Diary of 1st Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Thursday, August 4, 1864

Remained in camp all day; services were held today over the remains of the First Division Inspector; various rumors about moving.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 130

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Wednesday, July 8, 1863

My conductor told me he couldn't go to-day on account of a funeral, but he promised faithfully to start to-morrow. Every one was full of forebodings as to my probable fate when I fell into Yankee clutches. In deference to their advice I took off my grey shooting-jacket, in which they said I was sure to be taken for a rebel, and I put on a black coat; but I scouted all well-meant advice as to endeavouring to disguise myself as an “American citizen,” or to conceal the exact truth in any way. I was aware that a great deal depended upon falling into the hands of a gentleman, and I did not believe these were so rare in the Northern army as the Confederates led me to suppose.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 297-8

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: August 30, 1862

Generals Butler and Dudley reviewed the brigade. After the review General Butler had the First Louisiana drawn up in close column by divisions. After complimenting them for their soldierly appearance he gave them a lecture on military discipline, closing his remarks with this sentence, “The lightnings of heaven do not fall more swiftly than will justice overtake the evil doer.” We found Camp Williams not the healthiest place in the world. Lake Ponchartrain opening out to sea, was of course affected by the tides. When the tides were in the marshes would be full of water, but when they were out the contrary would be the result, and the portions exposed covered with ooze and silt would fester and ferment in the burning sun: while on the other side was the swamp, furnishing prolific breeding grounds for the festive mosquito: It is not strange that the result should prove to be what it was. In less than a week fully one half the regiment was at the surgeons tent on sick call in the morning; there were from two to four funerals in a day. Most all the time officers were sick so that the non commissioner officers were in command of companies. The writer of this was put in command of Company A. When it left the recruiting camp, a little over four weeks before it numbered 112 enlisted men. One night, a few days before we left, but four men turned out for dress parade and other companies were in a similar condition. The First Louisiana 12th and 13th C. V., the 75 N. Y., a company of Louisiana cavalry and two batteries were brigaded, General Weitzel commanding.

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 27-9

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Wednesday, August 13, 1862

Did very little in the morning. In the afternoon Lt. Carter was buried. Capt. Nettleton rode up to our tent and told me he would like to see me a minute. I went aside and he said he was going home. I asked him if he were going home for good. He said that was about the only way men could get out of the department at this time. Finally after deceiving me he told me he was going on regiment business. Wrote lines to Fannie and home.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 25

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Tuesday, August 12, 1862

In the morning molasses was issued to the boys. Wrote a letter home. One boy from Co. G was buried. Wrote to Fannie and Uncle. Lt. Carter died. It must be a sad affliction for his poor mother who esteemed him her pet. Sergt. Daniels was wounded in the thigh by accident. Gen. Blunt held a council of all the officers in the division. Squashed the whole Wier fuss. I hope Wier won't accept the terms. Many officers talk of resigning. Ladies about camp. Arrived yesterday. Mesdames Miner, Burnett, Ratliffe, Taylor.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 25

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: August 30, 1862

Generals Butler and Dudley reviewed the brigade. After the review General Butler had the First Louisiana drawn up in close column by divisions. After complimenting them for their soldierly appearance he gave them a lecture on military discipline, closing his remarks with this sentence, “The lightnings of heaven do not fall more swiftly than will justice overtake the evil doer.” We found Camp Williams not the healthiest place in the world. Lake Ponchartrain opening out to sea, was of course affected by the tides. When the tides were in the marshes would be full of water, but when they were out the contrary would be the result, and the portions exposed covered with ooze and silt would fester and ferment in the burning sun: while on the other side was the swamp, furnishing prolific breeding grounds for the festive mosquito: It is not strange that the result should prove to be what it was. In less than a week fully one half the regiment was at the surgeons tent on sick call in the morning; there were from two to four funerals in a day. Most all the time officers were sick so that the non commissioner officers were in command of companies. The writer of this was put in command of Company A. When it left the recruiting camp, a little over four weeks before it numbered 112 enlisted men. One night, a few days before we left, but four men turned out for dress parade and other companies were in a similar condition. The First Louisiana 12th and 13th C. V., the 75 N. Y., a company of Louisiana cavalry and two batteries were brigaded, General Weitzel commanding.

