Diary of Private Louis Leon: February 8, 1863

Wortheim and myself went uptown to get something to eat. We got corn bread and bacon. On our road back to camp we bought four more dodgers of corn bread and gave it to our mess companions who did not go uptown. Our regiment moved on the other side of town in an old pine thicket.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 17

Diary of Private Louis Leon: February 4, 1863

This morning, at 4 o'clock, we were waked up by the pleasant sound of long roll. We were ordered to get ready to march. It is very cold, snow nine inches deep. We laid in Goldsboro until noon, expecting to get cars to take us away, but were then told we would have to march to Kinston. We took up our line of march at 3 in the evening and halted at dark. It is truly awful. The snow is very deep and as cold as thunder. We marched eight miles without resting. We then fixed our bed in the snow and stole fodder for a bed and rails to make fire. We took snow, put it in our kettles, and made coffee. When I say coffee, I mean Confederate coffee—parched corn—that is our coffee. Ate our corn bread and bacon and retired to our couches and slept as good if not better than Abe Lincoln.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 15

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: July 6, 1864

Hot and dry.

We have no news to-day, but there are rumors that Grant is preparing to abandon his position. He cannot remain where he is, inactive. There is a scarcity of water, and the location is unhealthy.

We had corn bread and gravy for dinner, with a tremendous dessert, the suggestion of Custis, consisting of whortleberry flitters, with butter and sugar sauce, costing about $16.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 245

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: May 22, 1864

Clear and warm, but the atmosphere is charged with the smoke and dust of contending armies. The sun shines but dimly.

Custis was with us last night, and returned to camp at 5 A.M. to-day. He gets from government only a small loaf of corn bread and a herring a day. We send him something, however, every other morning. His appetite is voracious, and he has not taken cold. He loathes the camp life, and some of the associates he meets in his mess, but is sustained by the vicissitudes and excitements of the hour, and the conviction that the crisis must be over soon.

Last night there was furious shelling down the river, supposed to be a night attack by Butler, which, no doubt, Beauregard anticipated. Result not heard.

The enemy's cavalry were at Milford yesterday, but did no mischief, as our stores had been moved back to Chesterfield depot, and a raid on Hanover C. H. was repulsed. Lee was also attacked yesterday evening, and repulsed the enemy. It is said Ewell is now engaged in a flank movement, and the GREAT FINAL battle may be looked for immediately.

Breckinridge is at Hanover Junction, with other troops. So the war rolls on toward this capital, and yet Lee's headquarters remain in Spottsylvania. A few days more must tell the story. If he cuts Grant's communications, I should not be surprised if that desperate general attempted a bold dash on toward Richmond. I don't think he could take the city-and he would be between two fires

I saw some of the enemy's wounded this morning, brought down in the cars, dreadfully mutilated. Some had lost a leg and arm— besides sustaining other injuries. But they were cheerful, and uttered not a groan in the removal to the hospital.

Flour is selling as high as $400 per barrel, and meal at $125 per bushel. The roads have been cut in so many places, and so frequently, that no provisions have come in, except for the army. But the hoarding speculators have abundance hidden.

The Piedmont Road, from Danville, Va., to Greensborough, is completed, and now that we have two lines of communication with the South, it may be hoped that this famine will be of only short duration. They are cutting wheat in Georgia and Alabama, and new flour will be ground from the growing grain in Virginia in little more than a month. God help us, if relief come not speedily! A great victory would be the speediest way.

My garden looks well, but affords nothing yet except salad.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 216-7

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: May 10, 1863

Left camp after dinner. Dinner generally means noon, but our dinner-time on the march is quite irregular. Advanced unmolested till within about three miles of Utica, and camped again at dark.

