Serenade To Mr. Boyce

The Hon. W. W. BOYCE was serenaded at the Congaree House, in Columbia on Tuesday night, and made a speech in which he recommended the immediate Secession of South Carolina, in the event of LINCOLN’S election.  After Mr. BOYCE, Gen. WM. E. MARTIN, Col. CUNNINGHAM, Hon. W. D. SIMPSON, Mr. O’CONNOR, F. D. RICHARDSON, Esq., W. WHALEY, Esq., Mr. C. BUTLER, and J. HUDSON addressed the crowd, all taking position for immediate State action.

— Published in The Abbeville Press, Abbeville, South Carolina, Friday Morning, November 9, 1860, p. 2

Diary of Brigadier-General William F. Bartlett: Monday Evening, August 22, 1864

Mark off another day; one day nearer home and liberty. Read “Villette;” don't like it much. My friend Jones brought me some nice beans for dinner from the garden. I gave him some sugar in return. To-night he brought me some peaches. Rumors of fighting going on. Oh, what wouldn't I give for a New York or Boston paper to-night, or a letter. If I had two legs, I would not stay here long. Played chess to-day with Pat. He beats me. I cannot get interested in it. He beats me at checkers too. I believe I am getting stupid. I must get where I can have somebody congenial to talk with. I dread the journey to Columbia, two days. What are they doing at home to-night? I wish I could look in, invisible.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 129

Brigadier-General William F. Bartlett to Harriet Plummer Bartlett, August 5, 1864

Prisoners' Hospital,

Danville, Va., August 5, 1864.

Dear Mother, — I will write a few lines in the hope that they may reach you at some time. You know, of course, that I was taken prisoner, that my leg (wooden) was crushed; the man next me was killed by the same shell. I was very much used up and have been very weak from diarrhoea since. I was brought from the prison to this place night before last. The other officers were all sent to Columbia, S. C, yesterday, Colonel Weld and Captain Amory included; so I am all alone I shall be sent there when I am well enough, I suppose. I am in a tent here, and have plenty of fresh air. I hope no blame is given me for the failure of Saturday. I certainly did all in my power. I held the pit with, hardly any force after the rest of the line had been retaken. The rebel flag was within six feet of mine, just the ridge of dirt between, for nearly an hour. It was impossible to withdraw without sacrificing all the men, so I held on as long as possible in hope of reinforcements. The negroes were crowded into the same pit with us when they retreated in such confusion, and we have been treated worse, an account of being taken with them.

I shall get better here, I think. I don't suppose you will be able to send me anything. Tufts, the Massachusetts Agent in Washington, will know. Write me. Not more than one page is allowed, I believe. Address Prisoner of War, Danville, Va. Has George got home yet? And my horses? Take good care of Ned. I made arrangements to have him sent home in case anything happened to me. The Chaplain and Dr. White promised to see to it. If you can send me a small box with something to eat and drink, some tea and coffee, I should like it. It might get to me. Send it through Tufts, Massachusetts Agent in Washington. Send this letter to A. P. I shall not be able to write any more at present. I have Uncle Edwin's “letter” with me, and may be able to use it. Don't be worried about me, I shall be well soon. I shall get a pair of crutches made so I can get about soon. My half-dollar pocket-piece did me good service; brought me eight dollars confederate money, with which I bought a tooth-brush. Milk two dollars qt., etc. My love to all. Let them write me often; some will get through.

Your affectionate son,

W. F. Bartlett.

Brigadier-general U. S. A., Prisoner of War.

(Envelopes, $8. a package.)

There has been some talk of exchanging sick and wounded prisoners. I hope it will be effected.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 121-3

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: January 16, 1865

Headquarters Second Mass. Inf'y,

Savannah, Ga., January 16th, 1865.

This afternoon, orders came quite unexpectedly for us to be ready to move to-morrow morning at seven o'clock. Our corps, I believe, crosses the river and marches up to Sister's Ferry, where the Fourteenth joins us from the south side; after that, it is a mere speculation where we may go. I am inclined to believe that the railroads towards Columbia will receive our attention, so that communication between Richmond, Charleston and Augusta may be cut off.

General Coggswell has been assigned to duty according to his rank, by the President, and takes command of the Third Brigade, Third Division, of this corps, — not our brigade, as I expected. He published a very good order, taking leave of the regiment, and left, taking with him, I believe, the good wishes of all.

To-day I sent a request to the War Department for six hundred conscripts; whether it will effect anything or not, remains to be seen. I think they ought to be willing to fill up the oldest regiment in the volunteer service of the country.

Every one anticipates hard fighting on this campaign, and I don't think we shall be disappointed; if we are successful, Richmond is on its last legs.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 207

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: January 2, 1865

Near Savannah, January 2, 1865.

Without going much into detail, I will give you a general idea of our last campaign as we saw it. The minor experiences I shall leave till I come home some time, to amuse you with.

