Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 30, 1864

Doctortown Station, No. 5.—Ha! Ha! My boy, you are a prisoner of war again. Once more with a blasted rebel standing guard over me, and it all happened in this wise: Just before dark I went up to that house I spoke of in my writings yesterday. Walked boldly up and rapped at the door; and what was my complete astonishment when a white woman answered my rapping. Asked me what I wanted, and I told her something to eat. Told me to come in and set down. She was a dark looking woman and could easily be mistaken from my hiding place of the day for a negro. Began asking me questions. Told her I was a rebel soldier, had been in the hospital sick and was trying to reach home in the adjoining county. Was very talkative; told how her husband had been killed at Atlanta, &c. She would go out and in from a shanty kitchen in her preparation of my supper. I looked out through a window and saw a little darky riding away from the house, a few minutes after I went inside Thought I had walked into a trap, and was very uneasy. Still the woman talked and worked, and I talked, telling as smoothe lies as I knew how. For a full hour and a half sat there, and she all the time getting supper. Made up my. mind that I was the same as captured, and so put on a bold face and made the best of it. Was very well satisfied with my escapade anyway, if I could only get a whack at that supper before the circus commenced. Well, after a while heard some hounds coming through the woods and towards the house. Looked at the woman and her face pleaded guilty, just as if she had done something very mean. The back door of the house was open and pretty soon half a dozen large blood hounds bounded into the room and began snuffing me over; about this time the woman began to cry. Told her I understood the whole thing and she need not make a scene over it. Said she knew I was a Yankee and had sent for some men at Doctortown. Then five horsemen surrounded the house, dismounted and four of them came in with guns cocked prepared for a desperate encounter. I said: “good evening, gentlemen.” “Good evening,” said the foremost, '”we are looking for a runaway yankee prowling around here.” “Well,” says I, “you needn't look any farther, you have found him.” “Yes, I see,” was the answer. They all sat down, and just then the woman said “supper is ready and to draw nigh.” Drawed as nigh as I could to that supper and proceeded to take vengeance on the woman. The fellows proved to be home guards stationed here at Doctortown. The woman had mounted the negro boy on a horse just as soon as I made my appearance at the house and sent for them. They proved to be good fellows. Talked there at the house a full hour on the fortunes of war, &c, Told them of my long imprisonment and escape and all about myself. After a while we got ready to start for this place. One rebel rode in front, one on each side and two in the rear of me. Was informed that if I tried to run they would shoot me. Told them no danger of my running, as I could hardly walk. They soon saw that such was the case after going a little way, and sent back one of the men to borrow the woman's horse. Was put on the animal's back and we reached Doctortown not far from midnight. As we were leaving the house the woman gave me a bundle; said in it was a shirt and stockings. Told her she had injured me enough and I would take them. No false delicy will prevent my taking a shirt. And so my adventure has ended and have enjoyed it hugely. Had plenty to eat with the exception of the two days, and at the last had a horseback ride. How well I was reminded of my last ride when first taken prisoner and at the time I got the coverlid. In the bundle was a good white shirt, pair of stockings, and a chunk of dried beef of two pounds or so. One of the captors gave me ten dollars in Confederate money. Now am in an old vacant building and guarded and it is the middle of the afternoon. Many citizens have visited me and I tell the guard he ought to charge admission; money in it. Some of the callers bring food and are allowed to give it to me, and am stocked with more than can conveniently carry. Have had a good wash up, put on my clean white shirt with standing collar, and new stockings and am happy. Doctortown is a small village with probably six or eight hundred population, and nigger young ones by the scores. Am treated kindly and well, and judge from conversations that I hear, that the battles are very disastrous to the rebels and that the war is pretty well over. All the negroes are hard pressed, fortifying every available point to contest the advance of the Union Army. This is cheering news to me. My escape has given me confidence in myself, and I shall try it again the first opportunity. A woman has just given me a bottle of milk and two dollars in money. thanked her with my heart in my mouth. Having been captured and brought to this place, am here waiting for them to get instructions as to what they shall do with me. They say I will probably be sent to the prison at Blackshear, which is forty or fifty miles away Think I should be content to stay here with plenty to eat. Am in a good clean room in a dwelling. Can talk with any one who chooses to come and see me. The room was locked during the night, and this morning was thrown open, and I can wander through three rooms. Guard is off a few rods where he can see all around the house. Occasionally I go out doors and am having a good time. Later. — Have seen a Savannah paper which says Sherman and his hosts are marching toward that city, and for the citizens to rally to repel the invader. My swollen ankle is being rubbed today with ointment furnished by an old darky. I tell you there are humane people the world over, who will not see even an enemy suffer if they can help it. While I have seen some of the worst people in the South, I have also seen some of the very best, and those, too, who were purely southern people and rebels. There are many pleasant associations connected with my prison life, as well as some directly to the opposite.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 127-9

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 25, 1864

This morning got up cold and stiff; not enough covering. Pushed off in the direction pointed out by the darkey of yesterday. Have come in the vicinity of negro shanties and laying in wait for some good benevolent colored brother. Most too many dogs yelping around to suit a runaway Yankee. Little nigs and the canines run together. If I can only attract their attention without scaring them to death, shall be all right. However, there is plenty of time, and won't rush things. Time is not valuable with me. Will go sure and careful. Don't appear to be any men folks around; more or less women of all shades of color. This is evidently a large plantation; has thirty or forty negro huts in three or four rows. They are all neat and clean to outward appearances. In the far distance and toward what I take to be the main road is the master's residence. Can just see a part of it. Has a cupola on top and is an ancient structure. Evidently a nice plantation. Lots of cactus grows wild all over, and is bad to tramp through. There is also worlds of palm leaves, such as five cent fans are made of. Hold on there, two or three negro men are coming from the direction of the big house to the huts. Don't look very inviting to trust your welfare with. Will still wait, McCawber like, for something to turn up. If they only knew the designs I have on them, they would turn pale. Shall be ravenous by night and go for them. I am near a spring of water, and lay down flat and drink. The “Astor House Mess” is moving around for a change; hope I won't make a mess of it. Lot of goats looking at me now, wondering, I suppose, what it is. Wonder if they butt? Shoo! going to rain, and if so I must sleep in one of those shanties. Negroes all washing up and getting ready to eat, with doors open No, thank you; dined yesterday. Am reminded of the song: “What shall we do, when the war breaks the country up, and scatters us poor darkys all around.” This getting away business is about the best investment I ever made. Just the friendliest fellow ever was. More than like a colored man, and will stick closer than a brother if they will only let me. Laugh when I think of the old darky of yesterday's experience, who liked me first rate only wanted me to go away. Have an eye on an isolated hut that looks friendly. shall approach it at dark. People at the hut are a woman and two or three children, and a jolly looking and acting negro man. Being obliged to lay low in the shade feel the cold, as it is rather damp and moist. Later.—Am in the hut and have eaten a good supper. shall sleep here to-night. The negro man goes early in the morning, together with all the male darky population, to work on fortifications at Fort McAllister. Says the whole country is wild at the news of approaching Yankee army. Negro man named “Sam” and woman “Sandy.” Two or three negroes living here in these huts are not trustworthy, and I must keep very quiet and not be seen. Children perfectly awe struck at the sight of a Yankee. Negroes very kind but afraid. Criminal to assist me. Am five miles from Doctortown. Plenty of "gubers" and yams. Tell them all about my imprisonment. Regard the Yankees as their friends. Half a dozen neighbors come in by invitation, shake hands with me, scrape the floor with their feet, and rejoice most to death at the good times coming. “Bress de Lord,” has been repeated hundreds of times in the two or three hours I have been here. Surely I have fallen among friends. All the visitors donate of their eatables, and although enough is before me to feed a dozen men, I give it a tussle. Thus ends the second day of my freedom, and it is glorious

