Diary of Private Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Saturday, February 28, 1863

Moved Camp out near Beech Grove. I and Polk Kyle sent on forage, bought a stack of hay. Staid all night with Mr. Carlisle.

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

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 25, 1861

We had a great time to-day, having sent out this morning some six thousand troops, with about one hundred wagons, on a foraging expedition. This evening they returned, loaded with hay, oats, corn, cows, sheep, hogs, and one Irishman—all captured from the enemy. In this deserted and desolated country, where we have for weeks been enjoying (?) rural life without a sign of pig or poultry, without even those indispensable concomitants of civil life-the cries of babies, or the flapping in the wind of confidential garments from clothes lines in the back yard*—the sight of the woolly bleaters called back reminiscences of savory mutton and warm under-dresses, with whispered wishes for the time when we may return to the pleasures of civil life.

_______________

*A something whispers to me that if this should ever be read by housekeeper, it may call up unpleasant reminiscences of "ironing days." I hope not.

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. 37

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, October 26, 1862

ARRIVAL AT NEW BERNE.

About nine this morning we saw our first of Rebeldom, and after taking a pilot, and passing several ugly-looking rips and bars, leaving Fort Macon on our left, we disembarked from the steamer to the wharf, which had a railroad depot on the farther end of it. The place is called Morehead City. But if this is a city, what can the towns and villages be? We stayed in this shed or depot awhile, and were then ordered on the train of open cars. Here we waited for two mortally long hours in a pelting rain, water on each side of us, water over us, and gradually, but persistently, water all through our clothes, and not a drop of anything inside of us.

Notwithstanding the rain storm was severe, we had considerable to interest us after we started, which was between two and three o'clock. There had been fighting along the line of road a year previous, and every few miles we passed picket-posts, occupied by Mass. regiments. We cheered them and they responded. Once, where we stopped to wood-up, we saw a settlement of negroes, and some of the boys bought or hooked their first sweet potatoes here. Others of us contented ourselves with trying to keep our pipes lighted, our tobacco dry, and the cinders out of our eyes. Most all of us came to the conclusion that North Carolina was a tough place, barren and desolate, and hardly worth the cost of fighting for it.

We arrived at New Berne about six o'clock, wet through, hungry, tired, and ready for our feather beds, but found our hotel for that night was not supplied with any such articles of furniture.

Our company, with some others, was quartered in a big barn of a building built of green boards, which had shrunk both side and end ways, and for beds we had the floor, with a few bundles of hay scattered around. We could not expect much of a supper, but we managed some way, and then turned in, wet as we were. Soon after, we were called up and informed that coffee and beef, with compliments, from the Mass. 24th Reg't, were awaiting. We accepted, with thanks, and made quite a supper. Then we turned in again,—some on bundles of hay, others on the floor. Those on the hay had a hard time of it, as the bundles were shorter than we were, and we had a tendency also to roll off. So after several ineffectual attempts, many gave it up and started from the building to find better quarters. Finally, we found some wood, made a rousing fire in an old sugar boiler, and stood around it in the rain, trying to keep warm, if not dry.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 15

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, August 19, 1862

HUDSON CAMP GROUNDS. I have enlisted! Joined the Army of Uncle Sam for three years, or the war, whichever may end first. Thirteen dollars per month, board, clothes and travelling expenses thrown in. That's on the part of my Uncle. For my part, I am to do, I hardly know what, but in a general way understand I am to kill or capture such part of the Rebel Army as comes in my way.

I wonder what sort of a soldier I will make; to be honest about it, I don't feel much of that eagerness for the fray I am hearing so much of about me.

It seems to me it is a serious sort of business I have engaged in. I was a long time making up my mind about it. This one could go, and that one, and they ought to, but with me, some way it was different. There was so much I had planned to do, and to be. I was needed at home, etc., etc. So I would settle the question for a time, only to have it come up to be reasoned away again, and each time my reasons for not taking my part in the job seemed less reasonable. Finally I did the only thing I could respect myself for doing, went to Millerton, the nearest recruiting station, and enlisted.

I then threw down my unfinished castles, went around and bid my friends good-bye, and had a general settling up of my affairs, which, by the way, took but little time. But I never before knew I had so many friends. Everyone seemed to be my friend. A few spoke encouragingly, but the most of them spoke and acted about as I would expect them to, if I were on my way to the gallows. Pity was so plainly shown that when I had gone the rounds, and reached home again, I felt as if I had been attending my own funeral. Poor old father and mother! They had expected it, but now that it had come they felt it, and though they tried hard, they could not hide from me that they felt it might be the last they would see of their baby.

Then came the leaving it all behind. I cannot describe that. The good-byes and the good wishes ring in my ears yet. I am not myself. I am some other person. My surroundings are new, the sights and sounds about me are new, my aims and ambitions are new;—that is if I have any. I seem to have reached the end. I can look backwards, but when I try to look ahead it is all a blank. Right here let me say, God bless the man who wrote "Robert Dawson," and God bless the man who gave me the book. "Only a few drops at a time, Robert." The days are made of minutes, and I am only sure of the one I am now living in. Take good care of that and cross no bridges until you come to them.