The 15th of November, the whole corps left Atlanta at seven A. M.; previous to that time all heavy buildings had been battered down with rails, tracks torn up, etc., so that everything was ready for the torch. The Fourteenth Corps and our post command was not to move until the 16th. As soon as the city was pretty clear of trains the fires were set. It is impossible for you to imagine, or for me to describe, the magnificent spectacle which this city in flames presented, especially after dark. We sat up on top of our house for hours watching it. For miles around, the country was as light as day. The business portion of Atlanta, embracing perhaps twenty acres, covered with large storehouses and public buildings, situated in the highest part of the city, was all on fire at one time, the flames shooting up for hundreds of feet into the air. In one of the depots was a quantity of old rebel shells and other ammunition; the constant explosion of these heightened the effect. Coming from the sublime to the ridiculous, in the midst of this grand display the Thirty-third Massachusetts band went up and serenaded General Sherman; it was like fiddling over the burning of Rome! While the conflagration was going on, we kept large patrols out to protect the dwellings and other private property of the few citizens remaining in the city; this was effectually done.

On the morning of the 16th, nothing was left of Atlanta except its churches, the City Hall and private dwellings. You could hardly find a vestige of the splendid railroad depots, warehouses, etc. It was melancholy, but it was war prosecuted in deadly earnest. The last of the Fourteenth Corps did not get off till about half-past four P. M. We followed after, being the last United States troops to leave Atlanta. That night we marched eleven miles, going into camp four miles beyond Decatur.

From this time until the 22d, we marched as rear guard of the Fourteenth Corps, crossing the Yellow, Alcofauhachee and Little Rivers, passing through Conyers, Covington and Shadyvale, and arriving at Eatonton Factory on the 21st. Here we left the Fourteenth Corps and followed the track of the Twentieth, which was on the road leading from Madison through Eatonton to Milledgeville.

On the 22d, we passed through Eatonton, and came up with the rear of the Twentieth Corps at Little River, which we crossed on pontoons.

On the 23d, we marched into Milledgeville, joining our division across the Oconee River. The capital of Georgia is a very one-horse place, with a few good public buildings including the Capitol, which is quite handsome. Here, for the first time since leaving Atlanta, we got into camp before dark, and therefore had a little rest, which was much needed. We had averaged getting up at half-past four A. M., and into camp at eight P. M., which, with an intermediate march of fifteen miles, made a pretty good day's work. Two hours are none too many to allow for getting supper and pitching shelters.

At six A. M., on the 24th, we were off again; it being Thanksgiving day, our excellent cook had provided us with a cold roast turkey for lunch at our noon halt, and at night, after getting into camp near Hebron, he served us with turkeys and chickens, sweet potatoes and honey, in a style which did honor to his New England bringing up.

The 25th, we crossed Buffalo Creek, after some delay, the bridge having been destroyed by Wheeler's cavalry, which skirmished with our advance.

On the 26th, Wheeler had the impudence to try and stop our corps. Our brigade, being in advance, was deployed against him. We drove them on almost a double-quick march for six miles into the town of Sandersville; the Fourteenth Corps' advance, coming in from the north, struck their flank and they scattered, leaving their killed and wounded in the streets. Our whole loss was not more than six. That night we struck the railroad at Tennill; we destroyed several miles of it before going into camp.

The 27th, we marched to Davisboro, a pretty little place, rich in sweet potatoes and forage for our animals.

The 28th and 29th, our division destroyed the railroad from Davisboro to Ogeechee River. The army way of “repairing” railroads is this: the regiments of a brigade are scattered along for a mile, arms are stacked, and the men “fall in” on one side of the track. At a given signal, they take hold of the rail, tie, or whatever is in front of them; the order, “Heave,” is then given, which means lift, and lift together; at this, the whole length of railroad begins to move, and the movement is kept up until the whole thing goes over with a smash. The ties are then collected and piled up; across each pile three or four rails are laid; the whole is then set on fire; the heat makes the rails red hot in the middle, and their own weight then bends them almost double. In many cases each rail was twisted besides being bent.

November 30th, we crossed the Ogeechee.

December 1st and 2d, we were rear guard; the roads were bad, and we didn't get into camp before eleven or twelve P. M.

December 3rd, we halted within a quarter of a mile of the pen where our prisoners were kept, near Millen. I rode over and looked at it. No description I have ever seen was bad enough for the reality. Situated in the centre of a moist, dismal swamp, without a tree inside the stockade for shelter: you can imagine what the place must have been in this climate in August. There wasn't a sign of a tent in the whole enclosure; nothing but holes dug in the ground and built up with sod, for our men to live in. Eight bodies, unburied, were found in these huts; they were of men probably too sick to be moved, who were left to die alone and uncared for. Every one who visited this place came away with a feeling of hardness toward the Southern Confederacy he had never felt before.

The marches of the 4th, 5th, 6th and 7th brought us to Springfield, twenty-seven miles from Savannah. The country is generally poor and swampy, the roads bad. On the 8th, the corps trains were left in the rear, guarded by the Third Division, the First and Second going along unencumbered. We had to cut our way through the trees which were felled across the road by the rebels.

On the 9th, we encountered a redoubt on the road, fifteen miles from Savannah; this was soon carried with a small loss, our brigade flanking the position.

On the 10th, the army formed line of battle for the first time since leaving Atlanta, six miles from Savannah, fronting the rebel works. The rest of the story you know. Altogether, the campaign was brilliant and successful; in many respects it was a fatiguing one, but to make up for the hard work the men generally had an abundant supply of sweet potatoes, fresh beef and pork. Since the 10th, and up to the present time, rations for men and officers have been very short, but they are now improving.