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 123-4

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 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: July 2, 1864

Rations of forage and commissary. Marched about 8. Went by the 9th Corps. Maj. Seward, Meeks, Thede and I rode over to Wilcox's Div. and saw Reeve Spencer. Went up to the line and saw the 60th Ohio. Got popped at twice by sharpshooters, and were careful too. Took dinner with Reeve. Our works strong but rebel works full as strong and occupying more commanding ground and much of the ground in rear of our 1st line. Sharpshooters doing much damage. About 20 hit each day in the Div. Interested in the heavy works taken by the 18th Corps and by the Darkies. Saw quite an artillery duel between a heavy battery on our side and reb battery on the other side of Appomattox. Petersburg in plain view. Splendid time. Rode down to City Point and thence to Light House Point where we found our corps, about 200 2nd O. V. V. C. quite encouraging. The Detachments came down behind us.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 123

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes: December 18, 1862

Camp, December 18, 1862.

Dearest: — Joe goes this morning, thanks to General Ewing for the leave, contrary to general orders. Don't let him spend more than two weeks at home.

I love you all to pieces this cold morning. Kiss the boys. Merry Christmas ’em for me. I mean to have the cousins to dine with me on Christmas. We shall have a good dinner. Our cooks are splendid. . . .

Send me about two or three yards carpet (old will do) to light out on these frosty mornings. Thunder, but it's cold this morning! If the water doesn't rise, we freeze up “shore,” as darkies say.

Well, dearest, think of mo lovingly during the holy days.

Affectionately,

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 376

1st Lieutenant Charles Wright Wills: June 13, 1862

Camp near Boonville, Miss., June 13, 1862.

This is the fourth camp that we have had to call as above. We have lived all around the burg, but to-morrow we leave. We have just got nicely arranged here after working hard all day, and now an order comes to move brigade headquarters back to Rienzi, nearly 10 miles toward Corinth. Bah! how sick it makes me to write that name. I haven't seen the place yet, and have no desire to. I feel about once a week as though a little skirmish would do me good, but I don't see any use in getting mad because they won't give me a chance to fight. I couldn't feel any more out of the war at home than I do here. The enemy have all gone further into Dixie and we're left the undisputed occupants of this neck. Our headquarters here are about 25 miles south of Corinth, and we have pickets at Baldwin, 15 miles south of this. Pope's whole division has moved back to just this side of Corinth except our brigade, so here we are, maybe 1,200 effective men, doing outpost duty nearly 40 miles in advance of the army. Yesterday the colonel, his A. D. C. and myself rode around our entire picket line, I mean the part of our brigade that is guarding the M. & O. R. R. There is only one regiment doing this, and they are strung out so that our ride was full 40 miles. When we were within two miles of our camp, coming in, I was galloping along ahead of the colonel, maybe 50 yards (’twas 10 p. m.) and I thought I heard a “halt,” but was so sure there were no pickets there (full a dozen miles inside of our corps' pickets) that I didn't mind it until bang, went an old musket, and the bullet zipped considerably over my head. I halted. They were some infantry pickets whose regiment was close by in the woods (some two miles). Well, we hadn't the countersign and they wern't going to let us pass. The colonel swore, I was awful hungry, and I cussed, the A. D. C. raved, but the picket sergeant was immovable. At last we coaxed him to send us in with a guard to his colonel. He sent six men with us as guard, and the cuss gave orders to shoot us if we tried to run. The chap that shot was one of the guard, and he told me that he shot over my head on purpose after he had halloed “halt” several times. They didn't know there was cavalry outside of them and said they'd shot us sure if they hadn't seen the glimmer of my straps in the moonlight. We got their colonel up, took a toddy with him and — home. Did I ever tell you about my darkey, “Charley”? We got him at Cape Girardeau. He informed our troops where his master and company had hidden some 14 kegs of powder and some arms. His massa found out he had informed and put him in irons four weeks. He escaped and came to us We lost him at Madrid and never knew what had become of him until he turned up here a week since He had been sick in the Cairo hospital. He comes very handy to me when I'm a little lazy, which, though, is only 30 or 40 times a day. He has my boots blacked and clothes brushed when I get up in the morning, is a splendid hand to take care of a horse, and all told a very handy institution. He wants me to promise to take him home with me. If you will have him, I'll do it. He'd be right handy about our house. I have the nicest horse. He is a perfect staver. A little tiresome to ride because so anxious to go fast, but he is so strong and never tires. After that ride yesterday of 40 miles through a broiling sun he danced along at the last as much as when we started. We were coming in from a reconnoisance one night last week and about 10 p. m., dark as Egypt, an artillery wagon crowded me off a causeway and Siegel (my horse) went into the mud to his shoulders and I, over his head, gracefully. He got out and sloped, and I walked into camp. ’Twas only a quarter of a mile. An artillery sergeant caught him and I walked out to the road just in time to see him passing. He dismounted very spryly. Siegel licks my hands just like a dog and he will follow me away from his oats any time. After he got away from me that night he went back again to where we fell and that's where the sergeant got him. He is a large bay and I wouldn't take anything for him. I was riding to-day with the colonel, and as we crossed the M. and O. R. R. I saw a couple of fellows 300 or 400 yards down the road coming towards us, and one of them threw up his hands. I thought he was a deserter and waited. They proved to be what I thought. One was an Alabamian and the other from Arkansas. They had seen our pickets further out but thought them Confederates and slipped by them through the brush. I took them to the colonel, and since then, this p. m., nine more have come in, and 'tis not a very good day for deserters either. These people here are very tired of war. You would be if this army should march through Canton, indeed you would. You can't go into hardly a house here but what they'll ask if you know anything of “my son,” “my brother,” or “my husband” that was taken prisoner at this place or that place, and then the poor creatures will cry as though their hearts were broken and you begin to feel queer about your throat, and — I can't stand that at all. It hurts me under my vest to see these poor women suffering, for maybe not the fault of those they mourn, but of rich men and politicians who have by threats and lies induced these poor devils to leave their families to die of starvation, to fight for, they can't tell what.

