Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: June 13, 1863

General Banks sent a flag of truce to General Gardner demanding a surrender of the place, but the rebel General could not see the necessity of surrendering at that time.

SOURCE: Abstracted from George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 69

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Sunday, July 18, 1863

It may be wrong; I feel very contrite; but still I cannot help thinking it is an error on the right side. It began by Miriam sending Mr. Conn a box of cigars when she was on Canal the other day, with a note saying we would be delighted to assist him in any way. Poor creature! He wrote an answer which breathed desolation and humility, under his present situation, in every line. The cigars, an unexpected kindness, had touched a tender cord evidently. He said he had no friends, and would be grateful for our assistance.

But before his answer arrived, yesterday morning I took it into my head that Colonel Steadman was also at the Custom-House, though his arrival had not been announced, the Yankees declining to publish any more names to avoid the excitement that follows. So Miriam and I prepared a lunch of chicken, soup, wine, preserves, sardines, and cakes, to send to him. And, fool-like, I sent a note with it. It only contained the same offer of assistance; and I would not object to the town crier's reading it; but it upset Brother's ideas of decorum completely. He said nothing to Miriam's, because that was first offense; but yesterday he met Edmond, who was carrying the basket, and he could not stand the sight of another note. I wish he had read it! But he said he would not assume such a right. So he came home very much annoyed, and spoke to Miriam about it. Fortunately for my peace of mind, I was swimming in the bathtub in blissful unconsciousness, else I should have drowned myself. He said, “I want you both to understand that you shall have everything you want for the prisoners. Subscribe any sum of money, purchase any quantity of clothing, send all the food you please, but, for God's sake, don't write to them! In such a place every man knows the other has received a letter, and none know what it contains. I cannot have my sisters’ names in everybody's mouth. Never do it again!” All as kind and as considerate for us as ever, and a necessary caution; I love him the better for it; but I was dismayed for having rendered the reproof necessary. For three hours I made the most hideous faces at myself and groaned aloud over Brother's displeasure. He is so good that I would rather bite my tongue off than give him a moment's pain. Just now I went to him, unable to keep silence any longer, and told him how distressed I was to have displeased him about that note. “Don't think any more about it, only don't do it again, dear,” was his answer. I was so grateful to him for his gentleness that I was almost hurried into a story. I began, “It is the first time —” when I caught myself and said boldly, “No, it is not. Colonel Steadman has written to me before, and I have replied. But I promise to you it shall not occur again if I can avoid it.” He was satisfied with the acknowledgment, and I was more than gratified with his kindness. Yet the error must have been on the right side!

Colonel Steadman wrote back his thanks by Edmond, with heartfelt gratitude for finding such friends in his adversity, and touching acknowledgments of the acceptable nature of the lunch. His brother and Colonel Lock were wounded, though recovering, and he was anxious to know if I had yet recovered. And that was all, except that he hoped we would come to see him, and his thanks to Brother for his kind message. Brother had sent him word by one of the prisoners that though he was not acquainted with him, yet as his sisters' friend he would be happy to assist him if he needed money or clothing. There was no harm in either note, and though I would not do it again, I am almost glad I let him know he still had friends before Brother asked me not to write.

And as yet we can't see them. A man was bayoneted yesterday for waving to them, even. It only makes us the more eager to see them. We did see some. Walking on Rampart Street with the Peirces yesterday, in front of a splendid private house, we saw sentinels stationed. Upon inquiry we learned that General Gardiner and a dozen others were confined there. Ada and Miriam went wild. If it had not been for dignified Marie, and that model of propriety, Sarah, there is no knowing but what they would have carried the house by storm. We got them by without seeing a gray coat, when they vowed to pass back, declaring that the street was not respectable on the block above. We had to follow. So! there they all stood on the balcony above. We thought we recognized General Gardiner, Major Wilson, Major Spratley, and Mr. Dupre. Miriam was sure she did; but even when I put on a bold face, and tried to look, something kept me from seeing; so I had all the appearance of staring, without deriving the slightest benefit from it. Wonder what makes me such a fool?

