Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: Sunday, August 14, 1864

Got into camp at noon. Lay all day near Dranesville.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 127

Major Wilder Dwight: October 28, 1861

camp Near Seneca, October 28, 1861.

I wish you could have looked in on our camp this morning. The stockings came last night. They were spread out under an oak-tree, and the companies were well supplied. The men were radiant over them. The memory of our cold, wet week's marching and countermarching was still fresh. The chill of the October morning had not yet yielded to the glowing brightness of the sun. The sight of the stockings made us feel warm again. The young officers paid particular attention to the bundle from Professor Agassiz's school

I had no idea that the stockings were so much needed, but the fact is, they are so much better than the ones given by government, that the men are eager for them. The captains all say that there could not be a better gift. We shall await the coming of the shirts and drawers with pleasure Collect and keep stockings, if you are willing to do so, against another time of need. Convey, in some form, to the donors, our high appreciation of their kindness. It is the thing. And it makes men feel a tingle of grateful pleasure out here, to think they are remembered and cared for at home. Apart, even, from their usefulness, the stockings bring a warming and cheering sensation to the men. That is the moral aspect of the present.

We made a brisk little march yesterday morning, and at noon were in camp again, on a charming spot, sheltered by a fine wood, within the edge of which are the field and staff tents, while the regiment extends out into the open field. We are within a mile of the Potomac. The enemy's pickets ornament the opposite shore, while we adorn this. The point is near the mouth of the Seneca, and about opposite Drainsville.

After a week's work, we are again, on this Monday, apparently as far from any immediate active duty as we were a week ago. I do not know that I can bring myself now to be so impatient of delay as I have been. It was the itch for a poor kind of distinction that led to the massacre at Leesburg.

We find, on our return to our old division, that the regiment is reassigned to General Abercrombie's brigade; and to-morrow we are to move into our new position. The General places us first in his, the First Brigade. That gives us the post of honor, — the right of the whole of General Banks's Division.

I have not yet commenced my duties as Examiner of Officers. We have been so locomotory lately that there has been no time for anything. A pretty low standard of qualifications will have to be adopted, or we shall have to exclude a great many of the present officers.

William, I suppose, is down on his old ground again, opposite Aquia Creek, trying to reopen, or keep open, the Potomac. Well, I wish him luck; but the leaves of autumn are falling, and we seem to be just about in the same position that we were when I saw the buds first bursting last spring in Annapolis.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 131-2

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: December 6, 1861

It is rumored to-day, I know not on what authority, that the President mentioned the matter of the Drainsville disaster to the Secretary of War, and intimated that it was attributed to the machinations of the Union men discharged from prison here. It is said Mr. Benjamin denied it — denied that any such men had been discharged by Gen. Winder, or had been concerned in the affair at all. Of course the President had no alternative but to credit the solemn assertions of his confidential adviser. But my books, and the register of the prisons, would show that the Drainsville prisoners sent hither by Gen. Joseph E. Johnston were discharged by Gen. Winder, and that their expenses home were paid by the government; and officers of unimpeachable veracity are ready to testify that Gen. Stuart was misled by these very men.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 98

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: December 5, 1861

The account of the Drainsville massacre was furnished me by an officer of the 6th S. C. Regiment, which suffered severely. The newspaper accounts of the occurrence, upon which, perhaps, the history of this war will be founded, give a different version of the matter. And hence, although not so designed at first, this Diary will furnish more authentic data of many of the events of the war than the grave histories that will be written. Still, I do not aspire to be the Froissart of these interesting times: but intend merely to furnish my children, and such others as may read them, with reliable chronicles of the events passing under my own observation.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 98

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: December 4, 1861

We are now tasting the bitter fruits of a too indulgent treatment of our enemies. Yesterday Gen. Stuart's cavalry and the 6th Regiment S. C. volunteers met with a bloody disaster at Drainsville. It appears that several of the traitors arrested and sent hither by Gen. Johnston were subsequently discharged by Gen. Winder, under the instructions of Mr. Benjamin, and sent to their homes, in the vicinity of Drainsville, at the expense of the government. These men, with revenge rankling in their breasts, reported to Gen. Stuart that a large amount of forage might be obtained in the vicinity of Drainsville, and that but a few companies of the enemy were in the neighborhood. The general believing these men to be loyal, since they seemed to have the confidence of the War Department, resolved to get the forage; and for that purpose started some 80 wagons early the next morning, escorted by several regiments of infantry and 1000 cavalry, hoping to capture any forces of the enemy in the vicinity. Meantime the Drainsville traitors had returned to their homes the preceding evening, and sent off intelligence to the headquarters of the enemy of the purpose of Gen. Stuart to send out in that direction, early the next day, a foraging party consisting of so many wagons, and small forces of infantry, artillery, and cavalry. - The enemy hastened away to Drainsville an overwhelming force, and ambuscaded the road, where it entered the woods, with artillery and men of all arms. Their line was the shape of a horseshoe, and completely concealed from view.

