Diary of Private Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Wednesday, March 4, 1863

Company on picket. All gamblers and pirutes put on roots. I came under the latter head.

SOURCE: Ephraim Shelby Dodd, Diary of Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Member of Company D Terry's Texas Rangers, p. 9

Diary of Private William S. White, October 28, 1861

Our Captain, Robert C. Stanard, died to-day at Camp Deep Creek, of disease contracted in the army. He was a man of warm impulses and generous heart.

Remained in Williamsburg about ten days, when I concluded to call on my Gloucester friends once more, as it would be worse than folly to return to my command in such ill health.

Hired a buggy in Williamsburg and went to "Bigler's Wharf," on the York River; there hired a boat and crossed over the river to Cappahoosic Wharf. At this place I found a member of my company who lived some half a mile from the wharf.

Remained at his father's, Captain Andrews, (a Captain of artillery in the war of 1812) for several days, eating oysters and rolling ten-pins.

Captain Andrews is a jolly specimen of an old Virginia gentleman, whose motto seems to be Dum Vivimus Vivamus.

From Captain Andrews's I went to "Waverly," where I most pleasantly spent ten days, after having been joined by my brother, Rev. Thomas W. White, who insisted on my getting a discharge from the army. Concluded to return to my command, he and I going to Cappahoosic Wharf, he taking the up boat for West Point and I waiting for the down boat for Yorktown. Whilst on the wharf, I was again taken with a severe chill, and remembering my friend, Captain Andrews, I crawled, rather than walked, to his house. I was then seriously ill, but had every attention possible; my physician being Dr. Francis Jones, brother of the owner of Waverly. Dr. Frank, seeming to take a fancy to me, told me if I would come to his house, where he could pay me especial attention, he would promise to get me all right in a week. As soon as I could sit up, I took him at his word, and he put me through a regular course of medicine, watching carefully everything I eat. Kind hearted old Virginian; I wonder if it will ever be in my power to repay him and other dear friends in this good old county for kindnesses to me? When I commenced improving, I felt a longing desire to get back to camp, and accordingly returned to Yorktown in the latter part of November. My company officers now are: Captain, Edgar F. Moseley; First Lieutenant, John M. West; Senior Second Lieutenant, Benjamin H. Smith; Junior Second Lieutenant, Henry C. Carter.

Found they were stationed some twenty miles from Yorktown, and next day started to hunt them up. Hearing they were at Young's Mill, I went to that place, but found the First and Second detachments had returned to their camp, at Deep Creek, on the east side of Warwick River, whilst the Third and Fourth detachments were on picket duty at Watt's Creek, six miles from Newport News. Joined them at that place, having been absent three months. None of the boys ever expected to see me again, and they wondered but the more when I told them that since I had left them I had swallowed enough quinine pills to reach from Newport News to Bristol, Tennessee, were they to catch hold hands.

We remained at Watt's Creek very quietly for a few days, but one night the Yankees brought up a gun-boat and gave us a terrific shelling; when we got up and "dusted."

My mess, composed of Andrew, Dick and Mac. Venable, Gordon McCabe, Clifford Gordon, Kit Chandler, and myself, owned a stubborn mule and a good cart, driven by a little black "Cuffee" whose appellative distinction was "Bob." Now, "Bob" and the mule came into our possession under peculiar circumstances in fact, we "pressed" them into service on some of our trips and kept them to haul our plunder. Bob was as black as the boots of the Duke of Inferno and as sharp as a steel-trap; consequently, we endeavored to give his youthful mind a religious tendency: yet Bob would gamble. Not that he cared for the intricacies of rouge et noir, ecarté, German Hazard, or King Faro, or even that subtlest of all games, "Old Sledge." No, no; he de voted his leisure time to swindling the city camp cooks out of their spare change at the noble game of "Five Corns."

George Washington (Todd) had never heard of that little game, or there would have been a Corn Exchange in Richmond long before the war.

It seems that they shuffled the corns up in their capacious paws and threw them on a table or blanket, betting on the smooth side or pithy side coming uppermost.

Night reigned—so did "Bob," surrounded by his sable satellites, making night hideous with their wrangling.

Say dar, nigger, wha' you take dem corns for? My bet. I win'd dat."

Boom!-boom!—and two nail-keg gunboat shells come screaming over our heads, disappearing into the woods, crashing down forest oaks and leaving a fiery trail behind them.

"Hi -what dat? Golly!" and up jumped Bob, leaving his bank and running into our tent. "Say, Marse Andrew, time to git, ain't it?"

"We must wait for orders, Bob.”

"I woodd'n wate for no orders, I woodd'n; I'd go now," said Bob, as he tremblingly slunk back into his house. But the Demon of Play had left Bob and grim Terror held high carnival within his woolly head.

Boom! Boom!! Boom!!! and as many shells came searching through the midnight air in quest of mischief.

And Bob knelt him down and prayed long and loud: "O-h! Lord, Marse, God'l Mity, lem me orf dis hear one time, an' I'll play dem five corns no more. Mity sorry I dun it now." And Robert ever afterward eschewed the alluring game. Returned to our camp at Land's End, on the west side of Warwick river.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 107-10

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 23, 1861

As a description of the appearance of the country in which we were settled, I here introduce a letter written at this date to a friend:

CAMP ADVANCE, Sept. 23, 1861.

