near which he was lying was blocked up by trees, so we were forced to go through the woods, to enter, instead of passing by, the Catholic graveyard. In the woods, we passed another camp our men destroyed, while the torn branches above testified to the number of shells our men had braved to do the work. Next to Mr. Barbee's were the remains of a third camp that was burned; and a few more steps made me suddenly hold my breath, for just before us lay a dead horse with the flesh still hanging, which was hardly endurable. Close by lay a skeleton, — whether of man or horse, I did not wait to see. Not a human being appeared until we reached the Penitentiary, which was occupied by our men. After that, I saw crowds of wagons moving furniture out, but not a creature that I knew. Just back of our house was all that remained of a nice brick cottage — namely, four crumbling walls. The offense was that the husband was fighting for the Confederates; so the wife was made to suffer, and is now homeless, like many thousands besides. It really seems as though God wanted to spare our homes. The frame dwellings adjoining were not touched, even. The town was hardly recognizable; and required some skill to avoid the corners blocked up by trees, so as to get in at all.

Our house could not be reached by the front, so we left the buggy in the back yard, and running through the lot without stopping to examine the storeroom and servants' rooms that opened wide, I went through the alley and entered by the front door.

Fortunate was it for this record that I undertook to describe the sacking only from Miriam's account. If I had waited until now, it would never have been mentioned; for as I looked around, to attempt such a thing seemed absurd. I stood in the parlor in silent amazement; and in answer to Charlie's “Well?” I could only laugh. It was so hard to realize. As I looked for each well-known article, I could hardly believe that Abraham Lincoln's officers had really come so low down as to steal in such a wholesale manner. The papier-maché workbox Miriam had given me was gone. The baby sacque I was crocheting, with all knitting needles and wools, gone also. Of all the beautiful engravings of Annapolis that Will Pinckney had sent me, there remained a single one. Gentlemen, my name is written on each! Not a book remained in the parlor, except “Idyls of the King,” that contained my name also, and which, together with the door-plate, was the only case in which the name of Morgan was spared. They must have thought we were related to John Morgan, and wreaked their vengeance on us for that reason. Thanks for the honor, but there is not the slightest connection! Where they did not carry off articles bearing our name, they cut it off, as in the visiting-cards, and left only the first name. Every book of any value or interest, except Hume and Gibbon, was “borrowed” permanently. I regretted Macaulay more than all the rest. Brother's splendid French histories went, too; all except “L’Histoire de la Bastille.” However, as they spared father's law libraries (all except one volume they used to support a flour barrel with, while they emptied it near the parlor door), we ought to be thankful.

The dining-room was very funny. I looked around for the cut-glass celery and preserve dishes that were to be part of my “dot,” as mother always said, together with the champagne glasses that had figured on the table the day that I was born; but there remained nothing. There was plenty of split-up furniture, though. I stood in mother's room before the shattered armoir, which I could hardly believe the same that I had smoothed my hair before, as I left home three weeks previously. Father's was split across, and the lock torn off, and in the place of the hundreds of articles it contained, I saw two bonnets at the sight of which I actually sat down to laugh. One was mother's velvet, which looked very much like a football in its present condition. Mine was not to be found, as the officers forgot to return it. Wonder who has my imperial? I know they never saw a handsomer one, with its black velvet, purple silk, and ostrich feathers.

I went to my room. Gone was my small paradise! Had this shocking place ever been habitable? The tall mirror squinted at me from a thousand broken angles. It looked so knowing! I tried to fancy the Yankee officers being dragged from under my bed by the leg, thanks to Charles; but it seemed too absurd; so I let them alone. My desk! What a sight! The central part I had kept as a little curiosity shop with all my little trinkets and keepsakes of which a large proportion were from my gentlemen friends; I looked for all I had left, found only a piece of the McRae, which, as it was labeled in full, I was surprised they had spared. Precious letters I found under heaps of broken china and rags; all my notes were gone, with many letters. I looked for a letter of poor –––, in cipher, with the key attached, and name signed in plain hand. I knew it would hardly be agreeable to him to have it read, and it certainly would be unpleasant to me to have it published; but I could not find it. Miriam thinks she saw something answering the description, somewhere, though. Bah! What is the use of describing such a scene?¹ Many suffered along with us, though none so severely. Indeed, the Yankees cursed loudly at those who did not leave anything worth stealing. They cannot complain of us, on that score. All our handsome Brussels carpets, together with Lydia's fur, were taken, too. What did they not take? In the garret, in its darkest corner, a whole gilt-edged china set of Lydia's had been overlooked; so I set to work and packed it up, while Charlie packed her furniture in a wagon, to send to her father.