I have just seen a Mobile Register of the 5th. It says they have taken at Richmond 7,000 prisoners, 80 pieces artillery, wagons, etc., innumerable quartermaster and commissary stores in vast quantities. That McClellan is driven back 30 miles and his army is surrounded, but a few of them may escape by James river. Very jocular and highly edifying. They also claim 15,000 stands small arms captured.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 101-4

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes: December 1, 1862

Camp Maskell, Gauley Bridge, December 1, 1862.

Dearest Lu: — We are on the south side of the Kanawha — same side as the Eighty-ninth — at the ferry below and in sight of the falls, two miles below Gauley Bridge. There, do you know where we are? It is a muddy — bad slippery mud — place, and as it rains or sleets here all winter, that is a serious objection. Now you have the worst of it. In all other respects, it is a capital place. Beautiful scenery — don't be alarmed, I won't describe; no guard or picket duty, scarcely; good water and wood; convenient to navigation; no other folks near enough to bother, and many other advantages. The men are building cabins without tools or lumber (sawed lumber, I mean,) and will be at it some weeks yet before we look like living.

It was jolly enough to get back with the men — all healthy and contented, glad to be back in western Virginia by themselves. They greeted me most cordially. It was like getting home after a long absence. The officers all came in, twenty-four in number, and around the wine, etc., you saw packed, talked over the funny and sad things of the campaign — a few sad, many funny. We resolved to build a five-hundred-dollar monument to the killed, etc., to be put in cemetery ground at Cleveland.

A story or two. Bill Brown, as he rushed forward in the bayonet charge at South Mountain, said to his lieutenant behind him: “I'll toss the graybacks over my head to you, and you must wring their necks.” In Washington a lady asked Bill if he wouldn't have his handkerchief scented: “Yes, yes,” said he and tore off about four inches square of his shirt and handed it to her. She took the hint and gave him a fine handkerchief.

In Maryland, Colonel Scammon dressed up in a splinter-new unform. He met a fellow hauling into camp a load of rails to burn. Colonel Scammon said: “Where did you get those rails?” “On a fence down by the creek.” “Who authorized you to take them?” “I took them on my own hook.” “Well, sir,” said the colonel, “just haul them back and put them where you got them.” The fellow looked at the colonel from head to heel and drove ahead merely remarking: “A bran’ new colonel by G—d!” The doctor asked Bill Brown where he was wounded: “Oh, in the place where I'm always ailing.” . . .

Comly is urged by leading officers in this brigade to be made colonel of the Eighty-ninth. He would be a capital man for the place.

My mess are eating up the good things with a relish. It consists of Comly, Doctor Joe, McIlrath, and myself. We have Company A's fine tenor singer for cook — a good cook and a nice gentleman he is. My orderly, Carrington, and Doctor's ditto are the only servants, all soldiers — contrary to law, but much better than having darkies. Dr. Joe has built a bed today wide enough to have Webb and Birch both sleep with him! He really thinks of it.

Dr. Jim resigned today on a surgeon's certificate. Joe thought it best and I concurred. He is not in danger, but was evidently breaking down in this climate. Old Gray is with his company. Dr. Joe saw him today carrying mud to a couple of men building a chimney, and asked him what he was doing now. Gray replied: “I am dark to these gentlemen!”

The Eighty-ninth were camped on this ground. When the Twenty-third moved up alongside of them, the officer of the day in the Eighty-ninth was heard by some of our men telling in his camp that they were near an old regiment now and they must be watchful at night or the Twenty-third would steal whatever they wanted! That night cook-stoves, blankets, a tent from over the sleepers' heads, and a quantity of other property mysteriously disappeared from the Eighty-ninth notwithstanding their vigilance. Our men sympathized, our camp was searched, but, of course, nothing was found. After the Eighty-ninth moved, men were seen pulling out of the river stoves and other plunder by the quantity. The Eighty-ninth's surgeon was a friend of Captain Canby. He called on the captain a few days ago and was surprised to find his cooking stove doing duty in Captain Canby's tent. The best of it was the Eighty-ninth appeared to take it in good part.

Bottsford and Kennedy, both captains and A. A. G's — Bottsford for General Scammon and Kennedy for General Crook. Hood came up with me from Gallipolis. . . .

Affectionately ever,

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 366-8

Diary of John Hay: Wednesday, March 9, 1864

I found a very decent darkey with a very decent buggy belonging to a v. d. Dr. Sweet; and they, all together, took me riding to my engagements. The only blot of decency on the Key West escutcheon. Otherwise they are a race of thieves and a degeneration of vipers.

We cast off about noon, and night came on us before we had made Indian Head, which was to be our anchorage for the night, as we wanted to be in the lee of Alligator Bank and reef to avoid the fresh gale now blowing in the gulf. We all stood wide-legged and anxious on the forecastle as men will about little things on ships, — Joe heaving the lead, — the Captain leaning to the breeze, his alpaca coat bagging like a seedy balloon, — old Reed confident and oracular,—till Strong who had been hanging like a pointer dog over the rail, sung out — “Light ho! 4.” This was old Bethel, and we at once knew where we were. We anchored and lay there quietly.

I finished my poem, “Northward,” begun to-day on leaving Key West.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 177-8. See Michael Burlingame & John R. Turner Ettlinger, Editors, Inside Lincoln's White House: The Complete Civil War Diary of John Hay, p. 178 for the full diary entry.

