1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, May 14, 1862

Strasburg, May 14, 1862.

1 never expected to write another letter from this place during the war, but so it is. After ten days' marching and countermarching, crossing the mountains into the other valley and coming back again, we have got here again, after an absence of nearly two months, without having accomplished the first thing during the whole of that time. We line officers have drawn up a paper to be sent to the Secretary of War, begging to be transferred to another division; one copy to be forwarded to Charles Sumner, and another to Judge Thomas. A somewhat similar one is going to Governor Andrew asking his assistance. They are all ably written, and I hope they will help us out of this.

The other day, when we were over the other side of the mountains, one of Captain Abbott's men disappeared from his company. Last night he came into camp in secesh uniform. His story was that he was taken about fifty rods from our bivouac by two of Ashby's cavalry and two infantry: that they carried him about twenty miles to Jackson's main force, and then promised him they would send him to a place where he would never see Yankee-land again, but he balked them by escaping their guard one night and keeping in the woods until he got inside of Colonel Geary's lines.

I dare say you have noticed, in the paper, that our Adjutant's clerk was shot, the other day, as he was marching between Mount Jackson and Edinburgh. He was a long distance ahead of the regiment; there were three shots fired; one minié ball struck him, passing through his right arm into his body, grazing his lungs, coming out the other side: he is still living, but his recovery is doubtful. We have had three other men disappear lately, very likely shot in this same way. An orderly was fired on, the other day, but not hit; he chased the bushwhacker, wounded him and caught him.

I had one piece of good luck when we were over in the other valley. I was out with the company on picket; early in the morning, I discovered three contrabands with as many horses just outside our lines. I had them brought in before me; one of them had a beautiful brown mare which took my eye amazingly: I offered the darkey five dollars for her, and he took me up. I sent the other horses in to brigade headquarters by the contrabands.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 56-7

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 1, 1864

Mrs. Davis gave her “Luncheon to Ladies Only” on Saturday. Many more persons there than at any of these luncheons which we have gone to before. Gumbo, ducks and olives, chickens in jelly, oysters, lettuce salad, chocolate cream, jelly cake, claret, champagne, etc., were the good things set before us.

To-day, for a pair of forlorn shoes I have paid $85. Colonel Ives drew my husband's pay for me. I sent Lawrence for it (Mr. Chesnut ordered him back to us; we needed a man servant here). Colonel Ives wrote that he was amazed I should be willing to trust a darky with that great bundle of money, but it came safely. Mr. Petigru says you take your money to market in the market basket, and bring home what you buy in your pocket-book.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 284

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw Lowell, September 1, 1864 - Evening

Near Smithfield, Sept. 1, 1864, Evening.

If you could only just step in here, — such a pretty place for Headquarters, — two wall-tents facing West, in a perfectly green and smooth front-yard with locust and maple trees for shade. On the porch of the house you would have enjoyed seeing five little darkies, the oldest not over six, dancing while the band was playing an hour ago. And to complete it, Berold is right in front looking over the fence very inquisitively at a two-year-old colt that has just been brought in, stolen, — that's the way it was an hour ago, I mean, — it is dark now, but we have a blazing fire of rails which lights up everything gloriously.

Poor McClellan, I am sorry his name is to be dragged through the mud so, — what a contemptible platform! Honestly I believe that if by chance McClellan is elected, the North will split before his four years are passed, and we shall be left in the condition of the South American republics, or worse.

If success to our arms will further Lincoln's chances, I feel as if each one of us, both in the army and at home, had a tenfold motive for exertion now. If McClellan is chosen, I shall despair of the Republic; either half a dozen little republics, or one despotism, must follow, it seems to me. What a state of affairs Governor Brough's proclamation about the draft indicates! I should not like to be an editor now, or at any other time. Don't be alarmed about that, in spite of my fondness for writing!

