Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, June 30, 1865

Headquarters Post And District Of Mobile,

Mobile, June 30, 1865.

My Dear Wife

I send packages of papers from day to day, from which you may have some account of my goings on.

I am living at a tremendous rate, and between my business and my pleasures, or what passes for pleasure, and is part of my business, have but little leisure to write; though I do far more than my share, considering that there are so many at home. My house is full to overflowing with guests. I am now entertaining three brigadier-generals and their several staffs. A night or two ago I gave entertainment to the whole of Mobile, and you may be sure I gave them a good time. There is some account of the occasion in the papers of the day, and I enclose a slip.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 407

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, June 7, 1865

Mobile, Ala., June 7, 1865.

My Dear Wife:

My time is much occupied. Judge Chase has just left us, and to-day we have the famous Phil. Sheridan. I have been going about with him all day, and entertained General Price of his suite at dinner. The weather is intensely hot, but my health is at least as good as usual, that is not saying much for me.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 406

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, May 27, 1865

Saturday, May 27th.

Enclosed herewith I hand you the only copy of Mobile paper I can procure; the details therein will be sufficient without further comment from me. To-day is deliciously cool, too cool for comfort without woollen clothes. My little boat has just arrived, bringing me cargo of chickens, green peas, string beans, cucumbers, blackberries, sweet potatoes, and peanuts, with beautiful bouquets sent to me from Mount Louis Island, a blossom or two you will find pressed.

I cannot say what my future will be, a resignation would not be accepted, inasmuch as I have a full major-general's command, and I am in uncertainty as to the day or hour when I may be mustered out, or ordered hence to another field. It is only left to me to be patient to the bitter end. There is a growing disposition through many parts of the country to pay more honor to the base rebels who have been conquered in their efforts to overthrow the best government in the world than to the brave defenders of their flag. It will not be long before the United States uniforms will cease to be a badge of honor. How base the treatment of Sherman, how nobly he has emerged from the fiery furnace. I dare not trust myself in speculation upon passing events, or anticipation of the future.

I rejoice to note by the price current that most of the staples of life are largely reduced in value; corn, oats, flour, etc. You will now be able to make your dollar purchase pretty nearly a dollar's worth, and thus your income be virtually increased.

I am not much in the habit of telling dreams, and there is no Joseph to interpret; but three that have been lately dreamed, are so peculiar in connection with passing events, that, without giving them in full detail, I will let you have the outline. The first dream I dreamed myself about the time of the assassination of the President, and it was to this effect; that General Canby sent for me to be the bearer of despatches to President Lincoln, and that I went to heaven to deliver the despatches. You will naturally ask how heaven appeared to me in my dream. I can only give you a vague idea of my impressions. The scene was a spacious apartment something like the East Room of the White House; but vast with shadowy pillars and recesses and one end opening into space skyward, and by fleecy clouds made dim and obscure, just visible, with a shining radiance far away in the perspective, farther away than the sun or stars appear to us. I have no remembrance of my interview, but a clear recollection of my sensations that were those of perfect happiness, such as I have never had waking or dreaming. I would not tell this dream to anyone, till some weeks afterwards the Provost Marshal of my staff told me of a strange dream in which he had awakened the night before, and that had made a serious impression on his mind. The scene of his vision was laid at Carrollton, near New Orleans. I was standing surrounded by my staff, Jemmy Sherer and Joe, when a man approached and asked me to retire to the back yard on plea of private and important business. I walked out with him and a moment after a rebel officer followed us, with his hand upon a pistol, partially concealed in his breast. Mrs. Stone, the wife of my Inspector-General, called the attention of the dreamer to this fact, with a solemn warning that I was about to be assassinated. He at once sprang to the door for the guard, and perceiving an officer in command of an escort approaching, called halt, that from him he might procure the guard, but as he neared, discovered he was escorting a long funeral procession of mourners clad in white, in the centre of which was a hearse with towering white plumes. A colloquy and quarrel ensued, and pending the denouement he awoke. He told his dream to me, and on the instant, my own being recalled to mind, I told him mine, but neither of us mentioned the matter to others. Lastly, the Adjutant, Captain Wetmore, had his dream. The march and the battle, and all the vicissitudes of the campaign, in the rapid kaleidoscope of thought, had passed through his brain, when at last Jeff Davis appeared, a captured prisoner, then he was indicted, tried, and convicted, all in due course, and finally the sentence, that he be banished to “Australia” for twenty years, provided the consent of the British government could be obtained thereto.

These dreams were all vivid and interesting in detail, the last the most sensible of the three, and certainly as easy of interpretation as those of the butler and the baker of the King of Egypt. Yet they only serve to remind us of the words of him, who wrote as never man wrote, who knew the human heart, and springs to human action, and the world, and all its contents, better than anyone on earth,

“All Spirits,

And are melted into air, into thin air;

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve;

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff

As dreams are made of, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep. . . .”

My next letter will be dated from New Orleans, events transpiring, foreshadow my early departure from my headquarters at Dauphine Island, to which I have become a good deal attached. I have had some lonely hours on its shores, but the waves have made sweet music in my ears.

I have some fresh accounts of the horrid accident at Mobile; language fails to do justice to the terrors of the scene. The professional sensation writers will fill the columns of the daily press with details, and I will not attempt to harrow up your soul with my tame pen.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 403-6

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, May 26, 1865

Headquarters District Of South Alabama,

Fort Gaines, Ala., May 26, 1865.