I have promised to keep a diary, and I am doing it. I have also promised that it should be a truthful account of what I saw and what I did. I have crawled off by myself and have been scribbling away for some time, and upon reading what I have written I find it reads as if I was the only one. But I am not. There are hundreds and perhaps thousands here, and I suppose all could, if they cared to, write just such an experience as I have. But no one else seems foolish enough to do it. I will let this stand as a preface to my diary, and go on to say that we, the first installment of recruits from our neighborhood, gathered at Amenia, where we had a farewell dinner, and a final handshake, after which we boarded the train and were soon at Ghent, where we changed from the Harlem to the Hudson & Berkshire R. R., which landed us opposite the gates of the Hudson Fair Grounds, about 4 P. M. on the 14th. We were made to form in line and were then marched inside, where we found a lot of rough board shanties, such as are usually seen on country fair grounds, and which are now used as offices, and are full of bustle and confusion. After a wash-up, we were taken to a building which proved to be a kitchen and dining room combined. Long pine tables, with benches on each side, filled the greater part of it, and at these we took seats and were served with good bread and fair coffee, our first meal at Uncle Sam's table, and at his expense. After supper we scattered, and the Amenia crowd brought up at the Miller House in Hudson. We took in some of the sights of the city and then put up for the night.

The next morning we had breakfast and then reported at the camp grounds ready for the next move, whatever that might be. We found crowds of people there, men, women and children, which were fathers and mothers, wives and sweethearts, brothers and sisters of the men who have enlisted from all over Dutchess and Columbia counties. Squads of men were marching on the race track, trying to keep step with an officer who kept calling out "Left, Left, Left," as his left foot hit the ground, from which I judged he meant everyone else should put his left foot down with his. We found these men had gone a step further than we. They had been examined and accepted, but just what that meant none of us exactly knew. We soon found out, however, Every few minutes a chap came out from a certain building and read from a book, in a loud voice, the names of two men. These would follow him in, be gone a little while and come out, when the same performance would be repeated. My name and that of Peter Carlo, of Poughkeepsie, were called together, and in we went. We found ourselves in a large room with the medical examiner and his clerks. His salutation, as we entered, consisted of the single word, "Strip." We stripped and were examined just as a horseman examines a horse he is buying. He looked at our teeth and felt all over us for any evidence of unsoundness there might be. Then we were put through a sort of gymnastic performance, and told to put on our clothes. We were then weighed and measured, the color of our eyes and hair noted, also our complexion, after which another man came and made us swear to a lot of things, most of which I have forgotten already. But as it was nothing more than I expected to do without swearing I suppose it makes no difference.

The rest of the day we visited around, getting acquainted and meeting many I had long been acquainted with. In the afternoon the camp ground was full of people, and as night began to come, and they began to go, the good-byes were many and sad enough. I am glad my folks know enough to stay away. That was our first night in camp. After we came from the medical man, we were no longer citizens, but just soldiers. We could not go down town as we did the night before. This was Saturday night, August 17th. We slept but little, at least I did not. A dozen of us had a small room, a box stall, in one of the stables, just big enough to lie down in. The floor looked like pine, but it was hard, and I shall never again call pine a soft wood, at least to lie on. If one did fall asleep he was promptly awakened by some one who had not, and by passing this around, such a racket was kept up that sleep was out of the question. I for one was glad the drummer made a mistake and routed us out at five o'clock instead of six, as his orders were. We shivered around until roll-call and then had breakfast. We visited together until dinner. Beef and potatoes, bread and coffee, and plenty of it. Some find fault and some say nothing, but I notice that each gets away with all that's set before him. In the afternoon we had preaching out of doors, for no building on the grounds would hold us. A Rev. Mr. Parker preached, a good straight talk, no big words or bluster, but a plain man-to-man talk on a subject that should concern us now, if it never did before. I for one made some mighty good resolutions, then and there. Every regiment has a chaplain, I am told, and I wish ours could be this same Mr. Parker. The meeting had a quieting effect on all hands. There was less swearing and less noise and confusion that afternoon than at any time before. After supper the question of bettering our sleeping accommodations came up, and in spite of the good resolutions above recorded I helped steal some hay to sleep on. We made up our minds that if our judge was as sore as we were he would not be hard on us. We spread the hay evenly over the floor and lay snug and warm, sleeping sound until Monday morning, the 18th.

The mill of the medical man kept on grinding and batches of men were sworn in every little while. Guards were placed at the gates, to keep us from going down town. I was one of the guards, but was called off to sign a paper and did not go back. Towards night we had to mount guard over our hay. Talk about "honor among thieves," what was not stolen before we found it out, was taken from under us while we were asleep, and after twisting and turning on the bare floor until my aching bones woke me, I got up and helped the others express themselves, for there was need of all the cuss words we could muster to do the subject justice. But that was our last night in those quarters.

