Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: September 28, 1864

A provost guard of our regiment is on duty in town to preserve the peace and protect the business interest, which is improving. Service is now held in all the churches. All is quiet. Many seem to think that the war is about over. The rebel sympathizers do not, say they will never give in.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 128

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Friday, May 15, 1863

I nearly slept round the clock after yesterday's exertions. Mr Douglas and I crossed the father of rivers and landed on the Mississippi bank at 9 A.M.

Natchez is a pretty little town, and ought to contain about 6000 inhabitants. It is built on the top of a high bluff overlooking the Mississippi river, which is about three quarters of a mile broad at this point.

When I reached Natchez I hired a carriage, and, with a letter of introduction which I had brought from San Antonio, I drove to the house of Mr Haller Nutt, distant from the town about two miles.

The scenery about Natchez is extremely pretty, and the ground is hilly, with plenty of fine trees. Mr Nutt's place reminded me very much of an English gentleman's country seat, except that the house itself is rather like a pagoda, but it is beautifully furnished.

Mr Nutt was extremely civil, and was most anxious that I should remain at Natchez for a few days; but now that I was thoroughly wound up for travelling, I determined to push on to Vicksburg, as all the late news seemed to show that some great operations must take place there before long.

I had fondly imagined that after reaching Natchez my difficulties would have been over; but I very soon discovered that this was a delusive hope. I found that Natchez was full of the most gloomy rumours. Another Yankee raid seemed to have been made into the interior of Mississippi, more railroad is reported to be destroyed, and great doubts were expressed whether I should be able to get into Vicksburg at all.

However, as I found some other people as determined to proceed as myself, we hired a carriage for $100 to drive to Brookhaven, which is the nearest point on the railroad, and is distant from Natchez 66 miles.

My companions were a fat Government contractor from Texas, the wounded Missourian Mr Douglas, and an ugly woman, wife to a soldier in Vicksburg.

We left Natchez at 12 noon, and were driven by a negro named Nelson; the carriage and the three horses belong to him, and he drives it for his own profit; but he is, nevertheless, a slave, and pays his owner $4| a-week to be allowed to work on his own account. He was quite as vain as and even more amusing than Tucker. He said he “didn't want to see no Yanks, nor to be no freer than he is;” and he thought the war had already lasted four or five years.

Every traveller we met on the road was eagerly asked the questions, “Are the Yanks in Brookhaven? Is the railroad open?” At first we received satisfactory replies; but at 6 P.M. we met an officer driving towards Natchez at a great pace ; he gave us the alarming intelligence that Jackson was going to be evacuated. Now, as Jackson is the capital city of this state, a great railroad junction, and on the highroad to every civilised place from this, our feelings may be imagined, but we did not believe it possible. On the other hand we were told that General Joseph Johnston had arrived and assumed the command in Mississippi. He appears to be an officer in whom every one places unbounded confidence.

We slept at a farmhouse. All the males were absent at the war, and it is impossible to exaggerate the unfortunate condition of the women left behind in these farmhouses; they have scarcely any clothes, and nothing but the coarsest bacon to eat, and are in miserable uncertainty as to the fate of their relations, whom they can hardly ever communicate with. Their slaves, however, generally remain true to them.

Our hostess, though she was reduced to the greatest distress, was well-mannered, and exceedingly well educated; very far superior to a woman of her station in England.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 98-100

Major Wilder Dwight: December 25, 1861

camp Hicks, December 25, 1861, Christmas Morning.

Dear Mother, —  “A merry Christmas,” said I to myself, for want of a larger family-circle, as I put my head out into the morning while reveillé was rousing the camp. And into a brisk, crisp morning did I walk as I stepped from my tent. The moon had not yet lost its flame, though the east was warming to receive the coming sun. A light fall of snow, sent by Heaven to gladden the day, had whitened tents and ground alike. Soon the sun kindled it into a Christmas glisten and sparkle. Yes, the scene was the traditional holiday dress of the season. And now, as I sit and write, my ears are full of the mellow music of Auld Lang Syne from the band at guard-mounting. I believe I am somewhat sensitive to the aspects and influences of air and sky and landscape. This out-door life serves only to quicken and confirm such tendency. I am always apt to thank God for a fine day, through which everything is bright and promising. And Nature having put on her gayest winter merriment, I share her gladness. So I give you all at home a Merry Christmas in this missive, and here's a health to next Christmas with the war over.

Yet, even on this merry morning, I have a shadow, which, I hope, is a mere distemper of the fancy. It comes from the sullen aspect of the English news. I start with the faith which I cherish, that there can be no war with England unless she is obstinately bent thereon. There is no adequate cause. But all this preparation, all this arming and bluster, really gives an air of probability to the suggestion that she madly desires to seize the pretext and provoke a contest. I do hope not; for, with fair play, we are sure, in the opening spring, of rapid, inspiriting, honorable success. Witness McCall's cleverly managed affair at Drainsville. Its conception and execution alike skilful. It contains proof, too, that our superior armament and equipment will tell on every fair field

The incidents of the last year have frightened me out of what little tendency to prophecy I may have had; but nothing save this cloud from England could dispirit the hope with which I look forward to our coming contest with the Rebellion

Will not our day come for a chance at the enemy? Again I hope. There is no news. I am busy about the Examining Board; I am assailed by several perplexities within the regiment; I am ennuied with inaction. But I am well, and, on the whole, content. I am glad you should have a visit from Colonel William.