A short time since I undertook, from a single feature in the marred and distorted face of this country, to give you some idea of the effects of the war on Virginia, and of how dearly she is paying for her privilege of being shamefully servile to South Carolina. It may not be uninteresting for you, now, to know, to know something of its general appearance as it is, and as it was; and yet when I tell you that my attempt to describe one scene fell far short of the reality, you may imagine something of the difficulty of undertaking, in a single letter, to convey any adequate idea of the whole. When Gov. Pickens said last spring to the Carolinians: "You may plant your seeds in peace, for Virginia will have to bear the brunt of the war," he cast a shadow of the events which were coming on the head of this superannuated "mother of States and of statesmen."

Chain Bridge is about seven miles from the Capitol in Washington, and crosses the Potomac at the head of all navigation; even skiffs and canoes cannot pass for any distance above it, though a small steam tug runs up to the bridge, towing scows loaded, principally, with stone for the city. The river runs through a gorge in a mountainous region, and from here to Georgetown, a suburb of Washington, is unapproachable on the Virginia side. There are very few places where even a single footman can, with safety, get down the precipitous banks to the water. The river then is a perfect barrier to any advance by the enemy from this side, except at Georgetown, Chain Bridge, and Long Bridge, at the lower end of Washington City. On the Columbia side is a narrow plateau of land, along which runs the Ohio and Chesapeake Canal, and a public road. These occupy the entire plateau till you come near Georgetown, where the country opens out, making room for fine rolling farms of exceeding fertility, with here and there a stately mansion overlooking road, city, canal and river, making some of the most beautiful residences I ever beheld. On Meridian Hill, a little north of the road from Washington to Georgetown, stands the old Porter Mansion, from which one of the most aristocratic families in America were wont to overlook the social, political, and physical movements of our National Capital; from which, too, they habitually dispensed those hospitalities which made it the resort, not only of the citizens of Columbia and Maryland, but also of the F. F. V.'s, for whom it had especial attractions. All around it speaks in unmistakable language of the social and pecuniary condition of those who occupied the grounds. Even the evidences of death there speak of the wealth of the family. The tombstone which marks the place of repose of one of its members, and on which is summed up the short historical record of her who sleeps within, tells of former affluence and comfort.

A little further on we pass the Kalorama House—the name of the owner or the former occupant I have not learned, but it is one of the most magnificent places that imagination can picture. You enter the large gate, guarded by a beautiful white cottage for the janitor, and by a circuitous route through a dense grove of deciduous and evergreen forest, you rise, rise, rise, by easy and gradual ascent, the great swell of ground on which stands the beautiful mansion, shut out from the view of the visitor till he is almost on the threshold, but overlooking even its whole growth of forest, and the whole country for miles around.

You next pass Georgetown. The plateau begins to narrow, and the dimensions of the houses grow correspondingly less, but they are distributed at shorter intervals till you reach the bridge.

This is what it was. What is it? In passing the Porter mansion, the stately building, with its large piazza shaded by the badly damaged evergreens, and covered more closely by the intermingling branches of every variety of climbing rose, of the clamatis and the honeysuckle, invite you to enter, but the seedy hat and thread-bare coat appearance of the old mansion, give notice that the day of its prosperity is passing away. You would cool yourself in the shade of its clumps of evergreens, but at every tree stands tied a war horse, ready caparisoned for the "long roll" to call him into action at any moment, and, lest you be trampled, you withdraw, and seek shelter in the arbor or summer house. Here, too, "grim-visaged war presents his wrinkled front," and under those beautiful vines where fashion once held her levees, the commissary and the soldiers now parley over the distribution of pork and beef and beans. In the sadness, inspired by scenes like these, you naturally withdraw, to a small enclosure of white palings, over the top of which is seen rising a square marble column. As you approach, large letters tell you that ELIZABETH PORTER lies there, and the same engraving also tells you that she is deaf to the surrounding turmoil, and has ceased to know of the passions which caused it. That marble rises from a broad pedestal, on one side of which are two soldiers with a pack of cards, and the little pile of money which they received a few days ago, is rapidly changing hands. On the opposite side are two others busily engaged in writing, perhaps of the glories and laurels they are to win in this war; but I venture the opinion, never once to express an idea of the misery and despair of the widows and orphans at whose expense their glories are to be won! On the third side of the pedestal stand a tin canteen, two tin cups, and a black bottle! The fourth awaits a tenant. Again, for quiet, you approach the mansion. As you step on the threshold, half lost, no doubt, in musing over what you have witnessed, instead of the hospitable hand extended with a cordial "Walk in, sir," you are startled by the presented bayonet, and the stern command to "halt; who are you and your busines?" A good account of yourself will admit you to spacious rooms with black and broken walls, soiled floors, window sills, sash and moulding, all disfigured or destroyed by the busy knife of the universal Yankee. This room is occupied by the staff of some regiment or brigade. The next is a store room for corn, oats, hay, and various kinds of forage. The house has been left unoccupied by its owners, and is now taken possession of by any regiment or detachment which happens to be stationed near.