You had received my recountal of our narrow escape from perishing at sea. The varied experience of the past few years has showed me the uncertainty of human life. “We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” I often wish you were with me here, that you might have leisure for reflection, and opportunity to study the wonders of the deep, the great sea, fitting emblem of eternity. To watch with me the changes on its surface, now dimpled and glittering in the sunlight, then glassy as a mirror, reflecting the bright moon, or by starlight lambent with phosphorescent glare; and again maddened by the wind, tossing and roaring and foaming with rage. To see the sun rise from the ocean in the morning and set beneath its waters at eve; to see the sweet sight of “sunset sailing ships,” to wander by the shore and watch the graceful seabirds dip their wings. Nothing that poet has written or traveller described, can give to the mind an idea of the heart emotions awakened by the ocean, whether in repose or agitated by storm. I am never weary of it, or the southern gales that sweep its bosom. You remember old Governor Duval's description of the breeze at Pensacola. How its influence made one dream of “bathing in a sea of peacock's plumes.” Here you can realize how graphic was his description. The weather is perfectly delicious; you never saw so blue a sky. In the early morning it is hot, but about ten o'clock the sea breeze springs up and sitting in the shade you have nothing in the way of atmosphere to desire. My house is favorably situated close to the beach, or rather on the beach, close to the water's edge, so close that the spray of the waves sometimes falls in light mist on my brow, as I sit on the long and wide piazza, facing due east. Here I linger far into the night, sometimes till the early morning, watching the stars and chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, with nothing to break the silence but the tread of the sentry and the splash of the waves, drinking in deep draughts of night air that give no cold. They tell me the coming months are hot, and the mosquitoes troublesome. I know not how that may be; the present is the perfection of climate, and I wish you could enjoy it with me. My health is improving. I am taking iron and quinine, and within a few days my disease seems brought under subjection.

It is strange that as I have been writing and endeavoring to moralize upon the uncertainty of human life and the futility of human plans, another and terrible lesson has been read to me. Yesterday, while writing to Walter my house was shaken by a tremendous explosion, that I supposed to be a clap of thunder, though the sky was clear. I called to “J. L.” to know if any of the guns at the fort had been discharged; he said no, but thought one of the “men-of-war” in the offing had fired a gun. I thought it rather strange, it being about two o'clock in the afternoon. At night, I discovered a bright light in the north and feared for a while that a steamboat was on fire; but just at this moment the mystery has been solved by the intelligence brought me that the magazines at Mobile have been blown up, half the city destroyed, thousands of lives lost, and a scene of misery and destruction terrible to imagine. I shall cease writing now and close my letter by giving you full particulars, as they will be brought me by the next boat. Truly in life we are in death. Thousands of soldiers and refugees, women and children, have been hurried to eternity without warning, and many hundreds of mangled and wounded are craving death to relieve them from misery.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 401-3

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, May 17, 1865

Mobile, Ala., May 17, 1865.

My Dear Wife:

We have news this morning that Jeff Davis has been arrested and sent to Washington under guard. It remains to be seen if Johnson has the grit to put him through, or if he is not made a lion and a martyr of, and permitted to go scot free.

I have been for a few days past, and still am, a very favored guest of Madame Octavia Walton LeVert, who has been more kind to me than words can tell. She has been friend, mother, most delightful companion to me. A very noble woman, she fully deserves the splendid encomiums that have been so freely lavished upon her at home and abroad. I have forgotten if before I have alluded to her history, that, perhaps, you are familiar with; even if such is the case, it will do no harm to again advert more particularly to your husband's friend. I have been somewhat of an invalid, and she has nursed me, and been so sweetly kind to me, that I can hardly write too much about her. So I shall make no excuse for quoting very freely from a graceful biographical sketch of her history by Mary Forrest, who edited the Women of the South, among whom she ranks her as prima donna. Frederica Bremer calls her the “sweet rose of Florida,” and she certainly is a rose that all are praising. George Walton, her grandfather, was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, was wounded at the head of his regiment at the siege of Savannah, was a member of Congress (the first convened at Philadelphia), and afterwards held successively the offices of Governor of Georgia and Judge of the Supreme Court. He married Miss Camber, the daughter of an English nobleman, a short time before the Revolution. Madame LeVert has now in her possession many letters addressed to Colonel Walton by General Washington, Lafayette, the elder Adams, Jefferson, and other noted men of those days, expressive of their high confidence and regard.

George Walton, the second, married Miss Sally Walker, the daughter of an eminent lawyer of Georgia. In 1812, he became a member of the legislature of Georgia. In 1821, he was appointed Secretary of State under General Jackson, then Governor of Florida, and, when the old chief retired to the '”Hermitage,” succeeded him in office. He was himself succeeded by our old friend of Washington memory, Governor Duval . . . whom you doubtless remember. Here I may be permitted to say, par parenthese, that as a high compliment and one accorded to but few guests, I have been assigned to what was the private chamber of Mrs. Walton, and have been sleeping upon a bed and bedstead upon which General Jackson slept for years, and which, as a precious relic, was presented to Mrs. Walton by General Jackson while he was President.