Gen. Stuart had not entered far into the jaws of this trap, before some of his trusty scouts reported the presence of the enemy. Believing it to be only the pickets of the few companies previously reported, the general advanced still farther; but at the same time ordering the wagons to retire. He was soon undeceived by a simultaneous and concentric fire of artillery and musketry, which brought down many of his men. Nevertheless, he charged through the lines in one or two places, and brought his guns to bear with effect on such portions of the enemy's line as were not wholly protected by the inequalities of the ground and the dense growth of woods. He quickly ascertained, however, that he was contending against vastly superior numbers, and drew off his forces in good order, protecting his wagons. The enemy did not pursue, for Stuart had rather more men than the informers reported to the enemy. But we lost 200 men, while the enemy sustained but little injury; their killed and wounded not exceeding 30.

This is the first serious wound inflicted on the country by Mr. Benjamin's policy.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 97-8

Official Report: Scout from Centreville to Aldie, Va., August 16-19, 1863: Report of Col. Charles R. Lowell, Jr., Second Massachusetts Cavalry.

Report of Col. Charles R. Lowell, jr., Second Massachusetts Cavalry.

CENTREVILLE, VA.,

August 20, 1863.

COLONEL: Returned last night. Could not get a fight out of White. Started on Saturday, 15th, with 200 men. On Sunday explored country around Dranesville and south of Goose Creek. Could not learn that he had been in that neighborhood with more than 40 men. Found that he had passed west by Ball's Mills with that number on Saturday. Accordingly went to Aldie, scouting all the country south of Goose Creek. Found that testimony was in favor of his main camp still being near Leesburg. Sent unshod horses to Centreville, and ordered up about 50 more men to meet me at Ball's Mills. Through misunderstanding was joined by over 300 more.

Hearing of your dispatch about reported camp near Lewinsville, sent 100 men (Sixteenth New York Cavalry) again through that country. They returned last night, reporting no force there. Saw no traces of more than 2 or 3 together anywhere. Dividing my remaining 400 men, went by various routes through Leesburg, Waterford, and Hughesville, rendezvousing at Mount Gilead at 9 p.m., and passing south through Coe's Mill to Mountville.

Learned during the night that White's battalion was encamped about 2 miles north of Middleburg, on Goose Creek. Started at 2.30 a.m., hoping to surprise them, but he had word of my approach from Mount Gilead, and had changed camp during the night. I sent out small scouting parties, who found about 100 of his men still in the immediate neighborhood, but they were on the alert, and ran when a company was sent to engage them. Lost several hours trying to get near them, but the country is very open there and they were determined to keep out of the way. Gave up the attempt; sent a party down across Bull Run Mountains, and another back by Carter's Mills, and passed through Aldie myself. Found nowhere any force Returned to camp with 10 prisoners – White's and Mosby's.

White himself is very rarely with his battalion. He passes about the country with an escort of from 30 to 40 men. The battalion generally numbers about 250 strong, being left under the command of Major Ferneyhough. White is looking up-recruits and deserters, many of his men having been at home since the army went into Maryland. He has now six companies, with over 700 men on his rolls, and prisoners say that he expects to take that number with him when he leaves the country.

 C. R. LOWELL, JR.,

 Colonel, Commanding Cavalry Forces.

Col. J. H. TAYLOR,

Chief of Staff.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 29, Part 1 (Serial No. 48), p. 74-5

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: January 20, 1862

Westwood, Hanover County. — I pass over the sad leave-taking of our kind friends in Clarke and Winchester. It was very sad, because we knew not when and under what circumstances we might meet again. We left Winchester, in the stage, for Strasburg at ten o'clock at night, on the 24th of December. The weather was bitter cold, and we congratulated ourselves that the stage was not crowded. Mr. –––– and the girls were on the back seat, a Methodist clergyman, a soldier, and myself on the middle, and two soldiers and our maid Betsey on the front seat. We went off by starlight, with every prospect of a pleasant drive of eighteen miles. As we were leaving the suburbs of the town, the driver drew up before a small house, from which issued two women with a baby, two baskets, several bundles, and a box. The passengers began to shout out, “Go on, driver; what do you mean? there's no room for another; go on.” The driver made no answer, but the women came to the stage-door, and began to put in their bundles; the gentlemen protested that they could not get in—there was no room. The woman with the baby said she would get in; she was “agwine to Strasburg to spend Christmas with her relations, whar she was born and raised, and whar she had not been for ten year, and nobody had a better right to the stage than she had, and she was agwine, and Kitty Grim was agwine too — she's my sister-law; and so is baby, 'cause baby never did see her relations in Strasburg in her life. So, Uncle Ben!” she exclaimed to the driver, “take my bag, basket, and box by yon, and me and Kitty and baby, and the bundles and the little basket, will go inside.” All this was said amidst violent protestations from the men within: “You can't get in; driver, go on.” But suiting the action to the word, she opened the door, calling, “Come, Kitty,” got on the step, and thrust her head in, saying: “If these gentlemen is gentlemen, and has got any politeness, they will git out and set with Uncle Ben, and let ladies come inside.” A pause ensued. At last a subdued tone from the soldier on the middle seat was heard to say: “Madam, if you will get off the step, I will get out.” “Very well, sir; and why didn't you do that at first? And now,” said she, looking at a man on the front seat, "there's another seat by Uncle Ben; sposen you git out and let Kitty Grim have your seat; she's bound to go.” The poor man quietly got out, without saying a word, but the very expression of his back, as he got out of the stage, was subdued. “Now, Kitty, git in, and bring the little basket and them two bundles; they won't pester the lady much." The door was closed, and then, the scene being over, the passengers shouted with laughter.