Tired of this desolation in the midst of a crowd, you pass through long rows of white tents, across the little valley which separates you from the hill of Kalorama. Your stop here will be short, for after having climbed the long ascent and reached the house, you find the windows all raised, and anxious lookers-out at every opening. From the first is presented to your view a face of singular appearance, thickly studded with large, roundish, ash-colored postules, slightly sunken in the center. The next presents one of different aspect—a bloody redness, covered here and there with scaly excrescences, ready to be rubbed off, and show the same blood redness underneath. In the next, you find another change—the redness paling, the scales dropping, and revealing deep, dotted pits, and you at once discover that the beautiful house of Kalorama is converted into a pest house for soldiers. Shrinking away from this, you pass through a corner of Georgetown, and then enter the narrow valley between the high bluffs and the Potomac. Onward you travel towards the bridge, never out of the sight of houses, the fences unbroken, the crops but little molested, the country in the peace and quietness of death almost; for the houses, farms, crops, are all deserted, in consequence of the war which is raging on the opposite side of that unapproachable river; and you travel from our National Capital through seven miles of fine country, inviting, by its location and surroundings, civilization and refinement in the highest tone, without passing a house—save in Georgetown—in which the traveler would find it safe to pass a night—indeed I can recall but one which is inhabited by whites. On all these farms scarcely a living thing is to be seen, except the few miserably-ragged and woebegone—looking negroes, or some more miserable—looking white dispensers of bad whisky, who seem to have taken possession of them because they had been abandoned by their proper occupants. The lowing of herds is no longer heard here; the bleating of flocks has ceased, and even Chanticleer has yielded his right of morning call to the bugle's reveille. "If such things are done in the green tree, what may we expect in the dry?" Cross the bridge into Virginia, and you will see.

Gloomy as is the prospect just passed, it saddens immeasurably from the moment you cross the Virginia line. In addition to the abandonment and desolation of the other side, destruction here stares you in the face. Save in the soldier and his appendants, no sign of life in animal larger than the cricket or katy-did, greets you as you pass. Herds, flocks, swine, and even fowls, both wild and domestic, have abandoned this country, in which scenes of civil life are no longer known. Houses are torn down, fences no longer impede the progress of the cavalier, and where, two months ago, were flourishing growths of grain and grass, the surface is now bare and trodden as the highway. Even the fine growths of timber do not escape, but are literally mowed down before the march of the armies, lest they impede the messengers of death from man to man. And this is in the nineteenth century of Christianity—and these the results of the unchristian passions of fathers, sons and brothers, striving against the lives and happiness of each other. Alas! Poor Virginia! Your revenues are cut off, your industry paralysed, your soil desecrated, your families in exile, your prestige gone forever.

But as so many others are writing of exciting scenes, I fear you will grow impatient for my description of the last battles for my account of anthropophagi—of men who have their heads beneath their shoulders—but I have no tact for describing unfought battles, or for proclaiming imperishable glories won to-day, never to be heard of after to-morrow. When we have a fight worth describing, I shall tell you of it. In the meantime I am "taking notes," and "faith I'll print 'em." If the rebels will not give us a fight to make a letter of, I will, at my first leisure, for fear my men forget their Hardee and Scott, have a graphic dress parade, in which our different regiments shall contribute at least a battalion, to pass review before you. Then let him who loses laugh, for he who wins is sure to. Till then good night.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 31-7

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, January 3, 1864

Camp near Orange Court House, Va.,

January 3, 1864.

The cars ran off the track below Gordonsville yesterday, consequently we have no mail to-day. You do not know how anxious I am to hear from you. Your letters relieve the distress of my mind like a soothing balm placed upon a painful wound. I am sure I could forget the loss of our dearest earthly object much sooner if I could only be with you; but time will blunt the keenest thorns of anguish. I shall walk over and see your brother this evening if he does not come to see me before then. He was quite well when I last saw him, and had been busy repairing the roads.

The weather remains intensely cold, but the wind has abated somewhat to-day. I think yesterday was the coldest day I ever experienced, and it was made worse by the strong biting wind which blew incessantly. It is most severe on the wagoners and others who are out and exposed so much. When I saw the First South Carolina Regiment starting off on picket yesterday morning in the bitter cold I felt for them, but they seemed full of the life and vigor which the troops of Lee's army always display under the most trying circumstances.

I gave my old black coat to my brother. It fits him well and he is very much pleased with it. He has been keeping a chicken and it is now nearly grown, so we intend to have a big dinner soon, and will make a pot of dumplings and also have stewed corn and Irish potatoes.

I have been living in the same tent with Dr. Tyler. We slept together and were very comfortable, but I got a tent for myself yesterday and will have a chimney built to it and be ready to move in by the time he gets back. He and I are good friends and always get along very agreeably together, but he is too fond of drinking and gambling to suit me.

News is very scarce here now, and it would be difficult for me to write you a longer letter.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 84-6

 

Diary of Private Richard R. Hancock: Friday, November 29, 1861

We returned to camps a little after dark at the same place we started from the morning before. It was a cold, rainy day.

We learned that quite a sad affair had happened in camps that day-the result of card playing. W. K. Natcher had shot and killed George Aiken. Natcher was put under arrest. Both from Company A.