It was now three o'clock; and with my light linen dress thrown off, I was standing over a barrel putting in cups and saucers as fast as I could wrap them in the rags that covered the floor, when Mr. Larguier sent me a nice little dinner. I had been so many hours without eating — nineteen, I think, during three of which I had slept — that I had lost all appetite; but nevertheless I ate it, to show my appreciation. If I should hereafter think that the quantity of rags was exaggerated, let me here state that, after I had packed the barrel and china with them, it made no perceptible diminution of the pile.

As soon as I had finished my task, Charlie was ready to leave again; so I left town without seeing, or hearing, any one, or any thing, except what lay in my path. As we drove out of the gate, I begged Charlie to let me get my bird, as I heard Charles Barker had him. A man was dispatched, and in a few minutes returned with my Jimmy. I have since heard that Tiche deserted him the day of the battle, as I so much feared she would; and that Charles found him late in the evening and took charge of him. With my pet once more with me, we drove off again. I cast many a longing look at the graveyard; but knowing Charlie did not want to stop, I said nothing, though I had been there but once in three months, and that once, six weeks ago. I could see where the fence had been thrown down by our soldiers as they charged the Federals, but it was now replaced, though many a picket was gone. Once more I stopped at Mrs. Brown's, while Charlie went on to Clinton, leaving me to drive mother here in the morning. Early yesterday, after seeing Miriam's piano and the mattresses packed up and on the road, we started off in the buggy, and after a tedious ride through a melting sun, arrived here about three o'clock, having again missed my dinner, which I kept a profound secret until supper-time.

By next Ash Wednesday, I will have learned how to fast without getting sick! Though very tired, I sat sewing until after sunset, dictating a page and a half to Anna, who was writing to Howell.

_______________

¹ In her book, From Flag to Flag, Mrs. Eliza McHatton Ripley gives a vivid description of Judge Morgan's house as she herself saw it after the sacking. — W. D.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 196-203

Major Wilder Dwight: Saturday Night, October 26, 1861

Camp Near The Little Seneca, Saturday Night,

9 o'clock, P. M.

He who predicts the morrow in this life has his labor for his pains. The morrow takes care of itself. Here we are, and tattoo is just beating again, and we are twelve miles from our last night's camp. I will go on with my story. When I got to the river, I began to carry out my instructions from General Hamilton. They were, to visit Harrison's Island, which was abandoned by our troops on Tuesday night, and bring off some government stores. I found that, owing to the stupidity of the officer whom I had left in charge at the point of crossing opposite the island, one of the ropes had been cut, and there was only one rope left stretching across the river on which I could ferry my men over. I got my men ready, took the two leaky flatboats and moored them well, and waited for darkness. The night was very cold. In its cover we started with one boat, leaving directions for the other to follow after we got across and got things secure. We pulled across silently on the rope which came up out of the water, and sagged a good deal with the stream. Just as we got within the shadows of the opposite bank, the Sergeant whispered, “Hold on, the rope has broken.” The men held on by the end, and, sure enough, it had parted, and we were swinging off down stream away from the island. There was something laughable in the mischance. We had nothing for it but to return, which we did, coiling the rope in our boat as we went back. So ended all visits, for the present, by our troops to Harrison's Island. I was kept on the alert all night by firing up the river, and got no sleep of any consequence, — sending and receiving despatches from General Hamilton. At light, — a bright, golden, October morning, ice an inch thick, — I visited all the outlooks, and then went back to camp to report to General Hamilton. After breakfast, on Friday morning, the Colonel suggested that we should ride to the Fifteenth and Twentieth.

I went to see Lieutenant-Colonel Ward. He has lost his leg, below the knee. Said he, “Major, I am not as I was in Washington.” “No,” said I, “you should have accepted my invitation, and ridden up with me on Monday.” We were together last Saturday night at Willard's, and I begged him to wait till Monday and go up with me. He said, “No, I shall be needed in camp.”

