Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Saturday, September 27, 1862

We are looking for the Dutchess County regiment as if their coming was an assured fact, yet it is only a rumor, and even that cannot be traced very far. Aside from our daily drill, which is not much fun, we manage to get some amusement out of everything that comes along. We visit each other and play all sorts of games. Fiddling and dancing take the lead just now. The company streets, now that the ground has been smoothed off, make a good ballroom. A partner has just been swung clear off the floor into a tent, onto a man who was writing a letter, and from the sound is going to end up in a fight. "Taps" are sounded at 9 P. M., which is a signal for lights out and quiet in the camp.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 39

Diary of Private Louis Leon: November & December 1864

Nothing, only bitter cold. We dance every night at some of our [quarters]. Some of the men put a white handkerchief around one of their arms, and these act as the ladies. We have a jolly good time.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 68

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: November 12, 1862

THE TARBORO MARCH.

On the morning of Oct. 30, Major Pickett, with six companies (the other four being on picket up the Trent road), left Newbern, embarking on the steamer Highlander for Washington on the Pamlico river. Here we joined Gen. Foster's expedition for a raid up the country. The force consisted of the 17th, 23d, 24th and 25th Massachusetts and 10th Connecticut regiments of three years' troops, and the 3d, 5th and 44th Massachusetts regiments of nine months' troops, with five batteries of the 3d New York artillery, Capt. Belgers' Rhode Island battery and seven companies of the 3d New York cavalry, besides a heavy wagon and ambulance train.

On Sunday morning Nov. 2, the expedition left Washington for a march across the country to the Roanoke river. The 23d and 25th were detailed as guard over the wagon and ambulance train. We marched through a poor and sparsely populated section of country without interruption or anything to create excitement, until about the middle of the afternoon, when we heard firing on the advance. They had reached a swamp of considerable width, with a small creek running across and overflowing the road for quite a distance. At this point two regiments of the enemy disputed the passage of the swamp, and a brisk infantry and artillery fire commenced, which lasted with short intervals for an hour or more, when the cavalry and two batteries charged the enemy beat a precipitate retreat, greatly accelerated [sic] by shells from the batteries. Our loss was small, not over a dozen killed and wounded, and most of these were from the 44th Massachusetts, which behaved nobly.

During this skirmish the wagon train made slow progress, advancing a short distance and then halting. It was late in the evening when we reached the swamp. All the troops were on the other side, but we got orders to halt where we night. The mules were fed and we made a supper of cold meat, hardtack and coffee, after which we lay down by the side of the fence to sleep.

MULES IN A MUDHOLE.

Next morning the mule teams commenced the passage of the swamp and mudhole. Hearing a great noise and shouting, I went down to see what was up. I mounted the rude foot bridge at the side, improvised for the benefit of pedestrians, and walked along until I was near the middle of the mudhole and where the creek crossed the road. Here was a file of men on each side of the road, armed with hoop-poles and standing in mud and water from six inches to three feet deep. When a team was driven in, it received all necessary encouragement from the hoop-poles and strong lungs of the men while running the gauntlet. If the pilot was skilful and kept on the corduroy, the passage would be made before the mules would get discouraged. Sometimes the mules would get off the corduroy, but if the wagon kept on, the mules would manage to flounder back and go on. After a spell a careless driver ran his wagon off the corduroy and down it went to the axle. Here was a pretty fix. The mules couldn't haul it out and no other team could get by. It was decided to unload the wagon, so the mules could pull it out. The load, consisting of beef and hardtack, was dumped into the creek, but the mules knew nothing of this arrangement, they only knew they were hopelessly stuck, and when they were appealed to haul out the wagon, they obstinately refused; bracing out their forelegs and sticking their ears straight up in the air, they seemed to proclaim themselves a fixture. No amount of swearing and belaboring them with hoop-poles had the slightest effect. Capt. Schenck, who was standing by watching the fun, told them he would hitch on one of his teams and haul them out. The captain had a battery of 20-pounder Napoleon guns, with teams of eight heavy horses. He ordered in one of the teams and told them to bitch on to the mules, and when all was ready, he would give the order. When all was ready, the captain yelled, “Forward, march!” The horses, understanding the order, stepped smartly off; while the mules, not understanding it, did not keep step with the horses, but standing there braced out, the heels of three or four of them went up in the air, and they came down on their heads; in this way, sometimes under water and sometimes out, kicking and floundering, trying to regain their feet, they were dragged out through the mudhole, to the great delight and amusement of the captain and all other spectators.

This place is known as Rawls' Mills creek, and that a grateful posterity may better understand the situation, I quote from Longfellow or some other fellow:

        Then the muels strove and tugged
        Up the hillsides steep and rugged,
        Till they came unto a mudhole;
        This was nary a common puddle,
        One it was without a bottom,
        Into which the muels, rot 'em,
        Got so very far deluded,
        Nothing but their ears protruded,
        Picturing in a situation
        Uncle Abe's administration.

DARKIES AND MULES.

