Captain Charles Wright Wills: March 12, 1864

Scottsboro, Ala., March 12, 1864.

I have been tremendously demoralized for nearly a month in consequence of a terrible cold I caught by some of my carelessness, I suppose, but am now coming out of it all right. Weather is most beautiful. Not too much duty, excellent camp, remarkably good health, and everything so near right, that almost think a soldier who'd grumble here deserves shooting. Were I disposed to complain am sure I could only find two little topics whereof to speak; one being the fact that 'tis impossible to get anything to eat here excepting regular army rations, not even hams can be had, and the other the long-continued absence of the paymaster. We are hoping that both these matters will be remedied 'ere long, but have been so hoping for months. We have a division purveyor now, who pretends that he will furnish us in good eatables. We have had but a few articles from him, and I'll tell you the prices of those I remember. Can of strawberries, $1.75; cheese, 80 cents a pound; bottle (about one and one-half pints) pickled beets, $1.50. If I could draw the pay of a brigadier general, and then live on half rations, think I might come out even with said purveyor for my caterer.

Everything perfectly stagnant. We did hear day before yesterday some quite rapid artillery firing for an hour or two; it sounded as though it might have been some ten or twelve miles southwest of us. 'Twas reported by scouts a few days ago that the enemy was preparing flatboats at Guntersville to cross the river on, with intent to make a raid up in this direction or toward Huntsville. The 15th Michigan Mounted Infantry was sent down to look after the matter, ran into an ambuscade and lost a dozen or so killed and wounded. That's all I heard of the matter. We were very sorry that the loss was so light, for they are a miserable set. We are going to have a dance here in a few days. Think I'll go. Anything at all to get out of camp. I'm as restless as a tree top after marching so much. You don't know how tame this camp business is. Am afraid I will get the “blues” yet. Hurry up the spring campaign, I say.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 219

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Web Hayes, April 15, 1863

Camp White, April 15, Evening.

Dearest: — Your short business letter came this afternoon. I do not yet know about your coming here during the campaigning season. If we fortify, probably all right; if not, I don't know.

Lieutenant Ellen is married. His wife sent me a fine big wedding cake and two cans of fruit. Good wife, I guess, by the proofs sent me.

You speak of Jim Ware. What does he think of the prospects? I understand Jim in a letter to Dr. Joe says Dr. Ware gives it up. Is this so?

I send you more photographs. The major's resignation was not accepted and he is now taking hold of things with energy.

We are having further disasters, I suspect, at Charleston and in North Carolina. But they are not vital. The small results (adverse results, I mean,) likely to follow are further proofs of our growing strength.

What a capital speech Everett has made. He quite redeems himself.

Always say something about the boys — their sayings and doings.

Affectionately ever,

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 405

A Woman's Diary Of The Siege Of Vicksburg: July 4, 1863

It is evening. All is still. Silence and night are once more united. I can sit at the table in the parlor and write. Two candles are lighted. I would like a dozen. We have had wheat supper and wheat bread once more. H––– is leaning back in the rocking-chair; he says:

"G–––, it seems to me I can hear the silence, and feel it, too. It wraps me like a soft garment; how else can I express this peace?" But I must write the history of the last twenty-four hours. About five yesterday afternoon, Mr. J–––, H–––'s assistant, who, having no wife to keep him in, dodges about at every change and brings us the news, came to H––– and said:

“Mr. L–––, you must both come to our cave to-night. I hear that to-night the shelling is to surpass everything yet. An assault will be made in front and rear. You know we have a double cave; there is room for you in mine, and mother and sister will make a place for Mrs. L–––. Come right up; the ball will open about seven."

We got ready, shut up the house, told Martha to go to the church again if she preferred it to the cellar, and walked up to Mr. J–––'s. When supper was eaten, all secure, and ladies in their cave night toilet, it was just six, and we crossed the street to the cave opposite. As I crossed a mighty shell flew screaming right over my head. It was the last thrown into Vicksburg. We lay on our pallets waiting for the expected roar, but no sound came except the chatter from neighboring caves, and at last we dropped asleep. I woke at dawn stiff. A draught from the funnel-shaped opening had been blowing on me all night. Every one was expressing surprise at the quiet. We started for home and met the editor of the “Daily Citizen.” H––– said:

“This is strangely quiet, Mr. L–––.”