Our heroine remained perfectly passive until we got to the picket-post, a mile from town. The driver stopped; a soldier came up for passports. She was thunder-struck. "Passes! Passes for white folks! I never heard of such a thing. I ain't got no pass; nuther is Kitty Grim.” I suggested to her to keep quiet, as the best policy. Just at that time a Tennessee soldier had to confess that he had forgotten to get a passport. “You can't go on,” said the official; and the soldier got out. Presently the woman's turn came. “Madam, your passport, if you please.” “I ain't got none; nuther is Kitty Grim (that's my sister-inlaw); we ain't agwine to git out nuther, 'cause we's gwine to Strasburg to spend Christmas with my relations, and I ain't been thar for ten year, and I never heard of white folks having passes.” “But, madam,” began the official “You needn't to ‘but, madam,’ me, ‘cause I ain't agwine to git out, and I'd like to see the man what would put me out. This is a free country, and I'se agwine to Strasburg this night; so you might as well take your lantern out of my face.” “But, madam, my orders,” began the picket. “Don't tell me nothing 'bout orders; I don't care nothing 'bout orders; and you needn't think, 'cause the Tennessee man got out, that I'se agwine to git out — 'cause I ain't. Ain't I got three sons in the army, great sight bigger than you is? and they fit at Manassas, and they ain't no cowards, nuther is their mother; and I ain't agwine to git out of this stage this night, but I'm gwine to Strasburg, whar I was born and raised.”

The poor man looked non-plussed, but yet another effort; he began, “My dear madam.” “I ain't none of your dear madam; I'se just a free white woman, and so is Kitty Grim, and we ain't no niggers to git passes, and I'se gwine 'long this pike to Strasburg. Now I'se done talking.” With this she settled herself on the seat, and leant back with a most determined air; and the discomfited man shut the door amid peals of laughter from within and from without. In a few minutes we were quiet again, and all began to settle themselves for sleep, when the silence was broken by our heroine: “Kitty, is you sick?” “No,” said Kitty. “Well, it is a wonder. Gentlemen, can't one of you take Kitty's seat, and give her yourn? she gits monstrous sick when she is ariding with her back to the horses." There was a deathlike silence, and my cariosity was aroused to know how she would manage that point. After a few moments she began again. “Kitty, is you sick?” “No,” says Kitty, “not yit.” “Well, I do wish one of you gentlemen would give Kitty his seat.” Still no reply. All was becoming quiet again, when she raised her voice: “Kitty Grim, is you sick?” “Yes,” said Kitty, “just a little.” “I knowed it; I knowed she was sick; and when Kitty Grim gits sick, she most in gineral flings up!” The effect was electric. “My dear madam,” exclaimed both gentlemen at once, “take my seat; by all means take my seat.” The Methodist clergyman being nearest, gave up his seat and took hers. The change was soon effected amidst the most uproarious laughter, all feeling that they were fairly out-generalled the third time. From that time until we reached Strasburg, at two o'clock, she kept up a stream of talk, addressed to the baby, never interrupted except once, when the quiet-looking soldier on the front seat ventured to say, “Madam, do you never sleep?” “Never when I'm a-travelling,” was the curt reply; and she talked on to the baby: “Look at all them mules — what a sight of fodder they must eat! The Yankees come down to fight us, 'cause we'se got niggers and they ain't got none. I wish there warn't no niggers. I hate Yankees, and I hate niggers too,” etc., until we got to Strasburg. She then called out to “Uncle Ben” not to carry her to the depot — she was “agwine to her uncle's.” “Whar's that?” cried Uncle Ben. “I don't know, but monstrous nigh a tailor's.” One of the passengers suggested that we might be left by the cars, and had better go on to the depot. But she objected, and we had become a singularly non-resisting company, and allowed her to take — what we knew she would have — her own way.