We are threatened with another campaign immediately; I imagine it will be a move towards Columbia, threatening Augusta and Charleston.

There was no mistake made in the amount of force left with Thomas, as the result has shown. The rebellion has one front only now, — that is in Virginia, and we are going to break that in before next summer.

Savannah is a very pretty, old-fashioned city, regularly laid out, with handsome houses, etc. The officers on duty here are having fine times, even better than ours at Atlanta. Sherman reviewed the whole army, a corps at a time, last week. Considering the ragged and barefooted state of the men, they looked well.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 201-5

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: May 19, 1862

We await the issue before Richmond. It is still believed by many that it is the intention of the government and the generals to evacuate the city. If the enemy were to appear in force on the south side, and another force were to march on us from Fredericksburg, we should be inevitably taken, in the event of the loss of a battle — an event I don't anticipate. Army, government, and all, might, it is true, be involved in a common ruin. Wrote as strong a letter as I could to the President, stating what I have every reason to believe would be the consequences of the abandonment of Richmond. There would be demoralization and even insubordination in the army. Better die here! With the exception of the business portion of the city, the enemy could not destroy a great many houses by bombardment. But if defeated and driven back, our troops would make a heroic defense in the streets, in the walled grave-yards, and from the windows. Better electrify the world by such scenes of heroism, than surrender the capital and endanger the cause. I besought him by every consideration, not to abandon Richmond to the enemy short of the last extremity.

The legislature has also passed resolutions calling upon the C. S. Government to defend Richmond at all hazards, relieving the Confederate authorities, in advance, of all responsibility for any damage sustained.

This will have its effect. It would be pusillanimous to retire now.

But every preparation had been made to abandon it. The archives had been sent to Columbia, S. C., and to Lynchburg. The tracks over the bridges had been covered with plank, to facilitate the passage of artillery. Mr. Randolph had told his page, and cousin, “you must go with my wife into the country, for tomorrow the enemy will be here.” Trunks were packed in readiness — for what? Not one would have been taken on the cars! The Secretary of the Treasury had a special locomotive and cars, constantly with steam up, in readiness to fly with the treasure.

Nevertheless, many of the old secessionists have resolved not to leave their homes, for there were no other homes for them to fly to. They say they will never take the oath of allegiance to the despised government of the North, but suffer whatever penalties may be imposed on them. There is a sullen, but generally a calm expression of inflexible determination on the countenances of the people, men, women, and children. But there is no consternation; we have learned to contemplate death with composure. It would be at least an effectual escape from dishonor; and Northern domination is dishonor.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 126-7

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: June 1, 1865

The New York Herald quotes General Sherman as saying, “Columbia was burned by Hampton's sheer stupidity.'” But then who burned everything on the way in Sherman's march to Columbia, and in the line of march Sherman took after leaving Columbia? We came, for three days of travel, over a road that had been laid bare by Sherman's torches. Nothing but smoking ruins was left in Sherman's track. That I saw with my own eyes. No living thing was left, no house for man or beast. They who burned the countryside for a belt of forty miles, did they not also burn the town? To charge that to “Hampton's stupidity “ is merely an afterthought. This Herald announces that Jeff Davis will be hanged at once, not so much for treason as for his assassination of Lincoln. “Stanton, '” the Herald says, '”has all the papers in his hands to convict him.”

The Yankees here say, “The black man must go as the red man has gone; this is a white man's country.” The negroes want to run with the hare, but hunt with the hounds. They are charming in their professions to us, but declare that they are to be paid by these blessed Yankees in lands and mules for having been slaves. They were so faithful to us during the war, why should the Yankees reward them, to which the only reply is that it would be by way of punishing rebels.

Mrs. Adger¹ saw a Yankee soldier strike a woman, and she prayed God to take him in hand according to his deed. The soldier laughed in her face, swaggered off, stumbled down the steps, and then his revolver went off by the concussion and shot him dead.

The black ball is in motion. Mrs. de Saussure's cook shook the dust off her feet and departed from her kitchen to-day—free, she said. The washerwoman is packing to go.

Scipio Africanus, the Colonel's body-servant, is a soldierly looking black creature, fit to have delighted the eyes of old Frederick William of Prussia, who liked giants. We asked him how the Yankees came to leave him. “Oh, I told them marster couldn't do without me no how; and then I carried them some nice hams that they never could have found, they were hid so good.”

Eben dressed himself in his best and went at a run to meet his Yankee deliverers — so he said. At the gate he met a squad coming in. He had adorned himself with his watch and chain, like the cordage of a ship, with a handful of gaudy seals. He knew the Yankees came to rob white people, but he thought they came to save niggers. “Hand over that watch!” they said. Minus his fine watch and chain, Eben returned a sadder and a wiser man. He was soon in his shirt-sleeves, whistling at his knife-board. “Why? You here? Why did you come back so soon?” he was asked. “Well, I thought may be I better stay with ole marster that give me the watch, and not go with them that stole it.” The watch was the pride of his life. The iron had entered his soul.