This forenoon my bunk-mate (Cal. Waddle) and I went to a house near camp to get some corn bread, but struck the wrong place, for we found the young mistress who had just been deserted by her negroes, all alone, crying, with but a scant allowance of provisions left her. She had never learned to cook, and in fact was a complete stranger to housework of any kind. Her time is now at hand to learn the great lesson of humanity. There has been a little too much idleness among these planters. But although I am glad the negroes are free I don't like to see them leaving a good home, for good homes some of them I know are leaving. They have caught the idea from some unknown source that freedom means fine dress, furniture, carriages and luxuries. Little do they yet know of the scripture—“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.” I am for the Emancipation Proclamation, but I do not believe in cheating them. This lady's husband is a confederate officer now in Vicksburg, who told her when he left she should never see a Yankee “down thar.” Well, we had to tell her we were “thar,” though, and to our question what she thought of us, after wiping her eyes her reply was we were very nice looking fellows. We were not fishing for compliments, but we like to get their opinions at sight, for they have been led, apparently, to expect to find the Lincoln soldier more of a beast than human. At least such is the belief among the lower sort. Negroes and poor whites here seem to be on an equality, so far as education is concerned and the respect of the better classes. I have not seen a single school-house since I have been in Dixie, and I do not believe such a thing exists outside of their cities. But this war will revolutionize things, and among others I hope change this state of affairs for the better.

War is a keen analyzer of a soldier's character. It reveals in camp, on the march and in battle the true principles of the man better than they are shown in the every-day walks of life. Here be has a chance to throw off the vicious habits of the past, and take such a stand as to gain a lasting reputation for good, or, if he dies upon the field, the glory of his achievements, noble 'deeds and soldierly bearing in camp will live in the memory of his comrades. Every soldier has a personal history to make, which will be agreeable, or not, as he chooses. A company of soldiers are as a family; and, if every member of it does his duty towards the promotion of good humor, much will be done toward softening the hardships of that sort of life.

This is Sunday, and few seem to realize it. I would not have known it myself but for my diary. I said, “boys this is Sunday.” Somebody asked, “how do you know it is?” I replied my diary told me. Another remarked, “you ought to tell us then when Sunday comes round so we can try to be a little better than on week days.” While in regular camps we have had preaching by the Chaplains, but now that we are on the move that service is dispensed with, and what has become of the Chaplains now I am unable to say. Probably buying and selling cotton, for some of them are regular tricksters, and think more of filling their own pockets with greenbacks than the hearts of soldiers with the word of God.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 12-13

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: May 2, 1863

As the sun peeped over the eastern horizon, we slipped out of camp and went our way rejoicing. Oh, how beautiful the morning; calm and pleasant, with the great variety of birds warbling, as though all was peace and quiet. When camping in the darkness of night, our surroundings astonish us in the broad day light. We scarcely know our next door neighbor until the morning light gleams upon him. While waiting orders to move, many thousand troops passed to the front, so I think our regiment will see another day pass with unbroken ranks. We have the very best fighting material in our regiment, and [are] ever ready for action, but are not particularly “spoiling for a fight.” Our turn will come, as it did at Fort Donelson, Shiloh and many otber fields of glory. It is quite common to hear soldiers who have never seen the first fight say they are afraid they will never get any of the glories of this war. They never “spoil” for the second fight, but get glory enough in the first to last them. When our regiment was living upon soft bread and luxuries of sweet things from home, while camped in the rear of Covington, Kentucky, we thought that the war would be over and our names not be spread upon our banners as the victors in a battle. There is glory enough for all. We stopped awhile in Port Gibson, and the boys found a lot of blank bank currency of different denominations, upon the Port Gibson bank. They signed some of them, and it is quite common to see a private of yesterday a bank president to-day. This may not become a circulating medium to a very great extent, but it is not at all likely that it will be refused by the inhabitants along our route when tendered in payment for corn-bread, sweet potatoes, etc. In the afternoon we stopped awhile, and taking advantage of the halt made coffee, which is generally done, whether it is noon or not. There is a wonderful stimulant in a cup of coffee, and as we require a great nerve tonic, coffee is eagerly sought after. Dick Hunt, of Company G, and Tom McVey, of Co. B, discovered a poor lonely confederate chicken by the roadside. By some hen strategem it had eluded the eyes of at least ten thousand Yankees, but when the 20th Ohio came along the searching eyes of these two members espied its place of concealment. They chased it under an outhouse, which was on stilts, as a great many of the southern houses are. Dick being rather the fleetest crawled under the house and secured the feathered prize, but Tom seeing his defeat in not securing a “preacher's dinner,” found a coffee-pot under another corner of the house, which he brought to daylight, and it proved to be full of silver coin mostly dollars. These he traded off to the boys for paper, as he could not carry his load. How foolish it is for the Southern people to flee and leave their beautiful property to the foe. We only want something to eat. There are some who would apply the torch to a deserted home, that would not do so if the owners remained in it. It is quite common here to build the chimneys on the outside of the houses, and I have noticed them still standing where the house had been burned. The march to-day, towards Black River, has been a very pleasant one. I suppose Grant knows where he is taking us to, for we don't, not having had any communications with him lately upon the subject.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 5-6