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 27-9

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Tuesday, August 5, 1862

In the morning did little of everything. Wrote to Fannies A. and H. in answer to letter received almost three months since. In the afternoon the service for the burial of three men was performed. Lt. Pike drilled the escort. It seemed his whole ambition to get the men well drilled. He had an escort drilling for one very sick man who had not yet died. Maj. M. and Adj. W. boarding with us. In the evening attended a variety performance up town. Very good for barren Fort Scott. Got home about midnight. Received no letters, a little disappointed. Mr. Hawkins returned yesterday.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 23-4

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: March 27, 1862

At 2 a. m. went on deck, fearful sight, thunder, lightning and rain, wind blowing almost a hurricane, sea roaring and waves running nearly mountain high. At 3 a. m. Michael Dobson died, it was said, of delirium tremens. His berth being near mine, of course I tried to compose his limbs and features for burial, but while doing so the ship gave a tremendous lurch almost sending her on to her beam ends. The dead body of poor Dobson was flung out of his berth, and I found myself lodged against a row of berths in the center of the deck. I got the body back with the assistance of another soldier, and at daylight the wind ceased. Dobson's funeral was at 9 o'clock. The body was sewed up in sail cloth with bags of sand at the feet, placed on a plank shrouded in the U. S. flag and balanced across the rail. The chaplain read the beautiful burial service of the Episcopal church, the inner end of the plank was raised, and the body slid off into the deep. I remembered the words in Revelations, “And the sea gave up the dead that were in it.” From this time on nothing of importance occurred worth relating for several days. We were south of the latitude of Charleston going round the peninsula of Florida, and much of the time we were becalmed, the sea being smooth as a mill pond. One evening there was an alarm of a privateer. Somebody said they saw a dim light in the distance. I did not see any and did not believe anybody else did. To meet an armed vessel of the enemy it is plain would be no joke. All we had was two small smooth bore four-inch guns, worth about as much as toy pistols against modern rifled cannon, so that to meet such a craft everybody knew that our destination would be Andersonville or the bottom of the ocean instead of Ship Island. Off Bermuda, John Haywood died and was buried in the deep.

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 3-5

Diary of Dolly Lunt Burge: July 22, 1864

[The day of the battle of Atlanta]

We have heard the loud booming of cannon all day. Mr. Ward [the overseer] went over to the burial of Thomas Harwell, whose death I witnessed yesterday. They had but just gone when the Rev. A. Turner, wife, and daughter drove up with their wagons, desiring to rest awhile. They went into the ell [a large back room] and lay down, I following them, wishing to enjoy their company. Suddenly I saw the servants running to the palings, and I walked to the door, when I saw such a stampede as I never witnessed before. The road was full of carriages, wagons, men on horseback, all riding at full speed. Judge Floyd stopped, saying: “Mrs. Burge, the Yankees are coming. They have got my family, and here is all I have upon earth. Hide your mules and carriages and whatever valuables you have.”

Sadai [Mrs. Surge's nine-year-old daughter] said:

“Oh, Mama, what shall we do?”

“Never mind, Sadai,” I said. “They won't hurt you, and you must help me hide my things.”

I went to the smoke-house, divided out the meat to the servants, and bid them hide it. Julia [a slave] took a jar of lard and buried it. In the meantime Sadai was taking down and picking up our clothes, which she was giving to the servants to hide in their cabins; silk dresses, challis, muslins, and merinos, linens, and hosiery, all found their way into the chests of the women and under their beds; china and silver were buried underground, and Sadai bid Mary [a slave] hide a bit of soap under some bricks, that mama might have a little left. Then she came to me with a part of a loaf of bread, asking if she had not better put it in her pocket, that we might have something to eat that night. And, verily, we had cause to fear that we might be homeless, for on every side we could see smoke arising from burning buildings and bridges.