The next day the new barracks were finished and we took possession. They are long narrow buildings, about 100 feet by 16, with three tiers of bunks on each side, leaving an alley through the middle, and open at each end. The bunks are long enough for a tall man and wide enough for two men provided they lie straight, with a board in front to keep the front man from rolling out of bed. There are three buildings finished, and each accommodates 204 men. We were not allowed either hay or straw for fear of fire. As we only had our bodies to move, it did not take long to move in. Those from one neighborhood chose bunks near together, and there was little quarrelling over choice. In fact one is just like another in all except location. Walter Loucks and I got a top berth at one end, so we have no trouble in finding it, as some do who are located near the middle. These barracks, as they are here called, are built close together, and ordinary conversation in one can be plainly heard in the others. Such a night as we had, story-telling, song-singing, telling what we would do if the Rebs attacked us in the night, with now and then a quarrel thrown in, kept us all awake until long after midnight. There was no getting lonesome, or homesick. No matter what direction one's thought might take, they were bound to be changed in a little while, and so the time went on. Perhaps some one would start a hymn and others would join in, and just as everything was going nicely, a block of wood, of which there were plenty lying around, would come from no one knew where, and perhaps hit a man who was half asleep. Then the psalm singing would end up in something quite different, and for awhile one could almost taste brimstone. I heard more original sayings that night than in all my life before, and only that the boards were so hard, and my bones ached so badly, I would have enjoyed every minute of it.

But we survived the night, and were able to eat everything set before us, when morning and breakfast time came. After breakfast we had our first lesson in soldiering, that is, the men of what will be Captain Bostwick's company, if he succeeds in filling it, and getting his commission, did. A West Point man put us through our paces. We formed in line on the race track, and after several false starts got going, bringing our left feet down as our instructor called out, "Left, Left," etc. A shower in the night had left some puddles on the track, and the first one we came to some went around and some jumped across, breaking the time and step and mixing up things generally. We were halted, and as soon as the captain could speak without laughing, he told us what a ridiculous thing it was for soldiers to dodge at a mud puddle. After a turn at marching, or keeping step with each other, he explained very carefully to us the "position of a soldier," telling how necessary it was that we learn the lesson well, for it would be of great use to us hereafter. He repeated it, until every word had time to sink in. "Heels on the same line, and as near together as the conformation of the man will permit. Knees straight, without stiffness. Body erect on the hips, and inclining a little forward. Arms hanging naturally at the sides, the little finger behind the seam of the pantaloons. Shoulders square to the front. Head erect, with the eyes striking the ground at the distance of fifteen paces." Every bone in my body ached after a little of this, and yet our instructor told us this is the position in which a well-drilled soldier can stand for the longest time and with the greatest ease. This brings my diary up to this date and I must not let it get behind again. There is so much to write about, it takes all my spare time; but now I am caught up, I will try and keep so.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 1-7

William T. Sherman to George Mason Graham, August 12, 1860

LANCASTER, OHIO, August 12, 1860.

DEAR GENERAL: I left Alexandria in the stage on Tuesday morning, reached the wharf boat [at the mouth of Red River] that night at 1 o'clock, waited till 4 p.m. of Wednesday, when the fine boat William M. Morrison came along in which we proceeded to Vicksburg by Thursday at 3 p.m., when we took cars to Jackson [and] Cairo, reaching Cincinnati Saturday morning at 7:30 o'clock. It so happened that the train connected with a railroad taking its departure at 7:45 from a depot west of the city, whereas the daily train of our Lancaster road leaves the depot at the eastern end of the city. Therefore we had no time to traverse the city in time and I took my young charge¹ to the Burnett House.

Then I began a series of inquiries as to the quickest and best mode of [reaching] my home, when I found in the same hotel Mrs. Ewing, the old lady and her son P. B. Ewing. After discussing the subject in all its bearing I concluded to leave Miss Whittington at the Burnett House, in the protection of Mrs. Ewing, to spend this Sunday there and come here by the morning quick train of Monday. Miss Whittington had been travelling two nights in the cars and readily consented, so I came up last night in the freight train arriving here about day-light and finding all my people well and hearty. They have been hanging on me all day, and I have had them on horseback and chasing ever since dinner, and have only stolen away for a few minutes to write you this.

I am amazed at the change from the pinewoods to this. I never saw such crops of corn, fruit, and vegetables. Mr. Ewing says in his whole experience, which goes back to the first settlement of Ohio he has never seen such plenty. Orchards which had been barren for eight years are now loaded with fine fruit, peaches, grapes, melons, everything in wasteful abundance. Wheat and small grain are gathered and safe. Corn is as fine as possible and beyond danger of any contingency. Hay of all kinds will be so abundant that it must go away for a market. This is not only true of Ohio, but of all the states east of the Mississippi. May it not be providential? May it not be one of the facts stronger than blind prejudice to show the mutual dependence of one part of our magnificent country on the other. The Almighty in his wisdom has visited a vast district with drought but has showered abundance on another and he has made a natural avenue between. This is a grievous fact – true it may advantage one part at the expense of the other, but next year it may be reversed.

I find as much diversity in sentiment here in politics as in the South – I shall keep aloof – only asserting that whoever is elected, be it the devil himself must be endured for the time being. Nobody will be rash enough to disturb slavery where it exists, and its extension is now only a theoretical not a practical question.

In Cincinnati I found a publishing house that will print us one thousand copies of our regulations for $105. When the manuscript is revised I will send it down, and follow it ten days thereafter to prove. I will bring them along with me.

Miss Whittington will be here to-morrow, I will take her to Georgetown (D.C.) on Wednesday. In Washington I will see about arms, equipments, and munitions. I will then go to New York and purchase books and clothing on a credit payable after November – and have them at Red River by Oct. 15. When I will meet them. If the river be navigable all right – if not, such as are absolutely necessary must be wagoned up and the rest kept in store till navigation opens.