Went up to my old house, “Kamschatka.” The Trapiers live there now. In those drawing-rooms where the children played Puss in Boots, where we have so often danced and sung, but never prayed before, Mr. Trapier held his prayer-meeting. I do not think I ever did as much weeping or as bitter in the same space of time. I let myself go; it did me good. I cried with a will. He prayed that we might have strength to stand up and bear our bitter disappointment, to look on our ruined homes and our desolated country and be strong. And he prayed for the man '”we elected to be our ruler and guide.” We knew that they had put him in a dungeon and in chains.² Men watch him day and night. By orders of Andy, the bloody-minded tailor, nobody above the rank of colonel can take the benefit of the amnesty oath, nobody who owns over twenty thousand dollars, or who has assisted the Confederates. And now, ye rich men, howl, for your misery has come upon you .You are beyond the outlaw, camping outside. Howell Cobb and R. M. T. Hunter have been arrested. Our turn will come next, maybe. A Damocles sword hanging over a house does not conduce to a pleasant life.

_______________

¹ Elizabeth K. Adger, wife of the Rev. John B. Adger, D. D., of Charleston, a distinguished Presbyterian divine, at one time a missionary to Smyrna where he translated the Bible into the Armenian tongue. He was afterward and before the war a professor in the Theological Seminary at Columbia. His wife was a woman of unusual judgment and intelligence, sharing her husband's many hardships and notable experiences in the East.

² Mr. Davis, while encamped near Irwinsville, Ga., had been captured on May 10th by a body of Federal cavalry under Lieutenant-Colonel Pritchard. He was taken to Fortress Monroe and confined there for two years, his release being effected on May 13, 1867, when he was admitted to bail in the sum of $100,000, the first name on his bail-bond being that of Horace Greeley.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 396

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: April 25, 1864

Our family in statu quo. The country in great excitement. We have lately had a splendid little victory at Plymouth, North Carolina. We have also had successes in Florida, at Shreveport, and other places in the South and South-west. The God of battles is helping us, or how could we thus succeed? This city is quite excited by Mr. Memminger having ordered off the Note-signing Department, consisting entirely of ladies, to Columbia, South Carolina. It has caused much distress, for many of them, whose living depends on the salary, can't possibly go. Mothers cannot leave their children, nor wives their husbands. No one seems to understand the motive which prompted the order. It seems to be very arbitrary. It is thought by some persons that all the departments will be ordered off. I trust not; for I, among many others, would be obliged to resign, and I cannot imagine how we would live without the salary. I see no reason to believe that any such move is intended, and I will not be unhappy about it. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

The enemy threatens Richmond, and is coming against it with an immense army. They boast that they can and will have it this summer; but, with the help of God, we hope to drive them back again. Our Government is making every effort to defeat them. I don't think that any one doubts our ability to do it; but the awful loss of life necessary upon the fights is what we dread.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 259-60

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Monday, February 20, 1865

We continued our march northward today about ten miles, destroying six miles of railroad. All the railroads within twenty miles of Columbia have been destroyed, every tie is burned and every rail is twisted into a corkscrew. A sad accident happened yesterday afternoon in Columbia when a detail from the Fifteenth Army Corps was casting the fixed ammunition into the river. A man dropped a shell on the bank of the river, which exploding, caused other ammunition to explode and ignited a large quantity of powder, killing several soldiers and wounding twenty others. When Sherman heard of it, he is said to have remarked that one of his soldiers was worth more than all that ammunition or even the city of Columbia.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 255

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, February 18, 1865

Columbia was almost completely destroyed by fire last night. Only a few houses in the outskirts are left standing, and many people are without homes this morning. Collumbia was a very nice town situated on the Congaree at the head of navigation. Three railroads run through the town. A new stone State House was being built, which it is said was to have been the capital of the Southern Confederacy. Last night I passed by the sheds where the fine marble columns for the building were carved and stored, and this morning they were all in ruins and the sheds in ashes. It is a sad sight to see the citizens standing in groups on the streets, holding little bundles of their most valued effects and not knowing what to do. It is said that some even came here from Charleston to escape Sherman's army. The people certainly have paid dearly for the privilege of seceding from the Union. The Seventeenth Corps passed through Columbia this morning and we were more than three hours in going through town. Our division marched out northwest along the railroad, destroying it all the way, and went into bivouac about six miles from town.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 254-5

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, February 19, 1865

We marched out on the railroad today and destroyed seven miles of track, then returned to camp, where we had left our knapsacks. We heard the sounds today of heavy explosions down in Columbia, and it is reported that our men have blown up the new State House.¹

_______________

¹ The sound of the explosions in Columbia, which we heard on that day, was due to the destruction by our men of the fixed ammunition found there. General Sherman saved the beautiful new state capitol building, though it bore some of the ear marks of our shot and shell. The burning of Columbia resulted from the Confederates' setting fire to the bales of cotton in the streets; then at night some of the Union soldiers, getting too much poor whisky and burning with revenge, set fire to some of the vacant houses, and the high wind soon spread it over the whole town. — A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 255

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, February 16, 1865

Early this morning cannonading was begun in front of the Fifteenth Corps, followed by some lively skirmishing, and the rebels were routed from their works and driven across the Congaree river. The Fifteenth Corps then marched up along the south bank of the river above the city of Columbia, to the forks, where the Saluda and Broad rivers form the Congaree, and crossed the Saluda on the pontoons. In the meantime our regiment was behind on train guard and did not come into action. We moved forward and with our corps went into camp for the night on the south bank of the Congaree, just opposite Columbia, the state capital.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 253

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Friday, February 17, 1865

The Seventeenth Army Corps remained all day on the south bank of the Congaree river, near the Saluda cotton mills, while the Fifteenth Corps early this morning crossed the north fork, the Broad river, on pontoons, having laid them during the night, and moved down upon Columbia. But when they entered the place they found that the rebels had already left it. In the meantime the Thirteenth Iowa Regiment, being on our skirmish line in front of the city, crossed the river in skiffs and after a little skirmishing succeeded in placing their flag on the State House before any of the Fifteenth Corps even got into town.¹ So a part of the Seventeenth Corps was the first to enter Columbia.² Our corps crossed the forks late this afternoon and went into camp a short distance from town.