Major Ansley, who was wounded in the hip in the battle of Missionary Ridge, and has not recovered, came with his wife, sister, two little ones, and servants. He was traveling in a bed in a small wagon. They had thought to get to Eatonton, but he was so wearied that they stopped with me for the night. I am glad to have them. I shall sleep none to-night. The woods are full of refugees.

SOURCE: Dolly Lunt Burge, A Woman's Wartime Journal, p. 4-6

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: March 12, 1865

A deep gloom has just been thrown over the city by the untimely death of one of its own heroic sons. General John Pegram fell while nobly leading his brigade against the enemy in the neighbourhood of Petersburg. But two weeks before he had been married in St. Paul's Church, in the presence of a crowd of relatives and friends, to the celebrated Miss H. C., of Baltimore. All was bright and beautiful. Happiness beamed from every eye. Again has St. Paul's, his own beloved church, been opened to receive the soldier and his bride — the one coffined for a hero's grave, the other, pale and trembling, though still by his side, in widow's garb.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 341

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: May 23, 1864

Our young relative, Lientenant G., a member of General Stuart's staff, who was always near his person, has just been giving us a most gratifying account of General Stuart's habits. He says, that although he considered him one of the most sprightly men he has ever seen, devoted to society, particularly to that of the ladies, always social and cheerful, yet he has never seen him do any thing, even under the strongest excitement, unbecoming his Christian profession or his high position as a soldier; he never saw him drink, or heard an oath escape his lips; his sentiments were always high-minded, pure, and honourable, and his actions entirely coincided with them. In short, he considered him, whether on the field or in the private circle, the model of a Christian gentleman and soldier. When speaking of his gallantry as an officer, Lientenant G's admiration knows no bounds. He speaks of the devotion of the soldiers to him as enthusiastic in the extreme. The evening before his fatal wound, he sent his troops on in pursuit of Sheridan, under the command of General Fitz Lee, as he was unavoidably detained for some three or four hours. General Lee overtook the enemy, and a sharp skirmish ensued, in which Sheridan's rear suffered very much. In the mean time, General Stuart determined to overtake General Lee, and, with his staff, rode very rapidly sixteen miles, and reached him about nightfall. They were halting for a few moments, as General Stuart rode up quietly, no one suspecting he was there, until a plain-looking soldier crossed the road, stopped, peered through the darkness into his face, and shouted out, “Old Jeb has come!” In an instant the air was rent with huzzas. General Stuart waved his cap in recognition; but called out in rather a sad voice, “My friends, we won't halloo until we get out of the woods!” intimating that there was serious work before them. At that hour the next night he was pursuing his weary and suffering way to Richmond. A friend, who knows how much I regretted not being able to serve General Stuart in any way, or even to be at his funeral, has been so kind as to write me a minute account of his sickness, death, and burial. "Perhaps (she says) it is not generally known how entirely General Stuart sacrificed his life to save Richmond. An officer of high rank, who knew the circumstances, told me that in all the war there was not one man more truly a martyr to our cause. In the many raids upon Richmond there was none in which we seemed in such imminent peril as the one in which General Stuart has just fallen. How we listened, and watched, and prayed, as the cannon sounded nearer and nearer, and even the volleys of musketry could be heard out on the roads by which the enemy were approaching! We knew that General Stuart had a band of about 2,000 cavalry against overwhelming odds on the Yankee side, and that he knew that upon this 2,000 men alone it depended to bar the enemy's approach on that side. He met the Yankees, 5,000 strong, beat them back, and fell in the encounter! It was with difficulty that he could be rescued from those who were bearing him away, but one of his own troopers saved him, and with his staff and surgeon (Dr. John Fontaine) bore him to the city. We heard that he was dying, and, in spite of the anxiety and confusion reigning at such a time, many of us rushed to Dr. Brewer's house to hear tidings of the beloved commander, whose gallantry, whose youthful gayety and chivalrous character, made him the prince among our cavalry officers. His life was ebbing out from internal hemorrhage; but his senses were as clear and his mind as calm as noontide. He asked repeatedly for his wife, who, though but fifteen miles away, could not be reached, so completely was the city hemmed in by the enemy. By his side stood our President, who, upon hearing of his situation, had hastened to thank him in the name of his country. “I have but done my duty,” was the soldier's reply. And near him was the minister of God, good Mr. Peterkin, of whose church (Episcopal) General S. was a member. He asked for his favourite hymn, and joined his feeble voice with the touching words: “I would not live alway.” From time to time, he turned his head to ask, “Is she come?” But she, for whom his loving heart so yearned, came not till that heart was stilled forever. At the funeral — at the head of his coffin — sat the soldier who had rescued him, all battle-stained and soiled; and near by, the members of his staff, who all adored him. Upon the coffin lay a sword, formed of delicate white flowers, a cross of white roses, and above these the heavenly crown, symbolized by one of green bay-leaves. We followed him to the church, where, after appropriate ceremonies, attended by many persons, his body was taken to Hollywood Cemetery. No martial pomp, no soldier's funeral, but —