Octavia Walton was born at Bellevue, near Augusta, Georgia, but her parents, moving soon after to Florida, her first memories are of the sunshine and flowers of Pensacola, in her own vivid words “of the orange and live-oak trees, shading the broad veranda; of the fragrant acacia, oleander, and Cape jasmine trees, which filled the parterre sloping down to the sea beach; of merry races with my brother along the white sands, while the creamy waves broke over my feet and the delicious breeze from the gulf played in my hair, and of the pet mocking-birds in the giant old oak by my window, whose songs called me each morning from dreamland.”

I quote now from my authoress. Pensacola, situated on a noble bay, was the rendezvous of the United States vessels of the Gulf Station. It was a gala time when they returned from their cruises; balls and parties at the governor's house; splendid entertainments on board the ships; moonlight excursions upon the bay, and picnics in the magnolia groves. The well-educated and chivalric officers were a large element in the society to which our author was thus early accustomed; and while yet a child she had little to learn in the way of drawing-room ease and elegance.

Amid such scenes her receptive nature seems to have absorbed that tropical exuberance of thought, feeling, language, and presence, which has made her name famous; while at the same time, an early and close relation with nature, in one of her most tender and bounteous aspects, preserved intact amid all precocious tendencies, the naive simplicity of the child, which is to this day her crowning grace.

Before the age of twelve years, she could write and converse in three languages with facility. So unusual was her talent as a linguist, that it was the custom of her father to take her to his office to translate from the French or Spanish the most important letters connected with affairs of state. There, perched upon a high stool, (she was too tiny in stature to be made available otherwise), she would interpret with the greatest ease and correctness, the tenor and spirit of foreign despatches, proving herself thus early, quite worthy of her illustrious descent.

During her father's administration as Governor of Florida, he located the seat of government, and, at the request of his little daughter Octavia, called it by the Indian name of “Tallahassee.” Its signification, “beautiful land,” fell musically upon the ear of the imaginative child; she was greatly interested, too, in the old Seminole King Mamashla, who, in the days of his power, struck his tent-pole in that ground, made it his resting-place, and called it first by this sweet name. The chief grew fond of her, and she was known in his tribe as “the White Dove of Peace.”

Octavia was never placed within the walls of a schoolroom. Her mother and grandmother, both women of intellect and cultivation, vied with each other in developing her earlier mental life, and private tutors were provided to meet the needs of her advance.

When she first was presented to General Lafayette, a long and interesting interview ensued; the young Octavia, seated upon the knee of the old hero, holding him spellbound with her piquant and fluent use of his native tongue. He then folded her to his heart, and blessed her fervently, remarking to one of the committee, as she left the room, a “truly wonderful child, she has been conversing all this while, with intellect and tact, in the purest French. I predict for her a brilliant career.” Oracular words, which the record of years have more than confirmed. But Octavia Walton did not sit passively down to await the fulfillment of Lafayette's prophecy. One great secret of her life lies in her indefatigable industry. Only by close application has she taken the true gauge of herself; brought into view every resource; into play every faculty; only thus has she become acquainted with classical and scientific studies, made herself mistress of many languages, a proficient in music, an eloquent conversationalist, and a ready writer; and by a no less fine and careful culture, has she been able in every phase of her life to evolve only light and warmth from her large human heart; to bring to the surface the best qualities of all who come within her influence; to charm away distraction, and to preserve, apart from her world woman aspect a child nature as pure and undimmed as a pearl in the sea.

. . . In 1836 she married Dr. Henry Le Vert of Mobile, a man noted equally for his professional skill and high moral worth. His father was a native of France, and came to America with Lafayette.  . . . Frederica Bremer says of her:

“It is so strange that that little worldly lady, whom I have heard spoken of as a belle, and as a most splendid ornament of society, wherever she went, has yet become almost as dear to me as a young sister. But she has become so from being so excellent, because she has suffered much, and because, under a worldly exterior, there is an unusually sound and pure intellect, and a heart full of affection, which can cast aside all the vanities of the world for the power of gratifying those whom she loves. This fair daughter of Florida, is surrounded by a circle of relatives who seem to regard her as the apple of their eye,” etc.

What I have hastily written and more hastily selected, may serve to give you some faint idea of this most charming lady. It is a good thing to have a sensible, well-educated sweet woman for one's friend, and I thank God, who has vouchsafed to me one or two such in the course of my pilgrimage.

I enclose a sketch of my friend Ransom, of whom I have written and spoken to you. I fear I weary you with long letters. I shall return to Fort Gaines to-morrow or next day. I am not very well. That terrible diarrhoea hangs on and will not give me rest. I shall never recover from that disease, which will only be temporarily palliated or relieved, and I shall pray to God to let me die at home.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 397-401

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, April 29, 1865

HEADQUARTERS DISTRICT OF SOUTH ALABAMA,

Fort Gaines, April 29, 1865.

My Dear Wife:

Your very interesting and affectionate letter of 23d March, apprising me of your safe arrival at home and of your adventures by the way, was received.

Truly, you passed through great peril and vicissitude, and are now prepared to somewhat appreciate my life upon the road for the past four years. We feel called upon to thank God whenever we graze a great danger, that is visible and tangible, forgetful that the same care is constantly over us, in the unseen and impalpable peril in which we always move. But it is well with us occasionally to look danger in the face, that we may form the proper estimate of our weakness and frailty, eliminated from God's care, while we learn that without danger there is no greatness, that in the hazardous conflicts where life is ventured, high qualities only are developed.