By the way, I do wish that Sherman's letter could be made, in this campaign, the platform, so far as the contraband question goes. I feel as if the bill for recruiting in the Southern States, and the continual efforts to prove that black troops are altogether as good as white, were going to damage us, and rightly too, for I do not consider either of the above positions tenable, when looked at largely.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 332-3

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: November 28, 1863

RICHMOND, Va. — Our pleasant home sojourn was soon broken up. Johnny had to go back to Company A, and my husband was ordered by the President to make a second visit to Bragg's Army.¹

So we came on here where the Prestons had taken apartments for me. Molly was with me. Adam Team, the overseer, with Isaac McLaughlin's help, came with us to take charge of the eight huge boxes of provisions I brought from home. Isaac, Molly's husband, is a servant of ours, the only one my husband ever bought in his life. Isaac's wife belonged to Rev. Thomas Davis, and Isaac to somebody else. The owner of Isaac was about to go West, and Isaac was distracted. They asked one thousand dollars for him. He is a huge creature, really a magnificent specimen of a colored gentleman. His occupation had been that of a stage-driver. Now, he is a carpenter, or will be some day. He is awfully grateful to us for buying him; is really devoted to his wife and children, though he has a strange way of showing it, for he has a mistress, en titre, as the French say, which fact Molly never failed to grumble about as soon as his back was turned. “Great big good-for-nothing thing come a-whimpering to marster to buy him for his wife's sake, and all the time he an—” “Oh, Molly, stop that!” said I.

Mr. Davis visited Charleston and had an enthusiastic reception. He described it all to General Preston. Governor Aiken's perfect old Carolina style of living delighted him. Those old gray-haired darkies and their noiseless, automatic service, the result of finished training — one does miss that sort of thing when away from home, where your own servants think for you; they know your ways and your wants; they save you all responsibility even in matters of your own ease and well doing. The butler at Mulberry would be miserable and feel himself a ridiculous failure were I ever forced to ask him for anything.

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¹ Braxton Bragg was a native of North Carolina and had won distinction in the war with Mexico.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 252-3

Major Wilder Dwight: Friday, August 23, 1861

Buckeyestown, August 23, 1861, Friday, in Camp.

I began a letter before breakfast this morning, but my pen dragged so that I tore it up. Now I have a short time, and perhaps not a long story, but certainly a good breakfast to tell it on. And this same matter of a good breakfast is not a small one. The foraging on a march is not easy. Chickens and eggs and bread and butter and milk, &c, all have to be extemporized by our darkies, as we go along. Sometimes we do well; sometimes, badly. This morning, being bent on eggs, I sent my little English groom off on horseback. He went to a farm-house, into a hen-yard, and waited for cackling. Presently he returned, and said : “I've an egg for ye, sir. I waited till the hen laid it, and then brought the hen and the egg.” That is close work, I think.

I sent you a letter Wednesday morning. Immediately after came marching orders. I hurried off on horseback to call in our scattered forces. First, I went to Harper's Ferry, and found Colonel Andrews destroying our friend Herr's mill. Herr was very sombre. His little boy, with whom I have a friendship, rushed up to me, and said chokingly: “It is too bad to destroy the mill; but it's the secessionists that's the cause of it, isn't it, Major?” I told him, Yes. Andrews was breaking the buckets of the turbine wheel, and smashing the gearing of the mill. He had Company A, from Lowell, who are the mechanics of our regiment. He was sorry to be interrupted, but there was no remedy, and so off he came.

Then I went back and off on to Battery Hill to get the artillery off; then again to recall an outlying picket on top of the mountain; then galloped back to camp to see about rations; then, at last, the regiment got in marching array. The day was bright and cool, — the regiment moved off at twelve o'clock. Hard bread in haversacks, and hoping for something better. Money in pocket, and, 1 am sorry to say, an occasional excess of whiskey in a guilty canteen. Pay-day has its evils, as I thought when directing two drunken men to be tied and put in a wagon.

We made a brisk march of twelve miles to Jefferson. There we spent the night. The next morning, after a tedious delay in a depressing rain to get our wagons mended, we again moved on up, up, up a long hill in a close, muggy dog-day. The men's knapsacks pulled on them, and when we came on to our present camping-ground, at four o'clock, there was a long trail of lame ducks behind. They soon came in, and now are looking forward to another tramp.