_______________

¹ This is precisely the substance of the original entry of Mr. Downing's diary. In the following footnote, after almost fifty years, he explains the flag episode more fully and also speaks Incidentally of the burning of Columbia, though he makes no mention of it in his original; that he did not is, however, not to be wondered at, since such burnings were common. In his revision fifty years later he does not enter into the discussion of “Who Burned Columbia,” but makes a single statement, which seems to hold the Confederates responsible. — Ed.

² It was a bright sunshiny day with a high wind blowing from the south. From where we were, on the south bank of the river just opposite the city, we could see men on foot and on horseback in the main street of Columbia, lighting the cotton bales which they before had piled up in the streets for defenses. In the forenoon, a detachment of men from the Thirteenth Iowa Regiment crossed the river, and driving the enemy's skirmishers into the city, they placed their regimental flag on the State House, thus having the honor of being the first to place the Stars and Stripes on the capitol of the first state to secede from the Union.

The Thirteenth Iowa was in Crocker's Brigade, or the Third Brigade of the Fourth Division of the Seventeenth Army Corps. The boys of the Thirteenth Iowa made the mistake of not placing a guard about their flag, for about an hour after they had raised their flag, the Iowa Brigade in the Fifteenth Army Corps entered the city from the west, and the Thirtieth Iowa Regiment of that brigade, being on the skirmish line, naturally made for the State House. Upon approaching the capitol and seeing no Union soldiers around, they proceeded to investigate a little, and upon entering the building and finding no guard, they took down the flag of the Thirteenth Iowa, and put up their own instead. They then left a guard to defend it. The Thirteenth Iowa was without a flag for two or three days, when the Thirtieth Iowa finally returned to them their flag.

Our corps, the Seventeenth, moved up the river, and by dark had crossed the forks, the Saluda and Broad rivers, on the pontoons. As soon as we had stacked arms, I left for the city to replenish my haversack, which had become rather flat, and I did not get back to our bivouac until 2 o'clock in the morning, and then without anything to eat in my haversack. On entering town I passed by the abandoned Confederate commissary department, and seeing a great abundance of food stuffs, I thought that I would go down into town for a while, and then on my way back would fill up my haversack. But when I returned, I found the building in flames and food and all was In ashes before daylight.—A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 253-4

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Monday, February 13, 1865

Our corps started out at 7 o'clock this morning and after destroying twenty-six miles of railroad, marched fifteen miles, on the State road from Charleston to Columbia, and went into camp. This is the finest road over which we have marched in all the South; it had mile posts and our division commander must have wanted to see how fast we could march, for we stepped off the fifteen miles in just three hours and fifteen minutes.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 252-3

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

Our division relieved the Third Division on the skirmish line at the bridge this morning, while they went down the river about a mile, laid the pontoons and crossed over. The skirmishing was commenced at an early hour all along the line for a distance of fifteen miles. Our men threw shells across the river into Orangeburg, and the rebels left the bridge about 1 o'clock. Our division crossed the bridge two hours later and took possession of the town.¹

Orangeburg is nicely situated on the north bank of the Edisto river, and on the railroad running from Charleston to Columbia. The town is almost deserted, but before the war it had a population of three thousand. We destroyed the railroad and went into camp for the night.

_______________

¹ The town was on fire when we arrived. The report was that the town was set on fire by a Jew, in revenge for the enemy's setting fire to his cotton, about fifty bales, when they evacuated the place. The high winds which prevailed rapidly spread the fire in spite of the efforts of the soldiers to extinguish it.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 252

Lydia McLane Johnston to Louise Wigfall, Sunday, February 19, 1865

charlotte, N. C,

Feb. 19th, 1865.

. . . I take advantage of this sweet, quiet Sunday afternoon for a little chat with you. It is so quiet in my little nook and the bright sunshine outside looks so cheerful and calm that ’tis hard to realize the terrible storm of war that is raging within a few miles of us, or the scene of excitement and fatigue I have gone through myself. At last Sherman has planted himself upon Carolina soil, and the pretty little town of Columbia, we learn to-day, has been partially destroyed; and alas the poor women and children, who were forced to remain there, of their fate we know nothing; but oh horrors, have everything to fear from the nature of the savages who are desolating their homes. What a sight it was to see the poor people flying almost terror stricken to know what they could do — many leaving with only little bundles of clothes — and many compelled to remain, for they had nothing but God to look to for shelter.  . . . I left at the last moment on the car that brought the powder out. We only saved our clothes. How fortunate we were to do that, for many saved nothing. We left with the roar of the cannon in our ears!