Mr. Conn writes that Captain Bradford is wounded, but does not say whether he is here.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 399-403

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Sunday, April 19, 1863

Friday morning we arose and prepared to resume our journey for Bonfouca, twenty-three miles away. The man walked in very unceremoniously to get corn from the armoir as we got up, throwing open the windows and performing sundry little offices usually reserved for femmes-de-chambre; but with that exception everything went on very well. Breakfast being a luxury not to be procured, we got into the carriages before sunrise, and left this romantic abode of dogs and contentment. Again our road lay through piney woods, so much like that from Hammond to Ponchatoula that involuntarily I found myself looking through the window to see if Mr. Halsey was there. It lacked only his presence to make the scene all in all the same. But alas! this time the driver picked me wild flowers, and brought us haws. Mr. Halsey, in blissful ignorance of our departure, was many and many a mile away. The drive was not half as amusing. The horse would not suffer any one except Miriam to drive, and at last refused to move until the driver got down and ran along by the carriage. Every time the poor boy attempted to occupy his seat, the obstinate animal would come to a dead stop and refuse to go until he dismounted again. I am sure that he walked nineteen miles out of the twenty-three, out of complaisance to the ungrateful brute. All equally fatigued and warm, we reached this place about twelve o'clock. Mrs. Bull had arrived before us; and as the carriage stopped, her girl Delia came to the gate the personification of despair, crying, “You can't get out, ladies. They say we can't stop here; we must go right back.” The panic which ensued is indescribable. Go back when we were almost at our journey's end, after all the money we had spent, the fatigue we had undergone, to be turned back all the way to Clinton, perhaps! “With my sick babies!” cried Mrs. Ivy. “With my sick child!” cried mother. “Never! You may turn me out of your house, but we will die in the woods first! To go back is to kill my daughter and these babies!” This was to the overseer who came to the carriage. “Madam, I have orders to allow no one to pass who has not written permission. Lieutenant Worthington sent the order two days ago; and I am liable to imprisonment if I harbor those who have no passport,” the man explained. “But we have General Gardiner's order,” I expostulated. “Then you shall certainly pass; but these ladies cannot. I can't turn you away, though; you shall all come in and stay until something can be determined on.”

This much granted was an unlooked-for blessing. He showed us the way to a large unfurnished house, one room of which contained a bed with one naked mattress, which was to be our apartment. Mrs. Bull sat down in a calm, dignified state of despair; little Mrs. Ivy dissolved in tears; we all felt equally disconsolate; the prospect of getting off was not so pleasant when we thought we should be obliged to leave them behind. Our common misfortunes had endeared us to each other, strangers as we were a week ago. So we all lamented together, a perfect jérémiade of despair. The overseer is very tenderhearted; he condoled, comforted, and finally determined that if there was any way of getting them off, they should go. A glimpse of sunshine returned to our lowering sky, and cheerfulness reigned once more, to be violently dethroned some hours later. Three of the Madisonville pickets were announced approaching the house. Of course, they were coming after us! Oh, that vile Mr. Worthington! We always did hate him! There was such a sneaky look about him. Hypocrite! we always felt we should hate him! Oh, the wretch! “I won't go back!” cried mother. “I shall not,” said quiet Mrs. Bull. “He shall pay my expenses if he insists on taking me back!” exclaimed Mrs. Ivy. “Spent all my money! Mrs. Bull, you have none to lend me, remember, and Mrs. Morgan shan't I Oh, that Worthington! Let's make him pay for all!” We smothered our laughter to sit trembling within as the pickets stepped on the gallery. I believe we commenced praying. Just think! Thus far, our journey has cost mother two hundred and twenty dollars. It would cost the same to get back to blessed Clinton, and fancy our spending that sum to settle there again! Besides, we gave away all our clothes to our suffering friends; and what would we do there now?

After half an hour of painful suspense, we discovered that it would have been as well to spare poor Mr. Worthington; for the pickets were not after us, but had come to escort Mrs. R–––, a woman who was taking the body of her son, who was killed at Murfreesboro, to the city for interment. Poor woman! she rode all this distance sitting on her child's coffin. Her husband was one of those who with B––– stole that large sum of money from father which came so near ruining him. She speaks of her husband as of a departed saint. I dare say she believes him innocent of the theft in spite of his public confession. The grave has wiped out even the disgrace of the penitentiary where he expiated his offense. . . . When I told Tiche who the woman was, she clasped her hands, saying, “The Lord is good! Years and years master suffered while she grew rich, and now her time comes! The Lord don't forget!” I can't feel that way. It is well for the narrow-minded to look for God's judgment on us for our sins; but mine is a more liberal faith. God afflicted her for some wise purpose; but if I thought it was to avenge father, I should be afraid of her. As it is, I can be sorry, oh, so sorry for her!