All the teams across, the march was resumed through a much better country, and we reached Williamston on the Roanoke river, about noon. Our teams are four horse and six mule teams. Some of the male teams are driven by darkies, who sit on the nigh hind mule and pilot the craft by means of a single line running to the leaders, called a jerk line. With this line and their peculiar mule dialect, they handle the team admirably. Darkies and mules work together naturally; they understand each other perfectly and have the same dialect. Take a mule team that a white man can do nothing with, and let a darky come along and speak to them; in a minute they are entirely different animals and as docile as a kitten. They seem to have a love for him and are perfectly cognizant of all his actions and movements. If a darky while driving falls asleep, the mules know it in a minute and will stop. The leaders will face about and commence tangling themselves up in the chains and gearing of the next pair, and that will go on until some one hits the nigger on his head with a pine knot or lamp of clay, waking him up. Ile will give the line a few jerks and call out to the mules in their language, and they will untangle themselves, straighten out and go on as though nothing had happened. Niggers and mules are a great institution.

Williamston is a pretty little town of about 1200 or 1500 inhabitants, nearly all of whom wad left, leaving it to the tender mercies of an army; of course what was left lying around loose was gobbled up. When the wagon train marched through, the boys were frying the chickens and pigs in the streets, and probably the houses and stores contributed to their wants. The train halted just outside the town till about 4 p. m., when we again resumed the march, going up the Hamilton road.

We went up this road about ten miles, and bivouacked in a large field of corn about 10 p. m. This afforded abundant forage for our horses and mules, also good beds and fires for ourselves. This day's march was through a fine section of country and without opposition. A great quantity of corn was yet unharvested and a few barnsful [sic] of harvested corn which we found was set on fire, as being the best and quickest way to market it.

PLANTATION DANCE.

Soon after we got into camp, a few darkies were seen lurking around, not knowing exactly whether it would do to come too near. But their fears were soon dispelled by a few darkies who were with us, telling them “de Yankees are our frien’s,” and to come right along. They soon began to flock into camp, and in a little while a hundred or more had come in. After the boys had their suppers, large fires were kindled, around which 200 or 300 of the boys formed a ring and getting thirty or forty of these darkies, men and women, inside, set them to dancing. They were free then and seemed anxious to do anything to please the boys and keep on good terms with them. Three or four of them would pat the time and the rest would dance. They seemed to enjoy the fun as much as the spectators. Here was a genuine plantation dance in costume; men and women were dressed in well-worn garments of gunny cloth or Kentucky jeans, with enormous brogan, shoes of russet leather, some of them looking as though they had a whole tannery on their feet. Some of the old were a little lame and would try to get rid of dancing by saying they didn't know how, but the boys would tell them they did and that they must go in. It was great sport to watch the anties they cut up trying to dance. The next morning this field of corn comprising nearly or quite fifty acres, was nicely harvested. I don't think ten bushels could have been saved from it.

RAINBOW BLUFF.

On the march at sunrise; just before noon we came out of the woods into an open country and in full view of the famous Rainbow bluff of which we had heard so much. The batteries were soon in position and skirmishers were sent out to examine the situation. After a time word came back that no enemy was near, the batteries limbered up and the march resumed. We were soon on the bluff, which was well fortified on the river and east sides but quite defenseless in the rear; it would have been an easy matter to have shelled out an enemy had there been one there. Here we found our gunboat fleet which had come up and was going to keep us company higher up the river. After destroying these works we moved on, reaching the little town of Hamilton about 2 p. m., and halted just outside. Here we were to stop three or four hours for rest and dinner.

A PRIVATE DINNER PARTY.

I suggested to Doctor Ben that it would be a good plan to forage our dinner; to this he assented and said if I could find some sweet potatoes he would finish the chicken or pig. We started out, going up town; here we separated, each one to obtain his share of the dinner and then meet again on the corner. I was not long in finding a garden in which grew the potatoes; making a break in the fence I soon filled my haversack, and returning to the corner, waited for the doctor. Great was my surprise to soon see him coming down the street with a hen dangling by the legs, and in charge of an officer of the guard, going in the direction of the general's headquarters, on the veranda of which he and his staff were sitting. Being an interested party, I thought I would attend the conference. The officer preferred his charges, and Capt. Dan, the provost marshal, commenced the trial. He did not seem to get very much interested in it, and the doctor was getting along nicely with it, until the general began a cross examination by asking him if he had not heard the order in regard to foraging? The doctor admitted that he had. “How then does it happen that you do not observe it?” This was a pretty close question and I began to tremble for him, but he proved equal to the emergency; after waiting a moment he looked up and said, “General, this rebellion has got to be crushed if it takes every hen in North Carolina.” A smile lit up the face of the general, who asked, "Where is your regiment?" “Just beyond here, sir.” “Go to it, my boy, and get your dinner and be ready to march in a couple of hours or so.

We started, congratulating each other over the fortunate turn affairs had taken. We had a good dinner, and were well rested when the order came to march, about 6 p. m.

BURNING OF HAMILTON.