On the above date, Colonel T. E. Bramlette, who was stationed at Columbia with his regiment (First Kentucky Infantry) and a part of Wolford's and Haggard's Cavalry, made the following report of our visit to Burkesville, in a dispatch addressed to General G. H. Thomas:

I received a dispatch before day this morning from Burkesville that two hundred rebel cavalry were at the ferry on the south side of the river. A few of them crossed over and went to Boles', saw and arranged with him and his partners for the slaughter of hogs, and returned. The courier informed me that the men who are acting for the rebels are killing and packing a large number of hogs at Burkesville, viz : J. B. Alexander, J. R. Ryan, James and Sam Boles, and Robert Cross.

I have no doubt but steamboats will be up in a few days and carry off the large amount of pork, wheat, etc., the rebels are gathering upon the river. The rebels are now in possession of the river from Mill Springs down. . . . . . . . . .

I sent Colonel Wolford to the aid of Colonel Haskins with five hundred cavalry, embracing part of Colonel Haggard's command.

As I have before advised, the rebels are at Mill Springs, in force about eight thousand, but as yet have not crossed the river, and I do not believe will.¹

Colonel Haskins, with his regiment, the Fourth* Kentucky Infantry, was now encamped on the north bank of the Cumberland, some ten miles above Mill Springs.

General Zollicoffer, having reached the vicinity of Mill Springs late in the afternoon, established his headquarters at one Mr. A. R. West's, within about one mile of the river. As a portion of Captain Allison's company had gone through with the General, and was still acting as escort for him, Allison and his men put up at the same place.

Colonel Stanton, who had arrived at Mill Springs with two regiments of infantry and McClellan's Battalion and Sanders' company of cavalry, about two days in advance of Zollicoffer, had failed to secure any boats, from the fact that Colonel Haskins had taken the precaution to have them sunk; and for want of transporta[tion] he (Stanton) had failed to cross the river, as directed by Zollicoffer, to cut off Haskins' Regiment.
_______________

¹ Col, Thomas E. Bramlette to Brig.-Gen. George H. Thomas, November 29, 1861

* Afterward the Twelfth.

SOURCE: Richard R. Hancock, Hancock's Diary: Or, A History of the Second Tennessee Confederate Cavalry, p. 86-7

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, December 6, 1864

CAMP RUSSELL, December 6, 1864.

MY DARLING: – We are very comfortable and very jolly. No army could be more so. We have had no orders to build winter quarters, but we have got ready for rough weather, and can now worry through it.

We have horse-races, music, church (sic!), and all the attractions. No fighting, which makes me hope I shall get off the last of this month to see my darling and the dear ones.

Affectionately,

R.

MRS. HAYES.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 543

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, November 17, 1864

CAMP NEAR WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA, November 17, 1864.

DEAREST: When I wrote last I was in some doubt whether this Valley campaign was ended or not. It seems to be now settled. Early got a panic among his men and left our vicinity for good, I think.

The Sixth and Nineteenth Corps are building winter quarters. A telegraph line is put up and the railroad from Winchester to Harpers Ferry is nearly rebuilt. The location is a good one for a large body of troops. We are very pleasantly camped, but having no orders to put up winter quarters, have not fixed up for winter. We are very comfortable, however. My tent is floored, banked up, a good tent flue built, etc., etc. daily papers now regularly. The Baltimore American, a sound Republican paper, sells several thousand copies, more than all other papers put together. The Philadelphia Inquirer, also sound, sells next in number. The New York Herald, sound on the war in a sort of guerrilla style, sells one thousand to two thousand copies. No other newspapers have any large circulation, but the pictorials, Harper's Weekly having the preference, sell immensely — nearly as many copies, I judge, as the Baltimore American. The Christian Commission distributes a vast amount of religious reading matter gratuitously. The sutlers sell dime novels and the thunder-and-lightning style of literature, in large quantity.

The Sixth and Nineteenth Corps have built fine fieldworks. The weather has been good and a great many squads and regiments are drilling. There are a score or two of bands. Possibly two are better than ours not more than that. There is a good deal of horse-racing with tolerably high betting. The scenes at the races are very exciting. You would enjoy them. Nothing so fine of the kind is anywhere to be [seen] in civil life. Here the subordination of rank, the compulsory sobriety of the great crowds, etc., rid these spectacles of such disagreeable accompaniments as rioting, drunkenness, and the like. – We are beginning to have oyster and wine suppers and festive times generally.

General Crook has gone to Cumberland, and it is thought that my command will be ordered there for the winter, but this is all guess. I am again in command of the division after going back to the brigade for one day. How we shall be organized ultimately is not settled. I prefer the brigade. It now has three fine veteran regiments and the Thirteenth. The First Virginia Veterans (old Fifth and Ninth) is splendid.

I mean to ask for a leave as soon as we get housed in our winter quarters. I hope to see you by Christmas.

Tell Birch I am greatly pleased to have a letter from him. He will soon be one of my chief correspondents. — Love to all. Affectionately ever, your

R.