As usual I find myself taken care of at the expense of the others. There are but two bars on the place; one, the overseer said, should be for me, the other for the children. Sheets were scarce, covers scarcer still. Tired of being spoiled in this way, I insisted on being allowed to sleep on a mattress on the floor, after a vigorous skirmish with mother and Miriam, in which I came off victorious. For a bar, I impressed Miriam's grenadine dress, which she fastened to the doorknob and let fall over me à la Victoria tester arrangement. To my share fell a double blanket, which, as Tiche had no cover, I unfolded, and as she used the foot of my bed for a pillow, gave her the other end of it, thus (tell it not in Yankeeland, for it will never be credited) actually sleeping under the same bedclothes with our black, shiny negro nurse! We are grateful, though, even for these discomforts; it might have been so much worse! Indeed, I fear that our fellow travelers do not fare as well. Those who have sheets have no bars; those who have blankets have no sheets; and one woman who has recently joined us has nothing except a mattress which is to do the duty of all three. But then, we got bread! Real, pure, wheat bread! And coffee! None of your potato, burnt sugar, and parched corn abomination, but the unadulterated berry! I can't enjoy it fully, though; every mouthful is cloyed with the recollection that Lilly and her children have none.

As usual, as Mrs. Greyson says, the flowers follow us; yesterday I received three bouquets, and Miriam got one too. In this out-of-the-way place such offerings are unexpected; and these were doubly gratifying coming from people one is not accustomed to receiving them from. For instance, the first was from the overseer, the second from a servant, and the third from a poor boy for whom we have subscribed to pay his passage to the city.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 372-7

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Saturday, April 18, 1863

Bonfouca. – When I paused on Thursday to rest a few moments, how little idea I had that the rest I was taking would soon be required for another journey!

It was agreed among us, with our fellow travelers, Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy, whom we met at Mrs. Greyson's, endeavoring to reach the city like ourselves, that we would wait there until we could receive our passports from General Pemberton. When this journey was first seriously contemplated, Miriam wrote to Colonel Szymanski representing mother's state of health and my unfortunate condition, the necessity of medical advice for both, and the impossibility of remaining in famishing Clinton, and asked him to apply to the General for a pass to go to Brother. The Colonel sent word through Eugene La Noue that we should obtain it in a few days, and advised us to go by way of Ponchatoula. Tired of delay, and hearing that we could pass as readily on General Gardiner's order, we obtained one and started off without waiting for the other. The first news on arriving at Madisonville was that no one should pass except on General Pemberton's order.

Pleasant intelligence for those who had come that far without! The other two ladies were in the same dilemma. They were told that they should have a pass if they would wait. Waiting at the expense of four dollars a day for each, — Mrs. Ivy with two very sick babies, Mrs. Bull with all her property in New Orleans at stake, Tiche with her broken foot, mother with a powerless hand, and I with an injured spine, — was anything but agreeable under the circumstances; though nothing could be more pleasant, apart from this sense of restriction, than our stay at Madisonville. General Pemberton took his leisure about the affair, which is not surprising, as our Generals have more weighty matters than women's passports to attend to. Still, pleased as we were with our residence there, it was necessary to get on as soon as possible. So as I rested from labors about one o'clock on Thursday, Mrs. Bull came in to suggest a new plan to mother. It was to leave immediately for a plantation called Bonfouca, thirty miles off, where schooners came twice a week, and where we would be allowed to embark without a pass. Carriages that had just brought a party of ladies from Mandeville were waiting on the other side of the river, which could take us off immediately, for there was not a moment to lose.

Instantly we resolved to hazard the undertaking.

About three we got into the large scow to cross the Tchefuncta, in a party numbering five ladies, four children, and four servants. One of the devoted pickets, after setting me carefully in the most comfortable place, asked permission to accompany me as far as the carriage; he was sure he could assist me more carefully than the drivers. And without further parley, he followed. Before we turned the point, Mr. Worthington¹ . . . the dim distance, rowing up the stream in the direction of Madisonville. What if he had perceived us, and was hastening after us, deeming it his duty to arrest us for trying to get away without General Pemberton's order? As the idea was suggested, there was rather a nervous set of ladies on board. The half-mile that we had to go before reaching our landing-place was passed over in nervous apprehension. At last the spot was reached. Mr. Worthington had not appeared, and we reached terra firma without being “nabbed,” as we confidently expected. The obliging picket put me into the carriage, bade me a most friendly adieu, and returned to the village, leaving us with every prospect of getting off without serious difficulty, in spite of our serious apprehensions.