. . . I arrived here, after spending two days and nights on the road — three hundred poor women on the car ahead of us — none of us able to get rooms. A gentleman came down to the cars at twelve at night and brought me to this home and gave me this delicious little room, and here I am quite sick, with a Doctor visiting me. I am waiting to hear from the General to know what to do. Oh these terrible times of shipwreck — everything looks hopeless to me now, and then if we are to go down — we are so far apart that we can see nothing of each other, but the glimpse of a pale face as it sinks out of sight! What a glorious struggle our brave people have made for their liberties! The sight of this town to-day is lamentable: women hunting in every direction for shelter — and the people themselves beginning to move off for a safer place.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 228-9

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 8, 1865

Colonel Childs came with a letter from my husband and a newspaper containing a full account of Sherman 's cold-blooded brutality in Columbia. Then we walked three miles to return the call of my benefactress, Mrs. MeDaniel. They were kind and hospitable at her house, but my heart was like lead; my head ached, and my legs were worse than my head, and then I had a nervous chill. So I came home, went to bed and stayed there until the Fants brought me a letter saying my husband would be here today. Then I got up and made ready to give him a cheerful reception. Soon a man called, Troy by name, the same who kept the little corner shop so near my house in Columbia, and of whom we bought things so often. We had fraternized. He now shook hands with me and looked in my face pitifully. We seemed to have been friends all our lives. He says they stopped the fire at the Methodist College, perhaps to save old Mr. McCartha's house. Mr. Sheriff Dent, being burned out, took refuge in our house. He contrived to find favor in Yankee eyes. Troy relates that a Yankee officer snatched a watch from Mrs. McCord's bosom. The soldiers tore the bundles of clothes that the poor wretches tried to save from their burning homes, and dashed them back into the flames. They meant to make a clean sweep. They were howling round the fires, like demons, these Yankees in their joy and triumph at our destruction. Well, we have given them a big scare and kept them miserable for four years — the little handful of us.

A woman we met on the street stopped to tell us a painful coincidence. A general was married but he could not stay at home very long after the wedding. When his baby was born they telegraphed him, and he sent back a rejoicing answer with an inquiry, “Is it a boy or a girl?” He was killed before he got the reply. Was it not sad? His poor young wife says, “He did not live to hear that his son lived.” The kind woman added, sorrowfully, “Died and did not know the sect of his child.” “Let us hope it will be a Methodist,” said Isabella, the irrepressible.

At the venison feast Isabella heard a good word for me and one for General Chesnut's air of distinction, a thing people can not give themselves, try as ever they may. Lord Byron says, Everybody knows a gentleman when he sees one, and nobody can tell what it is that makes a gentleman. He knows the thing, but he can't describe it. Now there are some French words that can not be translated, and we all know the thing they mean — gracieuse and svelte, for instance, as applied to a woman. Not that anything was said of me like that — far from it. I am fair, fat, forty, and jolly, and in my unbroken jollity, as far as they know, they found my charm. “You see, she doesn't howl; she doesn't cry; she never, never tells anybody about what she was used to at home and what she has lost.” High praise, and I intend to try and deserve it ever after.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 362-3

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 6, 1865

To-day came a godsend. Even a small piece of bread and the molasses had become things of the past. My larder was empty, when a tall mulatto woman brought a tray covered by a huge white serviette. Ellen ushered her in with a flourish, saying, “Mrs. McDaniel's maid.” The maid set down the tray upon my bare table, and uncovered it with conscious pride. There were fowls ready for roasting, sausages, butter, bread, eggs, and preserves. I was dumb with delight. After silent thanks to heaven my powers of speech returned, and I exhausted myself in messages of gratitude to Mrs. McDaniel.

“Missis, you oughtn't to let her see how glad you was,” said Ellen. “It was a lettin' of yo'sef down.”

Mrs. Glover gave me some yarn, and I bought five dozen eggs with it from a wagon — eggs for Lent. To show that I have faith yet in humanity, I paid in advance in yarn for something to eat, which they promised to bring to-morrow. Had they rated their eggs at $100 a dozen in “Confederick” money, I would have paid it as readily as $10. But I haggle in yarn for the millionth part of a thread.

Two weeks have passed and the rumors from Columbia are still of the vaguest. No letter has come from there, no direct message, or messenger. “My God!” cried Dr. Frank Miles, “but it is strange. Can it be anything so dreadful they dare not tell us?” Dr. St. Julien Ravenel has grown pale and haggard with care. His wife and children were left there.

Dr. Brumby has at last been coaxed into selling me enough leather for the making of a pair of shoes, else I should have had to give up walking. He knew my father well. He intimated that in some way my father helped him through college. His own money had not sufficed, and so William C. Preston and my father advanced funds sufficient to let him be graduated. Then my uncle, Charles Miller, married his aunt. I listened in rapture, for all this tended to leniency in the leather business, and I bore off the leather gladly. When asked for Confederate money in trade I never stop to bargain. I give them $20 or $50 cheerfully for anything — either sum.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 361-2

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 5, 1865

Is the sea drying up? Is it going up into mist and coming down on us in a water-spout? The rain, it raineth every day. The weather typifies our tearful despair, on a large scale. It is also Lent now — a quite convenient custom, for we, in truth, have nothing to eat. So we fast and pray, and go dragging to church like drowned rats to be preached at.