What canting nonsense do we occasionally hear in certain quarters to disparage mere personal courage, “mere personal courage!” We are reminded that the ignoble quality is held in common with the bulldog, and that in this essential he is our master; we are reminded that it is a low and vulgar attribute, that neither elevates nor enlightens, that the meanest creatures are often gifted with it, and the noblest natures void of it. But we may be sure that without it, there is neither truth nor manliness. The self-reliance that makes a man maintain his word, be faithful to his friendship, and honorable in his dealings, has no root in a heart that shakes with craven fear. The life of a coward is the voyage of a ship with a leak, eternal contrivance, never-ceasing emergency. All thoughts dashed with a perpetual fear of death, what room is there for one generous emotion, one great or high-hearted ambition. I congratulate you that in the presence of danger, you were not frightened, that you did not lose your presence of mind, but felt able to put forth your best powers for the emergency that might have been near.

There is very little in my life here now, that is of sufficient importance to entertain you in detail. It is five days since I have had news from the outside world, and I hardly know whether we have war or peace in the land. My health is pretty good and I am perfectly comfortable, so far as shelter, food and raiment can make me comfortable. I have abundance of fish, flesh, and fowl, and plenty of whiskey, brandy, wine and ale, though I am making very sparing use of any kind of stimulants. I have had some fine birds, snipe, peep, plover, and a splendid shore bird, the “sickle billed curlew,” as large as a barnyard fowl. Mother will remember father's often speaking of them. I miss my family, and continually regret that I had not kept you and Walter with me, for up to this time I could have made life here for you very agreeable. Here I find myself using the word “regret” again, when I well know, humanly speaking, it is better as it is. Yet, philosophize as I will, comes that increasing, unwearied desire, that is with us in joy or sadness, that journeys with us and lives with us mingling with every action, blending with every thought, and presenting to our minds a constant picture of ourselves, under some wished-for aspect, different from all we have ever known, when we are surrounded by other impulses and swayed by other passions. “Man never is but always to be blessed.”

The weather has been delightfully pleasant, an occasional storm and one or two sultry days, but I have not been called upon to dispense with winter garments and sleep comfortably under two blankets. The sea breeze is always fresh, and it is charming in the evening to ride upon the hard and perfectly level beach and see the breakers dash in surf and foam on the shore. The air then becomes perfectly pure from the ocean and is wonderfully exhilarating. The horses become so much excited as to be difficult of control, and the Captain, the best broken horse of the times, has frequently become with me wholly unmanageable. You would be amused to see him capriole and play with the waves, dashing close to the brink as they recede and advance, and rejoicing in the cool spray. But everything about me is constantly damp. My arms always rusty, my buttons dimmed and black, and the paper on which I write almost as wet as if it had passed through the water. I believe this climate would be favorable to persons with pulmonary complaints. I have been a good deal exposed, but never take cold, or if I do, it does not make itself apparent by sore throat, cough, sneezing, or anything of that kind. At the same time I must say that the atmosphere is undoubtedly malarial and no science or skill can guard against malaria.

Intelligence now comes that the rebel General Dick Taylor has asked terms of surrender, and that General Canby has this day gone to arrange, also that General Hurlbut has gone on a mission to Kirby Smith. So that this department is fast winding up the rebellion in this quarter.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 392-5

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, April 4, 1865

Headquarters District Of South Alabama,

Fort Gaines, Ala., April 4, 1865.

My Dear Wife:

As to Mobile, in my judgment, it is going to be a long siege. The general impression was that there would be a speedy evacuation, but the attack has been so long delayed, that the enemy have had full opportunity to fortify and are making a most obstinate resistance. They have filled all the approaches by land and water, with torpedoes ingeniously contrived, and concealed in every channel and avenue; so thickly strewn, that though we have picked up a large number, three fine gunboats and many lives have already been lost by them. The torpedo is made of wood, thickly coated on the outside with pitch and tar so as to be quite waterproof, is somewhat in the shape of a cigar, and eighteen inches thick, tapering at both ends, in which there is a vacuum, the middle portion being filled with from fifty to one hundred pounds of gunpowder, which is ignited through brass tubes with copper ends, by means of friction and percussion powder. They are anchored just below the surface of the water, and sometimes several are attached by strings or wire. A vessel in passing over them produces the necessary friction, and the explosion, if immediately underneath the vessel is generally sufficient to blow a hole through the bottom and sink her. These I have described, are the water torpedoes; those used upon the land are generally an eight-inch shell, that is, a cannon ball, hollow, eight inches in diameter, filled with powder and the fuse so arranged that a pressure of ten pounds will explode them. They are concealed in the sand just below the surface, and the tread of a horse's foot, or the passage of a wheel, is sufficient to explode them, or even the pressure of a man's foot if put down hard. A staff officer, riding the other day, woke up from a state of insensibility to discover himself fifteen feet from the roadway, and the mangled remains of his horse that had been blown to atoms, he, by strange chance, escaping with the temporary loss of his senses and the bruises of his fall. The immense number of these shells and torpedoes scattered in every possible place on land or in water, renders the approaches to Spanish Fort, that at present is the key to the position, most difficult, and has made the navy timid and wary in the management of their ships, while our troops on shore have found a secret foe hard to combat. Every man feels that he is literally walking on the thin crust of a volcano. We have, however, thoroughly invested the fort, the garrison of which now is supposed to number some six or seven thousand men, and will soon be able to cut it off entirely from Mobile. We shall then, I think, resort to sapping and mining, and it will become a question of time as at Vicksburg. Meanwhile, our forces under Wilson, will attack from the other side, and the result, in my mind, though far off, is not doubtful. Still, we may have trouble from another quarter. As you know, I am not one of those who have been sanguine as to the speedy termination of the war, and have doubtless, by free expression of opinion in that regard, sacrificed a reputation I might have had for a wiseacre. I think before long we shall have something from Kirby Smith, and that when Richmond is evacuated, the war will have to be begun anew. The obstinate resistance they are making at Mobile, fortifies my preconceived opinions, that are of no great value, for all is in the hands of God, who will bring these troubles to a close in His own good time. Still, you must be patient, and not expect an early raising of the siege.