In the mean time the cars arrived, crowded with soldiers. It was very dark and cold; the confusion and noise were excessive — shouting, hallooing, hurrahing. We passed through the dense crowd, and into the cars, with some difficulty. Mr. —— returned to look for the baggage. At last all seemed ready, and off we went; but what was our horror to find that Mr. —— was not in the cars! All the stories that we had ever heard of persons being thrown from the train as they attempted to get on, arose to our imagination. The darkness and crowd were great. Might he not have been thrown from the platform? We became more and more uneasy. The conductor came by; I questioned him, thinking he might be in another car. He replied, “No, madam, there is no such gentleman on the train.” At this moment the Methodist minister, who had been in the stage, introduced himself as the Rev. Mr. Jones; he knew Mr. ——; he offered me his purse and his protection. I can never forget his kindness. He thought Mr. —— had not attempted to get on the train; there was so much baggage from the stage that there was some difficulty in arranging it ; he would telegraph from Manassas when we stopped to change cars, and the answer would meet us at Culpeper Court-House. All this was a great relief to us. At Manassas he attended to our baggage; one piece was wanting — a box, which Mr. J. had seen in Mr. ——'s hands,  just before the train set off; he seemed convinced that Mr. —— was detained by an ineffectual effort to get that box on the car. At Culpeper Court-House we found J. waiting for us at the depot. Our kind and Rev. friend did not give up his supervision of us until he saw us under J's care. We immediately applied at the office for our expected telegram; but it was not there. As it was Christmas-day, the office was closed at a very early hour, which seemed to me a strange arrangement, considering the state of the country. J. felt no uneasiness about his father, but was greatly disappointed, as he had expected to pass that day with him. I had heard in Winchester that my nephew, W. B. Phelps, had been wounded in the unfortunate fight at Dranesville, and felt great uneasiness about him; but J. had seen persons directly from Centreville, who reported him slightly wounded. This relieved my mind, but it was most unfortunate; for, had I known the truth, I should have gone on the return train to Manassas, and thence to Centreville, for the purpose of nursing him. We spent Christmas-day at the hotel, and dined with a number of soldiers. In the afternoon we were very much gratified to meet with the family of our neighbour, Captain J. The Captain is stationed here, and the ladies have made themselves very comfortable. We took tea with them, and talked over our mutual troubles: our lost homes — our scattered families and friends. The next morning the train came at the usual hour, bringing Mr. –––. Some difficulty in putting a small box of books on the car had caused a slight detention, and as he was almost in the act of stepping on board, the train moved off, and there he was, left in the dead of a winter's night, without shelter, (for, strange to say, there is no stationhouse at Strasburg,) without light, and with no one to whom he could apply for assistance. He walked back to the village, and there, to use his own expression, he “verily thought he should have to spend the freezing night in the street.” At a number of houses he knocked loud and long, but not a door was opened to him. At last a young man in an office, after giving scrutinizing glances through the window, opened his door and gave him a chair by his fire, assigning as a reason for the difficulty in getting accommodations, that the number of disorderly soldiers passing through the village made it dangerous to open the houses during the night. At daybreak he got on a freight train, hoping to find at Manassas the means of getting to Culpeper Court-House that night. In this he was disappointed, and had a most unpleasant trip on the train, which did not reach Manassas until sunset. There he found no place to sleep, and nothing to eat, until a colonel, whose name he unfortunately has forgotten, invited him to his quarters in the country. He accepted the invitation most gladly, and as it was very dark, he took a servant as a guide, who proved to know no more about the way than he did; so that both blundered and stumbled along a muddy lane, over fences, through a corn-field, over the stalks and corn-beds, until, by what seemed a mere accident, they came upon the longed-for house and found rest for the night. Next morning we joined him on the train, delighted to see him safe and sound, feeling that “all's well that ends well;” we proceeded pleasantly on our journey. J. accompanied us as far as Gordonsville, that he might have two hours with his father. That evening we reached this place after dark, and found a house full of friends and relatives — the house at S. H. also full — so that it was a real family gathering, as in days of yore; and to add to our pleasure, our dear W. B. N. was at home on furlough. Here we see nothing of war, except the uniform of the furloughed soldiers and the retrenchment in the style of living. Desserts and wine are abolished; all superfluities must go to the soldiers. In some respects we are beginning to feel the blockade; groceries are becoming scarce and high in price, but the ladies are becoming wonderfully ingenious — coffee is so judiciously blended with parched corn, wheat or rye, that you scarcely detect the adulteration. The dressy Southern girls are giving up their handsome bonnets, wrappings, and silk dresses; they are perfectly willing to give up what once they considered absolutely necessary to their wardrobes. They say they do not enjoy such things now; they are, however, bright and cheerful; they sing patriotic songs to their furloughed friends, and listen with undying interest to anecdotes of the battle-field, with tears for the fallen, sympathy for the wounded, and the most enthusiastic admiration for deeds of daring, or for the patient endurance of the soldier. It is delightful to see the unanimity of feeling, the oneness of heart, which pervades Virginia at this time; and we believe it is so throughout the South.