The panic-stricken women and children pursued us, as we came away from Harper's Ferry, not daring to remain without our protection. The Rebels are foraging all through the country there; but nothing more than that appears to be done anywhere, though rumor is trumpet-tongued with reports of armies large enough to conquer the hemisphere. Mark my prophecy. Beauregard lacks transportation. He cannot move one hundred thousand men across the Potomac. This has prevented and will prevent his active operations. But it is not improbable that there will be skirmishes along the river.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 81-2

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: November 5, 1863

For a week we have had such a tranquil, happy time here. Both my husband and Johnny are here still. James Chesnut spent his time sauntering around with his father, or stretched on the rug before my fire reading Vanity Fair and Pendennis. By good luck he had not read them before. We have kept Esmond for the last. He owns that he is having a good time. Johnny is happy, too. He does not care for books. He will read a novel now and then, if the girls continue to talk of it before him. Nothing else whatever in the way of literature does he touch. He comes pulling his long blond mustache irresolutely as if he hoped to be advised not to read it — “Aunt Mary, shall I like this thing?” I do not think he has an idea what we are fighting about, and he does not want to know. He says, “My company,” “My men,” with a pride, a faith, and an affection which are sublime. He came into his inheritance at twenty-one (just as the war began), and it was a goodly one, fine old houses and an estate to match.

Yesterday, Johnny went to his plantation for the first time since the war began. John Witherspoon went with him, and reports in this way: “How do you do, Marster! How you come on?” — thus from every side rang the noisiest welcome from the darkies. Johnny was silently shaking black hands right and left as he rode into the crowd.

As the noise subsided, to the overseer he said: “Send down more corn and fodder for my horses.” And to the driver, “Have you any peas?” “Plenty, sir.” “Send a wagon-load down for the cows at Bloomsbury while I stay there. They have not milk and butter enough there for me. Any eggs? Send down all you can collect. How about my turkeys and ducks? Send them down two at a time. How about the mutton? Fat? That's good; send down two a week.”

As they rode home, John Witherspoon remarked, “I was surprised that you did not go into the fields to see your crops.” “What was the use?” “And the negroes; you had so little talk with them.”

“No use to talk to them before the overseer. They are coming down to Bloomsbury, day and night, by platoons and they talk me dead. Besides, William and Parish go up there every night, and God knows they tell me enough plantation scandal — overseer feathering his nest; negroes ditto at my expense. Between the two fires I mean to get something to eat while I am here.'”

For him we got up a charming picnic at Mulberry. Everything was propitious — the most perfect of days and the old place in great beauty. Those large rooms were delightful for dancing; we had as good a dinner as mortal appetite could crave; the best fish, fowl, and game; wine from a cellar that can not be excelled. In spite of blockade Mulberry does the honors nobly yet. Mrs. Edward Stockton drove down with me. She helped me with her taste and tact in arranging things. We had no trouble, however. All of the old servants who have not been moved to Bloomsbury scented the prey from afar, and they literally flocked in and made themselves useful.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 250-1

Major Rutherford B. Hayes to Sardis Birchard, October 27, 1861

Sunday morning before breakfast,

Tompkins' Farm, Three Miles From Gauley Bridge,

October 27, 1861.

Dear Uncle: — It is a bright October morning. Ever since the great storms a month ago, we have had weather almost exactly such as we have at the same season in Ohio — occasional rainy days, but much very fine weather. We are still waiting events. Our winter's work or destination yet unknown. Decided events near Washington will determine our course. We shall wait those events several weeks yet before going into winter quarters. If things remain there without any events, we shall about half, I conjecture, build huts here and hereabouts, and the rest go to Ohio, and stay there, or go to Kentucky or Missouri as required. I hope and expect to be of the half that leaves here. But great events near Washington are expected by the powers that be, and it looks, as you see, some like it.

I have been occupied the whole week trying cases before a court-martial. Some painful things, but on the whole, an agreeable time. While the regiment is in camp doing nothing, this business is not bad for a change.

The paymasters are here at last, making the men very happy with their pretty government notes and gold. The larger part is taken (seven-eighths) in paper on account of the bother in carrying six months' pay in gold. Each regiment will send home a very large proportion of their pay — one-half to three-fifths.