We then went to the Twentieth. I wish all the friends of the young wounded officers could see them; it was a pleasant picture. In the first tent I visited I found Captain John Putnam. He was bright and in good spirits. I shook his left hand. His right arm is gone at the shoulder. Turning to the other bed, I met the pleasant smile of Lieutenant Holmes. He greeted me as cordially as if we had met at home, talked gayly of soon getting well again. His wound is through the body sideways, just missing the lungs, and following the ribs. Young Lieutenant Lowell, too, in the next tent, was making light of only a flesh wound in the thigh. Caspar Crowninshield, whom I found helping Colonel Palfrey, and acting as Major, was as calm as possible. He gave a very good account of the fight; he evidently did gloriously. Only once, when he spoke of the terrible scene in the river after they got in swimming, did he seem to think of the horrors of the scene. Young Harry Sturgis was also bright. He said that Lieutenant Putnam, who was wounded in the bowels, wished to be left, as he said, to die on the field. “That is the fit place to die,” he said. But Harry took him in his arms and brought him to the river. Young Abbott looked well. Lieutenant Perry is a prisoner, but I think safe, without doubt. So of Major Revere and Colonel Lee. When we got back to camp I got a report from the river that the enemy were quite numerous on the opposite bluff, and that they were putting a field-piece in position there. Though I did not credit it, down I went, and spent the afternoon. We found they had occupied, or rather visited, the island. My glass let me see them plainly in many places, and in others they were within familiar conversational distance. I found they were re-establishing their pickets strongly. I left Captain Curtis in charge, and returned to camp. I found that I was detailed as one of the Examining Board for our division. The Board consists of General Hamilton, Colonel Halleck, and myself. We are to examine the officers as to their qualifications, &c. I cannot approve of my appointment, but as it emanates from the Head-quarters of the Army of the Potomac, I suppose it is all right.

This morning I was sitting at breakfast, when up rode General Hamilton's aide. “Major,” said he, “General Hamilton says you will move your detachment at once.” “What detachment?” said I. “The advanced guard and pioneers,” said he. “I have no orders,” said I, “and no guard.” “There is some mistake,” said he. Then up came a lieutenant from an Indiana regiment. “I am ordered to report to you,” said he. “Very well,” said I. I went over to General Hamilton, and found the whole brigade was under marching orders. By inadvertence we had not received ours. All the rest of the brigade were ready to start, and our tents were all standing. I went off at once, with my pioneers, and put the road in condition. Here we are in camp. Our regiment was, of course, the last to start. All the others were in motion before our tents were struck. But our regiment passed all the others on the way, and was first in camp to-night. We can march. Our night march to the Ferry was perfect. Life is brisk with us, you see.

I have father's letter about the stockings. After our wretched wet marching, the stockings will be a mercy, I think. Please to tell Mrs. Ticknor that towels, one apiece, will be good for us. I did not think of mentioning them, as, in the seriousness of actual business, the luxuries are lost sight of. The regiment will move to-morrow to the neighborhood of the mouth of the Muddy Branch, near the Potomac. There we are to go into camp for the present. So ends our week's work. Hard and busy, but not without its use. This morning, as our company on picket-duty came along the canal to rejoin the regiment, the Rebels from the island fired on them several times. They were also busy diving and fishing for the guns which the men threw away in their flight.

The rascals are very saucy over their victory. I think they have the advantage of our men in the chaffing which goes on across the river, though one of our corporals told the sentry opposite him, who was washing his feet, to take his feet out of his (the corporal's) river, or he would shoot him.

“Reveillé” will sound at five o'clock to-morrow morning, and at seven we shall be off and away. We are within three miles of our old camp. To-morrow we go somewhat nearer Washington.

No paper that I have yet seen gives any idea of the fight, as I glean it from various sources. No generalship seems to have been used in the matter. Not a military glance seems to have swept the field, not a military suggestion seems to have planned the enterprise. The men crossed at the worst point of the river; they had only two small scows to cross with; retreat was impossible.

If you could see how completely this rocky, wooded bluff (of which I have attempted a sketch on the opposite page) overhangs the island and the opposite shore, you would realize what a mad place it was to cross at. If you could see the scows, you would see what means they had to cross.