This was a small town about half as large as Williamston, and like all other southern towns I have seen was built all in a heap. The inhabitants all left on our approach, and exhibited a bad feeling by cutting their well ropes and filling the wells with rubbish. This so incensed the boys that on leaving they set the town on fire, and we marched away by the light of it. A tramp of five or six miles up the Weldon road brought us to a plantation on which was a big cornfield. Into this we filed and put up for the night. Here again was forage for the team and cavalry horses and material for beds and fires. Our force of darkies was greatly augmented, they came in by hundreds, and after we had our supper the plantation dance was in order.

THE GUNBOATS THUNDERING UP THE RIVER.

The gunboats had come up the river, and were now working their way towards Halifax, causing, I presume, the people of that town a terrible fright. They would fire an occasional shot as an advance notice of their coming, and on the still night air the boom of the big guns far up the river was wafted back to our camp.

NOT SEEKING A FIGHT.

They were expecting us at Halifax and Weldon and were making preparations to receive us, but the general was not up in that part of the country looking for a tight. A battle up there would have been without results to us, unless it was the loss of men.

He was up there simply looking over the country, picking up a few horses and mules and helping the planters do their harvesting. The general, not caring to go where they were expecting him, the next morning turned his course across the country towards Tarboro, a town on the Tar river, some twenty miles west, hoping to reach there before the enemy could concentrate their forces against him.

A RICH COUNTRY.

This day's march was through a rich and fertile section of country, abounding in large, rich plantations, affording plenty of luxuries for the boys and a great many horses and mules for the use of the army. The contrabands flocked in droves to our standard, and were very useful in carrying our blankets, filling canteens, foraging chickens and pigs, toting rails for the fires, and in many other ways. We harvested a large field of corn at noon and burned several barnfuls during the day, reaching camp late in the evening, some five or six miles from Tarboro. A heavy northeast rain storm set in during the night, and we could hear the cars running, bringing troops into Tarboro. Scouting parties were sent out to reconnoitre the enemy's force and position, and reported they were in force and fortified between us and the town. As the general’s errand up through this part of the country was more for observation than fight, he thought with his small force of infantry (and a part of that new troops) and with a cumbersome wagon train, he had better act on the defensive, and early the next morning ordered a retreat.

THE RETREAT.

The morning was dark and dreary. With a heavy northeast rain storm blowing, the enemy in force in front of us and expecting an attack on or rear, when the retreat commenced our prospects were anything but flattering. Quietly the order was given for the wagons to start and make the time as short as possible back some eight miles to an old church and cross roads, past which we had come the day before, and there await further orders. Three companies of cavalry preceded us as an advance guard. The road was very muddy and the traveling hard, but that made no difference; the teams were urged forward and the boys exhibited remarkable enterprise in getting over the road. I thought I had never seen our boys more interested in anything than they were in this. Not even applejack nor all the luxuries that lay scattered along their pathway had any charms for them. Their whole souls seemed centered on the old church, and they were thorough[h]ly absorbed in their efforts to reach it. I don't believe they ever took half so much interest before in going to a church. The old church and cross roads were reached before noon, and we anxiously awaited the arrival of the general. Not hearing any firing in the rear we concluded they were lying for us at some other point, if they were intending an attack on us. The cavalry informed us that the bridge across the creek out in the swamp, over which we crossed the day before, was taken up and things looked as though somebody might be waiting for us on the other side. The troops were now coming up, and a couple of batteries dashed past us, down the road into the swamp. The general soon came up and seemed quite pleased that he had gained this point without opposition, and thought there would be no further trouble.

The commander is a practical engineer, and can map with his eye the country as he passes through it, picking out the strong and weak positions, moving his troops in this or the other direction, holding such roads and positions as he thinks will give him an advantage, and when a movement is ordered, it is entered on by his troops with full confidence of success. Two roads branched from the one we were on, one taking a north-easterly direction, the other a north-westerly. Up these roads the cavalry were sent. to make a reconnoissance. The pioneer corps was ordered down to the creek, over which the bridge had been taken up, and commenced felling trees as though they intended to rebuild it. After an hour's ride, the cavalry returned and reported everything all right. A part of the infantry and artillery now took the advance, going up the north-easterly road, followed by the wagon train, while the balance of the troops brought up the rear. While this was going on, the sharp ring of the axes could be heard out in the swamp as though that was the intended route, but after the column had got well under way, the pioneers abandoned their job and followed along. The route lay through an open country, easy of defence, and if anybody was waiting for us on the other side of the swamp (as we have since learned there was), they got nicely fooled. About night we reached the site where two days before stood the town of Hamilton. Nothing remained but a few scattered rookeries on the outskirts occupied by negroes. There was, however, one small two story building standing a little apart from the others, which was saved, and into this went company B, taking the up-stairs tenement, while the lower one was occupied by a company of the 5th Massachusetts. The night was cold and stormy, snowing quite heavily, and the little army was obliged to stand it or find shelter as best they could. I reckon the boys who set the fires bitterly repented of their acts, as they must have suffered much, and a good many of them were worn down and sick from the long march.

By morning the storm had abated, but there were about two inches of soft snow or slush, and some of the boys were barefoot, having worn out their shoes, and a good many were nearly or quite sick. The surgeons looked over their regiments, sending the sick and bare-footed aboard the gunboats for Plymouth, for which place the troops were bound.