P. S. — Hastings is getting better slowly. There are now hopes of his recovery. His sister is with him.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 537-9

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, January 23, 1863

"Hello, Hampton, I'll bet you ten dollars that my rooster can whip yours!". cries a soldier across the way, “Well, done!” replies Hampton of Company K, and a crowd of soldiers assembles, sprinkled considerably with shoulder straps—the fight commences; they show pluck-show that they have been well trained, but Hampton's rooster gets vanquished, so decide the judges. Thus the weary hours are killed in the camp of the Seventh.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 133

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: July 3, 1863

Uncle Sam's cashier has arrived at last, and we have been paid for two months' service. The married men are quite anxious to send their money home to their wives and little ones. It is risky sending money North from here, yet, to some, more dangerous to keep it. I saw two boys sitting on a log, today, playing poker at five cents a game. Five cent currency is paid in a sheet, and, as either lost the game, a five cent piece was torn off.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 74

Diary of William Howard Russell: July 6, 1861

I breakfasted with Mr. Bigelow this morning, to meet General McDowell, who commands the army of the Potomac, now so soon to move. He came in without an aide-de-camp, and on foot, from his quarters in the city. He is a man about forty years of age, square and powerfully built, but with rather a stout and clumsy figure and limbs, a good head covered with close-cut thick dark hair, small light-blue eyes, short nose, large cheeks and jaw, relieved by an iron-gray tuft somewhat of the French type, and affecting in dress the style of our gallant allies. His manner is frank, simple, and agreeable, and he did not hesitate to speak with great openness of the difficulties he had to contend with, and the imperfection of all the arrangements of the army.

As an officer of the regular army he has a thorough contempt for what he calls “political generals” — the men who use their influence with President and Congress to obtain military rank, which in time of war places them before the public in the front of events, and gives them an appearance of leading in the greatest of all political movements. Nor is General McDowell enamored of volunteers, for he served in Mexico, and has from what he saw there formed rather an unfavorable opinion of their capabilities in the field. He is inclined, however, to hold the Southern troops in too little respect; and he told me that the volunteers from the Slave States, who entered the field full of exultation and boastings, did not make good their words, and that they suffered especially from sickness and disease, in consequence of their disorderly habits and dissipation. His regard for old associations was evinced in many questions he asked me about Beauregard, with whom he had been a student at West Point, where the Confederate commander was noted for his studious and reserved habits, and his excellence in feats of strength and athletic exercises.

As proof of the low standard established in his army, he mentioned that some officers of considerable rank were more than suspected of selling rations, and of illicit connections with sutlers for purposes of pecuniary advantage. The General walked back with me as far as my lodgings, and I observed that not one of the many soldiers he passed in the streets saluted him, though his rank was indicated by his velvet collar and cuffs, and a gold star on the shoulder strap.

Having written some letters, I walked out with Captain Johnson and one of the attachés of the British Legation, to the lawn at the back of the White House, and listened to the excellent band of the United States Marines, playing on a kind of dais under the large flag recently hoisted by the President himself, in the garden. The occasion was marked by rather an ominous event. As the President pulled the halyards and the flag floated aloft, a branch of a tree caught the bunting and tore it, so that a number of the stars and stripes were detached and hung dangling beneath the rest of the flag, half detached from the staff.

I dined at Captain Johnson's lodgings next door to mine. Beneath us was a wine and spirit store, and crowds of officers and men flocked indiscriminately to make their purchases, with a good deal of tumult, which increased as the night came on. Later still, there was a great disturbance in the city. A body of New York Zouaves wrecked some houses of bad repute, in one of which a private of the regiment was murdered early this morning. The cavalry patrols were called out and charged the rioters, who were dispersed with difficulty after resistance in which men on both sides were wounded. There is no police, no provost guard. Soldiers wander about the streets, and beg in the fashion of the mendicant in “Gil Bias” for money to get whiskey. My colored gentleman has been led away by the Saturnalia and has taken to gambling in the camps, which are surrounded by hordes of rascally followers and sutlers' servants, and I find myself on the eve of a campaign, without servant, horse, equipment, or means of transport.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, Vol. 1, p. 389-90

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: October 22, 1863

Gen. Wheeler has taken 700 of the enemy's cavalry in East Tennessee, 6 cannon, 50 wagons, commissary stores, etc. Per contra, the steamer Venus, with bacon, from Nassau, got aground trying to enter the port of Wilmington, and ship and cargo were lost. There is a rumor that Gen. Taylor, trans-Mississippi, has captured Gen. Banks, his staff, and sixteen regiments. This, I fear, is not well authenticated.

A poor woman yesterday applied to a merchant in Carey Street to purchase a barrel of flour. The price he demanded was $70. “My God!” exclaimed she, “how can I pay such prices? I have seven children; what shall I do?”

“I don't know, madam,” said he, coolly, “unless you eat your children.”

Such is the power of cupidity — it transforms men into demons. And if this spirit prevails throughout the country, a just God will bring calamities upon the land, which will reach these cormorants, but which, it may be feared, will involve all classes in a common ruin.

Beef, to-day, sold in market at $1.50 per pound. There is no bacon for sale, or corn-meal. But we shall not starve, if we have faith in a beneficent Providence. Our daughter Anne, teaching in Appomattox County, writes that she will send us a barrel of potatoes, some persimmons, etc. next Wednesday. And we had a good dinner to-day: a piece of fat shoulder Capt. Warner let me have at $1 per pound — it is selling for $2.50 — and cabbage from my garden, which my neighbor's cow overlooked when she broke through the gate last Sunday. Although we scarcely know what we shall have to-morrow, we are merry and patriotic to-day.