I am comfortably situated at this time. I have a great deal of responsibility and a highly honorable position, if I have rank enough to hold it. All the time, or nearly all the time I was a colonel, in fact, I may say all the time I was a lieutenant-colonel, I exercised the rank of colonel; all the time, or nearly all the time I was colonel, I exercised the rank, duties, and responsibilities of a brigadier-general. And all the time I have been brigadier-general, the duties of a major-general have been thrust upon me. I have recently, as you perceive by the copies of orders I sent you, relieved Major-General Granger, and the labor, expense, and responsibility devolved upon him, now rests with me, with this difference — he had more staff and $1,200 per annum more pay. But I shall never get any more rank because I am a volunteer officer. The brevet I would not give a fig for; they are so common that they do not confer honor, and they do not, under any circumstance, the old rule in that regard being changed, give more pay.

Although in April, the weather is not yet unpleasantly warm, except in the sun; indeed, I make it a point to keep a little fire, that is a good guard against malaria. The birds, among them my old friend the mocking-bird, have come and I send you blossoms that will fade before they reach you, but will carry some fragrance from the little island by the sea that is now my home.

I have just been called from writing to receive a visit from Capt. J. R. Madison Mullany, an old officer of the navy now commanding the U. S. S. Bienville, and commanding the squadron here. He is a very gallant officer and lost an arm, amputated close at the shoulder, in the capture of these forts. A recommendation of him to you will be the fact of his being a sincere and devout Catholic, and I was pleased to find him a courteous and finished gentleman, as most officers of the old navy were.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 383-5

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, March 21, 1865

Headquarters District Of South Alabama,

Fort Gaines, Ala., March 21, 1865.

My Dear Wife:

I cannot express the sorrow and chagrin I felt at being compelled to leave you and our dear little boy so abruptly. I know it must be many days, that it may be many weeks, before I can with reason hope to receive assurance of your safety, and you may judge my present anxiety. Were it not for the fact that I have schooled my mind to dismiss apprehensions for the future, I should be heartsick indeed, and whatever philosophy I bring to my aid, I shall not be happy till I learn of your safe arrival at home. I could not foresee so rapid a movement of troops or so urgent a necessity for my instant departure from New Orleans, or I should not have assumed the responsibility of bringing you down. And if anything untoward happens, my conscience will never cease to reprove me for an act selfish, if not unjustified, though apart from the pleasure of your society I hoped benefit to your health.

The enclosed orders will show my command and present address. The latter I have reason to hope will very shortly, with my headquarters, be at “Mobile.” Meanwhile, letters addressed to me as commanding District Southern Alabama, will reach me via New Orleans.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 381-2

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Eliza Walter Smith, March 23, 1865

Headquarters District Of South Alabama,

Fort Gaines, Ala., March 23, 1865.

My Dear Mother:

A glance at the map will show you the locality of “Dauphine Island” and Fort Gaines, my headquarters for the present. It is just beyond Grant's Pass, at the entrance of Mobile Bay, about twenty-eight miles from the city of Mobile, and about one hundred and eighty miles from New Orleans. The island is not many miles in circumference, and, save on one side, the view from it is only bounded by the horizon, it has little vegetation but pine trees, and the surface is covered with fine, white perfectly clean sand, almost as free from impurities as snow. The beaches are fine, and the music of the surf is always in my ear. Oysters and fish of the finest varieties abound and I have every facility for taking them. I have never seen oysters so fat or of so delicate flavor, and I am told that they are good and wholesome every month in the year. I am fortunate in having secured a most excellent cook, whose specialty seems to be the preparation of oysters, and really I have eaten no other food except bread since I have been here. During present operations, and until I move to headquarters, I shall be in daily communication with New Orleans, newspapers from whence reach me within twenty-four hours of publication. The air here is most delicious, and is said to be highly salubrious. From time immemorial the citizens of New Orleans and Southern Louisiana have resorted here for the benefit of health, and these islands, and the coast near by have been ever free from the ravages of yellow fever. I look southward over the open sea towards Havana, and it is from the West Indies that the pleasant south wind comes. My health improves, my bowels have not troubled me for a good while, and under God I am blessed with the most favorable opportunity possible to recuperate my well-nigh exhausted energies.