“‘Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,

But we left him alone with his glory.'

Everybody was struck with the resemblance to the funeral so beautifully described in the lines just quoted. As we passed, in slow procession—

“‘We knew by the distant and random gun,

That the foe was sullenly firing.'

These guns were his funeral knell, sounding at intervals the solemn peal, with which, in the haste and uncertainty of the time, it was impossible for us to honour him.”

One of the morning papers has some lines on the same subject, more poetic, though not so graphic, as the account given by my friend:

“J. E. B. STUART.

"We could not pause, while yet the noontide air

Shook with the cannonade's incessant pealing,

The funeral pageant, fitly to prepare,

A nation's grief revealing.

"The smoke above the glimmering woodland wide,

That skirts our southward border with its beauty.

Marked where our heroes stood, and fought and died.

For love, and faith, and duty

"And still what time the doubtful strife went on,

We might not find expression for our sorrow;

We could but lay our dear, dumb warrior down,

And gird us for the morrow.

"One weary year ago, when came a lull

With victory, in the conflicts' stormy closes,

When the glad Spring, all flushed and beautiful,

First mocked us with her roses—

"With dirge and bell, and minute-gun, we paid

Some few poor rites, an inexpressive token

Of a great people's pain, to Jackson's shade,

In agony unspoken.

"No wailing trumpet, and no tolling bell,

No cannon, save the battle's boom receding,

When Stuart to the grave we bore, might tell

With hearts all crushed and bleeding.

"The crisis suited not with pomp, and she,

Whose anguish bears the seal of consecration,

Had wished his Christian obsequies should be

Thus void of ostentation.

"Only the maidens came, sweet flowers to twine

Above his form, so still, and cold, and painless,

Whose deeds upon our brightest records shine,

Whose life and sword were stainless.

"We well remembered how he loved to dash

Into the fight, festooned from summer bowers

How like a fountain's spray, his sabre's flash

Leaped from a mass of flowers.

"And so we carried to his place of rest,

All that of our Paladin was mortal;

The cross, and not the sabre, on his breast,

That opes the heavenly portal.

"No more of tribute might to us remain;

But there will come a time when freedom's martyrs

A richer guerdon of renown shall gain

Than gleams in stars and garters.

"I claim no prophet's vision, but I see,

Through coming years now near at hand, now distant,

My rescued country, glorious and free,

And strong and self-existent.

"I hear from out that sunlit land which lies

Beyond these clouds which darkly gather o'er us,

The happy sounds of industry arise,

In swelling, peaceful chorus.

"And mingling with these sounds, the glad acclaim

Of millions, undisturbed by war's afflictions,

Crowning each martyr's never-dying name

With grateful benedictions.

"In some fair, future garden of delights,

Where flowers shall bloom, and song-birds sweetly warble.

Art shall erect the statues of our knights,

In living bronze and marble.

"And none of all that bright, heroic throng

Shall wear to far-off time a semblance grander,

Shall still be decked with fresher wreaths of song,

Than the beloved commander.