I will not bring my family till I know that the house is done, and that Mrs. Sherman can bring with her from Cincinnati carpets, curtains, and furniture complete. Better this delay than the privation and confusion of a house ill supplied. It is our duty to foresee necessities and provide for them in advance. After my return from New York I will write in full what I have done. Mr. Ewing has just called to take me to ride and I must close. He is as active now as forty years ago and I would not be astonished if he would visit Louisiana next winter when my family comes down.

_______________

¹ Miss Whittington, daughter of one of the supervisors. She was on her way to Georgetown, D.C., to school. – Ed.

SOURCE: Walter L. Fleming, General W.T. Sherman as College President, p. 254-7

William T. Sherman to Ellen Ewing Sherman, April 15, 1860

LOUISIANA STATE SEMINARY, ALEXANDRIA, April 15, 1860.

This is Sunday. Some of the cadets have gone to church, some fishing and the balance are walking about. The Board of Supervisors are now sitting in a large room only two removed from me, and I hear them wrangling and quarreling over points of discipline and instruction which they have been now discussing for two days.

They have authorized me to make plans and estimates for the two houses. And I expect a builder to be out any moment to help me estimate. The Board approve my selection of the site for the two new houses, and I believe the one selected for ours the best, being on a fine high point, distant from the college building yet overlooking its grounds. There is a fine spring near by. The weather continues warm and excessively dry and all are praying for rain to bring up the corn and cotton which has been planted for a month.

I have your several letters asking the price of servants, etc., but I cannot answer as all servants here are scarce and most everybody owns their own. I suppose ten dollars a month will hire a black woman but it is impossible to hire a strong man fit for field work at less than $25 a month and board. If Emily and Gertrude come with you we will still need a man and maybe a black girl, as white girls won't work down here long. Still we can agree to pay them a bonus if they stay a year. But as I wrote you there is no chance of your coming down for a long time, may be November.

Dr. Smith one of the supervisors, a physician of long standing, says that October and November are the sickly months. July and August though hot are perfectly healthy. So that he favors those months as the vacation. So great is the variation of opinion that I let them fight it out as it is proper that they who have lived here all their lives should determine the question. I hope to get the builders to work in the course of a month but all such things proceed so slowly here that I doubt if we can finish this year. Nobody seems to pay any attention to time or appointments.

Red River too has already begun to fall and soon will be navigated only by the smallest kind of boats and it will be next to impossible to procure anything from New Orleans, the only point where furniture can be had. The stores in Alexandria contain nothing of the kind. Indeed California in its worst days had a better market than this country. There are no farmers here. The planters produce only cotton and sugar on a large scale and deem it beneath their dignity to raise anything for market. Some of the negroes raise a few sweet potatoes, corn, etc., which they sell about Christmas time, but all the year else everything must come from New Orleans. We are now paying for corn one dollar and ten cents a bushel and hay costs about forty-eight dollars a ton. Everything is proportional, so that I doubt if my four thousand dollars will more than barely maintain us.

SOURCE: Walter L. Fleming, General W.T. Sherman as College President, p. 200-2

Major-General Philip H. Sheridan to Lieutenant-General Ulysses S. Grant, October 7, 1864—9 p.m.

WOODSTOCK, October 7, 1864—9 p.m.                

(Received 9th.)

I have the honor to report my command at this point to-night. I commenced moving back from Port Republic, Mount Crawford, Bridgewater, and Harrisonburg yesterday morning. The grain and forage in advance of these points up to Staunton had previously been destroyed. In moving back to this point the whole country from the Blue Ridge to the North Mountains has been made untenable for a rebel army. I have destroyed over 2,000 barns filled with wheat, hay, and farming implements; over seventy mills filled with flour and wheat; have driven in front of the army over 4[,000] head of stock, and have killed and issued to the troops not less than 3,000 sheep. This destruction embraces the Luray Valley and Little Fort Valley, as well as the main valley. A large number of horses have been obtained, a proper estimate of which I cannot now make. Lieut. John R. Meigs, my engineer officer, was murdered beyond Harrisonburg, near Dayton. For this atrocious act all the houses within an area of five miles were burned. Since I came into the Valley, from Harper's Ferry up to Harrisonburg, every train, every small party, and every straggler has been bushwhacked by people, many of whom have protection papers from commanders who have been hitherto in this valley. From the vicinity of Harrisonburg over 400 wagon-loads of refugees have been sent back to Martinsburg; most of these people were Dunkers and had been conscripted. The people here are getting sick of the war; heretofore they have had no reason to complain, because they have been living in great abundance. I have not been followed by the enemy up to this point, with the exception of a small force of rebel cavalry that showed themselves some distance behind my rear guard to-day. A party of 100 of the Eighth Ohio Cavalry, which I had stationed at the bridge over the North Shenandoah, near Mount Jackson, was attacked by McNeill, with seventeen men; report they were asleep, and the whole party dispersed or captured. I think that they will all turn up; I learn that fifty-six of them have reached Winchester. McNeill was mortally wounded and fell into our hands. This was fortunate, as he was the most daring and dangerous of all the bushwhackers in this section of the country. I would have preferred sending troops to you by the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad; it would have been the quickest and most concealed way of sending them. The keeping open of the road to Front Royal will require large guards to protect it against a very small number of partisan troops. It also obliges me to have a pontoon train, if it is to be kept open, to bridge the Shenandoah and keep up communication with Winchester. However, in a day or two I can tell better. I sent a party of cavalry through Thornton's Gap, and directed the balance of the division of cavalry which I have left in the Valley to take position at Millwood, occupying Chester Gap and Front Royal. Thornton's Gap I have given up, as of no value. With this disposition of forces, I will move infantry round the mountains, via Strasburg, as soon as possible. To-morrow I will continue the destruction of wheat, forage, &c., down to Fisher's Hill. When this is completed the Valley, from Winchester up to Staunton, ninety-two miles, will have but little in it for man or beast. In previous dispatches I have used "lower Valley" when I should have said "upper Valley," or, in other words, in my last dispatch I intended to say that the grain and forage from Staunton up to Lexington had been sent to Richmond, and that the grain and forage from Staunton to Strasburg had been left for the wintering of Early's army. Yesterday Colonel Powell captured a guerrilla camp on the mountains, with ten wagons and teams.