We were, however, soon saddened by a letter from Centreville, from a comrade of our dear Willie Phelps to my brother, saying that the wound was more severe than it was at first supposed. He immediately set out for Centreville, but none of us dreamed of real danger. The reports came from him less and less favourable; I wanted to go to him, but the letters were discouraging to me— “There was no room for me; ladies would be in the way in so small a hospital;” and some strange hallucination and blindness to danger led us to abandon the idea of going to him. We knew that he had lost his arm, but did not dream of danger to his life. His mother, at her home in Covington, Kentucky, saw his name among the wounded, and notwithstanding the cold and ice, set off alone — came through Pittsburg and to Baltimore without difficulty, thence to Washington; but there no passport could be obtained to come to Virginia. Her son was but twenty miles off, certainly wounded; she knew no more. She applied in person to the proper authorities: “Is your son in the rebel camp?” was asked. “Then no passport can be given you to visit him.” She remembered that General McClellan (who had been a friend in the old army of her son-in-law, General Mcintosh) was in the city. She drove to his house. Mrs. McClellan expressed great sympathy for her, and for “your son, the interesting young man I met with in Cincinnati,” but regretted that General McClellan was too ill to be spoken to on any subject; he was under the influence of anodynes, etc, etc. She then drove to the house of Mr. Chase, who had been for many years at the bar with her husband, and on most friendly terms. The servant replied pompously that Mr. Chase never saw company at that hour. She then sent for Miss C. The daughter very politely regretted that her father could not be seen until the next day at ten. She could do nothing but return to the hotel for another night of suspense. Next morning, in passing through the parlours, she encountered a lady from her own State, who greeted her pleasantly; she was preparing to entertain her friends — it was New Year's day. “Won't you be with us, Mrs. P.? You may meet some old friends.” An apology for declining the invitation was given, by a simple statement of her object in coming to Washington. “Where is your son?” “In the Southern army." “Oh,” she exclaimed, “not in the rebel camp! Not a rebel!” and she curled her loyal lip in scorn. “Yes,” was the quiet reply, “he is what you call a rebel; but it is the honoured name which Washington bore;” and with a spirit not soothed by her countrywoman, she passed on to the street, got into a carriage, and proceeded to the house of Mr. Chase. It was ten o'clock — surely there could be no obstacle now. He soon entered — she introduced herself and her subject. Mr. C. was polite, but professed to be able to do nothing for her: “I am not the proper person to whom such an application should be made.” “I know that; but to whom shall I apply?” He said, “He did not know how to advise her; the case was a difficult one; your son is in the rebel camp; I think that you cannot get a passport.” She then, in a state of despair, exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Chase, he is the son of your old acquaintance, Mr. ——!” He was at once touched. “Are you his widow?” “Yes.” “But how came your son to join the rebels?” “Because his father and myself were both Virginians; he was educated in Virginia, and his whole heart is in the Southern cause.” He immediately wrote a note to Mr. Seward, which he advised her to deliver in person; it would probably produce the desired effect. To Mr. Seward's she drove. The servant invited her in, but supposed that the Secretary could not attend to business, as it was New Year's day. The note was sent up; an attache soon came down to say that the Secretary could not be seen, but that a passport would be given her, to go at least as far as Fortress Monroe — no passport could be given to go immediately to Centreville. She was thankful for this permission; but it seemed too hard that she should be obliged to go around hundreds of miles, when the object could be accomplished by going twenty.

She took the evening train to Baltimore, thence, next morning, to Fortress Monroe; she reached it in safety that evening. The boat was visited by a provost-marshal as soon as it touched the wharf, who, after examining passports, took hers, and some others, to General Wool. An answer from this high officer was long delayed, but at last it was brought. She could not land, but must return in the boat to Baltimore; it would leave for Baltimore next morning. She poured out her griefs to the officer, who, sympathizing with her story, said he would again apply to General Wool. He soon returned to say that she might land, and her case would be examined into next morning. Next day she was requested to walk into General Wool's office. He asked why she wanted to go to Virginia. The story was soon told. Then the stereotyped question: “Is your son in the rebel army?” with the usual answer. “Then,” he replied, “you cannot go.” Despair took possession of her soul. She forgot her own situation, and, with the eloquence of a mother, almost frantic with anxiety, she pleaded her cause. Even the obdurate heart of General Wool was moved. He asked her what she knew of the army at Washington She replied, that she knew nothing; she had only seen the soldiers who passed her on the street. “What have you seen of our army here?” “Nothing, for I have been too unhappy to think of it, and only left my room when summoned by you.” “Then,” said he, “you may take the first boat to Norfolk.” The hour for the departure of the boat came, her trunk was duly searched, and she came off to the dearly-loved Confederacy. She reached Norfolk too late for the cars, and had to wait until next day. On reaching Richmond, she heard that her son had been brought to this place, and was doing well. The next evening she arrived here in a carriage, and was shocked and disappointed to find that she had been misinformed. Heavy tidings reached us that night: he was not improving, as we had hoped, but decidedly worse. At two o'clock in the morning I accompanied her to the depot, eight miles off, and we went on to Manassas; reached the junction after night, and were met by our brother and W. B. N. They knew that we would be in the cars, and came to meet us. As they approached us, I saw, by the dim light of the carlamp, that their countenances were sad. My heart sunk within me. What could it be? Why had they both left him? She had not seen them, and said to me, “Come, we must get an ambulance and go to Centreville to-night.” But in another moment the whole was told. Her child had died that morning, just ten hours before. Who can describe that night of horrors? We spent it in a small house near the depot. Friends and near kindred were full of sympathy, and the people in whose house we were, were kind and considerate. The captain of his company, a noble young friend from her own home, Covington, came to see her, and to condole with her; but her first-born was not — the darling of her heart had passed away! At daylight we were in the cars again, on our melancholy return. On the third day his dear remains were brought to us, and the mother saw her heroic son, in his plain soldier's coffin, but beautiful in death, committed to God's own earth, having fallen in a glorious cause, in the faith of the Gospel, and with a bright hope of a blessed immortality. The young Kentucky friend who accompanied his remains told her his last words, which were a wonderful consolation to her: “Tell my mother that I die in the faith of Christ; her early instructions have been greatly blessed to me; and my last word is, Mother." This was said in extreme weakness. He soon slept, and never awoke in this world. One young soldier said to me that night, at Manassas: “He was one of the bravest men I ever saw, and met death like a soldier.” Another said: “He died like a Christian.” Scarcely had we buried him, when news was brought us that her younger, now her only son, was desperately ill on the steamer “Jamestown,” on James River — he belongs to our navy. She hurried to Richmond, and thence down the river to the steamer, but found him better. He was soon well enough to accompany her to this place. She had left her home suddenly, and must return to it; so, after a few days with her boy, who is now decidedly convalescent, she has left him in our care, and has set off on her weary way home. She will probably meet with no difficulties on her return, from officials, as she has passports through our lines; but she has a lonely, dreary way before her, and a sorrowful story for her young daughter at home. God be with her!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 75-87