The order of exercises for today was a march back to Williamston, which I very much regretted not being able to do, as I rather enjoy these rambles through the country and feel disappointed when I cannot go, but I had been a little under the weather for a clay or two, and was sent with the others aboard the little gunboat Hetzel, where we were greatly sympathized with by the marines, who seemed to think we had had a pretty hard time of it, and who showed us every favor and indulgence that lay in their power. The boats steamed slowly down the river, keeping along with the army, and arriving at Plymouth on the afternoon of the 10th, having made a two weeks' excursion.

THE RESULT.

I reckon the landed nobility up the country through which we traveled will never care to see another excursion of the same kind. They probably by this time begin to think that war is not so pretty a pastime, and the Confederate commissariat can mourn the loss of many thousand bushels of corn. We made a desolation of the country through which we passed, and that proud aristocracy can now look over their desolate fields, and in vain call the roll of their slaves; can sit down and make a nice calculation of how much better off they are under their Confederacy than they would have been had they remained loyal to the old flag. We cleaned up pretty much everything there was, bringing back with us upwards of 1000 negroes and several hundred horses and mules.

Coming down the river we ran past what appeared to be a large cotton plantation, when some 40 or 50 negroes came running down to the shore and begged to be taken aboard. They were the most forlorn and wretched looking beings I had ever seen; their clothing was little else than rags, scarcely covering their nakedness. Some of them followed us nearly a mile down the river, begging piteously to be taken aboard. I pitied the poor creatures, but was powerless to help them, and the thought occurred to me that if God cares for all his creatures, he surely must have forgotten these.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 69-76

Diary of Laura M. Towne: Sunday, June 9, 1862

This afternoon the cotton agent, or rather the sutler, Mr. Whiting, and his little wife, left the place. We are so glad to have their half of the house. Mr. Pierce left with me an injunction that they should take away none of the furniture, and they left most of it. Mr. Elmendorff gave into my charge some things which he should claim should he come again, but he has only the right of prior seizure to them.

To-night we all went to Rina's house where the people had a "shout," which Mr. McKim was inclined to think was a remnant of African worship.

SOURCE: Rupert Sargent Holland, Editor, Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne: Written from the Sea Islands of South Carolina 1862-1864, p. 66-7

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: November 14, 1863

After breakfast bugle sounded and tents were struck, horses saddled and 2nd Ohio moved to St. Clair, 9 miles distant. Moved qrs. up near Hdqrs. Rainy day, very during the night. Went down and saw the colored men dance jigs and reels. Quite a jolly time. Commenced messing with Com'ry detail. Good time. Heavy shower.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 97

Captain Charles Wright Wills: November 17, 1862

Camp at Lagrange, Tenn., November 17, 1862.

Our whole regiment went on picket Saturday evening. Didn't reach our posts until 9:30 p. m. Had plenty of fresh meat next day (notwithstanding stringent orders), and beautiful weather. Our going on picket saved us a tramp of 22 miles, for which I am duly grateful. They had a scare at Summerville while we were out; our brigade (except we who were on duty) were started out, nobody hurt, happy to chronicle. Squads of prisoners taken by our cavalry are constantly arriving from the front. Very little skirmishing though, mostly unarmed citizens, etc. There are an immense number of slaves at the different military posts through here and in this vicinity. The officials are using them to good advantage in securing the large crops of cotton to the Government. The camps are overflowing with them, and their music and dancing furnish the boys with amusement unlimited. Don't have half the fun with the natives that I used to, in fact haven't spoken to any since I have been out this time. Guess I'm steadying down some. Like soldiering as well as ever but the novelty's gone, and its more like a regular way of living to me than a spree as it used to be. Don't see any immediate prospect of a move, but a chap can't tell what any symptom means here. I'd bet several times that we're on the point of starting. We have been reviewed twice within four days by Grant, McPherson, McKean, Logan and Pugh.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 141

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, December 31, 1862

Camp, December 31, 1862.

Dearest: — This is New Year's eve. Dancing and merriment seem to prevail. Many men and a few officers are expecting to go home soon. Sergeant-Major Sweet will take you this, and the McCook and Andrews spurs. We have had a great change this week. Colonel Ewing — I mean General Ewing — has gone South, taking with him the Thirtieth, Thirty-seventh, and Forty-seventh Ohio and Fourth Virginia. The Eighty-ninth goes into the fine camp left by the Thirtieth, ten miles below here; a great gain to the Eighty-ninth. The Ninety-second goes to Tompkins Farm, the camp left by the Forty-seventh, and are great losers by the change; mad about it, too. We get rid of divers old troubles, but remain in our log-cabin camp, and are content, or rather pleased, upon the whole.

Now good night. Happy New Years to all. If no further changes occur, and Uncle Joe would like to bring you up here with one or two boys, I suspect you would like to come. Think of it, and I will try to see you part of the way home, or all of the way. Let him start about the middle of the month, so as to reach here by the 20th. It will probably rain and be muddy enough, but it will be funny and novel.

Good night. If Grandma wants to come, she will be welcome, she knows, but I mistrust the peculiar climate we have. Our weather this month has been much better than in Ohio.