P. H. SHERIDAN,                

Major-General.

 Lieutenant-General GRANT.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 43, Part 1 (Serial No. 91), p. 30-1

Major-General Philip H. Sheridan to Lieutenant-General Ulysses. S. Grant, August 17, 1864—9 p.m.

BERRYVILLE, VA., August 17, 1864—9 p.m.

Lieut. Gen. U.S. GRANT,

Commanding Armies of the United States:

All your dispatches have been received. Kershaw's division is here, and Wickham's and Lomax's brigades, of Fitz Lee's cavalry division, also another brigade from Reams' Station. The First Cavalry Division captured 300 prisoners yesterday; most of them belonged to Kershaw's division. One division of A. P. Hill's corps is reported here, but no prisoners taken. The position that I held in front of Strasburg was a very bad one, from which I could be forced at any time precipitately. Winchester is untenable except as a provisioned garrison. I have, therefore, taken a position near Berryville, which will enable me to get in their rear if they should get strong enough to push north. Winchester is now held by the cavalry, with one brigade of infantry of the Sixth Corps to act with it. The cavalry engagement in front of Front Royal was splendid; it was on open ground; the saber was freely used by our men. Great credit is due to Generals Merritt and Custer and Colonel Devin. My impression is that troops are still arriving.

Kershaw's and Fitz Lee's divisions came through Culpeper. Mosby has annoyed me and captured a few wagons. We hung one and shot six of his men yesterday. I have burned all wheat and hay, and brought off all stock, sheep, cattle, horses, &c., south of Winchester. The prisoners captured belong to Kershaw's division, and Wickham's and Lomax's brigades, of Fitz Lee's cavalry division.

P. H. SHERIDAN,                

Major-General.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 43, Part 1 (Serial No. 90), p. 822

Major-General Henry W. Halleck to Major-General William T. Sherman, December 18, 1864

HEADQUARTERS OF THE ARMY,              

Washington, December 18, 1864. (Via Hilton Head.)

Maj. Gen. W. T. SHERMAN,

Savannah:

My DEAR GENERAL: Yours of the 13th, by Major Anderson, is just received. I congratulate you on your splendid success, and shall very soon expect to hear of the crowning work of your new campaign in the capture of Savannah. Your march will stand out prominently as the great one of this great war. When Savannah falls, then for another raid south through the center of the Confederacy. But I will not anticipate. General Grant is expected here this morning, and will probably write you his own views. I do not learn from your letter or from Major Anderson that you are in want of anything which we have not provided at Hilton Head. Thinking it possible that you might want more field artillery, I had prepared several batteries, but the great difficulty of foraging horses on the coast will prevent our sending any unless you actually need them. The hay crop this year is short, and the Quartermaster's Department has great difficulty in procuriug a supply for our animals. General Thomas has defeated Hood near Nashville, and it is hoped that he will completely crush his army. Breckinridge, at last accounts, was trying to form a junction near Murfreesborough; but as Thomas is between them Breckinridge must either retreat or be defeated. General Rosecrans made very bad work of it in Missouri, allowing Price with a small force to overrun the State and destroy millions of property. Orders have been issued for all officers and detachments having three months or more to serve to rejoin your army via Savannah; those having less than three months to serve will be retained by General Thomas. Should you capture Charleston, I hope that by some accident the place may be destroyed, and if a little salt should be sown upon its site it may prevent the growth of future crops of nullification and secession.

Yours, truly,

 H. W. HALLECK,   

 Major-General and Chief of Staff.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 44 (Serial No. 92), p. 741

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: December 20, 1861

We are having cold weather; freezing quite hard at night, and making our lodgings in these little rag houses anything but comfortable. I have been with a detail of men down to the wharf unloading and storing army supplies. Annapolis is a depot of supplies, and immense quantities are landed here and sent by rail to Washington. A person never having given the subject of army preparation and supplies much thought, would be astonished at the immense quantities he would see here, and would begin to calculate how long it would be before Uncle Sam would be bankrupt. Large warehouses are filled and breaking down under the weight of flour, beef, pork, bread, sugar, coffee, clothing, ammunition, etc., while the wharves and adjacent grounds are filled with hay, oats, lumber, coal, guns, mortars, gun-carriages, pontoons and other appendages of an army. I presume the cost of feeding and clothing an army of half a million of-men is not really so much as the same number of men would cost at home, but the army being consumers, instead of producers, the balance will eventually be found on the debit page of the ledger.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 15

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: November 23, 1863

Nothing of moment from the armies, although great events are anticipated, soon.