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: December 15, 1864

Jocko's hut was not across the river as I supposed and wrote yesterday, but on the same side we were on. At about ten o'clock last night we went to his abiding place as directed and knocked. After a long time an old black head was stuck out of the window with a nightcap on. The owner of the head didn't know Jocko or anything about him; was short and crusty; said: “Go way from Dar” Kept talking to him and he scolding at being disturbed. Said he had rheumatics and couldn't get out to let us in. After a long time opened the door and we set down on the door step. Told him we were yankees and wanted help. Was the funniest darky we have met yet. Would give something for his picture as he was framed in his window in the moonlight talking to us, with the picturesque surroundings, and us yankees trying to win him over to aid us. Finally owned up that he was Jocko, but said he couldn't row us across the river. He was lame and could not walk, had no boat, and if he had the river was so swift he couldn't get us across, and if it wasn't swift, the rebels would catch him at it and hang him. Talked a long time and with much teasing. By degrees his scruples gave way, one at a time. Didn't know but he might row us across if he only had a boat, and finally didn't know but he could find a boat To get thus far into his good graces took at least three hours. Went looking around and found an old scow, fixed up some old cars, and we got in; before doing so however, he had warmed up enough to give us some boiled sweet potatoes and cold baked fish. Rowed us way down the river and landed us on the noted Miller plantation and a mile in rear of the negro houses. Jocko, after we forced our acquaintance on him with all kind of argument, proved to be a smart able bodied old negro, but awful afraid of being caught helping runaways. Would give something for his picture as he appeared to us looking out of his cabin window. Just an old fashioned, genuine negro, and so black that charcoal would make a white mark on him. Took us probably three miles from his hut, two miles of water and one of land, and then started back home after shaking us a dozen times by the hand, and “God blessing us.” Said “Ole Massa Miller's niggers all Union niggers,” and to go up to the huts in broad day light and they would help us. No whites at home on the plantation. We arrived where Jocko left us an hour or so before daylight, and lay down to sleep until light. I woke up after a while feeling wet, and found the tide had risen and we were surrounded with water; woke up the boys and scrambled out of that in a hurry, going through two feet of water in some places. The spot where we had laid down was a higher piece of ground than that adjoining. Got on to dry land and proceeded to get dry. At about ten o'clock Dave went up to the negro huts and made himself known, which was hard work. The negroes are all afraid that we are rebels and trying to get them into a scrape, but after we once get them thoroughly satisfied that we are genuine Yanks they are all right, and will do anything for us. The negroes have shown us the big house, there being no whites around, they having left to escape the coming Yankee army. We went up into the cupola and looked way off on the ocean, and saw our own noble gunboats. What would we give to be aboard of them? Their close proximity makes us discuss the feasibility of going down the river and out to them, but the negroes say there are chain boats across the river farther down, and picketed. Still it makes us anxious, our being so near, and we have decided to go down the river to night in a boat and see if we can't reach them It is now the middle of the afternoon and we lay off from the huts eighty rods, and the negroes are about to bring us some dinner. During the night we traveled over oyster beds by the acre, artificial ones, and they cut our feet. Negroes say there are two other runaways hid a mile off and they are going to bring them to our abiding place. Later, — Negroes have just fed us with corn bread and a kind of fish about the size of sardines, boiled by the kettle full, and they are nice. Fully as good as sardines. Think I know now where nearly all the imported sardines come from. Negroes catch them by the thousand, in nets, put them in kettles, and cook them a few minutes, when they are ready to eat. Scoop them out of the creeks The two other runaways are here with us. They are out of the 3d Ohio Cavalry. Have been out in the woods for two weeks. Escaped from Blackshear and traveled this far. I used to know one of them in Savannah. We do not take to them at all, as they are not of our kind. Shall separate to night, they going their way and we going ours. Have secured a dug-out boat to go down the Ogechee River with to-night. The negroes tell us of a Mr. Kimball, a white man, living up the country fifteen miles, who is a Union man and helps runaways, or any one of Union proclivities. He lays up the river, and our gunboats lay down the river. Both have wonderful charms for us, and shall decide before night which route to take. Are on rice plantation, and a valuable one. Before the “wall” there were over fifteen hundred negroes on this place. Cotton is also part of the production. Have decided to go down the river and try to reach our gunboats It's two very hazardous undertaking, and I have my doubts as to its successful termination.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 141-3