"The Spanish legends tell us of the Cid,

That after death he rode erect and stately

Along his lines, e'en as in life he did,

In presence yet more stately.

"And thus our Stuart at this moment seems

To ride out of our dark and troubled story,

Into the region of romance and dreams,

A realm of light and glory.

"And sometimes when the silver bugles blow,

That radiant form in battle reappearing,

Shall lead his horsemen headlong on the foe,

In victory careering."

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 269-74

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: May 13, 1864

General Stuart died of his wounds last night, twenty-four hours after he was shot. He was a member of the Episcopal Church, and expressed to the Rev. Dr. Peterkin his resignation to the will of God. After much conversation with his friends and Dr. P., and joining them in a hymn which he requested should be sung, he calmly resigned his redeemed spirit to the God who gave it. Thus passed away our great cavalry general, just one year after the immortal Jackson. This seems darkly mysterious to us, but God's will be done. The funeral took place this evening, from St. James's Church. My duty to the living prevented my attending it, for which I am very sorry; but I was in the hospital from three o'clock until eight, soothing the sufferers in the only way I could, by fanning them, bathing their wounds, and giving them a word of comfort. Mr. –––– and others of our household were at the funeral. They represent the scene as being very imposing.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 267

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: December 6, 1863

I this morning attended the funeral of Mr. John Seddon, brother of the Secretary of War. It was a most solemn occasion; he was a man of fine talents and high character. The Rev. Dr. Moore, of the Presbyterian Church, preached a most beautiful sermon.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 246-7

Major Wilder Dwight: November 8, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, November 8, 1861.

Your letter and C–––’s and D–––'s all came last evening. I was right glad to see them. They warmed and cheered me on the coldest night of our camping experience. . . . , Colonel Gordon goes off to-day, on a leave of absence, for a short visit home Colonel Andrews is getting better, but is still shut up, and must be for some time; so I am left in command. Of course there will nothing happen but the quiet recurrence of reveillé, drill, and tattoo, but it is a different feeling to have the ropes in your own hands. I am afraid my last letter was a little dull. It was written, towards its close, to the depressing sound of a band rehearsal of the Dead March for a coming funeral. Such clouds will overhang one's paper, and leave their shadow. But they are mere shadows. Our hope and faith are as firm as ever, and the world wags on. . . . .

Tell Mrs. Ticknor that I have no statement of our wants or wishes to add to those already made, unless it be for woollen mittens, which would, of course, be gladsome to the men if they are to stay here, of which we can know nothing. Mind, I do not ask for any of these things, but state the case merely. Love to all. Tell he is the dearest fellow in the world.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 139-40

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Saturday, December 28, 1861

Cold very, but still and clear — good weather. Warm in the afternoon. Rode with Colonel Scammon to the different works. They are well done as works, not very necessary, and not perhaps in the very best localities, but well enough. They are, I suspect, creditable to Colonel Scammon as military earthworks of no great pretension. Attended the funeral of another man of Company B. Sad and solemn. The lively music after all is over offends my taste. — A good, lively drill.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 170

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: July 10, 1862

My husband has come. He believes from what he heard in Richmond that we are to be recognized as a nation by the crowned heads across the water, at last. Mr. Davis was very kind; he asked him to stay at his house, which he did, and went every day with General Lee and Mr. Davis to the battle-field as a sort of amateur aide to the President. Likewise they admitted him to the informal Cabinet meetings at the President's house. He is so hopeful now that it is pleasant to hear him, and I had not the heart to stick the small pins of Yeadon and Pickens in him yet a while.

Public opinion is hot against Huger and Magruder for McClellan's escape. Doctor Gibbes gave me some letters picked up on the battlefield. One signed “Laura,” tells her lover to fight in such a manner that no Southerner can ever taunt Yankees again with cowardice. She speaks of a man at home whom she knows, “who is still talking of his intention to seek the bubble reputation at the cannon's mouth.” “Miserable coward!” she writes, “I will never speak to him again.” It was a relief to find one silly young person filling three pages with a description of her new bonnet and the bonnet still worn by her rival. Those fiery Joan of Arc damsels who goad on their sweethearts bode us no good.