With two little children and Tiche with me, our carriage started off some time before the others. Two or three miles from our starting-point, I perceived three gentlemen riding towards us, one of whom I instantly recognized as Dr. Capdevielle. Instantly I stopped the carriage to speak to him. His look of astonishment when satisfied of my identity rather amused me; but my amusement was changed to a slight feeling of disappointment when he commenced talking. Was it possible I was leaving Madison? Oh, how distressed he was! He was promising himself so much pleasure! And to leave so unexpectedly! He had just come with his friends from — somewhere. They had planned a surprise party at Mrs. Greyson's for us that evening, and had been after the supper they had procured — somewhere, as I before observed, and were just now returning. And now we were deserting them! He had invited Monsieur Berger, Monsieur Pollock, Monsieur Mais enfin des Messieurs! he exclaimed with a comical emphasis and smile that brought vivid recollections of the other party before my eyes, by force of contrast, I suppose. And wasn't I sorry we had left! We fairly condoled with each other. Twenty minutes had elapsed before I had so far recovered from the disappointment as to bethink myself of the propriety of continuing my journey. And then with the assurance of being mutually désolé, we parted with a hearty good-bye, and he rode on to rejoin his companions, while I went the way he had come.

Two miles beyond, I met three others of the six gentlemen he had mentioned, riding in a little dogcart which contained champagne baskets in which the supper was evidently packed, each gentleman elegantly dressed, holding between them a little basket of bouquets that my prophetic soul told me was intended for Miriam and me. I was not personally acquainted with the gentlemen, or I should have told them of the disappointment that awaited them. It must have been a disappointment!

In the midst of profound reflections about fate, vanity of human wishes and calculations, friendships formed on the roadside in the journey through life (or from Clinton), I raised my eyes to behold Lake Ponchartrain, and to find myself in Mandeville, just seven miles from the Tchefuncta. Looking at the dreary expanse of water, which suggested loneliness and desolation, first recalled my own situation to me. Here I was in this straggling place, with Tiche, a cripple like myself, and two little children under my care, without an idea of where we were to go. Any one as timid and dependent as I to be placed in such a position as pioneer to such a tremendous company would feel rather forlorn. But some step had to be taken, so I consulted the driver as to where we could obtain board, and followed his suggestion. One house after the other we stopped at, and with my veil down and my heart beating as though I were soliciting charity, or some other unpleasant favor, I tried to engage rooms for the company, without success. At last we were directed to a Frenchman, who, after the usual assurance of “nothing to eat” (which we afterwards found to be only too true), consented to receive us. “Taking possession” seemed to me such a dreadful responsibility that for some time I remained in the carriage, afraid to get out before the others arrived. But there was still no sign of them; so I gathered my children and Tiche, and prepared to dismount with the Frenchman's assistance.

I have read descriptions of such houses and people, but I have not often seen them. The man and his wife were perfect specimens of the low Canadian, speaking only French. No sooner had they discovered that I was “blessée,” as they supposed, than each seized an arm and with overwhelming exclamations of sympathy, halfway dragged me into the room, where they thrust me into a chair. Their family seemed to consist only of cats and dogs who seemed to agree most harmoniously, and each of whom conceived the liveliest affection for us. As we were leaving Mrs. Greyson's, a stranger just from the city, brought to our room a paper of ham, tongue, and biscuits for “the sick young lady” (Heaven only knows how she heard of her), saying she had just traveled the road herself, and knew I would find nothing to eat; so she would insist on putting this in our basket. It was done in a manner that put all refusal out of the question; so it had to be accepted. I was feeding little Jenny Ivy and Minna Bull on this lunch for want of something else to do, when the affection of the cats and dogs became overpowering. Six of them jumped at us, licked Jenny's face, eat Minna's ham, and what with sundry kicks and slaps I had exercise enough to last a week, and was rapidly losing all my strength, when the woman came to my rescue and called her pets off just as the rest of the party drove up to find me almost exhausted.

Such a bedroom! There was a narrow single bed in which mother, Jenny, and I slept, a decrepit table on which stood a diseased mirror, a broken lounge without a bottom, and a pine armoir filled with — corn! In the centre stood the chief ornament, a huge pile of dirt, near which Miriam's mattress was placed, while the sail of a boat flanked it in on the other side, arranged as a bed for Tiche. The accommodations in the other bedroom were far inferior to ours. Then the mosquitoes swarmed like pandemonium on a spree, and there was but one bar in the house, which the man declared should be only for me. I would rather have been devoured by the insects than enjoy comforts denied to the others; so I made up my mind it should be the last time.

Our supper was rare. “Nothing like it was ever seen in Paris,” as McClellan would say. It consisted of one egg apiece, with a small spoonful of rice. A feast, you see! Price, one dollar each, besides the dollar paid for the privilege of sleeping among dirt, dogs, and fleas.

_______________

¹ The torn edge of a page has obliterated several words, which might, to judge by the context, have been “was seen in.”