Again, the disposition of the troops was wretched. The formation close upon the bluff, and with their rear right upon the river, gave no chance to repair mischance. Also, the thick wood which surrounded them gave the enemy every opportunity to outflank them. If they had meant to fight, they should have rested one of their flanks on the river, and have protected the other by artillery. This would have made their line perpendicular to the river. Their retreat might have been up or down stream. But they could, probably, have prolonged the fight till night, and then run for luck in crossing. Such a position would have been stronger, and retreat would have been less fatal. But they thought apparently the two scows their line of retreat, while, in fact, they were as bad as nothing. There does not seem to be a single redeeming feature in the whole business. They went on a fool's errand, — went without means, and then persisted in their folly after it became clear

It is useless to talk of what might have been; but if you had walked, as I have done, for the past three days on that canal tow-path opposite the bluff on whose crest our brave men formed for a desperate struggle, you could not help discoursing upon the military grotesqueness of the whole action. I have said there is no redeeming feature in the whole case. I am wrong. The determined courage of Massachusetts officers and soldiers is a cheering gleam through the gloom. But Heaven save us from any more such tests of valor. “The officer who brought you here ought to be hung,” said a Rebel officer to the burial party who went over with a flag of truce on Tuesday to bury our dead. I am afraid that is too true.

The Rebels, on the other hand, managed finely. They seem to have waited till they had caught a goodly number, and then to have sprung their trap ruthlessly. McClellan's first question was, “How did our men fight?” The answer is plain, — like heroes. If the men were properly officered, they would be the best troops in the world

The blunder and its consequences are of the past. The future must be freighted with better hopes. As far as our military position is concerned, except for the loss of life, and perhaps of time, all is as well to-day as a week ago.

We cannot be thankful enough for the mercy which spared our regiment from having any other share in the movement than to aid in repairing its disasters. I shall not soon forget that night's march, and that gloomy morning. God bless you all at home! We can trust, and must trust, in that Power which will overrule everything for good. Good night. I must get some sleep for to-morrow's march.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 125-30

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: May 25, 1863

The enemy repulsed at Vicksburg, though it is still in a state of siege. General Johnston is there, and we hope that the best means will be used to save that heroic little city; and we pray that God may bless the means used.

A friend called this morning, and told us of the fall of another of those dear youths, over whose boyish sojourn with us memory loves to linger. Kennedy Groghan, of Baltimore, who, in the very beginning of the war, came over to help us, fell in a skirmish in the Valley, a short time ago. The only account given us is, that the men were forced to retreat hastily, and were only able to place his loved body under the spreading branches of a tree. Oh! I trust that some kindly hand has put him beneath God's own earth, free from the din of war, from the strife of man, and from the curse of sin forever. I remember so well when, during our stay in Winchester, the first summer of the war, while General Johnston's army was stationed near there, how he, and so many others, would come in to see us, with their yet unfaded suits of gray — already sunburnt and soldier-like, but bright and cheerful. Alas! alas! how many now fill the graves of heroes — their young lives crushed out by the unscrupulous hand of an invading foe!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 216-7

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Tuesday, August 30, 1864

It is warm and sultry. There are not so many sick and wounded coming in as there were a few days ago. Quite a number, at their own request, are being sent out to the front. When the convalescents are able for duty, they can't stand it to remain here; the first thought is to get back into the lines. Taking care of the sick is no light work, if one does his duty. The worst is that there is so much sad, heart-rending work to do, ministering to the dying, taking down their farewells to be sent to their homes; then after death, we have to roll the bodies in their blankets and carry them to the “deadhouse,” where other hands take charge and bury them without coffin or ceremony.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 212

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, August 25, 1864

There are now from five thousand to six thousand sick and wounded here, and still more are coming. Though some of the sick are gaining slowly, yet there are from five to six deaths daily; there have been as many as eight deaths in a day, and not less than three a day for the time the hospital has been established here. I am told that the dead are buried in the Rome cemetery. Most of the men are sent out to the front again just as soon as they can go. General Hospital, Ward D, Second Section, Second Division. Rome, Georgia.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 211-2

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: Monday Night, September 22, 1862

Probably the most desperate battle of the war was fought last Wednesday near Sharpsburg, Maryland. Great loss on both sides. The Yankees claim a great victory, while our men do the same. We were left in possession of the field on Wednesday night, and buried our dead on Thursday. Want of food and other stores compelled our generals to remove our forces to the Virginia side of the river, which they did on Thursday night, without molestation. This is all I can gather from the confused and contradictory accounts of the newspapers.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 156-7