Affectionately,

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 382-3

Diary of John Hay: January 15, 1864

On board the Fulton. The embarcation of the 54th Boys. Variety of complexions — redheads, — filing into their places on deck — singing, whistling, smoking and dancing — eating candy and chewing tobacco. Jolly little cuss, round, rosy and half-white, singing:—

Oh John Brown dey hung him

We're gwine to jine de Union Army

Oh John Brown dey hung him

We're gwine to Dixie's land.

Way down by James' River

Old massa's grave is made

And he or me is sure to fill it

When he meets de black Brigade.

We're gwine to trabbel to de Souf

To smack de rebels in de mouf.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 155; for the entire diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letter of John Hay, p. 154-5.

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Sophia Birchard Hayes, July 10, 1862

Flat Top Mountain, July 10, 1862.

Dear Mother: — I think you would enjoy being here. We have a fine cool breeze during the day; an extensive mountain scene, always beautiful but changing daily, almost hourly. The men are healthy, contented, and have the prettiest and largest bowers over the whole camp I ever saw. They will never look so well or behave so well in any settled country. Here the drunkards get no liquor, or so little that they regain the healthy complexion of temperate men. Every button and buckle is burnished bright, and clothes brushed or washed clean. I often think that if mothers could see their boys as they often look in this mountain wilderness, they would feel prouder of them than ever before. We have dancing in two of the larger bowers from soon after sundown until a few minutes after nine o'clock. By half-past nine all is silence and darkness. At sunrise the men are up, drilling until breakfast. Occasionally the boys who play the female partners in the dances exercise their ingenuity in dressing to look as girlish as possible. In the absence of lady duds they use leaves, and the leaf-clad beauties often look very pretty and always odd enough.

We send parties into the enemy's lines which sometimes have strange adventures. A party last Sunday, about forty miles from here, found a young Scotchman and two sisters, one eighteen and the other fourteen, their parents dead, who have been unable to escape from Rebeldom. They have property in Scotland and would give anything to get to “the States.” One officer took one girl on his horse behind him and another, another, and so escaped. They were fired on by bushwhackers, the elder lady thrown off, but not much hurt. They were the happiest girls you ever saw when they reached our camp. They are now safe on the way to Cincinnati, where they have a brother.

We are expecting one of these days to be sent to eastern Virginia, if all we hear is true.

I have just received an invitation to Rogers' wedding. If you see him or his bride tell them I regret I shall not be able to be at Columbus on the first of this month. . . . Love to all.

Affectionately, your son,

R. B. Hayes.

Mrs. Sophia Hayes,

Columbus, Ohio.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 300-1

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Friday, June 27, 1862

Camp Jones, Flat Top Mountain . — Took the men to Glade Creek to wash. Water getting scarce in this quarter. The men danced to the fiddle, marched to music, and had a good time generally. Rode, walked, and read "Seven Sons of Mammon."

Read the account of the disaster on White River, Arkansas, to the gunboat, Mound City. The enemy sent a forty-two-pound ball through her boiler and a horrible slaughter followed, scalding and drowning one hundred and fifty men!

General Pope appointed to "the Army of Virginia" — being the combined forces of Fremont, Shields, Banks, and McDowell, now in the Valley of Virginia. Sorry to see Fremont passed over but glad the concentration under one man has taken place. General Pope is impulsive and hasty, but energetic, and, what is of most importance, patriotic and sound — perfectly sound. I look for good results. — Rained in the evening.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 293-4

Diary of Laura M. Towne: Monday, April 28, 1862

It is very touching to hear the negroes begging Mr. Pierce to let them plant and tend corn and not cotton. They do not see the use of cotton, but they know that their corn has kept them from starvation, and they are anxious about next year's crop. Mr. Pierce takes us to the different plantations as often as he can to talk to the negroes and make them contented, which they are not now by any means. The sight of ladies gives them a feeling of security that nothing else does.

Mr. Ruggles is a fine man, quiet, good, and easy. His men are contented. I went with him after church yesterday to his plantation to visit his sick, carrying my whole doctor's apparatus. It was my first purely professional visit out here.

Yesterday we attended the Baptist church, deep in the live-oaks with their hanging moss. It was a most picturesque sight to see the mules tied in the woods and the oddly dressed negroes crowding in. Inside it was stranger still, the turbans or bare heads, the jetty faces, and uncouth forms were all wild. We first had a Sunday School where the letters were taught principally, and then the Commandments and the Lord's Prayer read. Mr. Horton made an excellent sermon upon the text, “Hold fast to that liberty wherewith Christ hath made you free,” or something like that. He told them that liberty did not mean freedom to be idle, etc. But the sermon was an exhortation to preserve liberty, and was a good one. . . .

I saw at church, and on Mr. Gabriel Caper's plantation, a woman brought from Africa whose face was tattooed. She appeared to be of more vigorous stock than our own negroes. I find most of the negroes I have seen very weak and decidedly unhealthy and having bad teeth. What else could be expected on hominy and pork from generation to generation, and with such houses and such work?