My anxiety will be great until I hear of the return in safety of my dear wife. I left her in what to her was an embarrassing situation, and I am proud to say she governed herself like a true heroine, and though left entirely alone in a strange hotel, in a strange city, and among entire strangers, she bore herself at my sudden departure like a true soldier's wife, without a whimper. I left Walter on the street without a good-bye. I pray to God they have got home safe.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 380-1

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, February 7, 1865

Washington, D. C, February 7, 1865.

If I can get permission, I shall stop for a day to see you, as I return to the field, unless, indeed, as there is some reason to suppose, I be transferred to another command. I am offered a splendid division in the cavalry service. . . .

But if I take it I am brought right into the Army of the Potomac, and I can't bear to lose my Western boys, or the broad Savannahs in the South, where I hope glory yet awaits me. I have been to some parties and some receptions, have paid my respects to most of the Secretaries and to the President and his wife, and altogether have been having a pretty good time here in Washington. My mind has been relaxed and relieved, and it has done me good.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 379-80

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, January 25, 1865

Washington, D. C, January 25, 1865.

You will doubtless be surprised at the heading of this note. On the 17th inst. I received from the Secretary of War a telegram ordering me to repair without delay to the Adjutant-General of the United States. The same day General Thomas ordered a steamboat to transport me to Paducah, from thence I came hither almost on the wings of the wind, staying neither for fog, flood, nor mountain pass, though I was befogged near Louisville, and snowed up one night in the Alleghenies. Still, considering the distance, I made marvellously good time, and arrived here last night. I discover that I have been summoned to appear before the Committee on the Conduct of the War (of Congress), probably to testify in reference to the Red River expedition.

I shall know to-morrow. My stay here will be only temporary, and I shall probably from here be ordered back to Eastport or wherever my command is. You may think it strange that I could not stop for at least a day, but I dared not. I had been pretty well up to the time I was ordered here, but that very day my old complaint came back upon me with great violence and lasted every day of my journey, and I feared to make a halt lest I should be detained as I was before. To-day I am a good deal better. I have not heard one word from home since the letters that reached me at Nashville.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 379

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, January 15, 1865

Headquarters Third Division,

Detachment Army Of The Tennessee,

in The Field, Sunday, Jan. 15, 1865.

I am now once more fairly in the field, and at the head of my command. My tent is pitched upon a pleasant knoll in a very hilly, almost mountainous country, from whence I have a view of the Tennessee river, and parts of three States, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Alabama. The ground is gravelly and the forests pine, so that I keep comparatively dry; the floor of my tent is carpeted with pine boughs that make a pleasant smell. For some days past the weather has been delightful, clear, bright and warm, yet bracing. Already the rose and briar are putting forth green leaves and bulbous roots are springing from the ground. The atmosphere is about as it would be in your latitude, say the 1st of May, or thereabouts. My health improves, bowels decidedly better, appetite pretty good, and the most that troubles me now is a tendency to take cold, cold with an irritation of the throat. This is to be expected, for I could hardly go from careful nursing directly into the field without some shock to the system.

My command is not yet thoroughly organized, and I have some new appointments of staff officers to make; in the course of a day or two I shall publish my staff, and will send you a copy. . . . I have three brigades; our detachments are about being organized into a corps of three divisions, each division of three brigades. The division commanders are General McArthur, General Garrard (Kenna Garrard of West Point, oldest son of Mrs. McLean), and myself, all under command of Gen. A. J. Smith.

A large mail has come to-day with the fleet that brought up General Thomas and troops, but I am disappointed in finding nothing for me.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 378-9

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, January 10, 1865

Eastport, Miss., January 10, 1865.

Our fleet arrived here this morning, and I am just debarking troops in the muddiest, worst country I ever saw. For some days past, as I wrote you in a former letter, I have been upon the flag ship of Admiral Lee, commanding the Mississippi Squadron, and have been very comfortable; the almost entire rest has been favorable to my health. I shall now be compelled to rough it ashore, but I think I shall get through.

General Thomas, I this moment learn, is expected here to-day.

The weather is warm, raining, muggy, and intensely disageeable, a warm Southern winter such as we had at Young's Point.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 377-8

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, January 6, 1865

On Board Flag Ship “Fairy,”

Up Tennessee River On The Alabama Side, Three

Miles Above Eastport, January 6, 1865.

My Dear Wife:

My heading will show you my position, that you can the better learn from the map. I am now, in point of fact, within the Alabama lines. I reported the day before yesterday to Major-Gen. A. J. Smith, at Clifton, Tennessee, in person, and immediately received the following order:

Special Orders

No. 3.

Extract II.

Brig.-Gen. Thomas Kilby Smith, U. S. V., having reported at these headquarters for duty, is hereby assigned to, and will at once assume command of, the Third Division, Detachment Army of the Tennessee.

Col. J. B. Moore, now commanding the Third Division, is hereby relieved from such command, and will report to Brig.-Gen. T. K. Smith for assignment.

In relieving Colonel Moore, the Major-General commanding desires to express his high appreciation of the able, thorough, and soldierly manner with which he has executed the trust confided to him in the command.