Diary of John Hay: Monday, March 7, 1864

Key West. We steamed away as it grew light and arrived at Key West about noon. The Key lies bathed in the quiet ripples of the pale green water, whitened by the coral. So bright green that I cannot describe the gem-like shine of the distant waters. The sea-gulls that soar above the sea have their white breasts and inside wings splendidly stained with green by the reflection of the gleaming water.

I went ashore, and after several inquiries found that Gen'l W. lived half a mile from the dock. I went to a hotel to inquire about a carriage, and was referred to a Jew druggist, — who pointed to a bay rat hitched to a shay in front of his door, and implored me for pure love of God to be back by two. I drove out by the beach to the barracks; passed two black sentries, and found the General's Adjutant, Capt. Bowers, and soon thereafter Genl. W. I was expected, Gen. Banks’ orders having arrived some time ago. I arranged my matters in half an hour.

. . . . In the evening Stickney and I went out to see a “popular nigger” named Sandy. Some young “Knavies” were there. They chatted a moment, ordered some sapodillos (which tasted like Castile soap and rotten apples), and then went away saying they were going to see the ladies. Whereat Sandy chuckled and guffawed to the imminent danger of his supper, which he had been eating quietly, sensibly refusing to let our entrance disturb him.

Sandy talked mostly of his influential friends. “Captains and Colonels and them things,” and gingerly of the rebellious and fugacious. S. asked him if he were bothered much. “No! not sence I broke dat feller's jaw in tree pieces. I b’lieve he was a rebel — a passel of ’em, — a dozen, sah, come to debbil me; dey tore down my fence panels, and I went out to see. I ain’t feared o’ nobody. But a man got to be lively when he's fighting a passel, it's a busy time ob de year den. I hit one ob ’em and he straightened out like a log; broke his jaw in tree pieces; and de rest, dey run. I nebber complains; de officers, dey got dere hands full; mustn't trouble bout every little tittle. I's a darkey sort ob person. I takes off hat to everybody; but dey got to luff me alone.”

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 175-7. See, Michael Burlingame & John R. Turner Ettlinger, Editors, Inside Lincoln's White House: The Complete Civil War Diary of John Hay, p. 176-7 for the full diary entry.

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 12, 1863

After breakfast, Col. (Abbey) and I got a team and rode horseback to town for rations — got 3 days' rations. These troops from the Potomac never received any company savings. Marched at noon after giving rations. Ordered to Stanford, 50 miles south of Lexington. Reached Winchester about dark. Got some eggs and biscuit. A darkey came in and had a good visit. Intelligent though uneducated.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 65

Diary of 1st Lieutenant John S. Morgan: Tuesday, April 25, 1865

By 6 a. m. all ready march to the river descend at a steep bluff, was possible to get down but impossible to get up if up was the word, were conveyed from the shore to the boat on a coal flat at 2 loads, & at 7.15, the boat started, the weather was fine & had a pleasant ride no accidents, the boat laid in too close in making one short turn & was some 10 minutes getting her clear. All the country until we reach Mc Intoshs Bluffs is over flowed we disembark at Mc Intoshs Bluffs at 11 a. m. Bluffs here are not more than 12 ft high, there are 4 dwellings, 3 families living here one story & a half dwelling house through which one of the gunboats fired a shell just a week ago at a Mr Vaugn who shot at a skiff load of negroes coming down to the Boat, is vacant the family having left soon after the gunboat left which stayed but a short time, a black smith shop with 6 forces & cranes built for heavy work, a large carpenter shop & piles of timber which were to have been a Gunboat had not the yankees come too quick a good saw & grist mill at work, the hull of an unfinished ram built 20 miles above & float here & burned lay at the landing. Several small flats of negros & some whites come down the river, all report the Reb fleet of 2 gunboats & 27 transports at Damopolus, found chickens & pigs plenty, no fat cattle, at 4, P. M. just as a transport was landing we were about to build breastworks, but being reinforced thus did not. & I took a cart & five men to the contry for some bacon. Capt Rankin took two others out to old Parson Rushs (an old nigger driver) for Sweet potatoes. I got back just at dusk, fond the Regt together & camping about ½ mile from the river. The whole Brigade had arrived on Transports. The Regt teams not coming we took the cars & were to 10. P. M. getting all our baggage up to the Regt. Quite a no of citizens come in amongst whom was the wife of Capt Jonston who surrendered the Tennesee. Capt Taylor & river Pilots, Mrs Bates & others. Any no of darkies, the balance of the Division is said to becoming Inland.

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, 33rd Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 13, No. 8, April 1923, p. 595

Diary of John Hay: October 22, 1863

I spoke to the President to-day about Blair, his Rockville speech, and the action of the Union League of Philadelphia leaving out his name in Resolutions electing the Cabinet honorary members of the League. He says Blair is anxious to run Swann and beat Winter Davis. The President on the contrary says that as Davis is the nominee of the Union Convention, and as we have recognised him as our candidate, it would be mean to do anything against him now.

Things in Maryland are badly mixed. The unconditional Union people are not entirely acting in concert. Thomas seems acceptable to everyone. Crisswell is going to make a good run. But Schenck is complicating the canvass with an embarrassing element, that of forcible negro enlistments. The President is in favor of the voluntary enlistment of the negroes with the consent of their masters and on payment of the price. But Schenck's favorite way, (or rather Birney's, whom Schenck approves) is to take a squad of soldiers into a neighborhood and carry off into the army all the able-bodied darkies they can find, without asking master or slave to consent. Hence results like the case of White and Sothoron. “The fact is,” the Tycoon observes, “Schenck is wider across the head in the region of the ears, and loves fight for its own sake, better than I do.” . . .

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 111-2; For the whole diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 105-6

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, Saturday Morning. May 3, 1862

Saturday morning. — I intended to send this by courier this morning, but in the press of business, sending off couriers, prisoners, and expeditions, I forgot it. Telegraph is building here. Anything happening to me will be known to you at once. It now looks as if we would find no enemy to fight.

The weather yesterday and today is perfect. The mountains are in sight from all the high grounds about here, and the air pure and exhilarating. The troubles of women who have either been burnt out by Secesh or robbed of chickens and the like by us, are the chief thing this morning. One case is funny. A spoiled fat Englishwoman, with great pride and hysterics, was left with a queer old negro woman to look after her wants. Darky now thinks she is mistress. She is sulky, won't work, etc., etc. Mistress can't eat pork or army diet. There is no other food here. The sight of rough men is too much for her nerves! All queer.