Last night I was at the “Praise House” for a little time and saw Miss Nelly reading to the good women. Afterwards we went to the “shout,” a savage, heathenish dance out in Rina's house. Three men stood and sang, clapping and gesticulating. The others shuffled along on their heels, following one another in a circle and occasionally bending the knees in a kind of curtsey. They began slowly, a few going around and more gradually joining in, the song getting faster and faster, till at last only the most marked part of the refrain is sung and the shuffling, stamping, and clapping get furious. The floor shook so that it seemed dangerous. It swayed regularly to the time of the song. As they danced they, of course, got out of breath, and the singing was kept up principally by the three apart, but it was astonishing how long they continued and how soon after a rest they were ready to begin again. Miss Walker and I, Mrs. Whiting and her husband were there — a little white crowd at the door looking at this wild firelight scene; for there was no other light than that from the fire, which they kept replenishing. They kept up the “shout” till very late.

The negroes are pretty cunning. They pretend they want us to stay, that they would be in despair if we went away, and they tell us they will give us eggs and chickens. Indeed, they do constantly offer eggs and they feel hurt if they are refused, for that is equivalent to refusing to make any returns. Old Susannah, the cook, often sends to the table fish or other delicacies. When I ask her where she got them, she says a friend gave them to her and she gives them to us. She doesn't want pay — no, indeed. She always gave such things to her old “massas,” and then they in return gave a little sweetening or something good from the house. It was give and take, good feeling all around. All giving on one side, I should think; all taking, nearly, on the other; and good feeling according to the nature of the class, one only content in grasping, the other in giving. They transfer their gratitude to “Government.” One woman said to me, “I was servant-born, ma'am, and now 'cause de Gov'ment fightin' for me, I'll work for Gov'ment, dat I will, and welcome.” Another woman, to-day, just from “the main,” said to me that she had hard work to escape, sleeping in “de ma'sh” and hiding all day. She brought away her two little children, and said her master had just “licked” her eldest son almost to death because he was suspected of wanting to join the Yankees. “They does it to spite us, ma'am, ’cause you come here. Dey spites us now ’cause de Yankees come.” She was grateful to the Yankees for coming, nevertheless, but deplored that the season for planting cotton was over, because only the cotton-workers were to be paid and she was suffering for clothes. Another man said, “I craves work, ma'am, if I gets a little pay, but if we don't gets pay, we don't care — don't care to work.” Natural enough. One very handsome, tall, proud-looking woman came here to buy, but Miss Walker was too busy to sell. I told her she could have no clothes; when she and another woman, thinking I supposed them beggars, said — “We not dat kind, ma'am; we got our money here.” They object to going to the young gentlemen on the places for clothes, thinking it will be taken as a kind of advance for notice — such notice as the best of them have probably dreaded, but which the worst have sought. Women should be here — good elderly women. Miss Donelson was an irreparable loss. The men and women living together on this place are not all of them married. When Miss Walker asks them they say, “No, not married, ma'am, but I just tuck (took) her and brought her home.” They make not the slightest preparation for an expected infant, having always been used to thinking it “massa's” concern whether it was kept alive or not. The woman we saw yesterday, whose baby was dead, seemed perfectly stolid, and when I gave her a dollar was pleased as if she had no sorrow. Yet I think the negroes are not harsh to the children. They have a rough way of ordering them that sounds savage. When you speak to a child who does not answer, the others say, “Talk, talk. Why you not talk?” — in the most ordersome tone to the silent one.

In church on Sunday after service Mr. Horton came to me and said he was glad to see me there. I answered that I was much gratified by his sermon, but objected to two things — his qualifying their freedom rather too much, and his telling them that we had all come down to do them good, leaving homes and comfort for their sake. “I wanted to keep up their respect for these young men,” he answered. “I don't know that we shall do it by self-praise,” I said — and he looked annoyed. “I have heard them told so, so often,” I said again, “that I am sure that is well drilled into their heads.” One thing the soldiers did, notwithstanding all their wronging of the slaves by taking their corn, and that is, they made them fully sure that they are free and that they never again can be claimed by any master as property. Some of the superintendents threaten that they shall be reenslaved if they do not succeed and work as freemen. But I think the negroes know that it is only a threat, and despise the makers of it.

Mr. Hooper heard last night, from a special agent who was sent down here to convince the soldiers that Government is right in reserving their pay for their wives, that it is said at the North that the goods are sold here on private speculation, and that the money is put into the pockets of the superintendents. Also that the whole plan is a failure and is sure to break up. I think the latter very probable, for my part, for few can be found fitted for carrying out such purely benevolent plans as this was designed to be.

The negro men and women come crowding here at all hours, begging to be allowed to buy clothing, and, although they stand for hours in the hall, we have never missed the slightest thing.

Mr. Pierce begins now to pay a dollar an acre on account, which the negroes find it hard to comprehend and are not well content with. We women have to be borrowed and driven to the different plantations to talk to and appease the eager anxiety. This is quite a triumph, after having been rejected as useless.

On Sunday I was much pleased with one of the hymns the negroes spontaneously set up, of which the refrain was —

"No man can hinder me."

It was, I believe, saying that nothing could prevent access to Jesus. I heard them introduce the names of several men, as they do in improvising, but their pronunciation was so very imperfect that I could not hear fully. The men sing mostly, and have much finer voices than the women.