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 366-72

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Tuesday, March 31, 1863

“To be, or not to be; that's the question.” Whether ’tis nobler in the Confederacy to suffer the pangs of unappeasable hunger and never-ending trouble, or to take passage to a Yankee port, and there remaining, end them. Which is best? I am so near daft that I cannot pretend to say; I only know that I shudder at the thought of going to New Orleans, and that my heart fails me when I think of the probable consequence to mother if I allow a mere outward sign of patriotism to overbalance what should be my first consideration — her health. For Clinton is growing no better rapidly. To be hungry is there an everyday occurrence. For ten days, mother writes, they have lived off just hominy enough to keep their bodies and souls from parting, without being able to procure another article — not even a potato. Mother is not in a condition to stand such privation; day by day she grows weaker on her new regimen; I am satisfied that two months more of danger, difficulties, perplexities, and starvation will lay her in her grave. The latter alone is enough to put a speedy end to her days. Lilly has been obliged to put her children to bed to make them forget they were supperless, and when she followed their example, could not sleep herself, for very hunger.

We have tried in vain to find another home in the Confederacy. After three days spent in searching Augusta, Gibbes wrote that it was impossible to find a vacant room for us, as the city was already crowded with refugees. A kind Providence must have destined that disappointment in order to save my life, if there is any reason for Colonel Steadman's fears. We next wrote to Mobile, Brandon, and even that horrid little Liberty, besides making inquiries of every one we met, while Charlie, too, was endeavoring to find a place, and everywhere received the same answer — not a vacant room, and provisions hardly to be obtained at all.

The question has now resolved itself to whether we shall see mother die for want of food in Clinton, or, by sacrificing an outward show of patriotism (the inward sentiment cannot be changed), go with her to New Orleans, as Brother begs in the few letters he contrives to smuggle through. It looks simple enough. Ought not mother's life to be our first consideration? Undoubtedly! But suppose we could preserve her life and our free sentiments at the same time? If we could only find a resting-place in the Confederacy! This, though, is impossible. But to go to New Orleans; to cease singing “Dixie”; to be obliged to keep your sentiments to yourself — for I would not wound Brother by any Ultra-Secession speech, and such could do me no good and only injure him — if he is as friendly with the Federals as they say he is; to listen to the scurrilous abuse heaped on those fighting for our homes and liberties, among them my three brothers — could I endure it? I fear not. Even if I did not go crazy, I would grow so restless, homesick, and miserable, that I would pray for even Clinton again. Oh, I don't, don't want to go! If mother would only go alone, and leave us with Lilly! But she is as anxious to obtain Dr. Stone's advice for me as we are to secure her a comfortable home; and I won't go anywhere without Miriam, so we must all go together. Yet there is no disguising the fact that such a move will place us in a very doubtful position to both friends and enemies. However, all our friends here warmly advocate the move, and Will Pinckney and Frank both promised to knock down any one who shrugged their shoulders and said anything about it. But what would the boys say? The fear of displeasing them is my chief distress. George writes in the greatest distress about my prolonged illness, and his alarm about my condition. “Of one thing I am sure,” he writes, “and that is that she deserves to recover; for a better little sister never lived.” God bless him! My eyes grew right moist over those few words. Loving words bring tears to them sooner than angry ones. Would he object to such a step when he knows that the very medicines necessary for my recovery are not to be procured in the whole country? Would he rather have mother dead and me a cripple, in the Confederacy, than both well, out of it? I feel that if we go we are wrong; but I am satisfied that it is worse to stay. It is a distressing dilemma to be placed in, as we are certain to be blamed whichever course we pursue. But I don't want to go to New Orleans!

Before I had time to lay down my pen this evening, General Gardiner and Major Wilson were announced; and I had to perform a hasty toilette before being presentable. The first remark of the General was that my face recalled many pleasant recollections; that he had known my family very well, but that time was probably beyond my recollection; and he went on talking about father and Lavinia, until I felt quite comfortable, with this utter stranger. . . . I would prefer his speaking of “our” recent success at Port Hudson to “my”; for we each, man, woman, and child, feel that we share the glory of sinking the gunboats and sending Banks back to Baton Rouge without venturing on an attack; and it seemed odd to hear any one assume the responsibility of the whole affair and say “my success” so unconsciously. But this may be the privilege of generals. I am no judge, as this is the first Confederate general I have had the pleasure of seeing. Wish it had been old Stonewall! I grow enthusiastic every time I think of the dear old fellow!

I am indebted to General Gardiner for a great piece of kindness, though. I was telling him of how many enemies he had made among the ladies by his strict regulations that now rendered it almost impossible for the gentlemen to obtain permission to call on them, when he told me if I would signify to my friends to mention when they applied that their visit was to be here, and not elsewhere, that he would answer for their having a pass whenever they called for one. Merci du compliment; mais c’est trop tard, Monsieur!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 342-6

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Eliza Walter Smith, July 11, 1863

VlCKSBURG, July 11, 1863.