By order of Major-Gen. A. J. Smith,

J. Hough, Asst. Adjt.-Gen.

I have transcribed the order in full because it contains a well-deserved compliment to a soldier of my own making, and who received all his training from me, and who has done full justice to his preceptor in the important responsibilities thrust upon him in my absence. I have not yet assumed command, because I am reconnoitring the river with Gen. A. J. Smith, upon Admiral Lee's ship, with a view to position and the debarkation of our troops. Admiral Lee, who is in command of the Mississippi Squadron, has been immensely polite to me, and has made me quite at home with him. All my officers, and those at General Smith's headquarters, have expressed much joy at my return, which I assure you is mutual; on my part I am gratified beyond expression in being once more restored to my command and associated with my comrades in arms. I write under some difficulty, for the boat is shaking excessively, and I can hardly keep my pen to the paper, but as a despatch boat will be sent down this evening, I avail myself of the opportunity, as I do of each that presents itself, to advise you of my movements and physical condition. My health is tolerably good; I am not as well as when on the Cumberland, and from two causes — the weather is murky and the Tennessee water unwholesome, added to which my food has not for two or three days been as good as usual, and I suffer from the confined air of the boats. Heretofore I have had the boat exclusively to myself, but since arriving at Clifton, there has been a necessity for transportation of troops and the boats are all crowded with soldiers. However, I am every way better than I expected to be at this time, and certainly have no right to complain. Joe and the horses are in good care, and when we get to some place I will write you a long letter.

Since writing the above, our boat has stopped at Eastport, and I have been ashore on horseback with General Smith, reconnoitring the country, and such a desolate, cursed, God-forgotten, man-forsaken, vile, wretched place I have never yet seen in all my campaigning. If I shall have to stay here long, I shall well-nigh go crazy. We hear Hood is moving south; his pickets disappeared from this place night before last, and there is what has been for them a strong fortification. There are but two or three families left, and they in the last stages of destitution; whenever you offer a prayer, petition that you or yours may never be in the war-path. You read of horrors of war, but you can form no conception of those horrors until you are an eyewitness of its results upon the inhabitants of the country where it has raged, where they have been, as they usually are, the prey of both contending parties. I shall probably go down the river as far as Clifton, where my own command is, to-morrow, to be governed by circumstances that may transpire after my arrival. As the case now stands, in all probability, I shall go into winter quarters somewhere hereabouts, and General Thomas's orders are “Eastport.” My third winter in the South does not promise more comfort than the two that have preceded it. Four winters ago it was Camp Dennison and Paducah, the next Young's Point, before Vicksburg, in the swamps, the next between the Black and Yazoo Rivers, the worst country, save this, I ever saw, and this winter, here, up the Tennessee. I think I have had my share of the dark side of the war, but my motto is, a stiff upper lip, and never say die. If health, the great desideratum, is spared, the rest will come. General Garrard, one of Mrs. McLean's sons, is here. His head is as bald as an egg, and he looks to be a thousand years old. War adds age fast.

You must address your letters to me as General commanding Third Division Detachment Army of the Tennessee, via Cairo. I suppose I shall stand a chance of getting them sometime within a month or less.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 375-7

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, December 26, 1864

26th. – Detained at Clarkesville by the unwarrantable interference of the officer in charge of the gunboat fleet who deemed it necessary to give us convoy against guerillas, lay there all night and until 9 A.M. of the 27th, which passes without event. Scenery on the river beautiful, high rocky cliffs of limestone, iron in abundance in these hills. Arrived at Nashville about two o'clock in the morning of the 28th. City dirty and disagreeable; has been the abode of wealth, as evidenced in the splendid architecture of the private dwellings, but everything now shows the brunt of war and war's desolation.

I find many friends and am hospitably entertained at the quarters of General Sawyer, General Sherman's Adjutant-General. The military are all agog at the good news from Sherman, but everybody here is as ignorant as I am of Hood's movements, of Thomas's intent. I have telegraphed to Gen. A. J. Smith, who is far to the front, but as yet receive no response. Railroad communication will be opened soon, we hope, to near the front, when I shall progress as soon as possible.

P. S. — You may have noticed in the papers that the train from Louisville to this point was attacked and captured, and that thus travel by rail was interrupted. With my usual good fortune, I have escaped this calamity, and it is doubly well with me that I came by boat.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 373-4

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, December 25, 1864

On Board Str. “Huntsman,”

Cumberland River, Christmas, 1864.

We left Louisville Thursday evening last and, just as the boat was shoving off, I indicted you a brief note. We have progressed thus far, having a few moments since left Fort Donaldson without accident. Fort Donaldson, as you are aware, was the scene of General Grant's first great victory, and the starting-point to his present greatness. I caught but a bird's-eye view of the fortifications; from the river side they seem almost impregnable. It is now garrisoned by some twelve hundered troops. All the way to this point we have been warned to keep a bright lookout for guerillas, this boat being the pioneer from Louisville. I have apprehended no danger and feel satisfied that so far as these gentry are concerned we shall reach our destination unobstructed. The anniversary, as usual, brings no joy to me, save that, to-day, I have leisure in quiet to make a retrospect of the past. Last Christmas I passed on the banks of the Yazoo, reviewing the field of battle on which I had fought just a year prior to this time. How fraught with events to me these years have been, and now I wonder where my next Christmas will find me.