Another song is, “The Bell done ring.” Another, “Bound to go.” Another, “Come to Jesus.”

They sing the tune of “John Brown's Body” to other words, and in church or out of it, whenever they begin one of these songs, they keep time with their feet and bodies. It sounded very strange in the church.

Susannah has just been up here telling me about the flight of the rebels. She says that the day after the “Guns at Baypoint” (which is what all the negroes call the taking of Port Royal), her master went away, taking his family. He wanted Susannah to go with him, she being the seamstress of the family, but she refused. He then told her that if she stayed she would either be killed by the Yankees or sold to Cuba; but she said, why should they kill poor black folks who did no harm and could only be guided by white folks? After he went, his son came back once and told the negroes that they must burn the cotton; but they said, “Why for we burn de cotton? Where we get money then for buy clo’ and shoe and salt?” So, instead of burning it, they guarded it every night, the women keeping watch and the men ready to defend it when the watchers gave the alarm. Some of the masters came back to persuade their negroes to go with them, and when they would not, they were shot down. One man told me he had known of thirty being shot. This man is a cabinet-maker and schoolmaster among them, and says he reads all the papers. He is named Will Capers. He is very intelligent and self-respecting. He is in hopes he will be paid for teaching. While his master was here he had a secret night-school for men. He was very discontented because he was ordered to the field, there being no work at his trade to do. When Mr. Pierce harangued them from the porch, this Will said he did not think it right to have to go to the field. Mr. Pierce said, “What would you do? There is no cabinetwork for you, and every man must work. You want to be a soldier, I suppose, don't you?” “Yes, sah,” promptly. Then Mr. Pierce made two of them stand up and he drilled them a little. The other day Miss W. and I, sitting in the carriage, found this man standing by it. I said, “I remember your face, but I do not know where I have seen you.” “One of the soldiers, ma'am,” he answered quietly. So this man, an intelligent, reliable negro, who has gone sensibly to the field ever since Mr. Pierce's explanation, affirms that he knew of thirty men being shot down by their masters, and says the masters declared they would shoot down everyone they saw who remained. Nevertheless, a great part of them stayed; and many of those who went came back, or are coming every day. Others from the mainland come here daily for clothes and have pitiful tales to tell of how their masters whip those they suspect of wishing to join the Yankees. Susannah's master has never come back. He is probably afraid of his negroes, as he was a very cruel, hard master, who gave no shoes, salt, molasses, or Sunday clothes — neither would he allow the field hands any meat, nor permit them to raise pigs. Susannah once raised some pigs and her master threatened to shoot them. “No, massa, you cawnt do it. What can I do for our children's winter shoes and our salt if our pigs are shot? You cawnt do it — you cawnt do it.” He told her not to be impudent. “I don't mean impudence, massa, but you cawnt shoot my hogs”; and he couldn't. He used to buy and sell as suited him. Susannah's three boys (all she raised out of twenty-two that she had) were sent away from her, but when she had the fever from going in the sun to see the little one, and crawled out to beg her master to let her have one to hand her a drink of water in the night, he consented. He brought one from his son's plantation, where he had sent him, but told her that as soon as she was well she must part with him again. He also whipped, or “licked,” as they say, terribly. For the last year he was determined to make them work as mulch as they possibly could, because “he was afraid the Yankees were coming”; and so he kept them in the fields from morning till night and lashed them every day. Susannah herself never had a whipping after she was a child. Her mistress used to tell her she would “lash her,” and scolded her, but Susannah used to say “Whippin' never does me no good, ma'am. I’ll explain and I’ll do better next time. I only wants to know what you want and I’ll do it. If my pride and principle won't make me do right, lashing won't.” She spoke continually of doing things from pride and principle. She was sickly, and she made all the ladies' dresses — two reasons for her being spared. “I never axed no wagers,but my two clothes for the year. I was quite satisfy if dey didn't lick me. I would work or do anything for them if dey would n't lick me.” Her young “misuses” cried when they went away, and said “Oh, Zannah, the Yankees’ll kill you. If you see a Yankee it'll drive you crazy.” “Why, miss, ain't dey natural folks?” “Oh, no, Zannah, they don't look like us.” So, when Susannah saw soldiers coming, she ran out to Marcus, her husband, and said, “Oh, deys soldiers, deys come to kill us,” and her hands shook with trembling. But Marcus said they wouldn't hurt her and ordered her to go to them to see what they wanted. When they saw her fright, they said to her, “We are not going to hurt you. We only want you to get us something to eat, and we’ll pay you for it.” “Oh, such pretty men!” she said, “and so respectful.” They stayed some time; and Susannah used to parch peanuts for them every night. All of the negroes speak with tenderness and gratitude of our soldiers. Susannah says, when feeling grateful, “Oh, you from the Norf are all so patient. Such a patient people — never see notion' like it.’