Rachel Lyons was in Richmond, hand in glove with Mrs. Greenhow. Why not? “So handsome, so clever, so angelically kind,” says Rachel of the Greenhow, “and she offers to matronize me.”

Mrs. Philips, another beautiful and clever Jewess, has been put into prison again by “Beast” Butler because she happened to be laughing as a Yankee funeral procession went by.

Captain B. told of John Chesnut's pranks. Johnny was riding a powerful horse, captured from the Yankees. The horse dashed with him right into the Yankee ranks. A dozen Confederates galloped after him, shouting, “Stuart! Stuart!” The Yankees, mistaking this mad charge for Stuart's cavalry, broke ranks and fled. Daredevil Camden boys ride like Arabs!

Mr. Chesnut says he was riding with the President when Colonel Browne, his aide, was along. The General commanding rode up and, bowing politely, said: “Mr. President, am I in command here?” “Yes.” “Then I forbid you to stand here under the enemy's guns. Any exposure of a life like yours is wrong, and this is useless exposure. You must go back.” Mr. Davis answered: “Certainly, I will set an example of obedience to orders. Discipline must be maintained.” But he did not go back.

Mr. Chesnut met the Haynes, who had gone on to nurse their wounded son and found him dead. They were standing in the corridor of the Spotswood. Although Mr. Chesnut was staying at the President's, he retained his room at the hotel. So he gave his room to them. Next day, when he went back to his room he found that Mrs. Hayne had thrown herself across the foot of the bed and never moved. No other part of the bed had been touched. She got up and went back to the cars, or was led back. He says these heartbroken mothers are hard to face.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 201-2

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: June 27, 1862

We went in a body (half a dozen ladies, with no man on escort duty, for they are all in the army) to a concert. Mrs. Pickens came in. She was joined soon by Secretary Moses and Mr. Follen. Doctor Berrien came to our relief. Nothing could be more execrable than the singing. Financially the thing was a great success, for though the audience was altogether feminine, it was a very large one.

Telegram from Mr. Chesnut, “Safe in Richmond”; that is, if Richmond be safe, with all the power of the United States of America battering at her gates. Strange not a word from Stonewall Jackson, after all! Doctor Gibson telegraphs his wife, “Stay where you are; terrible battle¹ looked for here.”

Decca is dead. That poor little darling! Immediately after her baby was born, she took it into her head that Alex was killed. He was wounded, but those around had not told her of it. She surprised them by asking, “Does any one know how the battle has gone since Alex was killed?” She could not read for a day or so before she died. Her head was bewildered, but she would not let any one else touch her letters; so she died with several unopened ones in her bosom. Mrs. Singleton, Decca's mother, fainted dead away, but she shed no tears. We went to the house and saw Alex's mother, a daughter of Langdon Cheves. Annie was with us. She said: “This is the saddest thing for Alex.” “No,” said his mother, “death is never the saddest thing. If he were not a good man, that would be a far worse thing.” Annie, in utter amazement, whimpered, “But Alex is so good already.” “Yes, seven years ago the death of one of his sisters that he dearly loved made him a Christian. That death in our family was worth a thousand lives.”

One needs a hard heart now. Even old Mr. Shand shed tears. Mary Barnwell sat as still as a statue, as white and stony. “Grief which can relieve itself by tears is a thing to pray for,” said the Rev. Mr. Shand. Then came a telegram from Hampton, “All well; so far we are successful." Robert Barnwell had been telegraphed for. His answer came, “Can't leave here; Gregg is fighting across the Chickahominy.” Said Alex's mother: “My son, Alex, may never hear this sad news,” and her lip settled rigidly. “Go on; what else does Hampton says,” asked she. “Lee has one wing of the army, Stonewall the other.”