On Saturday, Gen. Winder's or Major Griswold's head of the passport office, Lieut. Kirk, was arrested on the charge of selling passports at $100 per man to a Mr. Wolf and a Mr. Head, who transported passengers to the Potomac. W. and H. were in prison, and made the charge or confession. This passport business has been, our bane ever since Gen. Winder got control of it under Mr. Benjamin. Lieut. K. is from Louisiana, but originally from New York.

Mr. Benjamin sent over to-day extracts from dispatches from Mr. Slidell and a Mr. Hotze, agent, showing how the government is swindled in Europe by the purchasing agents of the bureaus here. One, named Chiles, in the purchase of $650,000, Mr. Slidell says, was to realize $300,000 profit! And Mr. Hotze (who is he?) says the character and credit of the government are ruined abroad by its own agents! Mr. Secretary Seddon will soon see into this matter.

Capt. Warner says the Federal prisoners here have had no meat for three days, Commissary-General Northrop having none, probably, to issue. One hundred tons rations, however, came up for them yesterday on the flag boat.

Exchange on London sells at $1 for $18.50, and gold brings about the same. Our paper money, I fear, has sunk beyond redemption. We have lost five steamers lately; and it is likely the port of Wilmington (our last one) will be hermetically sealed. Then we shall soon be destitute of ammunition, unless we retake the mineral country from the enemy.

Mr. Memminger has sent a press to the trans-Mississippi country, to issue paper money there.

Mr. Slidell writes that all our shipments to and from Matamoras ought to be under the French flag. There may be something in this.

The President was expected back to-day; and perhaps came in the evening. He is about to write his message to Congress, which assembles early in December, and perhaps he desired to consult Gen. Lee.

Everywhere the people are clamorous against the sweeping impressments of crops, horses, etc. And at the same time we have accounts of corn, and hay, and potatoes rotting at various depots 1 Such is the management of the bureaus.

The clerks are in great excitement, having learned that a proposition will be brought forward to put all men under forty-five years of age in the army. It will be hard to carry it; for the heads of departments generally have nephews, cousins, and pets in office, young and rich, who care not so much for the salaries (though they get the best) as for exemption from service in the field. And the editors will oppose it, as they are mostly of conscript age. And the youthful members of Congress could not escape odium if they exempted themselves, unless disabled by wounds.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 102-3

Nathaniel Peabody Rogers: Jaunt to Vermont, October 20, 1838

We have recently journeyed through a portion of this free state, and it is not all imagination in us, that sees, in its bold scenery, — its uninfected, inland position, its mountainous, but fertile and verdant surface, the secret of the noble and antislavery predisposition of its people. They are located for freedom. Liberty's home is on their Green Mountains. Their farmer-republic no where touches the ocean — “the highway of the” world's crimes, as well as its “nations.” It has no seaport for the importation of slavery, or the exportation of its own highland republicanism. Vermont is accordingly the earliest anti-slavery state, and should slavery ever prevail over this nation to its utter subjugation, the last, lingering footsteps of retiring liberty will be seen — not, as Daniel Webster said, in the proud old commonwealth of Massachusetts, about Bunker hill and Faneuil hall, (places long since deserted of freedom) — but wailing, like Jephtha's daughter, among the “hollows,” and along the sides of the Green Mountains.

Vermont shows gloriously at this autumn season. Frost has gently laid hands on her exuberant vegetation, tinging her rockmaple woods, without abating the deep verdure of her herbage. Every where along her peopled hollows and her bold hill-slopes and summits is alive with green, while her endless hard-wood forests are uniformed with all the hues of early fall — richer than the regimentals of the kings that glittered in the train of Napoleon on the confines of Poland, when he lingered there on the last outposts of summer, before plunging into the snow-drifts of the North — more gorgeous than the “array” of Saladin's lifeguard in the wars of the Crusaders — or of “Solomon in all his glory” — decked in all colors and hues, but still the hues of life. Vegetation touched, but not dead, or if killed, not bereft yet of  “signs of life.” “Decay's effacing fingers” had not yet “swept the ‘hills,’ where beauty lingers.” All looked fresh as growing foliage. Vermont frosts don't seem to be “killing frosts.” They only change aspects of beauty. The mountain pastures, verdant to the peaks, and over the peaks of the high, steep hills, were covered with the amplest feed, and clothed with countless sheep; — the hay-fields heavy with second crop, in some partly cut and abandoned, as if in very weariness and satiety, blooming with honey-suckle, contrasting strangely with the colors on the woods — the fat cattle and the long-tailed colts and close-built Morgans wallowing in it, up to the eyes, or the cattle down to rest, with full bellies, by ten in the morning. Fine but narrow roads wound along among the hills — free, almost entirely, of stone, and so smooth as to be safe for the most rapid driving — made of their rich, dark, powder-looking soil. Beautiful villages or scattered settlements breaking upon the delighted view, on the meandering way, making the ride a continued scene of excitement and animation. The air fresh, free and wholesome, — no steaming of the fever and ague of the West, or the rank slaveholding of the South,—the road almost dead level for miles and miles among mountains that lay over the land like the great swells of the sea, and looking, in the prospect, as though there could be no passage. On the whole, we never, in our limited travel, experienced any thing like it, and we commend any one, given to despondency or dumps, to a ride, in beginning of October, chaise-top back, fleet horses tandem, fresh from the generous fodder and thorough-going groomage of Steel's tavern, a forenoon Tide, from White-river Sharon, through Tunbridge, to Chelsea Hollow. There's nothing on Salem turnpike like the road, and nothing, any where, a match for “the lay of the land” and the ever-varying, animating landscape.