Last night I went to hear Rev. Dr. Hobson, Reformed Baptist, or Campbellite, preach. He is certainly an orator (from Kentucky) and a man of great energy and fertility of mind. There is a revival in his congregation too, as well as among the Methodists, but he was very severe in his condemnation of the emotional or sensational practices of the latter. He said, what was never before known by me, that the word pardon is not in the New Testament, but remission was. His point against the Methodists was their fallacy of believing that conversion was sudden and miraculous, and accompanied by a happy feeling. Happy feeling, he said, would naturally follow a consciousness of remission of sins, but was no evidence of conversion, for it might be produced by other things. It was the efficacy of the Word, of the promise of God, which obliterated the sins of all who believed, repented, and were baptized. He had no spasmodic extravagances over his converts; but, simply taking them by the hand, asked if they believed, repented, and would be baptized. If the answers were in the affirmalive, they resumed their seats, and were soon after immersed in a pool made for the purpose in the church.

I pray sincerely that this general revival in the churches will soften the hearts of the extortioners, for this class is specifically denounced in the Scriptures. There is abundance in the land, but “man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn.” I hope the extortioners may all go to heaven, first ceasing to be extortioners.

The Legislature has broken up the gambling establishments, for the time being, and the furniture of their gorgeous saloons is being sold at auction. Some idea of the number of these establishments may be formed from an estimate (in the Examiner) of the cost of the entertainment prepared for visitors being not less than $10,000 daily. Their agents bought the best articles offered for sale in the markets, and never hesitated to pay the most exorbitant prices. I hope now the absence of such customers may have a good effect. But I fear the currency, so redundant, is past remedy.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 78-9

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: Monday, October 31, 1864

Spent the day in camp. Wrote home. Read some in "Dombey & Son." A great deal of poker going on, commencing with Hdqrs.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 134

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: October 29, 1863

Boys went out for forage, every man for himself, horses having stood hungry all night. Lay and slept considerably during the forenoon. Boys got some apples. Saw the boys play poker some. Am glad I have not the habit of playing. Col. sent for wagons to come up. Mail sent for. Bosworth went. Getting uneasy.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 95

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: May 22, 1863

A letter from Gen. Howell Cobb, declining the offer of the Secretary of War, of the position of Quartermaster-General, was received to-day. His wife is ill, and he prefers to remain with her; besides, he doubts his qualifications — he, who was Secretary of the Treasury of the United States! He says, moreover, referring to the imperfect ordnance stores of his brigade, that there can be no remedy for this so long as Col. G. is the Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance. So Col. Myers is to be disposed of at last, and Col. G. has but an uncertain tenure.

We have sad rumors from Vicksburg. Pemberton, it is said, was flanked by Grant, and lost 30 guns, which he abandoned in his retreat. Where Johnston is, is not stated. But, it is said, Vicksburg is closely invested, and that the invaders are closing in on all sides. There is much gloom and despondency in the city among those who credit these unofficial reports. It would be a terrible blow, but not necessarily a fatal one, for the war could be prolonged indefinitely.

I met with Robt. Tyler to-day, who offers to wager something that Gen. Stuart will be in Philadelphia in a fortnight, and he said there was a proposition to stop the publication of newspapers, if the President would agree to it, as they gave information to the enemy, and at such a time as this did no good whatever. He thinks they are on the eve of revolution in the North, and referred to Gov. Seymour's letter, read at a public meeting in New York.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 329

Private Charles Wright Wills: September 1, 1861

Cairo. We had blankets given us this last week and new accoutrements throughout. If they would only change our guns now we would have nothing but a move to ask for. A uniform was also furnished us last week. It is of excellent all-wool goods, and not so heavy as to be uncomfortable. The color is very fine grey, the pants are fashionably cut and equal to such as would cost six dollars in Peoria. The coats have short skirts and are rather fancifully trimmed with blue. It is much the best uniform I have seen yet, although it costs but $13. We will have a fatigue suit shortly. Yesterday we were mustered for pay. We will get our first month's wages this week “they say.” There are wagons and mules here now by the hundreds, and when our tents are ready (they are here now) we will be ready to move. I think there must be near 10,000 men here now. Logan's, Pugh's, Buford's, and another's regiment; Hick's and Raritan's came in last week. The first three belong to McCormick's Brigade. General McClernand is here now. Every one thinks we will move in a very few days. I kind o' feel it in my bones, too, but it is too good to be true, so I'm taking all the bets I can from 10 cents worth of peanuts to a half bushel of apples, I betting that we are here two weeks from now. I've got them any way, for if we move, I hope to be able to borrow apples, etc., from the seceshers to pay my little bills, and if I stay here I'll have some eatables free for consolation. We Canton boys have hired a cook for ourselves and are living much better than I ever did before in camp.