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, May 10, 1862

CAMP NEAR FREDERICKSBURG, May 10, 1862.

The recent act of Congress in reference to command of troops is, I understand, construed by the Secretary of War into an entire destruction of rank in the army. It is now decided that the Secretary can put any officer wherever he pleases, over the heads of his seniors, and no one has the right, or will be permitted, to protest or contest this right. Ord has been made a major general for his Dranesville fight, and if McCall is superseded, I think it probable Ord will be given this division. I think the promotion of Ord just and deserved; for if I had had the good luck to have been in command at Dranesville, I should have claimed the benefit of it. War is a game of chance, and besides the chances of service, the accidents and luck of the field, in our army, an officer has to run the chances of having his political friends in power, or able to work for him. First we had Cameron, Scott (General), with Thomas (adjutant general) and McDowell, who ruled the roost, distributed appointments and favors. Bull Run put Scott's and McDowell's noses out of joint, and brought in McClellan. Then Stanton took Cameron's place, fell out with McClellan, whose nose was therefore put out of joint, and now McDowell again turns up, and so it goes on from one to another. A poor devil like myself, with little merit and no friends, has to stand aside and see others go ahead. Upon the whole, however, I have done pretty well, and ought not to complain.

Of course you have exulted over McClellan's successful dislodgment of the enemy at Yorktown and his brilliant pursuit of and defeat of them at Williamsburg. To-day we hear his gunboats have gone up the James River, and we now look forward to his beating them back from the Chickahominy and forcing them to fight, either at Richmond, or to abandon that place and Virginia. His progress has been so rapid that it seems useless for us to do any more work on the railroad on this line, and I look daily for orders for our column to take shipping at Acquia Creek and go down to West Point to reinforce McClellan. There is where we ought always to have been, and there is where we ought now to go. As it is, we are hard at work rebuilding the railroad to this point, and will have to do it all the way hence to Richmond, fifty-five miles. They have a force in our front some twelve miles off, and say they are going to fight us; but McClellan's operations will stop all that, and they will be out of our way before we can get at them.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 265-6

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, February 9, 1862

CAMP PIERPONT, VA., February 9, 1862.

Is not the news from Tennessee glorious? ^l  It is very important in a strategical point of view, as it enables us to get in the rear of both Columbus and Bowling Green, and cut off the communication and supplies from these places, compelling their evacuation, which effected, we can attack them in the open field. Dranesville, Mill Spring, and Fort Henry prove most conclusively that they are not invincible, and will run just as soon, if not sooner, than we will. They have had a most beneficial effect on our morale, and I think all hands are now here looking forward to the period when we can do something.

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¹ The surrender of Fort Henry on the Tennessee River, February 6, 1862. The Federal troops under Brigadier-General U. S. Grant, and the gun-boats under Commodore A. H. Foote, defeated the Confederate troops under Brigadier-General Tilghman. The Confederates surrendered after the attack by the gunboats and just as the Federal troops arrived.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 245

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, December 30, 1861

CAMP PIERPONT, VA., December 30, 1861.

I intended yesterday (Sunday) to have written you a long letter, but just as I was getting ready to do so, orders came for a review by Governor Curtin. The review and attendant duties occupied pretty much the balance of the day. After the review, which passed off very well, Ord's, or the Third Brigade, was addressed by Governor Curtin, who eulogized their conduct at Dranesville, thanked them in the name of the people of Pennsylvania, and said he had directed the word Dranesville to be inscribed on the banner of each regiment in the brigade. Secretary Cameron, who was present, asked very kindly after you, and hoped you were quite well. Among Governor Curtin's cortege was Craig Biddle,¹ who seemed glad to see me, and said he had seen you only a few days ago in the street. General McClellan has issued a complimentary order, in which he returns his special thanks to General Ord and his brigade for the fight, and to McCall and the division for the prompt measures taken to repel the advance of reinforcements.