We can't praise Vermonters for their fences or their barns, and it seems to us their out-houses and door-yards hardly correspond with the well-built dwellings. But they have no stones for wall — no red oak or granite for posts, or pine growth for rails and boards in their hard-wood forests, and we queried, as we observed their “insufficient fences” and lack of pounds, whether such barriers as our side of the Connecticut we have to rear about an occasional patch of feed, could be necessary in a country where no “creatures” appeared to run in the road, and where there was not choice enough in field and pasture, to make it an object for any body to be breachy, or to stray — and where every hoof seemed to have its hands full at home. Poor fences there seemed to answer all purposes of good ones among us, where every blade of grass has to be watched and guarded from the furtive voracity of hungry New Hampshire stock.

The farmers looked easy and care-free. We saw none that seemed back-broken with hard work, or brow-wrinkled with fear of coming to want. How do your crops come in, sir? “O, middlin’.” — How much wheat? “Well, about three hundred. Wheat han't filled well.” — How much hay do you cut? “Well, sir, from eighty to one hundred ton.” Corn? “Over four hundred; corn is good.” How many potatoes? “Well, I don't know; we've dug from eight hundred to one thousand.” How many cattle do you keep? “Only thirty odd head this year; cattle are scarce.” Sheep? “Three hundred and odd.” Horse kind? “Five,” and so on. And yet the Vermont farmers are leaving for the West.

The only thing we saw, that looked anti-republican, was their magnificent State House, which gleams among their hills more like some ancient Greek temple, than the agency house of a self-governed democracy. It is a very imposing object. Of the severest and most compact proportions, its form and material (the solid granite) comporting capitally with the surrounding scenery. About one hundred and fifty feet long, and some eighty or one hundred wide, we should judge, an oblong square, with a central projection in front, the roof of it supported on a magnificent row of granite pillars — the top a dome without spire. It looks as if it had been translated from old Thebes or Athens, and planted down among Ethan Allen's Green Mountains. It stands on a ledge of rock; close behind it a hill, somewhat rocky and rugged for Vermont; and before it, descends an exceedingly fine and extensive yard, fenced with granite and iron in good keeping with the building, the ground covered with the richest verdure, broken into wide walks, and planted with young trees. It is a very costly structure; but Vermont can afford it, though we hold to cheap and very plain State houses, inasmuch as the seat of government with us is, or should be, at the people's homes. We want to see the dwelling-houses of the “owners of the soil,” the palaces of the country. There the sovereignty of the country should hold its court, and there its wealth should be expended. Let despots and slaveholders build their pompous public piles and their pyramids of Egypt.

The apartments and furniture of the State House within are very rich, and, we should judge, highly commodious. The Representatives' Hall a semicircular, with cushioned seats, a luxury hardly suited to the humor of the stout old Aliens and Warners of early times, and comporting but slightly with the hardy habits of the Green Mountain boys, who now come there, and in brief session pass anti-slavery resolutions, to the dismay of the haughty South, and the shame of the neighboring dough-faced North.

Their legislature was about to sit — and an anti-slavery friend, one of their state officers, informed us that Alvan Stewart was expected there, to attend their anti-slavery anniversary. We should have rejoiced to stay and hear him handle southern slavery in that Vermont State House. — We trust yet to hear George Thompson there. It shall be our voice, when he comes again, that he go directly into Vermont; that he land there from Canada. Let him leave England in some man-of-war, that hoists the “meteor flag,” and mounts guns only in chase of the slave ship, and enter the continent by way of the gulf of St. Lawrence. Let him tarry some months among the farmers of Vermont, and tell them the whole mysteries of slavery, and infuse into their yeoman-hearts his own burning abhorrence of it, till they shall loathe slaveholding as they loathe the most dastardly thieving, and with one stern voice, from the Connecticut to Champlain, demand its annihilation. We would have him go into the upland farming towns — not to the shores of the lake, where the steamboat touches, to land the plague of pro-slavery — nor to the capital, where “property and standing” might turn up the nose at the negro's equal humanity, or the vassals of “the northern man with southern principles” veto the anti-slavery meeting with a drunken mob — but to Randolph Hill, to Danville Green, the swells of Peacham, and the plains of St. Johnsbury, to Strafford Hollow and the vales of Tunbridge and Sharon — William Slade's Middlebury, and up among James Bell's Caledonia hills. Let the South learn that George Thompson Was Stirring The Vermonters Up Among The Green Mountains. See if Alabama would send a requisition for him to Anti-slavery Governor Jennison, or Anti-slavery Lieut. Gov. Camp. And what response, think ye, she would get back? — a Gilchrist report — or the thundering judgment rather of stout old Justice Harrington to the shivering slave-chaser— “Show Me Your Bill Of Sale Of This Man From The Almighty!” [“]A decision,” said a judge of the present truly upright and learned bench of that state, “no less honorable to Judge Harrington's head than his heart, and Good Law.”