We are now eighty-five miles from the head of navigation in time of flood and one hundred and twenty-five in ordinary times; a good way from “America,” as the soldiers say.

“I love you so much.” Kiss the dear boys. Love to Grandma. Ever so affectionately,

Yours,

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 247

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Thursday, May 14, 1863

The officers and soldiers, about thirty in number, who came down the Wachita in my company, determined to proceed to Natchez today, and a very hard day's work we had of it.

As the Louisianian bank of the Mississippi is completely overflowed at this time of year, and the river itself is infested with the enemy's gunboats, which have run past Vicksburg and Port Hudson, the passage can only be made by a tedious journey in small boats through the swamps and bayous.

Our party left Trinity at 6 A.M. in one big yawl and three skiffs. In my skiff were eight persons, besides a negro oarsman named “Tucker.” We had to take it in turns to row with this worthy, and I soon discovered to my cost the inconvenience of sitting in close proximity with a perspiring darkie. This negro was a very powerful man, very vain, and susceptible of flattery. I won his heart by asking him if he wasn't worth 6000 dollars. We kept him up to the mark throughout the journey by plying him with compliments upon his strength and skill. One officer declared to him that he should try to marry his mistress (a widow) on purpose to own him.

After beating up for about eight miles against one of three streams which unite at, and give its name to, Trinity, we turned off to the right, and got into a large dense swamp. The thicket was so tangled and impenetrable that we experienced the greatest difficulty in forcing our way through it; we were often obliged to get into the water up to our middles and shove, whilst most of the party walked along an embankment.

After two hours and a half of this sort of work we had to carry our boats bodily over the embankment into a bayou called Log Bayou, on account of the numerous floating logs which had to be encountered . We then crossed a large and beautiful lake, which led us into another dismal swamp, quite as tangled as the former one. Here we lost our way, and got aground several times; but at length, after great exertions, we forced ourselves through it, and reached Lake Concordia, a fine piece of water, several miles in extent, and we were landed at dusk on the plantation of a Mr Davis.

These bayous and swamps abound with alligators and snakes of the most venomous description. I saw many of the latter swimming about exposed to a heavy fire of six-shooters; but the alligators were frightened away by the leading boat.

The yawl and one of the skiffs beat us, and their passengers reached Natchez about 9 P.M., but the other skiff, which could not boast of a Tucker, was lost in the swamp, and passed the night there in a wretched plight.

The weather was most disagreeable, either a burning sun or a downpour of rain.

The distance we did in the skiff was about twenty-eight miles, which took us eleven hours to perform.

On landing we hired at Mr Davis's a small cart for Mr Douglas (the wounded Missourian) and our baggage, and we had to finish the day by a trudge of three miles through deep mud, until, at length, we reached a place called Vidalia, which is on the Louisianian bank of the Mississippi, just opposite Natchez.

At Vidalia I got the immense luxury of a pretty good bed, all to myself, which enabled me to take off my clothes and boots for the first time in ten days.

The landlord told us that three of the enemy's gunboats had passed during the day; and as he said their crews were often in the habit of landing at Vidalia, he cautioned the military to be ready to bolt into the woods at any time during the night.

There were two conscripts on board my skiff to-day, one an Irishman and the other a Pole. They confessed to me privately their extreme dislike of the military profession; but at the same time they acknowledged the enthusiasm of the masses for the war.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 95-7

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Monday, May 4, 1863

General Scurry's servant “John” had been most attentive since he had been told off to me. I made him a present of my evening clothes, which gratified him immensely; and I shook hands with him at parting, which seems to be quite the custom. The Southern gentlemen are certainly able to treat their slaves with extraordinary familiarity and kindness. John told me that the General would let him buy his freedom whenever he chose. He is a barber by trade, and was earning much money when he insisted on rejoining his master and going to the wars.

I left Houston by train for Navasoto at 10 A.M. A Captain Andrews accompanied me thus far: he was going with a troop of cavalry to impress one-fourth of the negroes on the plantations for the Government works at Galveston, the planters having been backward in coming forward with their darkies.

Arrived at Navasoto (70 miles) at 4 P.M., where I took a stage for Shrieveport (250 miles). I started at 4.30 P.M., after having had a little dispute with a man for a corner seat, and beating him.

It was the same sort of vehicle as the San Antonio one — eight people inside. During the night there was a thunderstorm.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three months in the southern states: April-June, 1863, p. 73-4

Diary of Laura M. Towne: Friday, April 21, 1862

Pope's Plantation, St. Helena Island, April 21, 1862.

You do not know what perfect delight your letter gave me, when I got it after I had done hoping for it. Everybody else got their letters two days before and I thought I should have to go to the plantation without hearing, and once there I should never be sure of a letter again, gentlemen's pockets being our only post. But it was handed to me while I was packing at Mrs. Forbes', and later in the evening when I was being driven by Mr. Hooper in about half a buggy, with a skin-and-bone horse, across cotton-fields, a voice from the roadside hailed us — “Have you got Miss Towne there? Here's a letter for her. Came up with the groceries. Don't know why or where from. Don't know when.” It was from Ellen, and Mr. Eustis¹ had rescued it from the groceries accidentally. In the dark there Mr. Eustis welcomed me to Secesh Land, and I have seen him once or twice since. He and his son are both well and in the highest spirits. Indeed, everybody here is well as possible, better than ever in their lives before, and most of them in excellent spirits. And as for safety, you may be sure we feel pretty secure when I tell you that we sleep with the doors unlocked below, just as we used to think it so wonderful to do at Jasper's. But I shall put the padlock on my door, and as soon as there is any way of locking the doors below, I shall do it. Now there are no keys and no bolts.

In Beaufort — “Befit” the negroes call it, or “Bufed” — there is less security, or folks think there is, for they lock up, and Mr. F. was always getting up reports of rebel boats stealing by, but they, all turned out to be fishermen. Stories of danger are always being circulated, but they come from waggish soldiers, I think. They said that on one island the rebels had landed and carried away a lady. There was not a word of truth in it, and just before we came here two regiments were ordered out to receive the Michigan regiment which had been fighting at Wilmington Island. Some one asked what they were called out for and they said the rebels had landed in force at Ladies' Island, — Mr. Eustis', where we were going that afternoon. I drove that very evening over across part of Mr. Eustis' place in the dark with one little darky, Cupid by name, and I never saw a more peaceful place, and never was safer.