Our cook is a jewel, and by trading off rations keeps us in clover all the time. He sets a better table for us than the Peoria house boarders eat from, honestly. An old schoolmate of mine in our mess furnishes us with milk. He and John Wallace go out every night about 2 or 3 o'clock and — somebody's cow don't milk well next morning. We'll never have such times sojering again, but you can't imagine how we do want to get over into Missouri or Arkansas. We don't have half as easy times as these at home and but for the discipline it wouldn't seem like soldiering. I've been bored like sin the last two weeks drilling new recruits, but I'm glad of it, for it is rather pleasant to me to have something disagreeable when I'm bored feeling good. John Keefer and John Wallace, so far, make as good soldiers as any men in camp, Keef’s game leg working against him, too. All our boys are just the men for soldiers. It comes perfectly naturally to Sid. and Sam. Theo. has been in bad health for a week, but I think he is improving now. Fred Norcott is a splendid boy. He and Sam match well. Charley Cooper is acting as post orderly, that is, stays at headquarders of the Post Commandant, preserves order there and carries messages, dispatches, etc., to the different colonels. A good place but very confusing.

I have been visiting Colonel Raritan's and Hick's Camp this p. m. They have no guns yet and their sentinels stand guard with sticks. Looks funny.

We have about 50 prisoners here now. They think they are treated splendidly and say that if any of our boys fall into their hands they will remember it. Several of them are very intelligent-appearing men. One of them is about as big as — a house with a foot like a cooking stove. Charley Maple wrote down to us that he wants to join our company; Keefer wrote him to come. I have to remark once more that the “health of camp is better than ever before,” your sarcastic remark not having affected our sanitary condition in the least. You will please make no more impertinent remarks or comments on my letters!

A. H. White was down here last Sabbath, and he and I found Frank Smith in Smith's Artillery. I have been here right by him four months without knowing it and lived. He is a corporal. He, A. H., and I drank some beer, discussed the affairs of the nation and adjourned. Do you remember Enos Lincoln? He is here in the 12th.

We have had some fighting in camp lately. An artillery man stabbed one of the 9th and got knocked, kicked and bayoneted for it. The artillery have sworn to have revenge and every hickory man (the 9th have a fatigue suit of hickory) they see they pounce onto. They have a skirmish every day. One of our company got drunk to-day, got to fighting, was sent to the guardhouse, tried to break out, guard knocked him down with a gun, cut his cheek open, etc. He then got into a fight with four other men in the guard house and of all the bunged eyes and bloody faces they beat the record.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 25-7

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 13, 1863

Ordered to remain here at present. Prospect of staying in “Sturges’s” division in east Ky. Don't like him on account of Mo. notoriety. After breakfast cleaned up my revolvers and loaded them. After noon, wrote home and went down town. Pitched quoits over at Co. H. Charlie came over and we reviewed old letters of mine. Saw the boys gamble. One little 15-year-old had $120 won.

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

Diary of John Hay: January 2, 1864

Point Lookout. The President and Secretary of War to-day (Jan. 2, 1864), commissioned me to go down to Point Lookout, and deliver to Gen. Marston the book of oaths and the accompanying blanks, and explain to him the mode in which they are to be used. Gen. Butler was ordered by telegraph to meet me there and consult as to the manner of carrying out the President's plan for pardoning and enlisting the repentant rebels. I bore a letter for Gen. Butler’s instruction.

I went on board a little tug at the Seventh Street Wharf, and rattled and rustled through the ice to Alexandria where I got on board the Clyde, most palatial of steam tugs, fitted up with a very pretty cabin and berths heated by steam and altogether sybaritic in its appointments.

The day was bitterly cold, and the wind was malignant on the Potomac. I shut myself up in my gorgeous little cabin and scribbled and read and slept all day. The captain thought best to lay to for a while in the night, so we put in at Smith's Creek, and arrived at Point Lookout in the early morning. I went to the head-quarters of the General, accompanied by a young officer who asked my name and got it. I felt little interest in his patronymic, and it is now gone into the oblivion of those ante Agamemnona. It was so cold that nobody was stirring. A furry horse was crouching by the wall. “Hello, Billy! cold! Ain't it?” said my companion. Billy was indignantly silent. We stumbled on over the frozen ground past the long line of cottages that line the beach, built by the crazy proprietor of the land who hoped to make here a great watering-place which would draw the beauty and fashion of the country away from Long Branch, and make Newport a Ranz des Vaches. We came up to a snug-looking frame house which had been the dwelling of the adventurous lunatic. A tall young man, with enormous blonde moustache and a general up-too-early air about him, hove in sight, and my guide and friend introduced me. “Yes, I have heard of you, Mr. Hale. I got a despatch from the General saying you would be here. When did you arrive, Mr. Kay? Rather cold weather! Any ice on the river, Mr. Day?” All this in a voice like a rumbling of distant thunder, measured and severe, and with a manner of preternatural solemnity. “The General will soon be up, Mr. Hayes.” My mild insinuation as to my cognomen having brought him that near to my christening at last.

He disappeared, and coming back beckoned me out. I followed him across a little entry into a room opposite. There stood in the attitude in which, if Comfort ever were deified, the statues should be posed, — parted coat-tails, — a broad plenilunar base exposed to the grateful warmth of the pine-wood fire, — a hearty Yankee gentleman, clean-shaven, — sunny and rosy, — to whom I was presented, and who said laconically, “Sit there!” pointing to a warm seat by a well-spread breakfast table. I had an appetite engendered by a day and night of river air, and I ate breakfast till the intelligent contraband, who served us, caught the infection and plied me with pork-steaks till hunger cried quarter. The General told a good yarn on a contraband soldier who complained of a white man abusing him: — “I doesn't objeck to de pussonal cuffin, but he must speck de unicorn.”