The death of Colonel Baker is a national calamity, but on the whole, the war wears a favorable look. Lucy says you are getting ready to shelter us when driven from Cincinnati. All right, but if we are forced to leave Cincinnati, I think we can't stop short of the Canada line. There is no danger. These Rebels will go under sooner or later. I know that great battles are matters of accident largely. A defeat near Washington is possible, and would be disastrous enough, but the Southern soldiers are not the mettle to carry on a long and doubtful war. If they can get a success by a dash or an ambuscade, they do it well enough, but for steady work, such as finally determines all great wars, our men are far superior to them. With equal generalship and advantages, there is a perfect certainty as to the result of a campaign. Our men here attack parties, not guerrillas merely, but uniformed soldiers from North Carolina, Georgia, South Carolina, etc., of two or three times their number with entire confidence that the enemy will run, and they do. They cut us up in ambuscades sometimes, and with stratagems of all sorts. This sort of things delays, but it will not prevent, success if our people at home will pay the taxes and not tire of it. Breakfast is ready.

Sincerely,

R. B. Hayes.

P. S. — You hear a great deal of the suffering of soldiers. It is much exaggerated. A great many lies are told. The sick do suffer. A camp and camp hospitals are necessarily awful places for sickness, but well men, for the most part, fare well — very well. Since I have kept house alone as judge-advocate, my orderly and clerk furnish soldiers' rations and nothing else. It is good living. In the camp of the regiment we fare worse than the rest, because the soldiers are enterprising and get things our lazy darkies don't.

Warm bedding and clothing will be greatly needed in the winter, and by troops guarding mountain passes. The supply should be greater than the Government furnishes. Sewing Societies, etc., etc., may do much good. The Government is doing its duty well. The allowance is ample for average service; but winter weather in mountains requires more than will perhaps be allowed.

S. Birchard.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 122-4

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, June 16, 1864

June 16, 1864

At four in the morning they began to ferry over the 5th Corps; of this, two divisions were loaded from Wilcox's wharf and two from a wharf near the bridge; the bridge itself being in constant use for the passage of the main train. The 5th Corps would then march on Petersburg and take position on the left of the 9th.  . . . Our information was that part of Lee's army, quitting Malvern Hill, had crossed at Drury's Bluff and was moving on Petersburg. About nine o'clock the General, with Sanders and myself, went on board the ironclad Atlanta. The Captain sent a boat ashore and took us out in state. How sailor-like the Americans look, with their blue shirts and flat caps! And these poor infantry, artillery, and cavalry of ours, why, the more they serve, the less they look like soldiers and the more they resemble day-laborers who have bought second-hand military clothes. I have so come to associate good troops with dusty, faded suits, that I look with suspicion on anyone who has a stray bit of lace or other martial finery. . . .