Well, the vexed Trent affair is settled, and just as I expected it would be. Seward's letter I do not like. It is specious and pettifogging. Had Mr. Seward written this letter immediately on receipt of the intelligence of the capture, and examination of the subject, then it would have been all right and honorable; but I do not understand the manliness of not finding out you are wrong until a demand is made for reparation, particularly as, anterior to that demand and its consequences, everything was done by Congress and the Navy Department, the press and all jurists, to insist on the justice and legality of the act. It is a clear case of backing out, with our tracks very badly covered up. I would have preferred insisting on the act being legal, but yielded on the broad ground of superior force and our inability at the present moment to resist the outrage. I think the course of England has been most disgraceful and unworthy of a great nation, and I feel confident that, if ever this domestic war of ours is settled, it will require but the slightest pretext to bring about a war with England.

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¹ Craig Biddle, of Philadelphia, afterward a judge of the court of common pleas.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 240-1

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, December 27, 1861

CAMP PIERPONT, VA., December 27, 1861.

You have doubtless seen in the papers the enemy's account of the Dranesville fight. From their own showing they had a larger force than we, and chose their own position and time of attack, and yet were not only beaten, but most ignominiously driven off the field. It is without doubt one of the most brilliant and successful affairs of the war, and the only success that has been accomplished as yet by the Grand Army of the Potomac.

You are mistaken in calling Ord a civilian. He is a West Pointer, having graduated some four or five years after me, and has always been in the artillery, of which branch of the service he has always been considered a distinguished officer. Unfortunately for him, McCall's appearance on the field, just at the close of the affair, has given an opportunity to the latter to carry off the lion's share of the glory; but Ord was the man. I do not now remember what I wrote to you, but I should be sorry to do injustice to our men, and the fact is not to be disguised, that they behaved better than we expected.

The weather continues very boisterous and cold, rendering life in camp proportionately uncomfortable. I do not mind the cold, because exercise by day and plenty of blankets by night will remedy it; but the terrible wind, which penetrates and searches into everything, shaking your tent and making you believe each moment it is coming down, filling it with smoke from your chimney, so that half the time you cannot keep any fire — this is what renders us so uncomfortable. Still we get along and preserve our health wonderfully.

How strange it is and how little we can anticipate events! Do you remember when you accompanied me to Washington, about the 1st of September, that I was nervous for fear Washington might be attacked before you reached it — then, after being assigned to McCall, how nervous I was lest a battle should come off before I got my brigade? And now four months have elapsed without matters changing their aspect materially.

I infer from the tone of the public press that the war with England will be avoided, if concession on our part can keep it off, and that Mason and Slidell will be given up, and Wilkes's act disavowed, unless the ultras are too strong for Seward¹ and the President, or unless they see that England is determined to fight us and there is no use in trying to avoid the conflict.

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¹ William H. Seward, secretary of state of the United States.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 239-40

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, December 22, 1861

Sunday, December 22.

We have nothing new since the Dranesville affair, of which the papers will give you a full account. It is said McClellan is very much pleased, and McCall now expects to be reinstated in favor. I suppose, if I applied, I might get a forty-eight-hours’ leave and spend a day with you; but what would be our feelings if during that time anything were to occur and my brigade be in action without me? The uncertainty of affairs, and the impossibility of foreseeing what is going to take place even twenty-four hours ahead, prevent me from making any application.

I wrote to you some days ago to distribute * * * among the children, which I hope they will receive in time to make their Christmas purchases. It is my wish that they should have everything done for them to promote healthy enjoyment, and that the season of childhood, the brightest of our existence, should be to them as happy as we can make it, knowing that sorrows, cares and anxieties will do their work in time. Give them my blessing and my love. Perhaps it may be God's will I shall never see them again.

There is a tremendous pressure being brought to bear on McClellan, and there is no telling how long he can or will stand it. No one can predict the future for twenty-four hours, and all we can do is to endeavor to be ready for all contingencies. Good-by! God bless you all and give you a happy and as far as possible a merry Christmas!

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 238-9

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, December 21, 1861

CAMP PIERPONT, VA., December 21, 1861.