My Dear Mother:

I have just debarked on my return from Port Hudson and finished my report to General Grant. I am ordered back to Natchez, for which point I shall start at eight o'clock in the morning, so have brief time for communication with you. On the 1st inst., by order of General Grant, I reported to Admiral Porter for transportation to Port Hudson, whither I was going as bearer of despatches and oral communication from General Grant to General Banks. You are probably not aware of what a flagship is or the sort of style they preserve on board of one. The Black Hawk, Admiral Porter's, is probably behind none of them in point of elegance, and the Admiral, who is a special friend of mine, always receives me with all the honors.

From the flagship I reported to General Dennis at Young's Point, and then procured an ambulance to take us around by land to where the gunboat Arizona was lying, the vessel that had been assigned to me. I have had command before of a good many steamboats, but never of a vessel of war. The Arizona is a beautiful little craft, a yacht, elegantly fitted up, trim built, with everything ship-shape in real man-of-war style. She was formerly of the Southern Steamship Line between New Orleans and Galveston, seized by the rebels in 1861, ran the blockade to Havana with a cargo of cotton, recaptured by Admiral Farragut's squadron in 1862 off Mobile—at this time running under Confederate colors and called the Carolina, and commanded by Captain Forbes. On seeing the Admiral, Captain Forbes claimed to be bound to Matamoras, but the Admiral remarked to him, “I do not take you for running the blockade, but for your damned poor navigation. Any man bound to Matamoras from Havana and coming within twelve miles of Mobile light has no business to have a steamer.” Accordingly, she was sent to Philadelphia as a prize, being purchased by the government for 86,000 dollars. She was speedily altered into a gunboat and early in 1863 was put in commission. Leaving Philadelphia she captured a prize of about $140,000 in value on the fourth day out. Arrived at New Orleans on April 1st, she sailed for Brashear City on the 6th, took two regiments of Major-General Banks on board and landed them at Grand Lakes, the next morning fought and destroyed the Queen of the West, and the day after proceeded to the wreck and recovered all the guns, two fine Parrott rifles, and three twelve-pounder Porterfield pieces, brass. On April 20th attacked, in company with the Clifton, the fortifications at Butte La Rose, silenced the battery in twelve minutes, capturing the guns, ammunition, 114 prisoners, and the small arms. On the . . . day of . . ., attacked, in company with the Albatross, and repulsed the enemy's gunboats at Fort de Russy, but owing to some misunderstanding of orders was not permitted to remain and destroy them. The day after proceeded upon the expedition with Admiral Porter towards Alexandria, and on the . . . day of . . ., the city surrendered to Captain Upton, a very wealthy citizen and one of influence there, and a grandson of Putnam of revolutionary memory; he who killed the wolf in the cave, and about that anecdote the boys may read. I have been somewhat prolix in describing the boat and her commander, because my relations with both have been very intimate the last ten days, and because she is again assigned to me to go to Natchez. I lay on her with the fleet under the guns of Vicksburg till the 22d inst.; early in the morning weighed anchor and down stream, destroying all river transportation as we passed along — all boats, skiffs, flats, etc. Met the gunboat Louisville at Grand Gulf, got some news from below, most favorable, touched at St. Joseph, and put off Mrs. Rodgers. Her meeting with her daughter and under such circumstances, was a scene affecting in the extreme. They had not seen each other for more than four years — are ladies of the greatest refinement. Taking advantage of circumstances while the scene was transpiring, ordered the men to load the boat with vegetables, meats and poultry; in other words, foraged extensively. Such is war. Got under weigh, and steamed down to the next plantation, where we stopped all night, it being too dark to move. Here we called at the house and found a pretty and interesting young lady, much chit chat and quarrelling about the war, and while we quarrelled, my men drove brisk trade with the negroes for honey, tomatoes, melons, fowl, etc. Under weigh at eight o'clock, steaming down, still destroying as we go. Touched at Mrs. Duncan's plantation, abandoned, and in the hands of negroes; will endeavor to send with this some memento of the occasion. As we reached Natchez, discovered cattle in large numbers that had just crossed the river; ordered shell from twelve-pound howitzer thrown among them; cattle scattered and drivers fled. Ordered the boat to round to and sent a missive to the civil authorities that if they permitted the transit of cattle or other munitions of war for the use of the enemy, I would burn and destroy the city. To that missive I received the following reply:

Mayor's Office, Natchez, July 3, 1863.