My letter from my husband was so — well, what in a woman you would call heart-broken, that I began to get ready for a run up to Charlotte. My hat was on my head, my traveling-bag in my hand, and Ellen was saying “Which umbrella, ma'am?” “Stop, Ellen,” said I, “someone is speaking out there.” A tap came at the door, and Miss McLean threw the door wide open as she said in a triumphant voice: “Permit me to announce General Chesnut.” As she went off she sang out, “Oh, does not a meeting like this make amends?”

We went after luncheon to see Mrs. Munroe. My husband wanted to thank her for all her kindness to me. I was awfully proud of him. I used to think that everybody had the air and manners of a gentleman. I know now that these accomplishments are things to thank God for. Father O'Connell came in, fresh from Columbia, and with news at last. Sherman's men had burned the convent. Mrs. Munroe had pinned her faith to Sherman because he was a Roman Catholic, but Father O'Connell was there and saw it. The nuns and girls marched to the old Hampton house (Mrs. Preston's now), and so saved it. They walked between files of soldiers. Men were rolling tar barrels and lighting torches to fling on the house when the nuns came. Columbia is but dust and ashes, burned to the ground. Men, women, and children have been left there homeless, houseless, and without one particle of food — reduced to picking up corn that was left by Sherman's horses on picket grounds and parching it to stay their hunger.

How kind my friends were on this, my fete day! Mrs. Rutledge sent me a plate of biscuit; Mrs. Munroe, nearly enough food supplies for an entire dinner; Miss McLean a cake for dessert. Ellen cooked and served up the material happily at hand very nicely, indeed. There never was a more successful dinner. My heart was too full to eat, but I was quiet and calm; at least I spared my husband the trial of a broken voice and tears. As he stood at the window, with his back to the room, he said: “Where are they now — my old blind father and my sister? Day and night I see her leading him out from under his own rooftree. That picture pursues me persistently. But come, let us talk of pleasanter things.” To which I answered, “Where will you find them?”

He took off his heavy cavalry boots and Ellen carried them away to wash the mud off and dry them. She brought them back just as Miss Middleton walked in. In his agony, while struggling with those huge boots and trying to get them on, he spoke to her volubly in French. She turned away from him instantly, as she saw his shoeless plight, and said to me, “I had not heard of your happiness. I did not know the General was here.” Not until next day did we have time to remember and laugh at that outbreak of French, Miss Middleton answered him in the same language. He told her how charmed he was with my surroundings, and that he would go away with a much lighter heart since he had seen the kind people with whom he would leave me.

I asked my husband what that correspondence between Sherman and Hampton meant — this while I was preparing something for our dinner. His back was still turned as he gazed out of the window. He spoke in the low and steady monotone that characterized our conversation the whole day, and yet there was something in his voice that thrilled me as he said: “The second day after our march from Columbia we passed the M.’s. He was a bonded man and not at home. His wife said at first that she could not find forage for our horses, but afterward she succeeded in procuring some. I noticed a very handsome girl who stood beside her as she spoke, and I suggested to her mother the propriety of sending her out of the track of both armies. Things were no longer as heretofore; there was so much struggling, so many camp followers, with no discipline, on the outskirts of the army. The girl answered quickly, ‘I wish to stay with my mother.’ That very night a party of Wheeler's men came to our camp, and such a tale they told of what had been done at the place of horror and destruction, the mother left raving. The outrage had been committed before her very face, she having been secured first. After this crime the fiends moved on. There were only seven of them. They had been gone but a short time when Wheeler's men went in pursuit at full speed and overtook them, cut their throats and wrote upon their breasts: ‘These were the seven!’”

“But the girl?”

“Oh, she was dead!”

"Are his critics as violent as ever against the President?" asked I when recovered from pity and horror. “Sometimes I think I am the only friend he has in the world. At these dinners, which they give us everywhere, I spoil the sport, for I will not sit still and hear Jeff Davis abused for things he is no more responsible for than any man at that table. Once I lost my temper and told them it sounded like arrant nonsense to me, and that Jeff Davis was a gentleman and a patriot, with more brains than the assembled company.” “You lost your temper truly,” said I. '”And I did not know it. I thought I was as cool as I am now. In Washington when we left, Jeff Davis ranked second to none, in intellect, and may be first, from the South, and Mrs. Davis was the friend of Mrs. Emory, Mrs. Joe Johnston, and Mrs. Montgomery Blair, and others of that circle. Now they rave that he is nobody, and never was.” “And she?” I asked. “Oh, you would think to hear them that he found her yesterday in a Mississippi swamp!” “Well, in the French Revolution it was worse. When a man failed he was guillotined. Mirabeau did not die a day too soon, even Mirabeau.”

He is gone. With despair in my heart I left that railroad station. Allan Green walked home with me. I met his wife and his four ragged little boys a day or so ago. She is the neatest, the primmest, the softest of women. Her voice is like the gentle cooing of a dove. That lowering black future hangs there all the same. The end of the war brings no hope of peace or of security to us. Ellen said I had a little piece of bread and a little molasses in store for my dinner to-day.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 357-61

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 26, 1865

Mrs. Munroe offered me religious books, which I declined, being already provided with the Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Psalms of David, the denunciations of Hosea, and, above all, the patient wail of Job. Job is my comforter now. I should be so thankful to know life never would be any worse with me. My husband is well, and has been ordered to join the great Retreater. I am bodily comfortable, if somewhat dingily lodged, and I daily part with my raiment for food. We find no one who will exchange eatables for Confederate money; so we are devouring our clothes.