I think from the accounts of the negroes that this plantation is a healthy one. Salt water nearly encircles it at high tide. On the left are pines, in front a cotton-field just planted, to the right the negro quarters, a nice little street of huts which have recently been whitewashed, shaded by a row of the “Pride of China” trees. These trees are just in bloom and have very large clusters of purple flowers — a little like lilacs, only much more scattering. There is a vegetable garden also to the right and plenty of fig trees, one or two orange trees, but no other fruit. We have green peas, though, and I have had strawberries. Behind the house there are all kinds of stables, pig-pens, etc.

The number of little darkies tumbling about at all hours is marvellous. They swarm on the front porch and in the front hall. If a carriage stops it is instantly surrounded by a dozen or more woolly heads. They are all very civil, but full of mischief and fun. The night we arrived Mr. Pierce had gone about five miles to marry a couple. One of the party wore a white silk skirt trimmed with lace. They had about half a dozen kinds of cake and all sorts of good things. But the cake was horrid stuff, heavy as lead.

But I am going on too irregularly. I will first describe the family and then tell you, if I have time, about my coming and my future prospects.

Miss Donelson and Mrs. Johnson are going home tomorrow. I shall be very sorry to miss them, for I have shared their room and found them very pleasant friends. I have got really attached to Miss Donelson, whom I have seen most of, and I beg her to stay and go with Ellen and me to another plantation. But she, after being very undecided, has just determined to go home. You know, of course, that Ellen is coming. Mr. Pierce said he wrote for us to come together, but so as to make sure, he has given me another pass which I shall forward by Miss Johnson, and then, if Ellen still perseveres, we shall be together here after all.

It is not very warm here, I can tell you. To-day the thermometer is only 63, and I have worn my black cloth vest and zouave jacket every day, being too cold the only day I put on my black silk.

Miss Susan Walker is a very capable person, I think, and she proposes taking charge of the plantation hands and the distribution of the clothing. Miss Winsor is quite pretty and very sensible. She has the school-children to teach and is most efficient and reliable. Ellen will teach the adults on this plantation. I shall — just think of it! — I shall keep house! Mr. Pierce needs a person to do this for him. The gentlemen of the company are always coming here for consultation and there will be a large family at any rate — Mr. Pierce, Miss Walker, and we three younger ones, with young Mr. Hooper, who is Mr. Pierce's right-hand man. We shall have visitors dropping in to meals at all hours, and the kitchen is about as far off as Mrs. Lambert's from you; the servants untrained field hands, — and worse, very young girls, except the cook, — and so I shall have a time of it. I am also to do copying or be a kind of clerk to Mr. Pierce, and to be inspector of the huts. I shall begin by inculcating gardens.

This is not a pretty place, but the house is new and clean, about as nice as country-houses in Philadelphia, without carpets, though, and with few of the civilized conveniences. We shall have no ice all through the summer, and the water is so thick that it must be filtered, which will make it warm. That is the worst inconvenience I see. We are at no expense at all here. The hands on the place are obliged to work. All who can be are kept busy with the cotton, but there are some women and young girls unfit for the field, and these are made to do their share in housework and washing, so that they may draw pay like the others — or rations — for Government must support them all whether they work or not, for this summer. So far as I have seen, they are eager to get a chance to do housework or washing, because the Northerners can't help giving extra pay for service that is done them, even if it is paid for otherwise, or by policy. One old man — Uncle Robert — makes butter, and we shall have plenty of it as well as milk. Eggs are scarce. These things belong to the plantation and are necessary to it. We do not pay for them. Robert brought in a tally stick this morning, grinning, to Miss Walker and showed how many days' work he had done — rather wanting pay, I think. Miss Walker said, “We have paid part in clothes, you know, Uncle Robert, and the Government will take care you have the rest some day.” “Oh, I know it, ma'am,” he said, and he explained that he only wanted her to see how many days he had worked. He is very old, but should certainly be paid, for he takes care of all the stock on the place, if he does not work the cotton. Neither is he our servant; he only makes the butter for us and for sale (which goes to the support of the company expenses), and this is a small part of his work.

So matters are mixed up. Mr. Pierce has no salary and Government gives him only subsistence and pays all his expenses — nothing more. So he is entitled to comfortable living, and this we shall profit by. I suppose he is determined to do as Anna Loring asked — take especial care of me, for he has established me where I shall have the fewest hardships. When I say that we shall profit by it, I mean that we must necessarily share his comforts. For instance, our ration of candles is one-half a candle a week. Now, Mr. Pierce must have more than this, and we, downstairs in the parlor, see by his light. That is, we have common soldiers' rations, and he, officers', or something equivalent. I could not be more fortunately placed, it seems now, but if I find I cannot do what I came for in this position, that is, influence the negroes directly, I shall go somewhere else, for I find we can choose. Mr Eustis cannot have any lady there, the house being only a larger sort of cabin, with only three rooms in all. Many of the ladies will go home in summer, but not because the place is unhealthy. They only came, like Mrs. Johnson, to stay awhile so as to start this place, and others came who were not suitable. Mrs. French's object was to write a book and she thinks she has material enough now.

All the people here say it is healthy on these islands, but the plantations inland are deadly. I am on an island in a nice new house, and I do not think there will be any necessity for leaving. But if it should begin to get sickly here, we have only to go to St. Helena's village on this same island (but higher and in pine trees; more to the sea also) to be at one of their “watering-places” and in an undoubtedly healthy situation. There are no negroes there, though, and so we shall have no work there.

The reason why soldiers are more likely to suffer is that they have to live in tents. Just think of the heat in a tent! I was at the Cavalry Camp at Beaufort and in the tent of Mrs. Forbes' son. It was a pretty warm day, but there was a charming sea breeze. The tent did not face towards the wind, and the heat was insufferable in it — and the flies as bad as at Easton, I should fancy.

Mr. Pierce has just brought me some copying and so maybe I shall not be able to finish this letter.

It is one o'clock and I have been scribbling all the evening for Secretary Chase's benefit, and so have to neglect my own family. I have had no time to write in my journal for several days, which I regret very much.

_______________

¹ F. A. Eustis, of Milton, Massachusetts, part owner of a plantation on Ladies' Island.