Sir:

Your communication of this date is duly at hand. The city authorities regret that you conceive it necessary to inflict such a penalty as you name upon the defenceless inhabitants of this city for acts of which they are innocent and over which the city authorities have no control. To avert the calamity, however, we will represent your demand to the military authorities without delay. At the same time we would observe with due deference, that we are at a loss to understand how the destruction of the city will accomplish the object you have in view.

Respectfully, your obt. Servant,

W. Dix, Mayor.

Thos. Kilby Smith,

Colonel . . .

Not liking the tone of the above despatch, I proceeded to carry my threat into execution, when down came the marshal and begged like a dog. I gave my opinion and ipse dixit in no very measured terms, and taking a promise, wended my way, destroying, however, some sixty skiffs and fleets at that point. Anchored in stream at nine o'clock, July 4th; under way at twelve o'clock; touched at plantation for wood and forage, vegetables, etc. Nine o'clock reached Port Hudson and reported to Commodore Palmer on board sloop-of-war Hartford, anchored off stream. Commodore stiff old salt of the old school — about as stiff I suppose as Uncle Hunter was on board ship. Took on, however, in behalf of the army, about the same quantity of airs as he took for the navy, and imagine he did not make much by the interview in the way of airs. Next day, July 5th, reported to steamer Albatross, the captain of which sent ashore for horses for me, and about ten o'clock got mounted, with my orderly, on a sorry jade said to have belonged to a Secesh colonel who had been taken prisoner. Set off for General Banks's headquarters, about twenty miles distant. Sun blazing hot, waded swamp, passed by bayou, and lagoon, and through dense forests, heard the alligators barking like young puppies. Saw sugar cane growing for the first time, passed sugar mills, close to enemy's pickets, and just enough of danger to make the jaunt spicy and interesting. Sun broiling; wore cloth cap and felt it; should have been sunstruck, but adopted my old precaution of stuffing the crown with fresh green leaves every now and then — a most cooling application to the head. Glad enough to reach General Banks’s headquarters at two o’clock, after a ride of four hours; dismounted thirsty and exhausted. General met me with great courtesy — bottle of champagne and plenty of ice, cool goblet; oh, how refreshing!  . . . felt sufficiently better to take a nap of an hour, and then the General, by way of amusement, invited me to ride with him and staff over the left of his lines; gave me a good mount, and off we started for a thirty miles’ ride and about five miles’ walk through the saps and mines of his approaches upon the fortifications, back at eleven o'clock, supped and laid down at twelve. Clothes wet through with sweat, did not sleep well, rose, however, early in the morning, July 6th.  . . . Breakfast over, General invited me to ride on the right, horses saddled and off at seven. Rode far and walked through more miles of sap and made close investigation of mines; two men shot through the head by rifle balls close by my side; sharpshooters on both sides vigilant and alert. Called upon one or two generals, back to camp and dinner by two o'clock. Admiral Farragut made his appearance before dinner was through. . . . I imagine rather a clever man and a fine officer. . . .

July 7th received despatches of the fall of Vicksburg, per telegraph, despatch boat Price having got aground on her way down; much enthusiasm. Army fired salutes of an hundred guns; also navy; drank General Grant's health; took good care to have a despatch intercepted by the enemy, and devoted the afternoon to close investigation of saps, mines, and approaches on the right of our lines, in company with General Banks; back to camp, and late to bed; hardly asleep before General Banks made his appearance at my bedside in shirt and drawers to advise me that General Gardner had sent flag of truce, and to ask if what he had heard in reference to the fall of Vicksburg was true. Symptomatic; immediately volunteered to go with flag of truce myself and make proper reply. Rode out at one o'clock, nine miles; passed our pickets, sounded bugle call, and shortly afterwards was met by enemy's flag with lanthorn. Their party consisted of two colonels and their aides-de-camp; had with them much parley; flag returned, to consult with General Gardner; agreed to wait for them two hours. Flag again appeared with despatches for General Banks and overtures for surrender. Back to headquarters at great speed. General Gardiner writes that he has defended his post as long as he considers his duty and offers terms and to appoint commissioners to meet outside of breastworks to arrange conditions. Accordingly, General Banks appointed Brigadier-General Stone, Brigadier-General Dwight, and Colonel Burge commissioners, with instructions to demand unconditional surrender. They were met by Colonel Miles, Col. Marshall Smith, and Colonel Steadman, on behalf of the enemy. All the day passed tediously, waiting the action of the commissioners. Finally, at nightfall, they made their report. Garrison to be surrendered at seven o'clock the following morning, and a rough estimate of results of the Port Hudson capture is as follows:

• Upwards of five thousand prisoners, including one major-general, one brigadier-general, four colonels, and large number of field and company officers.
• Thirty-one field cannon;
• Twenty S. C. and siege cannon;
• Major-Gen. Frank Gardner, formerly U. S. A.;
• Brigadier-General William Beale;
• Colonel Miles;
• Col. Marshall Smith, formerly U. S. Navy;
• Colonel Steadman;
• Major A. Marchent, formerly U. S. Artillery.