We need patience. One day I came downstairs to make a cup of tea for an unexpected guest. No fire and no wood. No possibility of getting wood, as it was raining hard. No butter. Old Robert was sick and had the key of the dairy, and was away off somewhere; just as it was at breakfast-time, when we had no milk, and Robert was away at “the pen,” too far for return before we had done breakfast. I sent Lucy through the rain for Robert, who came after a time with the butter — and no bread, rations overdrawn and consumed, none to come till tomorrow. Hominy gone. Sent Lucy to ask Susannah why and where she had taken it. It came. Robert offered to lend us a little wood — so at last we got a fire (and a cup of tea with some hominy and butter).

I told Rina to come up and do our room and have not seen her since. Just now Aleck was idle and I sent him for wood to the pines with a little mule. I told him not to whip it. He yelled and doubled himself up with laughing, and lashed it before my eyes until quite out of sight, shrieking with laughter and paying no heed to my calls.

Rupert Sargent Holland, Editor, Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne: Written from the Sea Islands of South Carolina 1862-1864, p. 21-30

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Tuesday, June 23, 1863

Lawley and I went to inspect the site of Mr Mason's (the Southern Commissioner in London) once pretty house — a melancholy scene. It had been charmingly situated near the outskirts of the town, and by all accounts must have been a delightful little place. When Lawley saw it seven months ago, it was then only a ruin; but since that time Northern vengeance (as directed by General Milroy) has satiated itself by destroying almost the very foundations of the house of this arch-traitor, as they call him. Literally not one stone remains standing upon another; and the debris seems to have been carted away, for there is now a big hole where the principal part of the house stood. Troops have evidently been encamped upon the ground, which was strewed with fragments of Yankee clothing, accoutrements, &c.

I understand that Winchester used to be a most agreeable little town, and its society extremely pleasant. Many of its houses are now destroyed or converted into hospitals; the rest look miserable and dilapidated. Its female inhabitants (for the able-bodied males are all absent in the army) are familiar with the bloody realities of war. As many as 5000 wounded have been accommodated here at one time. All the ladies are accustomed to the bursting of shells and the sight of fighting, and all are turned into hospital nurses or cooks.

From the utter impossibility of procuring corn, I was forced to take the horses out grazing a mile beyond the town for four hours in the morning and two in the afternoon. As one mustn't lose sight of them for a moment, this occupied me all day, while Lawley wrote in the house. In the evening we went to visit two wounded officers in Mrs ——'s house, a major and a captain in the Louisianian Brigade which stormed the forts last Sunday week. I am afraid the captain will die. Both are shot through the body, but are cheery. They served under Stonewall Jackson until his death, and they venerate his name, though they both agree that he has got an efficient successor in Ewell, his former companion in arms; and they confirmed a great deal of what General Johnston had told me as to Jackson having been so much indebted to Ewell for several of his victories. They gave us an animated account of the spirits and feeling of the army. At no period of the war, they say, have the men been so well equipped, so well clothed, so eager for a fight, or so confident of success — a very different state of affairs from that which characterised the Maryland invasion of last year, when half of the army were barefooted stragglers, and many of the remainder unwilling and reluctant to cross the Potomac.

Miss —— told me to-day that dancing and horseracing are forbidden by the Episcopal Church in this part of Virginia.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 234-6

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: October 29, 1862

Company E on picket duty, false alarm at night, cattle in canefield. Krause's mounted infantry rode out and ascertained the cause of the alarm. Nothing of importance occurring after this, I have not thought it proper to keep a minute daily account, but I will state something of what was going on in the interim. Many negroes flocked in from the plantations bringing their manners and customs with them, which gave infinite amusement to both officers and men. And these they furnished in almost every variety so as to suit all classes. In one house some old gray-headed patriarch would hold forth in a religious discourse to a noisy and delighted audience. In another a prayer meeting would be in progress. Further along might be heard the banjo and fiddle, and the sable virgins of Africa could be seen “tripping the light fantastic toe.” This last as may well be imagined formed the principal attraction, and not infrequently these sable nymphs would be led off by a partner in uniform. The contrabands increased so rapidly that something must be done with them. Colonel Holcomb set about making a fort. This gave employment to several hundred. General Butler conceived the idea of farming some of the deserted plantations, so he employed agents to see to the work, and sent negroes and their families to gather the cane and make it into sugar, paying them wages and feeding them. This was a nice arrangement and opened the way for self support to thousands that otherwise would be an expense to the government. As for myself I found plenty to do, for Captain Solomon and my Second Lieutenant were on the sick list most of the time with chills and fever contracted at Camp Williams, and my First Lieutenant was on detached service with the mounted infantry. This placed me in command of the company most of the time, and with the duties of Orderly Sergeant and the books of the company to keep was quite sufficient for one to do. But my officers were very kind to me, and I had all the privileges of a commissioned officer. Besides this I had a nice comfortable house built for myself, Lieutenant Gardner and Captain Solomon, the Captain occupying one room and Lieutenant Gardner and myself the other. Thus things went on quite harmoniously. During this time General Butler was superceeded by General Banks in the Department of the Gulf.

SOURCE: Abstracted from George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 34-6

Diary of Alexander G. Downing: Friday, February 7, 1862

No news of importance. The boys had a dancing party at the depot, and some of the girls in the neighborhood who are somewhat lively were there — they seem to enjoy smoking when out in company.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 32