At 10.30 General Humphreys and General Meade, taking only Sanders and myself, embarked on a boat with General Ingalls, for City Point. The boat started up the river with us, and we found it an hour's trip to City Point. The river is very pretty, or rather fine, with banks that remind one of Narragansett Bay, going to Newport, only they are, I think, higher.  . . . City Point is a jut of land at the junction of the Appomattox and the James. It must once have been a quite pretty place, and consisted of a large number of scattered private houses, several of them very good ones; especially that near which General Grant had his camp, which is just on the river. . . . Grant had gone to the front, some seven miles away, and we presently rode out on the Petersburg road, and met Grant returning,¹ a couple of miles from the Point. It was on going out of the place that it occurred to me that someone had said that Hal's² regiment was there; so, as I passed a shipshape-looking camp, I asked, “What regiment is that?” “Fifth Massachusetts Cavalry,” said the darkie. “Is Colonel Russell there?” "No, sa-ar. He's in der hospital. He was wounded yesterday!” I felt a quite cold perspiration, as I asked if he were badly hurt. The man thought not, but said he was hit in two places. It was tough to ride right past him so, but the General had but two aides; we were expecting a fight, and I had no business to stop in a road where I could not again find him. Meeting Colonel Rowley, however, I asked him to see that Hal had everything and to say that I would be in that night to see him. We rode on along an almost deserted road, till we crossed the rail, when we came on Burnside's column, moving wearily along. The men had done awful marching in a dry country, with a hot sun and midst a stifling dust. I hate to see troops so used up. Passing through some woods, we again got to an open country, then went a little way more in woods, and came full on an open space in front of the captured line of works.  . . . Just here Hancock had his flag and General Meade was soon busy consulting about an assault, which finally was ordered for six P.M.  . . . From the place we then stood I could see two or three spires of the town. Of this attack I saw more than of most previous fights, or rather of the cannonade. The line of our batteries was in plain sight, a little in front of where General Meade took his stand, because the Rebels had long since cut down a wide zone of timber in their front, to get a good field of fire. It was a most striking sight! The air, hazy with dust, gave a copper-red color to the declining sun, which was soon heightened by the powder-smoke that rose from the batteries. The firing was very heavy and there was the continual whiz of our shells or those of the enemy. It is curious, but the scene reminded me of one of those stiff but faithful engravings of Napoleon's battles that one sees in European collections; especially the artillerists loading and discharging their pieces. The musketry was pretty heavy too. Birney and part of the others carried the first line, but the assault was not a success such as we wanted; however, General Meade ordered a column of 5000 men to be prepared for a moonlight attack, which, as you will learn, took place at daylight next morning. The General had a quite narrow escape, as we stood watching; for a round shot came bounding over the country and hopped right in front of him and General Humphreys. The attack over, I asked leave to go in and see Harry, and the General told me I could have stopped when we came through had I asked then. So I got a fresh horse and two men and started. It was an elegant night, with a fine moon — quite perfect indeed. You could never have supposed yourself near a great army, after getting past the railroad. There was scarcely a soul on the route. As I got near the village there were some waggons going out to Butler, but these were pretty much all. Nobody halted me, though I rode past a picket guard and through the breastworks. It was not till I drew near Hal's camp that his sentry roared out in a military voice, indicating much study of phonetics: "Halt! Who goes there?" Then came a corporal of the guard in due style.  . . . I ascended the stairs of what had been a private house. It was about ten at night when I got in. There were a number of cots arranged in a large upper room, each occupied by a wounded officer. On the mantelpiece were medicine bottles, a pitcher of lemonade and a candle; and this was a ward. Master Hal lay fast asleep on one of the cots, quite unconscious of dusty brothers-in-law.  . . . He was mightily glad to see me, and we talked some time, in a low voice, not to disturb others. I remember there was a wounded lieutenant next us, a good deal under morphine, who had a great fancy that Lee had captured our whole supply train. Finally I departed with a humble gift of two oranges and some tea, which I had brought in my holsters. . . .

Then to Headquarters and found General Grant just going to bed. He sat on the edge of his cot, in shirt and drawers, and listened to my report. I told him the General would put in a column of 5000 men of the 9th Corps, by moonlight. He smiled, like one who had done a clever thing, and said, “I think it is pretty well to get across a great river, and come up here and attack Lee in his rear before he is ready for us!” He prepared a despatch to General Meade, which I took back.

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¹ "Presently we met Grant and his Staff coming back. ‘Well,’ he said; ‘Smith has taken a line of works there, stronger than anything we have seen this campaign! If it is a possible thing, I want an assault made at 6 o'clock this evening!’” — Lyman's Journal.

² Mrs. Lyman's brother.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 163-6

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, January 31, 1864

Headquarters Army Of Potomac

January 31, 1864

As I was riding the other day, I came on a rare bird, a real old family nigger; none of your lying, stealing, camp contrabands, but a real, grey-headed, old-fashioned Virginian nigger. He seemed to be living in a little log hut. His battered, white broad-brim, and coat of faded snuff-color, did speak of days before the war, when Master lived in the big house, now burned flat. “Good morning, Uncle!” said I, after the manner of our Southern brethren. The ancient darky looked up in surprise, at this once familiar greeting, and then, taking his hat off in a way that knocked Louis XIV entirely, he replied, “Good mornin', saar! a beautiful mornin', saar!” I asked where Beverly Ford was, and thanked him for his information. Whereupon I was favored with more of the Great Monarch, and retired much impressed with him. His day is gone. More houses and better houses will be built in Culpeper country, and a few years will leave no trace of the war, but the decaying head-board, here and there, of some poor chap, and the bits of shell that the farmers will sometimes pick up. But Master, who lived in the big house, is shot, long ago — he and his regime both.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 67-8

"When You Is About, We Is."