I thought when I started to keep something like a log or diary of my wanderings, but so thorough a nomad have I become, so used to the current events of everyday travel, especially by steamboat, that something of a really startling nature must transpire to make me think it worth while to note. I would renew a former injunction to follow my course on the map. Trace me down the Ohio to the mouth of the Cumberland, and up. It will be a good way for the children to learn something of the geography of the country by following in imagination their father's wanderings, in thousands of miles through various States from the Gulf of Mexico to the extreme New England coast. It will seem incredible to you, until after careful study, how much I have passed over within the past year, and all without the slightest accident from the perils of navigation or travel by land. I lay me down at night to sleep with the same confidence with which I share your pillow; I wake in the morning to find myself hundreds of miles from where I had my last waking dream or dreaming thought. The bird of passage is hardly fleet enough of wing to outstrip me in my wandering. The weather was very cold the day we left Louisville, the next still colder but clear and beautiful and the morning sun rose and glittered upon one of the strangest scenes I have ever witnessed in nature. A very heavy fog rose from the river about one o'clock, and settling upon the trees and shrubs imperceptibly froze and gathered until everything that had a spray was clothed with the lightest feathery texture that can be imagined, lighter, purer, whiter than the softest driven snow, and each little flake looking like a small plume, all nodding and waving to the passing air; all this the sun shone upon from a cloudless horizon through rosy tints and such a sunrise has rarely been witnessed. The captain of our boat, an old man, who has been upon the river thirty years, saw no sight like it, and the commonest deckhand looked on with rapture at the beauty. All day under a bright sun, but with a freezing atmosphere we glided through the drift of a full and rising river, and, by starlight, kept on through the night coursing the bends and running the chutes bank full; the next day was warm, and yesterday, as we struck the mouth of the Cumberland, the air was soft and balmy as a day in May. We are running now nearly due south, but a light rain is falling; it is a soft, green Christmas here. No passengers on the boat; Joe and the horses, and officers and the crew, all. We are freighted with iron and lumber, oats and corn. I tread the deck sole monarch of the steamboat. The Cumberland winds through high banks of limestone rock, rich with iron and coal, occasional bottoms fertile for corn, but the rolling land back thin and sterile.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 371-3

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, December 22, 1864

Louisville, Ky., On Board Str. “Huntsman,”

Thursday, Dec. 22, 1864.

Arriving yesterday morning at Louisville, I found myself too late for the morning train to Nashville, and of course was compelled to lie over. The circumstance was fortunate, inasmuch as the train was thrown from the track and the passengers who started were compelled to return. Discovering that the road was not in first rate working order, I determined to go round by water, and am now about taking my departure on the steamboat Huntsman, that, if we have good wind and meet with no guerillas, will put me in Nashville on Monday next. I expect to spend Christmas on the Cumberland River.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 371

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, November 27, 1864

HEADQUARTERS ARMIES Of ThE UNITED STATES,

Nov. 27, 1864.

My Dear Wife:

My last was dated from headquarters at camp. I am now sojourning for a day or two in the city of Washington, arranging my business with some of the departments. I shall head towards the West before long, and have the pleasure of greeting you all on my way to the field. It is a good while, weeks, since I have had a line or intimation of any kind from home, but I steel my heart to anything approaching anxiety, maintain a firm faith that Providence will order all things as is best for us all and bide with confidence his decree. My health is better a good deal than when I left home, and though from time to time I am caught up by the old trouble, I think, on the whole, I am steadily on the mend. There is no doubt as to the chronic nature of the disease that will remain with me during the rest of my life, but some years of usefulness may yet be spared me. My visit to the headquarters of General Grant was very agreeable and of very considerable advantage to me.

I have no lack of courtesy wherever I go, and here in Washington feel compelled to lie perdu and preserve a strict incognito, lest I suffer from the kindness of my friends.

I enclose a rosebud gathered on the banks of the James, in the close vicinity of the contending armies; it was literally the last rose of the summer then, for that night a heavy frost fell, and my plucking saved it from a black death; it still maintains its hues, though I have carried it in my pocket for a week, and I hope will not be quite withered ere it reach your hand.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 370-1

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, November 16, 1864

Headquarters Armies Of The Un1ted States,

City Point, Va., Nov. 16, 1864.

I write not to give interesting intelligence, but simply to advise you that I am in the land of the living, at City Point, on James River, that waters the sacred soil, and that I am about as far to the front on my way to Richmond as it is this day safe to go.

The James reminds me a good deal of the lower Mississippi, and so far as I have come, its banks are studded with points of interest, and historical in the war. At Fort Monroe, I saw the finest fleet that, perhaps, has ever been collected in the American waters. Leaving Washington in a steamer for this place, I passed Alexandria, Point Lookout, Harrison's Landing, Newport News, Fort Powhatan, Wilson's Landing, Jamestown Island. If the children will look at the map, they will discover that we descend the Potomac, scud along Chesapeake Bay, and at Fort Monroe ascend the James, so that they can get upon my track. There is no news here proper for me to write. General Grant is in good health and spirits and I hear as late as last Wednesday from Sherman, who also is well.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 364-5

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, June 9, 1864

Steamer “silver Moon,”

Mississippi River, Near Cairo, Ill., June 9, 1864.

I am on my way home and may reasonably be expected by you on Monday, 15th, by the morning up train, God willing and weather permitting. My retinue is small, as I am on brief furlough. You will only need to make preparations for three servants, two male, one female, four horses, a small dog and myself. You need not put yourself out, as the horses and servants are used to bivouac.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 363