Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 13, 1864

Bright, beautiful weather, with frosty nights.

The dispatches I cut from the papers to-day are interesting. Gen. Wise, it appears, has met the enemy at last, and gained a brilliant success—and so has Gen. Finnegan. But the correspondence between the President and Gen. Johnston, last spring and summer, indicates constant dissensions between the Executive and the generals. And the President is under the necessity of defending Northern born generals, while Southern born ones are without trusts, etc.

INTERESTING FROM FLORIDA.

 

OFFICIAL DISPATCH.

 

Charleston, February 11th, 1864.

To Gen. S. Cooper.

 

Gen Finnegan has repulsed the enemy's force at Lake City— details not known.

 

G. T. Beauregard.

 

SECOND DISPATCH.

 

Charleston, February 11th—11 A.m.

To Gen. S. Cooper.

 

Gen. Finnegan's success yesterday was very creditable—the enemy's force being much superior to his own. His reinforcements had not reached here, owing to delays on the road. Losses not yet reported.

 

G. T. Beauregard.

 

 

REPULSE OF THE ENEMY NEAR CHARLESTON.

OFFICIAL DISPATCH.

 

Charleston, February 12th, 1864.

 

Gen. Wise gallantly repulsed the enemy last evening on John's Island. He is, to-day, in pursuit. Our loss very trifling. The force of the enemy is about 2000; ours about one-half.

 

G. T. Beauregard.

Every day we recapture some of the escaped Federal officers. So far we have 34 of the 109.

The President sent over a "confidential" sealed letter to the Secretary to-day. I handed it to the Secretary, who was looking pensive.

Dr. McClure, of this city, who has been embalming the dead, and going about the country with his coffins, has been detected taking Jews and others through the lines. Several live men have been found in his coffins.

Again it is reported that the enemy are advancing up the Peninsula in force, and, to-morrow being Sunday, the local troops may be called out. But Gen. Rhodes is near with his division, so no serious danger will be felt, unless more than 20,000 attack us. Even that number would not accomplish much—for the city is fortified strongly.

It is rumored by blockade-runners that gold in the North is selling at from 200 to 500 per cent, premium. If this be true, our day of deliverance is not distant.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the ConfederaStates Capital, Volume 2, p. 148-9

Diary of Sarah Morgan: July 29, 1862

This town, with its ten thousand soldiers, is more quiet than it was with the old population of seven thousand citizens. With this tremendous addition, it is like a graveyard in its quiet, at times. These poor soldiers are dying awfully. Thirteen went yesterday. On Sunday the boats discharged hundreds of sick at our landing. Some lay there all the afternoon in the hot sun, waiting for the wagon to carry them to the hospital, which task occupied the whole evening. In the mean time these poor wretches lay uncovered on the ground, in every stage of sickness. Cousin Will saw one lying dead without a creature by to notice when he died. Another was dying, and muttering to himself as he lay too far gone to brush the flies out of his eyes and mouth, while no one was able to do it for him. Cousin Will helped him, though. Another, a mere skeleton, lay in the agonies of death, too; but he evidently had kind friends, for several were gathered around holding him up, and fanning him, while his son leaned over him crying aloud. Tiche says it was dreadful to hear the poor boy's sobs. All day our vis-à-vis, Baumstark, with his several aids, plies his hammer; all day Sunday he made coffins, and says he can't make them fast enough. Think, too, he is by no means the only undertaker here! Oh, I wish these poor men were safe in their own land! It is heartbreaking to see them die here like dogs, with no one to say Godspeed. The Catholic priest went to see some, sometime ago, and going near one who lay in bed, said some kind thing, when the man burst into tears and cried, “Thank God, I have heard one kind word before I die!” In a few minutes the poor wretch was dead.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 136