The General's flock are a queer lot. Dirty, ragged, yet jolly. Most of them are still rebellious, but many are tired and ready to quit, while some are actuated by a fierce desire to get out of the prison, and by going into our army, avenge the wrongs of their forced service in the rebel ranks.

They are great traders. A stray onion, — a lucky treasure-trove of a piece of coal, — is a capital for extensive operations in Confederate trash. They sell and gamble away their names with utter recklessness. They have the easy carelessness of a about their patronymics. They sell their names when drawn for a detail to work, a great prize in the monotonous life of every day. A small-pox patient sells his place on the sick-list to a friend who thinks the path to Dixie easier from the hospital than the camp. The traffic in names on the morning of Gen. Butler’s detail of 500 for exchange was as lively as Wall Street on days when Taurus climbs the Zenith, or the “Coal Hole” when gold is tumbling ten per cent. an hour.

They live in a 30-acre lot fenced around by themselves. They put up the fence with great glee, saying, “they would fence out the d----d Yankees and keep respectable.”

Rather a pleasant place, on a pleasant day, is Point Lookout. To-day it was dreary and cold. I could not but think of the winter life of the sanguine lunatic who built the little village intended for the summer home of beauty and chivalry, and destined for the malodorous abode and the unfragrant belongings of a great hospital in busy war-times.

My little boat got frightened at the blow that freshened in the evening, and I sent her up to snooze the night away in Smith's Creek.

In the dusk of the evening Gen. Butler came clattering into the room where Marston and I were sitting, followed by a couple of aides. We had some hasty talk about business: — he told me how he was administering the oath at Norfolk; how popular it was growing; children cried for it; how he hated the Jews; how heavily he laid his hand on them; — “A nation that the Lord had been trying to make something of for three thousand years, and had so far utterly failed.” “King John knew how to deal with them — fried them in swine's fat.”

After drinking cider we went down to the Hudson City, the General's flagship. His wife, niece and excessively pretty daughter; tall, statuesque and fair, and named, by a happy prophecy of the blonde beauty of her maturity, Blanche, were there at tea. I sent my little web-footed sulky word to get home as she could, and sailed with the Butler’s for Baltimore.

At night, after the ladies had gone off to bed — they all said retired, but I suppose it meant the same thing in the end, — we began to talk about some queer matters. Butler had some odd stories about physical sympathies; he talked also about the Hebrew jurisprudence and showed a singular acquaintance with biblical studies; his occasional references to anatomy and physiology evidently surprised the surgeon, to whom he respectfully deferred from time to time. He talked till it grew late and we dispersed to bed. I slept on the guards: a pleasant bed-room, but chilly; and listened till I slept, to the cold and shuddering roar of the water under the wheels.

At Baltimore we took a special car and came home. I sat with the General all the way and talked with him about many matters; Richmond and its long immunity. He says he can take an army within thirty miles of Richmond without any trouble; from that point the enemy can either be forced to fight in the open field south of the city; or submit to be starved into surrender.

He was very severe on McClellan for his action about the New Orleans expedition. He says that before the expedition was resolved on, by the President, McClellan said it would require 50,000 men; after it was resolved on, he said 5,000 would be enough. He said he did not like to attack McC. Nil nisi bonum, etc. But he might have to exploit that matter sometime.

I told him of the night of October 21.

He gave me some very dramatic incidents of his recent action in Fortress Monroe, smoking out adventurers and confidence men, testing his detectives, and matters of that sort. He makes more business in that sleepy, little Department than anyone would have dreamed was in it.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 146-52; for the entire diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letter of John Hay, p. 148-51.

Diary of 1st Lieutenant John S. Morgan: Wednesday, May 17, 1865

Spent a miserable night which was more disturbed by a gang of officers of 28th Wis coming around about 12 oclock on a high. They tried unsuccessfully to get Cap. out with them, have a shower at 2. p. m. The woods about camp full of gamblers, many gambling now who never did before. Am feeling some better this evening

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, 33rd Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 13, No. 8, April 1923, p. 602

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: January 24, 1864

We are all troubled with heart-burn, sour stomach, &c. Drink weak lye made from ashes for it. Every day some new ones come inside, but they know nothing as to the prospects of our being exchanged. All are considerably surprised to find themselves in quite so bad a place, and the subject of prison life begins to interest them. Good deal of gambling going on among prisoners. Chuck-a-luck is the favorite game. You lay your ration of bread down on a figure on a board, and a fellow with a dice-box shakes it up a little, throws out the dice, and your bread is gone Don't understand the game myself. That's all I ever saw of the game. Lay down the bread and it's gone. Rather a one sided affair. Some men are very filthy, which makes it disagreeable for those of more cleanly habits. I believe that many, very many, who now die, would live if they adopted the rules that our mess has, and lived up to them. It is the only way to get along.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 26-7

Diary of Brigadier-General William F. Bartlett: September 22, 1864

Nothing about the boat to-day. I shall get letter ready to send in case I do not go. Afternoon, told that the boat would go to-morrow. Ross told me I was going; shall not feel certain till I am under the flag. Play poker and settle accounts; I am about $40 ahead; give it to Brady, who was behind.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 142