Opportunities for social enjoyment are not wanting. Miss Middleton and Isabella often drink a cup of tea with me. One might search the whole world and not find two cleverer or more agreeable women. Miss Middleton is brilliant and accomplished. She must have been a hard student all her life. She knows everybody worth knowing, and she has been everywhere. Then she is so high-bred, high-hearted, pure, and true. She is so clean-minded; she could not harbor a wrong thought. She is utterly unselfish, a devoted daughter and sister. She is one among the many large-brained women a kind Providence has thrown in my way, such as Mrs. McCord, daughter of Judge Cheves; Mary Preston Darby, Mrs. Emory, granddaughter of old Franklin, the American wise man, and Mrs. Jefferson Davis. How I love to praise my friends!

As a ray of artificial sunshine, Mrs. Munroe sent me an Examiner. Daniel thinks we are at the last gasp, and now England and France are bound to step in. England must know if the United States of America are triumphant they will tackle her next, and France must wonder if she will not have to give up Mexico. My faith fails me. It is all too late; no help for us now from God or man.

Thomas, Daniel says, was now to ravage Georgia, but Sherman, from all accounts, has done that work once for all. There will be no aftermath. They say no living thing is found in Sherman's track, only chimneys, like telegraph poles, to carry the news of Sherman's army backward.

In all that tropical down-pour, Mrs. Munroe sent me overshoes and an umbrella, with the message, “Come over.” I went, for it would be as well to drown in the streets as to hang myself at home to my own bedpost. At Mrs. Munroe's I met a Miss McDaniel. Her father, for seven years, was the Methodist preacher at our negro church. The negro church is in a grove just opposite Mulberry house. She says her father has so often described that fine old establishment and its beautiful lawn, live-oaks, etc. Now, I dare say there stand at Mulberry only Sherman's sentinels — stacks of chimneys. We have made up our minds for the worst. Mulberry house is no doubt razed to the ground.

Miss McDaniel was inclined to praise us. She said: “As a general rule the Episcopal minister went to the family mansion, and the Methodist missionary preached to the negroes and dined with the overseer at his house, but at Mulberry her father always stayed at the ‘House,’ and the family were so kind and attentive to him.” It was rather pleasant to hear one's family so spoken of among strangers.

So, well equipped to brave the weather, armed cap-a-pie, so to speak, I continued my prowl farther afield and brought up at the Middletons'. I may have surprised them, for at such an inclement season they hardly expected a visitor. Never, however, did lonely old woman receive such a warm and hearty welcome. Now we know the worst. Are we growing hardened? We avoid all allusion to Columbia; we never speak of home, and we begin to deride the certain poverty that lies ahead.

How it pours! Could I live many days in solitary confinement? Things are beginning to be unbearable, but I must sit down and be satisfied. My husband is safe so far. Let me be thankful it is no worse with me. But there is the gnawing pain all the same. What is the good of being here at all? Our world has simply gone to destruction. And across the way the fair Lydia languishes. She has not even my resources against ennui. She has no Isabella, no Miss Middleton, two as brilliant women as any in Christendom. Oh, how does she stand it! I mean to go to church if it rains cats and dogs. My feet are wet two or three times a day. We never take cold; our hearts are too hot within us for that.

A carriage was driven up to the door as I was writing. I began to tie on my bonnet, and said to myself in the glass, “Oh, you lucky woman!” I was all in a tremble, so great was my haste to be out of this. Mrs. Glover had the carriage. She came for me to go and hear Mr. Martin preach. He lifts our spirits from this dull earth; he takes us up to heaven. That I will not deny. Still he can not hold my attention; my heart wanders and my mind strays back to South Carolina. Oh, vandal Sherman! what are you at there, hard-hearted wretch that you are! A letter from General Chesnut, who writes from camp near Charlotte under date of February 28th:

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

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

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

It was a lively, rushing, young set that South Carolina put to the fore. They knew it was a time of imminent danger, and that the fight would be ten to one. They expected to win by activity, energy, and enthusiasm. Then came the wet blanket, the croakers; now, these are posing, wrapping Caesar's mantle about their heads to fall with dignity. Those gallant youths who dashed so gaily to the front lie mostly in bloody graves. Well for them, maybe. There are worse things than honorable graves. Wearisome thoughts. Late in life we are to begin anew and have laborious, difficult days ahead.

We have contradictory testimony. Governor Aiken has passed through, saying Sherman left Columbia as he found it, and was last heard from at Cheraw. Dr. Chisolm walked home with me. He says that is the last version of the story. Now my husband wrote that he himself saw the fires which burned up Columbia. The first night his camp was near enough to the town for that.

They say Sherman has burned Lancaster — that Sherman nightmare, that ghoul, that hyena! But I do not believe it. He takes his time. There are none to molest him. He does things leisurely and deliberately. Why stop to do so needless a thing as burn Lancaster courthouse, the jail, and the tavern? As I remember it, that description covers Lancaster. A raiding party they say did for Camden.

No train from Charlotte yesterday. Rumor says Sherman is in Charlotte.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 353-7