It has been several days since I last wrote to you, owing to occupation, principally drilling my command and yesterday going on a foraging expedition.¹ Of this last you are advised by this time through the public press, as what with the telegraph and the night train, it is actually a fact that at 11 A. M. to-day I read in the Philadelphia papers of this date an authentic account of the affair, furnished by McCall, before I had an opportunity of getting information either from Ord² or McCall. I do not know whether you will be disappointed in not seeing my name in connection with the affair, but this is the fortune of war. Reynolds and myself were allowed to secure our plunder undisturbed, but after permitting two expeditions, the enemy made preparations to capture the third, which was Ord's. He left early in the morning with his brigade, and Reynolds followed to support him, and it was intended that I should remain in camp for the day. About 10 o'clock, however, McCall received information from Ord, who was advancing, that he had reason to believe the enemy were going to dispute his advance. McCall immediately went out to join him, leaving word with me to get my command under arms and be ready to move at a moment's notice. About 1 P. M., hearing heavy firing, without waiting for orders, I started with the brigade and reached the scene, distant eleven miles, by 4 o'clock, only to learn that it was all over, and that I might march back to camp, which we did, arriving here about half-past 8, pretty well tired out. It appears they had four regiments and a battery of artillery. Ord had a battery and five regiments. They had the choice of ground and opened the attack. Their artillery was miserably served and did us no damage. Ours, on the contrary, under Ord's directions, was very well served and did great execution — so much so that, after throwing them into confusion, our men charged, and they fled in all directions, leaving their dead and wounded and lots of baggage on the ground, giving us a complete and brilliant success. I have just seen General Ord, and I asked him how the men behaved. He replied, better than he expected, but not so well as they ought; that there was much shirking and running away on the part of both officers and men. Still, he persuaded two regiments to maintain their ground and finally to charge. These were the Kane Rifles (Charley Biddle's regiment) and the Ninth, a very good regiment commanded by a Colonel Jackson. One regiment he could do nothing with — (but this, as well as all that precedes, is entre nous). The fact that the enemy were routed, leaving killed, wounded, baggage, etc., on the ground, will always be held up to show how gallantly the volunteers can and did behave, and the world will never know that it was the judicious posting and serving of the battery by Ord (himself an artillery officer) which demoralized and threw into confusion the enemy, and prepared them to run the moment our people showed a bold front, which it required all Ord's efforts and some time to get them to do. Ord says if they had charged when he first ordered them, he would have captured the whole battery and lots of prisoners. You will see therefore that the result proves the justness of my prediction. Owing to the success of our artillery, the men were gotten up to the charging point. Had the artillery of the enemy been served as ours was, and committed the same devastation, he could not have kept his command together five minutes. In other words, it is success in the beginning of an action which keeps volunteers together, and disaster or being checked is sure to throw them into confusion or cause them to run.

Among the wounded was an officer, and from his person was taken a letter which was evidently written by a person of intelligence and position. It speaks of their fortifications at Centreville, says they are prepared for McClellan's attack, that whilst they know an attack from him would be a military faux pas and cannot but result disastrously, yet their hopes are based upon the knowledge of the pressure that is being brought to bear on him by the people of the North, who are ignorant of war and deluded with an overweening sense of their own power and a blind contempt for their enemy. This letter has been sent to McClellan. We have heard nothing from them since our return.

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¹ Engagement, Dranesville, Va., December 20, 1861. Federal loss, killed, wounded, and missing, 68 (O. R.).

² Brigadier-General Edward O. C. Ord, commanding 3d Brg. Pa. Reserves.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 236-8

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, December 8, 1861

CAMP PIERPONT, VA., Sunday, December 8, 1861.

My last letter was written on Thursday evening. The next day I went, in command of my brigade, on a foraging expedition. We proceeded some ten miles from here, and within two of Dranesville, to the farm of a man named Gunnell, who was reported not only as an active Secessionist, but one who was making arrangements to place his crops in the possession of the Confederate Army. We arrived on the ground about 12 M., and in two hours loaded some sixty wagons, stripping his place of everything we thought would be useful to the enemy or that we could use ourselves. I never had a more disagreeable duty in my life to perform. The man was absent, but his sister, with his farm and house servants, were at home. The great difficulty was to prevent the wanton and useless destruction of property which could not be made available for military purposes. The men and officers got into their heads that the object of the expedition was the punishment of a rebel, and hence the more injury they inflicted, the more successful was the expedition, and it was with considerable trouble they could be prevented from burning everything. It made me sad to do such injury, and I really was ashamed of our cause, which thus required war to be made on individuals. The enemy were within ten miles of us, but did not make their appearance, and we returned to camp with our booty by nightfall.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 234

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, December 5, 1861

CAMP PIERPONT, VA., December 5, 1861.

Yesterday morning General McCall invited me to ride into town with him, he knowing I wished to go in to draw my pay and attend to other business. The day before we had gone towards Dranesville on a foraging expedition, Reynolds's brigade and mine, Reynolds in front. We collected some fifty wagons of forage, but saw and heard nothing of the enemy. On getting into town I paid the Turnbulls and Tom Lee a visit. I found at the former place Master Charley, who had just arrived with despatches for McClellan from General Butler. The expedition they are organizing is to rendezvous at Ship Island, near New Orleans, and I have no doubt looks to that important place.

This morning I attended to my business, and after dining, rode out to camp. Here I find orders from McCall for another expedition towards Dranesville to-morrow, I believe for foraging purposes, though he does not state. I am, however, to have the command and to be in front this time, and should not object to having a little brush with the enemy, if there are any about the neighborhood where we are going.  I am very much pleased with my new horse, all except the price, which is pretty digging.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 233-4