Let George Thompson land in Vermont, and stay there, till other states shall learn the courage to guaranty him his rights within their own borders, if they have not learned it already for shame. He can do anti-slavery's work, and all of it, in Vermont. He need go no farther south. They can hear him distinctly, every word he says, from Randolph Green clear down to Texas. John C. Calhoun would catch every blast of his bugle; and assassin Preston startle at its note, in the rotunda at Charleston. And by and by, when every Vermont farmer shall have heard his voice, and shaken his hand and welcomed him to his hearth-stone, let him come down into Montpelier and shake that granite State House; and mayhap to fair Burlington, to that University — where the colored student can now enjoy, unrestricted, all the equal privileges of “field recitation;” where he may come, under cloud of night, to gaze at the stars on the very same common with the young New-Yorker, and the son of the rich merchant of this fair city of the lake, or accompany them, in broad day, on an excursion of trigonometry, in the open fields. The doors of that college chapel would open wide to George Thompson, after the Green Mountain boys had once heard him speak.

But we are lingering too long for our readers or ourselves, m this noble state. We hasten back to our own native, sturdy quarry of rocks and party politics.

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 34-8 which states it was published in the Herald of Freedom of October 20, 1838.

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: Friday, August 19, 1864

Have settled several claims during yesterday and today. Two girls just came with a hay account. If we remain here it will be pleasant to call there. Harnessed before noon. Our pickets driven. Read "Roue" by Bulwer.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 128

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: May 4, 1864

Got off before 4 o'clock. Came up with one div. of infantry at Bealeton Station. Beautiful morning. Went on to Brandy Station, unsaddled and got dinner and finally remained overnight. Drew hay and picked up some oats. Fight at Chancellorsville. Did some business.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 114

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: April 1, 1864

Moved camp over the railroad, three-quarters of a mile. Went to town and got camp and G. equipage, and hay and wood.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 112

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

Aroused at daylight. Saddled and waited two hours for “forward.” Hornets’ nest by road. Bees after Gen. Shackleford and others, occasioned considerable fun. Moved 5 miles and stopped for breakfast and to feed horses. More big hills. Air cool and bracing. Nice day for marching. 30 miles from Montgomery, where we camp. Four companies left with wagons. Ours at head of Batt. Rode some with Major Nettleton and Robertson. Camped about dark. Found hay and corn. In the woods.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 85

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: August 31, 1863

Up at 3 and off at 4, rear of our brigade. Wagons in the way again. 8 hours going 10 miles. Camped on ground of Major Ellis' fathers. Went out with forage detail. Got plenty of hay and then let the boys go for oats. Got some peaches. Report that 20,000 rebels are at K. Rebs left here this morning.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 85

3rd Sergeant Charles Wright Wills: January 5, 1862

Bird's Point, January 5, 1862.

We received the box of provisions to-day in very good order considering the length of time they have been knocked about on the route. It came by freight by some mistake or other. The doughnuts were the only articles spoiled. They had moulded. I sent the box over from Cairo but was not here when it was opened, so that aside from one cake labeled from Aunt Nancy, I don't know where a thing comes from. I did recognize your home snaps, too, and thought there was something very familiar in the taste of a mince pie that I ate, but I am too badly used up to-night to be sure of anything, and tell you as I want to how much we are obliged to our good mothers for their thoughtful care for us. I believe every boy in our mess has received socks and mittens from home. One received them by mail from his mother in New York City. At 7 this morning I went over to Cairo with 50 men after forage for our teams. We stood around in the cold, mud and rain for five hours before we got to work, and then the men had all run off but 15 or 18 and we had to roll bales of hay over a way almost impracticable — and all told, it was a mean job and used me up very near totally.

Ame Babcock, Ike McBean, English and Leary have been to see us nearly every day for a week. Colonel Kellogg took supper with us last night. The gunboats were hammering away all day yesterday down the river, and after dinner the general sent our company with four others from our regiment and nearly all of the Ith (sic), with one day's rations, down the river. We waded about six miles through the mud down the creek and then came back without knowing what we went for. There are none of us that are sick, but we don't feel as well as we did in tents. I wish we hadn't built these cabins.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 51-2

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 28, 1863

Up at daylight, breakfasted, fed and started on at 6. Gen. Carter passed by. Went but two miles and waited an hour or two. River not fordable. Returned and bivouacked on the ground of the night before. Went out foraging corn, hay, and cornbread and milk. Saw two idiots. Rained again. Got somewhat wet. Two of the 2nd O. V. C. companies on picket.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 67

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney, Friday, December 19, 1862

Up at 4 A. M. Off on foot for the ferry at 7. Boys started with the Indian warwhoop. All in good cheer. Quite a long walk. Bid Kansas goodbye before noon and were off on hog cars at Weston. At St. Joseph got a lunch, pie, bread and ham. Got some hay. Bill and I fixed a bed. 34 in a freight car, all lay down, piled top of one another.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 50