Annie Hampton came to tell us the latest news — that we have abandoned James Island and are fortifying Morris Island. “And now,” she says, “if the enemy will be so kind as to wait, we will be ready for them in two months.”

Rev. Mr. Shand and that pious Christian woman, Alex's mother (who looks into your very soul with those large and lustrous blue eyes of hers) agreed that the Yankees, even if they took Charleston, would not destroy it. I think they will, sinner that I am. Mr. Shand remarked to her, “Madam, you have two sons in the army.” Alex's mother replied, “I have had six sons in the army; I now have five.”

There are people here too small to conceive of any larger business than quarreling in the newspapers. One laughs at squibs in the papers now, in such times as these, with the wolf at our doors. Men safe in their closets writing fiery articles, denouncing those who are at work, are beneath contempt. Only critics with muskets on their shoulders have the right to speak now, as Trenholm said the other night.

In a pouring rain we went to that poor child's funeral — to Decca's. They buried her in the little white frock she wore when she engaged herself to Alex, and which she again put on for her bridal about a year ago. She lies now in the churchyard, in sight of my window. Is she to be pitied? She said she had had “months of perfect happiness.” How many people can say that? So many of us live their long, dreary lives and then happiness never comes to meet them at all. It seems so near, and yet it eludes them forever.

_______________

¹ Malvern Hill, the last of the Seven Days' Battles, was fought near Richmond on the James River, July 1, 1862. The Federals were commanded by McClellan and the Confederates by Lee.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 193-5

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Tuesday, May 12, 1863

Last night I sat at this desk writing a letter to General Jackson, urging him to come up and stay with us, as soon as his wound would permit him to move. I went down stairs this morning early, with the letter in my hand, and was met by the overwhelming news that Jackson was dead! A telegram had been sent to Colonel Smith by a courier from Staunton. Doubt was soon thrown upon this by the arrival of some one from Richmond, who said he had left when the telegram did, and there was no such rumor in Richmond. So, between alternate hope and fear, the day passed. It was saddened by the bringing home of General Paxton's remains, and by his funeral. At five this evening the startling confirmation comes — Jackson is indeed dead! My heart overflows with sorrow. The grief in this community is intense; everybody is in tears. What a release from his weary two years' warfare! To be released into the blessedness and peace of heaven!  . . . How fearful the loss to the Confederacy! The people made an idol of him, and God has rebuked them. No more ready soul has ascended to the throne than was his. Never have I known a holier man. Never have I seen a human being as thoroughly governed by duty. He lived only to please God; his daily life was a daily offering up of himself. All his letters to Mr. F. and to me since the war began, have breathed the spirit of a saint. In his last letter to me he spoke of our precious Ellie, and of the blessedness of being with her in heaven. And now he has rejoined her, and together they unite in ascribing praises to Him who has redeemed them by his blood. Oh, the havoc death is making! The beautiful sky and the rich, perfumed spring air seemed darkened by oppressive sorrow. Who thinks or speaks of victory? The word is scarcely ever heard. Alas! Alas! When is the end to be?

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 164-5

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: Monday Night, March 17, 1862

This morning I was at the funeral, at St. Paul's Church; the service was read by the Rev. J. P. McGuire and Rev. C. J. Gibson. Bishop Johns made a most solemn address. The procession, long and sad, then wended its way to Hollywood Cemetery.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 102

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: Sunday, February 16, 1862

This morning we left home early, to be present at the funeral of Captain Wise, but we could not even approach the door of St. James's Church, where it took place. The church was filled at an early hour, and the street around the door was densely crowded. The procession approached as I stood there, presenting a most melancholy cortege. The military, together with civil officers of every grade, were there, and every countenance was marked with sorrow. As they bore his coffin into the church, with sword, cap, and cloak resting upon it, I turned away in sickness of heart, and thought of his father and family, and of his bleeding country, which could not spare him. We went to St. Paul's, and heard an excellent sermon from the Rev. Mr. Quintard, a chaplain in the army. He wore the gown over the Confederate gray — it was strange to see the bright military buttons gleam beneath the canonicals. Every thing is strange now!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 93