“Ah, sir,” shaking his head gloomily, “I'm afraid (?) the last shell has been thrown into Vicksburg.”

“Why do you fear so?”

“It is surrender. At six last evening a man went down to the river and blew a truce signal; the shelling stopped at once.”

When I entered the kitchen a soldier was there waiting for the bowl of scrapings (they took turns for it).

“Good-morning, madam,” he said; “we won't bother you much longer. We can’t thank you enough for letting us come, for getting this soup boiled has helped some of us to keep alive, but now all this is over.”

“Is it true about the surrender?”

“Yes; we have had no official notice, but they are paroling out at the lines now, and the men in Vicksburg will never forgive Pemberton. An old granny! A child would have known better than to shut men up in this cursed trap to starve to death like uselessvermin.” His eyes flashed with an insane fire as he spoke. “Haven't I seen my friends carted out three or four in a box, that had died of starvation ! Nothing else, madam! Starved, to death because we had a fool for a general”

“Don't you think you're rather hard on Pemberton? He thought it his duty to wait for Johnston.”

“Some people may excuse him, ma'am. Bit we'll curse him to our dying day. Anyhow, you'll see the blue-coats directly.”

Breakfast dispatched, we went on the upper gallery. What I expected to see was files of soldiers marching in, but it was very different. The street was deserted, save by a few people coming home bedding from their caves. Among these was a group taking home a little creature, born in a cave a few days previous, and its wan-looking mother. About eleven o'clock a man in blue came sauntering along, looking about curiously. Then two followed him, then another.

“H–––, do you think these can be the Federal soldiers?”

“Why, yes; here come more up the street.” Soon a group appeared on the court-house hill, and the flag began slowly to rise to the top of the staff. As the breeze caught it, and it sprang out like a live thing exultant, H––– drew a long breath of contentment.

“Now I feel once more at home in mine own country.”

In an hour more a grand rush of people setting toward the river began, —foremost among them the gentleman who took our cave; all were flying as if for life.

“What can this mean, H–––?Are the populace turning out to greet the despised conquerors?"

"Oh," said H–––, springing up. “look. It is the boats coming around the bend.”

Truly, it was a fine spectacle to see that fleet of transports sweep around the curve and anchor in the teeth of the batteries so lately vomiting fire. Presently Mr. J––– passed and called:

“Aren't you coming, Mr. L–––? There's provisions on those boats: coffee and flour. ‘First come, first served,’ you know.”

“Yes, I'll be there pretty soon,” replied H–––.

But now the new-comers began to swarm into our yard, asking H––– if he had coin to sell for greenbacks. He had some, and a little bartering went on with the new greenbacks. H––– went out to get provisions. When he returned a Confederate officer came with him. H went to the box of Confederate money and took out four hundred dollars, and the officer took off his watch, a plain gold one, and laid it on the table, saying, “We have not been paid, and I must get home to my family.” H––– added a five-dollar greenback to the pile, and wished him a happy meeting. The townsfolk continued to dash through the streets with their arms full, canned goods predominating. Towards five Mr. J––– passed again. “Keep on the lookout,” he said; “the army of occupation is coming along,” and in a few minutes the head of the column appeared. What a contrast to the suffering creatures we had seen so long were these stalwart, well-fed men, so splendidly set up and accoutered. Sleek horses, polished arms, bright plumes, — this was the pride and panoply of war. Civilization, discipline, and order seemed to enter with the measured tramp of those marching columns; and the heart turned with throbs of added pity to the worn men in gray, who were being blindly dashed against this embodiment of modern power. And now this “silence that is golden” indeed is over all, and my limbs are unhurt, and I suppose if I were Catholic, in my fervent gratitude, I would hie me with a rich offering to the shrine of “our Lady of Mercy.”

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. 774-5

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Sunday, September 14, 1862

I have been so busy making Lieutenant Bourge's shirt that I have not had time to write, besides having very little to write about. So my industry saved my paper and spared these pages a vast amount of trash. I would not let any one touch Lieutenant Bourge's shirt except myself; and last evening, when I held it up completed, the loud praises it received satisfied me it would answer. Miriam and Miss Ripley declared it the prettiest ever made. It is dark purple merino. The bosom I tucked with pleats a quarter of an inch deep, all the way up to the collar, and stitched a narrow crimson silk braid up the centre to hold it in its place. Around the collar, cuffs, pockets, and band down the front, the red cord runs, forming a charming contrast to the dark foundation. Indeed, I devoted the sole article the Yankees let fall from my two workboxes — a bunch of soutache — to the work. Large white pearl buttons completed the description, and my shirt is really as quiet, subdued, and pretty a one as I ever saw. I should first hear the opinion of the owner, though. If he does not agree with all the others, I shall say he has no taste.