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 24, 1864

Another beautiful morning, a repetition of yesterday, opens up to me. It is particularly necessary that I procure sustenance wherewith life is prolonged, and will change my head-quarters to a little nearer civilization. Can hear some one chopping not a mile away. Here goes. Later. — Found an old negro fixing up a dilapidated post and rail fence. Approached him and enquired the time of day. (My own watch having run down.) He didn't happen to have his gold watch with him, but reckoned it was nigh time for the horn. Seemed scared at the apparition that appeared to him, and no wonder. Forgave him on the spot. Thought it policy to tell him all about who and what I was, and did so. Was very timid and afraid, but finally said he would divide his dinner as soon as it should be sent to him, and for an hour I lay off a distance of twenty rods or so, waiting for that dinner. It finally came, brought by the same boy I saw go along yesterday. Boy sat down the pail and the old darkey told him to scamper off home — which he did Then we had dinner of rice, cold yams and fried bacon. It was a glorious repast, and I succeeded in getting quite well acquainted with him. We are on the Bowden plantation and he belongs to a family of that name. Is very fearful of helping me as his master is a strong Secesh., and he says would whip him within an inch of his life if it was known. Promise him not to be seen by any one and he has promised to get me something more to eat after it gets dark. Later. — After my noonday meal went back toward the low ground and waited for my supper, which came half an hour ago and it is not yet dark. Had a good supper of boiled seasoned turnips, corn bread and sour milk, the first milk I have had in about a year. Begs me to go off in the morning, which I have promised to do. says for me to go two or three miles on to another plantation owned by LeCleye, where there are good negroes who will feed me. Thanked the old fellow for his kindness says the war is about over and the Yanks expected to free them all soon. It's getting pretty dark now, and I go to bed filled to overflowing; in fact, most too much so.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 122-3

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 21, 1864

And rebels are still fortifying. Battese has his hands full. Takes care of me like a father. Hear that Kilpatrick is making a raid for this place. Troops (rebel) are arriving here by every train to defend it. Nothing but corn bread issued now and I cannot eat it any more.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 89

