Showing posts with label Confederate Archives. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Confederate Archives. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: June 26, 1862

To-day a letter, hastily written by Gen. Lee to the Secretary of War, stated that his headquarters would be at, or beyond that point, whence couriers could find him if there should be anything of importance the Secretary might desire to communicate during the day. This is the day of battle! Jackson is in the rear of McClellan's right wing! I sent this note to the Secretary at once. I suppose Mr. Randolph had been previously advised of Gen. Lee's intention to fight to-day; but I do not know it. I know some of the brigadier-generals in the army do not know it; although they have all been ordered to their commands. This is no uncommon order; but it is characteristic of Lee's secretiveness to keep all of his officers in profound ignorance of his intentions, except those he means to be engaged. The enemy cannot possibly have any intimation of his purpose, because the spies here have no intelligence; and none are permitted to pass the rear pickets in sight of the city without my passport. What a change since the last battle!

To-day, in compliance with an intimation of the President, all in the departments, who felt so disposed, formed a military organization for the defense of the city, and especially of the archives, which had been brought back since the assumption of command by Gen. Lee. Col. Bledsoe denounced the organization as a humbug! Defending the government, or readiness to defend it, in such times as these, is no humbug! In the fluctuations of a great battle, almost in the suburbs of the city, a squadron of the enemy's horse might penetrate even to the office of the Chief Executive, when a few hundred muskets, in the hands of old men and boys, might preserve the papers.

After dinner I repaired, with Custis and a few friends, to my old stand on the hill north of the Jews' Cemetery, and sat down in the shade to listen. Many persons were there as usual — for every day some firing could be heard — who said, in response to my inquiries, that distant guns had been heard in the direction of the Pamunky River.

“That is Jackson! I exclaimed, as the sounds were distinctly discerned by myself; “and he is in their rear, behind their right wing!”

All were incredulous, and some doubted whether he was within a hundred miles of us. But the sounds grew more distinct, and more frequent, and I knew he was advancing. But how long could he advance in that direction without being overwhelmed? Everywhere else along the line a deathlike silence reigned, that even the dropping fire of the pickets, usually so incessant, could be heard.

This suspense continued only a few minutes. Two guns were then heard northeast of us, and in such proximity as to startle some of the anxious listeners. These were followed by three or four more, and then the fire continued with increasing rapidity. This was Gen. A. P. Hill's division in front of the enemy's right wing, and Lee's plan of battle was developed. Hill was so near us as to be almost in sight. The drums and fifes of his regiments, as they marched up to the point of attack, could be easily heard; how distinctly, then, sounded his cannon in our ears! And the enemy's guns, pointed in the direction of the city, were as plainly discerned. I think McClellan is taken by surprise.

One gentleman, who had been incredulous on the subject of a battle to-day, held his watch in his hand ten minutes, during which time one hundred and ninety guns were heard. Saying he believed a battle was in progress, he replaced the watch in his pocket, and sat down on the ground to listen.

Another hour, and the reports come with the rapidity of seconds, or 3600 per hour! And now, for the first time, we hear the rattle of small arms. And lo! two guns farther to the right,—from Longstreet's division, I suppose. And they were followed by others. This is Lee's grand plan of battle: Jackson first, then Hill, then Longstreet — time and distance computed with mathematical precision! The enemy's balloons are not up now. They know what is going on, without further investigations up in the air. The business is upon earth, where many a Yankee will breathe his last this night! McClellan must be thunderstruck at this unexpected opening of a decisive battle. Our own people, and even our own general officers, except those who were to participate in the attack, were uninformed of Lee's grand purpose, until the booming of Jackson's guns were heard far on our left.

As the shades of evening fall, the fire seems to increase in rapidity, and a gentle breeze rising as the stars come out, billows of smoke are wafted from the battle-field. And now, occasionally, we can distinctly see the bursting of shells in the air, aimed too high by the enemy, and exploding far this side of our line of battle.

Darkness is upon us, save the glimmer of the stars, as the sulphurous clouds sink into the humid valleys. But the flashes of the guns are visible on the horizon, followed by the deep intonations of the mighty engines of destruction, echoing and reverberating from hill to hill, and through the vast valley of the James in the rear.

Hundreds of men, women, and children were attracted to the heights around the city to behold the spectacle. From the Capitol and from the President's mansion, the vivid flashes of artillery could be seen; but no one doubted the result. It is only silence and inaction we dread. The firing ceased at nine o'clock P.M. The President was on the field, but did not interfere with Lee.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 136-8

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: April 7, 1865

Richmond has fallen and I have no heart to write about it. Grant broke through our lines and Sherman cut through them. Stoneman is this side of Danville. They are too many for us. Everything is lost in Richmond, even our archives. Blue black is our horizon. Hood says we shall all be obliged to go West — to Texas, I mean, for our own part of the country will be overrun.

Yes, a solitude and a wild waste it may become, but, as to that, we can rough it in the bush at home.

De Fontaine, in his newspaper, continues the old cry. “Now Richmond is given up,” he says, “it was too heavy a load to carry, and we are stronger than ever.” “Stronger than ever?” Nine-tenths of our army are under ground and where is another army to come from? Will they wait until we grow one?

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 377