I got a long sweet letter from Sophie on Friday that made me happy for the whole day. They were about leaving for Alexandria. I was glad to hear they would be out of danger, but still I was sorry they were going so far away. I have been laying a hundred wild schemes to reach Baton Rouge and spend a day or two with them, which is impossible now. Sophie writes just as she talks — and that means remarkably well, so I can at least have the pleasure of corresponding. At Dr. Carnal's they will be out of the reach of all harm and danger; so I ought to rejoice. There is one thing in which Sophie and I agree, and that is in making Stonewall Jackson our hero. Talk of Beauregard! he never had my adoration; but Stonewall is the greatest man of the age, decidedly.

Still no authentic reports of the late battles in Virginia. I say late, referring to those fought two weeks ago. From the Federal accounts, glowing as they usually are, I should gather the idea that their rout was complete. I cannot imagine why we can hear nothing more from our own side. . . .

I think my first act on my return home will be to take a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, two luxuries of which I have been deprived for a long while. Miriam vows to devour an unheard-of number of biscuits, too. How many articles we considered as absolutely necessary, before, have we now been obliged to dispense with! Nine months of the year I reveled in ice, thought it impossible to drink water without it. Since last November, I have tasted it but once, and that once by accident. And oh, yes! I caught some hail-stones one day at Linwood! Icecream, lemonade, and sponge cake was my chief diet; it was a year last July since I tasted the two first, and one since I have seen the last. Bread I believed necessary to life; vegetables, senseless. The former I never see, and I have been forced into cultivating at least a toleration of the latter. Snap beans I can actually swallow, sweet potatoes I really like, and one day at Dr. Nolan's I “bolted” a mouthful of tomatoes, and afterwards kept my seat with the heroism of a martyr. These are the minor trials of war. If that were all — if coarse, distasteful food were the only inconvenience!

When I think of what Lavinia must suffer so far from us, and in such ignorance of our condition, our trials seem nothing in comparison to hers. And think how uneasy Brother must be, hearing of the battle, and not knowing where we fled to! For he has not heard of us for almost two months. In return we are uneasy about him and Sister. If New Orleans is attacked, what will become of them with all those children?

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 222-5

Charles Eliot Norton to George William Curtis, Sunday Evening, September 25, 1864

Sunday evening, 25 September, 1864.

. . . We had a pleasant Club dinner yesterday.  . . . Sumner has toned down greatly since it seems certain that Lincoln is to be reelected. His opinion of Lincoln “is at least not higher than it was three years ago.” An officer, just from Atlanta, came in and told us some good stories of Sherman, — and of the transportation department of the army. There has been a corps of six thousand men detailed to keep the Rail Road from Nashville to Atlanta in order. The bridge across the Chattahoochie, — a railroad bridge seven hundred and eight feet long, and ninety-three feet high, was built in four days. The army has been well supplied, in great measure with canned food; — “Yes,” said Sherman, “I am perfectly satisfied with the transportation service, — it has given us abundance of desecrated vegetables and consecrated milk.”

This as a pendant to his recent letters. What a week this last has been for good letters! Two from Lincoln, that are worthy of the best letter-writer of the time, — so simple, manly, and direct; one from Grant, not less simple and straightforward, clearing the air with its plain frankness from rumours and innuendoes, and affording a most striking contrast to the letters which Mr. Lincoln was in the habit of receiving from a former Commander-in-Chief; and two from Sherman, masterpieces of strong sense in strong words. How his wrath swells and grows till it bursts in “Tell that to the Marines,” and with what indignant common-sense does he reject the canting appeal to God and humanity of the Southern slave-drivers. He writes as well as he fights. . . .

SOURCE: Sara Norton and  M. A. DeWolfe Howe, Letters of Charles Eliot Norton, Volume 1, p. 279-80