Rupert Sargent Holland, Editor, Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne: Written from the Sea Islands of South Carolina 1862-1864, p. 9-15

Colonel William F. Bartlett to Harriett Plummer Bartlett, Saturday, March 7, 1863

Saturday, March 7.

Order came this morning before I was up, to go out with my regiment as escort and guard to wagon train outside the lines. There reported to me quite a little force for the expedition, which I disposed of as follows: In advance I sent a troop of cavalry, McGee's Massachusetts, armed with carbines and sabres. Next, seven companies of the Forty-ninth Regiment, under Lieutenant-colonel Sumner. Next, a section of a battery of regulars, Glosson's Battery, twelve-pounders, rifled. Then came the train of seventy-five wagons, reaching half a mile. In rear of these, three companies of the Forty-ninth, under Major Plunkett, as rear guard. The whole command extended nearly a mile. I rode ahead with the cavalry advance guard. It was quite a pretty little force. Captain Hodge, Assistant Quartermaster, U. S. A., had immediate charge of the wagon train. We marched about three miles beyond the outposts, fairly into the enemy's country. The plantation where we were going for wood, dried and corded, belonged to a Dr. Laycock. It covers about a thousand acres. He raises splendid sugar, molasses, and cotton.

Just before we got to the place, the Clay Cut road, which we were on, turns to the right, and you approach the plantation through a thick belt of woods by a narrow avenue.

I sent half a dozen troopers up the Clay Cut road half a mile, to halt and keep on the look out. I sent one company of the Forty-ninth up the same road quarter of a mile, to support them, give alarm, and resist attack. I then rode through the woods with the cavalry, and found everything clear. The house stands in the middle of a large clearing of fifty acres of perfectly level land, a fine mansion, newer and in better repair than most of the southern houses I have seen. The owner was on the verandah when we rode up. He is a professed Union man, has a safeguard from the General, etc. While waiting for the column to come up, he invited me and the officers who were with me, two of General Augur's staff, Ben and Dr. Rice, to go in and take some whiskey.

The others went in; I went on with the cavalry to the other side of the clearing, where the wood of many years' seasoning was piled. It was near the sugar-house, which was filled with sugar and molasses. Here I posted the infantry and artillery, and went with a few of the cavalry to the farther sides to reconnoitre. An old darkey told me that five rebel cavalry men stopped him in the morning, a little while before we got there, and asked him if there had been any Federal pickets there lately. I divided the cavalry into three parts, guarding the three approaches to the place, and kept one squad with me. I posted the artillery where it could hold two roads, and let the men rest on their arms, while the teams were being loaded. This took about an hour and a half. When we were ready to return, I started the rear guard, now become the advance, then the teams, then the artillery and infantry, and after they were well off, I drew in the outposts and videttes and followed with the cavalry. I dare say the enemy was watching us all the time, but wisely determined not to molest us. I was rather hoping they would, for I was all prepared for it, and had a very pretty little force under my command. We got back to camp about four P. M., after a very pleasant little trip into the country, accomplishing all we went out for, and returning without loss. The men got their canteens filled with rich New Orleans syrup, and sugar enough to sweeten their coffee .for many days.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 68-70

Major Wilder Dwight to Elizabeth White Dwight, October 9, 1861

pleasant Hill, Camp Near Darnestown,

October 9, 1861.

Dear Mother, — I wish I could give you a vivid picture of our excursion the other day on the board of survey. Lieutenant-Colonel Batchelder, of the Thirteenth Massachusetts, and myself went off to Hyattstown to estimate damages done by the army there. The Quartermaster Department gave us a light wagon. We put off our care as we crossed the lines, and left the sentinels behind. We drove to Hyattstown through a pleasant country. The heavy rain had swelled the runs or brooks which cross the road, and in our passage over the last one we broke down. So we left our wagon and took another. On our way back we met the —— regiment, Colonel ——. The Colonel is a lawyer and member of Congress, not a soldier. We saw the beauties of moralsuasive discipline. His men on the march during the storm of the night previous had broken their lines. The roadside taverns had sold them whiskey. The whole regiment was drunk. A perfect Pandemonium was the scene they presented. We did what we could to help him, but when one soldier, in quarrelsome or pleasant vein, shot another through the body, and a third broke the head of a fourth with the butt of his musket, we thought discretion the better part of valor, and did not wait to see what the fifth would do. General Banks has ordered the regiment back, I believe, and is going to send off another with more discipline and less whiskey. The regiment had been detailed to go to Williamsport on special duty.

We drove on, and coming near the plantation of Mr. Desellum, whom you recollect I have spoken of, we stopped to dinner. His sister, she who sent me the big bouquet, was at home. She welcomed us cordially, and we were surrounded speedily by a dozen little darkies all of a size. The maiden lady showed us her flower-garden, and her family of negroes, and her spinning-room, in which three spinning-wheels were busily twisting the yarn which she was to weave into clothes for her negroes. She showed us also her old family linen, woven by her mother; and, in fact, introduced us to all the details of farm life. Then she took us into the best room, whose oak floor shone with scrubbing, and whose bright wood-fire felt good. There we had a dinner, and she talked patriotism; the Colonel and myself listening, and concluding, as we drove away, that we had had an adventure, and found material loyalty in Maryland.

A drive through the wood, across a swollen stream whose bridge had gone, and whose depth made the crossing an experiment of very doubtful success, brought us to camp just as the new moon and evening star had come brightly out of the glow of twilight. There we found Colonel Andrews returned from Washington, having declined the appointment of Adjutant-General, to the great joy of all the regiment.

We are rigging up very clever fireplaces in our tents, and preparing for winter; — learning how to be comfortable, which is, after all, the great problem with which my mind engages itself in this military campaigning. It is half the battle. I hope we shall have the other half soon.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 113-4

Francis H. Wigfall to Louise Wigfall

Camp near Chesterfield Station.