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: June 29, 1864

Capt. Wirtz sent inside a guard of fifteen or twenty to arrest and take out quite a number of prisoners. They had the names and would go right to their quarters and take them. Some tell-tale traitor has been informing on them, for attempting to escape or something Wirtz punishes very hard now; so much worse than a few months ago. Has numerous instruments of torture just outside the gate. Sores afflict us now, and the Lord only knows what next. Scurvy and scurvy sores, dropsy, not the least thing to eat that can be called fit for any one, much less a sick man, water that to drink is poison, no shelter, and surrounded by raiders liable to cut our throats any time Surely, this is a go. Have been reading over the diary, and find nothing but grumbling and growlings. Had best enumerate some of the better things of this life. I am able to walk around the prison, although quite lame. Have black pepper to put in our soups. Am as clean perhaps as any here, with good friends to talk cheerful to. Then, too, the raiders will let us alone until about the last, for some of them will get killed when they attack the “Astor House Mess,” Am probably as well off as any here who are not raiders, and I should be thankful, and am thankful. Will live probably two or three months yet. “If t'weren't for hope the heart would break,” and I am hopeful yet. A Pennsylvanian of German descent, named Van Tassel, and who has “sorter identified himself with us” for two or three months, died a few moments ago The worst cases of the sick are again taken to the hospital — that is, a few of the worst cases. Many prefer to die among their friends inside. Henry Clayton also died to-day. Was at one time in charge of our Division, and an old prisoner. Mike Hoare still hangs on nobly, as also do many other of my friends and acquaintances. Dorr Blakeman stands it unusually well. Have had no meat now for ten days; nothing but one-third of a loaf of corn bread and half a pint of cow peas for each man, each day. Wood is entirely gone, and occasionally squads allowed to go and get some under guard. Rowe went out to-day, was not able to carry much, and that had to be divided between a hundred men. One of the most annoying things is being squadded over every few days, sick and all. It's an all day job, and have to stand out until we are all tired out, never getting any food on these days.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 72-3

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: June 4, 1864

Have not been dry for many days. Raining continually Some men took occasion while out after wood, to overpower the guard and take to the pines. Not yet been brought back. Very small rations of poor molasses, corn bread and bug soup.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 64

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 19, 1864

Nearly twenty thousand men confined here now. New ones coming every day. Rations very small and very poor. The meal that the bread is made out of is ground, seemingly, cob and all, and it scourges the men fearfully. Things getting continually worse. Hundreds of cases of dropsy. Men puff out of human shape and are perfectly horrible to look at. Philo Lewis died today. Could not have weighed at the time of his death more than ninety pounds, and was originally a large man, weighing not less than one hundred and seventy. Jack Walker, of the 9th Mich. Cavalry, has received the appointment to assist in carrying out the dead, for which service he receives an extra ration of corn bread.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 59

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 7, 1864

A squad of Yankees taken outside to-day on parole of honor, for the purpose of baking meal into bread George Hendryx is one of the number, and he will have enough to eat after this, which I am glad of. I could have gotten outside if I so chose, but curious to write down I don't want to go. George says he will try and send in something for us to eat, and I know he will, for a truer hearted fellow never lived.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 55

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 28, 1863

Up at daylight, breakfasted, fed and started on at 6. Gen. Carter passed by. Went but two miles and waited an hour or two. River not fordable. Returned and bivouacked on the ground of the night before. Went out foraging corn, hay, and cornbread and milk. Saw two idiots. Rained again. Got somewhat wet. Two of the 2nd O. V. C. companies on picket.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 67

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: March 13, 1864

Ran very slow through the night, and are in the vicininy of Macon, Ga. Will reach our prison to-night. Received a pone of corn bread apiece weighing about two pounds, which is liberal on their part Two more days such riding as this would kill me The lice are fairly eating us up alive, having had no chance to rid ourselves of them since leaving Richmond. One of the guards struck Hendryx during the night. We were talking on the all important subject, and the guard hearing us chatting away to ourselves struck over into the croud where the noise came from and hit George in the back part of the head. He didn't speak for a minute or two and I was afraid it had killed him, which happily proved to the contrary. As soon as it came daylight he showed the brute where he had struck him, and took the occasion to dress him down a little, whereupon the rebel threatened that if he said another word to him he would blow his head off. A drizzling rain has set in.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 39-40