Despatches were at once prepared for me, and at nine o'clock, with escort, I set off to ride over the same road. I came to place of hail of gunboats. It was intensely dark and raining hard; some miles of road through dense and muddy swamp; had to search for pathway by aid of lantern; guide at fault and way lost; outside of picket lines, and great danger of capture; found way and reached Mississippi shore at three o'clock in morning. Hailed Hartford, and got aboard; reported to Commodore Palmer; had Arizona assigned me; got aboard of her by the light of the wild-eyed dawn, and at four o'clock laid down with intense headache to court sleep, which had been a stranger to me for two days and two nights. I had been much exposed to sun and feared sickness. I lay still for one hour and am then called upon by naval officers anxious for news; a thousand questions about Port Hudson; no rest; under weigh at eight o'clock, and shortly afterwards breakfast. . . . The captain has a pet, a beautiful doe, with whom I made friends coming down, and as I returned, with her large black dreamy eyes, she was apparently glad to see me and gave me welcome by licking my hand. She walks all over the ship perfectly tame, and it seems strange to me that an animal so wild and timid by nature should become so fond and gentle. The day is calm and perfectly beautiful, the bright blue sky dappled with fleecy clouds, the rapid motion of the boat stirs the atmosphere till it fans the cheek with voluptuous freshness. Fatigue passes away. I am the bearer of glad tidings of great joy, and with heart elate sail triumphant. For the time being, brief as it may seem, I govern on the quarterdeck of the yacht, and save for the presence of Cleopatra, rival Antony. The day wears on, and at six I am invited to dinner. The captain and I mess alone, but with the strictest formality. . . .

Anchored in the stream at eleven o'clock; too dark to run. Friday, July 10th, weigh anchor, and steam up at four o' clock; pass Natchez at 9 A.m. Many cattle on the bank — evidently have been crossed for the use of the rebel army — some two thousand head. Heave a dozen shell and send some rifle balls among them. Crowds of men and women gather on the bluffs of Natchez to see us pass. We take on negroes from point to point as they rush to the river side, stalwart men seeking liberty under the folds of the American flag. We hail a skiff containing six parolled prisoners from Vicksburg; they have floated down the river and are seeking their homes at Natchez and up the river. Much cannon practice from our vessel I propose, to prevent all crossing of the river, and to dismay the inhabitants. I find my hearing much affected by close proximity the past two or three months to heavy guns while being rapidly discharged. We meet many vessels from Vicksburg, seven gunboats; the Mississippi is open.

I hold to-day conversation with captain's Calcutta servant, an Hindostanee; speaks and writes Arabic, is a follower of Mahomet. If my memory serves me right, the first Mussulman I have made acquaintance with, tall, not quite black, straight nose, thin lips, handsome. I hear the Arabic language spoken in its purity, I believe, for he is educated, and also the Hindostanee. He has travelled throughout China; perfectly familiar with Canton, Calcutta, Paris, London, Boston, New Orleans, New York, Philadelphia, Australia, the South Sea and Pacific Islands, San Francisco, and the Havannah, and for the most part North America; was a follower of Nana Sahib, and is not twenty years old.

Saturday, July 11th, anchor at four o'clock, having moved all night opposite Mrs. Fanars, at the town of St. Joseph; called upon the ladies, who are in great distress, husbands and fathers being all under arrest at Alton . . . Comfort the poor women all I can, and here I may say to-night I have got an order from General Grant to release their poor devils of husbands—so that must be set to my credit, if I am a fiend and a " damned Yank." To-day meet more gunboats, more parolled prisoners in skiffs. Day cool and pleasant.

Abner Read was shot and mortally wounded the day I left Port Hudson; he was badly shot, and could not possibly recover. He was commander and a good deal thought of by the navy. Wife will remember him; he was a brother of the judge.

Well, we arrived at Vicksburg about four o'clock this afternoon; reported to the Admiral and to General Grant; both glad to see me back and hear my news, and on the strength of my report am ordered to take some transports and some troops and garrison Natchez. I shall set sail for that point in the morning at eight o'clock, and am writing for dear life to-night in order to get ready.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 315-23