. . . My home is in a wild pine grove and sweetest melancholy, poesy's child, keeps watch and ward over my innocent spirit. I sit on my bench and muse on the time when the Yank-Yanks shall meet me in battle array and when, “Virginia leaning on her spear,” I shall retire on my laurels with one arm and no legs to some secluded dell to sigh away my few remaining years in blissful ignorance. But a truce to such deep Philosophy. We are all jogging along as usual. All the day I long for night, and all the night I long for its continuance. In fact it is very disagreeable to get up to attend Reveillé rollcall, as I do every fourth morning, and it is vastly more pleasant to remain in my comfortable (?) bed and have no other care upon my mind than that of keeping warm with the least exertion possible. But then comes that inevitable too-diddle-tooty, too-diddle-tooty, &c, &c, &c, and up I have to jump and go out in the cold to hear that Von Spreckelson and Bullwinkle are absent and look at the exciting process of dealing out corn in a tin cup.  . . . The snowing began before daylight yesterday morning and kept it up with scarcely an interval until late last night. It fell to a depth of about nine inches. This morning, the 1st, 4th, and 5th Texas Regiments came by our camp, marching in irregular line of battle, with their colors gotten up for the occasion, and with skirmishers thrown out in advance, and passing us, attacked the camp of the 3rd Arkansas, which is immediately on our right. A fierce contest ensued, snow balls being the weapons. The Texans steadily advanced, passing up the right of the camp; the Arkansians stubbornly disputing their progress, and their shouts and cheers as they would make a charge, or as the fight would become unusually desperate, made the welkin ring. A truce was finally declared and all four regiments marched over the creek to attack Anderson's brigade. After crossing they formed in line, deployed their skirmishers, and at it they went. The Georgians got rather the best of the fight and drove them back to the creek, where they made a stand and fought for some time. They then united and started back across the Massoponax for Genl. Law's brigade. Just before arriving opposite our camp they saw another brigade coming over the top of the hill behind their camp (i. e., Anderson's) and back they went to meet them. How that fight terminated I don't know.  . . . I suppose this rain and snow will retard the movements of the enemy too much for them to attempt to cross for some time to come.  . . . Yesterday and to-day have been lovely days and I trust that the weather will clear up and continue so. I expect Burnside feels very grateful for the interposition of the elements to give him an excuse for deferring a little longer the evil day on which he is forced to attack us or be decapitated.  . . . I saw in my ride the other day a body of Yankees, apparently a Regiment, drawn up in line, firing. They were using blank cartridges I suppose. This looks as though they had some very fresh troops. If that is the case they had better keep them out of the fight, as they will do precious little good in it. . . .

Christmas eve we went to see the Hood's Minstrels perform. One of the best performances was “We are a band of brothers” sung by three make-believe darkies, dressed entirely in black, with tall black hats and crepe hatbands, looking more like a deputation from a corps of undertakers than anything else — and was intended, I suppose, as a burlesque upon Puritanism. At all events it was supremely ridiculous.  . . . I understand that several of the tailors in Charleston have committed suicide lately, driven to it by the ruinously low rates at which their wares (no pun intended) are now selling. They can only obtain two hundred and fifty dollars for a second lieutenant's uniform coat and pantaloons. Poor wretches! They should bear their burdens with more patience, however, and remember that (according to the newspaper) the hardships of this war fall on all alike and must be endured by high and low, rich and poor, equally. I saw Col. Jenifer who told me he had met Papa and Mama at a party at Col. Ives's in the city of Richmond. Isn't that dissipation for you? Do they have cake “and sich” at parties now, or is it merely “a feast of reason and a flow of soul?” And in conclusion tell me of my overcoat. Have you seen it? If not, has anybody else seen it? If not, how long will it be, in all human probability, and speaking well within the mark, before somebody else will see it?  . . . My old one has carried me through two winters and is now finishing the third in a sadly dilapidated condition. There is a sort of “golden halo, hovering round decay,” about it, which may perhaps be very poetical, but is far from being practical as regards its weather resisting qualities. . . .

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 114-7

Lieutenant William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, 1861

Headquarters 79TH Regt.

Camp Advance, Co. K.

Virginia, 1861.

Dear Mother:

A most delightful moonlight forbids my retiring at the usual hour to rest, so I will write and let you know that all is well — that we have had a dull week, that there has been naught to stir the sluggish blood since last week save once, when it was thought that the Army of Beauregard was marching in heavy columns upon us, but it didn't come, so we all said: “Pooh, pooh! We knew it wouldn't. They are too wise to attack us.” Alas, that we should have to tell that sorry tale of Bull Run! Walter has written me, and is full of our defeat. He does not feel flattered by the cheap lithographs in the shop windows representing “Yankees Running,” which are thrust upon his sight all over England. He is delighted though to think that the 79th did well, and that I was a member of the Highland Regiment. As we file out of our camp, full equipped, the soldiers of other Regiments are wont to say, “There go the Highlanders. There will be fighting to-day.” We are now formidably intrenched, and I think can make a tolerable defence against the foe. The Richmond Examiner says: “We” (the Southerners) “flaunt our flag defiantly in the face of the cowed and craven-hearted foe, but they tamely endure the insults we heap upon them, and refuse to accept out challenge to a fair and open fight.” Well I think we can afford to endure the flaunting of the “stars and bars” until McClellan is ready, when we hope to march forward, seeking winter quarters in the pleasant mansions of the South. Just this same thing the Southerners are hoping to gain in the North. Beauregard thinks Philadelphia, Baltimore and New-York, gay places in the season, where the Southern youth may join in the festivities of winter. Nous verrons.

We have a little parson in our regiment, who has a due regard for his personal safety. We love to get him into our tents, and describe with graphic truthfulness the horrid nature of shell wounds. The worst of shells too, we add, is, that they can be thrown to such a distance that even the Doctor and Chaplain are exposed to their death-bearing explosions. Our parson grows uneasy, and when an alarm is given, starts off, carpet-bag in hand, to our intense amusement, for the nearest place of safety. He is like that worthy chaplain, who, on the eve of battle, told the soldiers, “Fear not, for those of you who fall, will this night sup in Paradise.” The battle commenced and the chaplain began to display most entertaining signs of terror. He was reminded of the consoling language he had himself used in the morning. “No thank ye,” he answered quickly, “I never did like suppers.” To such an extent are we obliged to resort to everything to amuse ourselves. Our darkeys give us some amusement and much more trouble. Ours, we have dubbed the “Pongo,” who knows how not to do it, in a manner to excite our unbounded admiration. In the evening these Africans have a way of getting around the fire and singing real "nigger melodies," which are somewhat monotonous as regards the music, and totally idiotic as regards the words. A favorite of theirs goes thus — viz:

My little boat is on de ocean

Where de wild bird makes de music

All de day.

This will sometimes be repeated for a couple of hours by the indefatigable nigger — indefatigable in this alone.

Good-bye, darling mother.

Most affec'y.,

W. T. Lusk.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 87-9