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: January 20, 1864

Rebel officers over to-day inspecting us Yanks. Some of the worst looking Arabs in shape of officers I ever saw. Jimmy Devers comes to our tent every night and sits with us until bed time. Is a jolly chap and keeps us all in good spirits with his sayings. Sergt. Robinson, I learned to-day, instead of being a sergeant is a lieutenant. His whole company being captured, he preferred to go with them and share their trials, than go with the officers. The men are very much attached to him and no wonder, as he is a fine fellow. His home is in Sterling, Whiteside Co., Illinois. Corp. McCartin is, as his name would indicate, an Irishman, and his home is Louisville, Ky. Is a shoemaker by trade. He is also a Mason, and I am going to write down wherein the fact of his being a Mason has brought good into the camp to-day. The boys feeling rather more hungry than usual were rather despondent, when the corporal gets up and says: “Boys, I'll go and get something to eat.” Went out of the tent and in twenty minutes came back with three or four pounds of bacon and two loaves of corn bread. We were surprised and asked how he had performed the miracle. Told us then that he was a Mason, as also was the lieutenant in charge, from whom the food came. We decided then and there that the first opportunity that presented itself we would join the Masons. Can see the rebels drilling across the river.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 26

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: January 1, 1864

A great time this morning wishing one another a Happy New Year. Robinson bought on the outside a dozen apples and gave us all a treat. Nothing but corn bread to eat and very poor quality. Dr. F. L. Lewis, Vet. Surg. 9th Mich, cavalry, came in to day; was captured at Dandridge, East Tennessee, where our regiment had a severe engagement. Tells me all the news. Col, Acker wounded, etc., etc. Thinks it a queer New Year trip, but also thinks we will be exchanged before many weeks.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 23

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: December 31, 1863

Still very cold and no news encouraging. Rebels very strict. One prisoner found a brother among the guards who had been living in the south for a good many years and lately conscripted into the Confederate army. New Year's eve. Man wounded by the guard shooting, and ball broke his leg. Might better have shot him dead for he will surely die. Raw rice and corn bread issued to day in small quantities. Richmond Enquirer spoke of the five hundred who left here day before yesterday and they have reached Washington.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 22

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: December 2, 1863

Pleasant weather and favorable for prisoners. At about nine in the morning the work of hunting for vermin commences, and all over camp sit the poor starved wretches, nearly stripped, engaged in picking off and killing the big gray backs. The ground is fairly alive with them, and it requires continual labor to keep from being eaten up alive by them. I just saw a man shot. He was called down to the bank by the guard, and as he leaned over to do some trading another guard close by shot him through the side and it is said mortally wounded him. It was made up between the guards to shoot the man, and when the lieutenant came round to make inquiries concerning the affair, one of them remarked that the ——— passed a counterfeit bill on him the night before, and he thought he would put him where he could not do the like again. The wounded man was taken to the hospital and has since died. His name was Gilbert. He was from New Jersey  Food twice to-day; buggy bean soup and a very small allowance of corn bread. Hungry all the time.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 15

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Tuesday, May 5, 1863

We breakfasted at Huntsville at 5.30 A.M. The Federal officers captured in the Harriet Lane are confined in the penitentiary there, and are not treated as prisoners of war. This seems to be the system now with regard to officers since the enlistment of negroes by the Northerners.

My fellow-travellers were mostly elderly planters or legislators, and there was one judge from Louisiana. One of them produced a pair of boots which had cost him $100; another showed me a common wide-a-wake hat which had cost him $40. In Houston, I myself saw an English regulation infantry sword exposed for sale for $225 (£45).

As the military element did not predominate, my companions united in speaking with horror of the depredations committed in this part of the country by their own troops on a line of march.

We passed through a well-wooded country — pines and post oaks — the road bad: crossed the river Trinity at 12 noon, and dined at the house of a disreputable looking individual called a Campbellite minister, at 4.30 P.M. The food consisted almost invariably of bacon, corn bread, and buttermilk: a meal costing a dollar.

Arrived at Crockett at 9.30 P.M., where we halted for a few hours. A filthy bed was given to the Louisianian Judge and myself. The Judge, following my example, took to it boots and all, remarking, as he did so, to the attendant negro, that “they were a d----d sight cleaner than the bed.”

Before reaching Crockett, we passed through the encampment of Phillipps's regiment of Texas Rangers, and we underwent much chaff. They were en route to resist Banks.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three months in the southern states: April-June, 1863, p. 74-5