The Boonville correspondent of the Cincinnati Daily Commercial writes:

These Missouri niggers know a great deal more than white folks give them credit for, and whether Missouri goes for the confederacy of for the Union, here slaves have learned a lesson too much to ever make them useful as slaves.  I was struck with the apt reply of one of a crowd who came from a big house to the road to see us pass, the other day.  Says I, “Boys, are you all for the Union?”  “Oh yes, massa, when you’s about we is.”  “And when Price comes you are secesh are you?”  “Lord, Yes, massa, we’s good secesh, then.  Can’t allow de white folks get head niggers in dat way.”  The darkey understood the whole question and the game played.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Tuesday Morning, February 18, 1862, p. 2

Down The Mississippi

EFFECT OF THE BATTLE OF SHILOH.

The refugees corroborate the statement that the battle of Shiloh, though claimed as a triumph, is regarded throughout the South as a great calamity by the leaders and abettors of the rebellion; and that the people, though deceived at first by the press, have, from interviews with the wounded soldiers, learned what was so carefully sought to be concealed. There is no doubt that Shiloh has been a terrible blow to the enemy, and one from which they can hardly recover.


LIBERTY OR DEATH.

Within the past three months a large number of slaves have been sent further South and sold to new masters; and the scenes in the auction marts have been often harrowing to witness – families being separated without the least regard for humanity, or that kind of external decency which the slave-owners frequently affect to observe.

A week or two since, a large and rather intelligent mulatto was taken from his wife and children and sold to a Texas planter at James’s mart. He, poor fellow, was greatly depressed, and seemed for a time unconscious of everything passing around him. At last he aroused himself from his introspection, and asked if he had been sold, and to whom? The name of his planter was given, and the location of his plantation.

An expression of agony, succeeded by a cloud of despair, passed over the man’s face; but without speaking, he walked quietly into the middle of the street, and before any one could divine his motive, or anticipate his intentions, he drew a pistol, which he had concealed upon his person, and placing the muzzle to his forehead pulled the trigger.

The upper part of the mulatto’s head was fairly blown off; and he fell a mangled corpse in the mist of the crowded thoroughfare.

The bondsman was free. Suicide had saved him from slavery.

The crowd, ever curious, but rarely sympathetic, especially when a negro is the sufferer or the victim, gathered for a moment about the body; but no one pitied, no one bestowed more thought upon the heart-broken, self-slain husband and father than if he had been a butchered ox.

A few asked, “What the devil was the matter with the nigger?” Others observed: “The d----d cursed darkey. I could have sold him for two thousand dollars. I’m just so much out of pocket. If he’d come to life again, I’d give him forty lashes.”

But the crowd went hurrying on, and the negro, and the great tragedy, deeper, and grander and more awful than “Othello,” were forgotten; and the heroic martyr was hauled away like a poisoned dog.

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, May 10, 1862, p. 2

An illustration of Southern valor . . .

. . . is given in the fact that the rebels at Yorktown drive the negroes into positions of danger that they dare not occupy themselves, and compel them to mount fortifications and act as artillerymen when there is a pretty certain chance of being picked off by our sharpshooters. It is an old custom among the chivalry to dodge behind the nigger. Breckinridge’s escape to secession will be ever memorable for his disguise behind a greasy darkey.

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, May 10, 1862, p. 1

Fight at Waddell Farm

June 12, 1862, quite a lively fight took place between a considerable force of Confederate troops and a portion of the Ninth Illinois Cavalry. The rebels attempted to capture a valuable forage train, which was sent out with a large escort under the command of Major Humphrey. At first it looked as though the Confederates would be successful, as they appeared to have superior numbers and drove back our advance. The train was halted and run back to a safer position. Several of our men were wounded and one taken prisoner. Couriers were sent back to camp to notify the commander of the affair. Colonel Brackett, with four companies of the Ninth and two of Missouri Cavalry, headed by Captain Burgh and his Company A, ran down a mile or more, but failed to find anything of the rebs, though quite a force of darkies were looking on and grinning from ear to ear to see the Yankees chase the rebs into the woods and out of sight. Just how many of the Confederates were killed and wounded we never knew.

SOURCE: Davenport, Edward A., Editor, History of the Ninth Illinois Cavalry Volunteers (1888), p. 38