My sergeant says : “I saw your brother, Colonel Dwight, at the office, sir! He's a splendid officer, sir!” So echo I. Love and good wishes to all.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 180-1

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Sophia Birchard Hayes, March 22, 1862

Raleigh, Virginia, March 22, 1862.

Dear Mother: — . . . We are in the midst of one of the storms so common in this mountain region. We hope it is the equinoctial and will be followed by good weather. It is a driving snow-storm. The pine trees are crusted with it giving a peculiarly wintry appearance to the hills. Fortunately we are all comfortably housed, except two companies who are on a scout in the mountains after bushwhackers. I hope they will find some sort of shelter these stormy nights.

We all feel more hopeful than ever about an early close of the war. It looks to us as if General McClellan must succeed in forcing a battle that will decide the fate of the Rebellion. I do not expect we shall be released from duty for months, perhaps years, but it seems almost certain that a victory in eastern Virginia will decide the war.

I hope you will be able to see the little folks all gathered at Fremont as you anticipate. The boys look forward to it impatiently. Webb was six years old the day before yesterday. He is now to go at his books. His mind runs on horses more than on books. Birch is a very sincere believer in the efficacy of prayer in our common affairs and is finishing the war in that way, famously, as he thinks.

Love to all. — As Fremont is commander of this division, we expect prompt and rapid movements. I shall write to you rarely when we once set out. All important events occurring to me or this army you will know by telegraph. The wires still follow us wherever we go.

Affectionately, your son,

Rutherford.

Mrs. Sophia Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 216-7

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Saturday, April 25, 1863

San Antonio is prettily situated on both banks of the river of the same name. It should contain about 10,000 inhabitants, and is the largest place in Texas, except Galveston.

The houses are well built of stone, and they are generally only one or two storeys high. All have verandahs in front.

Before the war San Antonio was very prosperous, and rapidly increasing in size; but trade is now almost at a complete stand-still. All the male population under forty are in the military service, and many necessary articles are at famine prices. Coffee costs $7 a lb.

Menger's hotel is a large and imposing edifice, but its proprietor (a civil German) was on the point of shutting it up for the present.

During the morning I visited Colonel Bankhead, a tall, gentlemanlike Virginian, who was commanding officer of the troops here. He told me a great deal about the Texan history, the Jesuit missions, and the Louisiana purchase, &c.; and he alarmed me by doubting whether I should be able to cross the Mississippi if Banks had taken Alexandria.

I also made the acquaintance of Major Minter, another Virginian, who told me he had served in the 2d cavalry in the old United States army. The following officers in the Confederate army were in the same regiment—viz., General A. S. Johnston (killed at Shiloh), General Lee, General Van Dorn, General Hardee, General Kirby Smith, and General Hood*

By the advice of M'Carthy, I sent my portmanteau and some of my heavy things to be sold by auction, as I could not possibly carry them with me.

I took my place by the stage for Alleyton (Houston): it cost $40; in old times it was $13.

I dined with M'Carthy and young Duff at 3 P.M. The latter would not bear of my paying my share of the expenses of the journey from Brownsville. Mrs M'Carthy was thrown into a great state of agitation and delight by receiving a letter from her mother, who is in Yankeedom. Texas is so cut off that she only hears once in many months.

Colonel and Mrs Bankhead called for me in their ambulance at 5 P.M., and they drove me to see the source of the San Antonio, which is the most beautiful clear spring I ever saw. We also saw the extensive foundations for a tannery now being built by the Confederate Government.

The country is very pretty, and is irrigated in an ingenious manner by ditches cut from the river in all directions. It is thus in a great degree rendered independent of rain.

At San Antonio spring we were entertained by a Major Young, a queer little naval officer, — why a major I couldn't discover.

Mrs Bankhead is a violent Southerner. She was twice ordered out of Memphis by the Federals on account of her husband's principles; but she says that she was treated with courtesy and kindness by the Federal General Sherman, who carried out the orders of his Government with regret.

None of the Southern people with whom I have spoken entertain any hopes of a speedy termination of the war. They say it must last all Lincoln's presidency, and perhaps a good deal longer.

In the neighbourhood of San Antonio, one-third of the population is German, and many of them were at first by no means loyal to the Confederate cause. They objected much to the conscription, and some even resisted by force of arms; but these were soon settled by Duff's regiment, and it is said they are now reconciled to the new regime.

My portmanteau, with what was in it — for I gave away part of my things — sold for $323. Its value in England couldn't have been more than £8 or £9. The portmanteau itself, which was an old one, fetched $51; a very old pair of butcher boots, $32; five shirts $42; an old overcoat $25.

_______________

* Also the Federal Generals Thomas and Stoneman.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three months in the southern states: April-June, 1863, p. 49-52

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Friday, January 30, 1863

A whole week has passed since I opened this book, a week certainly not spent in idleness, if not a very interesting one. For I have kept my room almost all the time, leaving Miriam and Anna to entertain their guests alone. Even when Mr. Halsey called on Sunday, I declined going down. Why, I wonder? I felt better than usual, was in a splendid humor for talking, yet — my excuses took my place, and I lay quietly in bed, dreaming by the firelight, and singing hymns to myself. Once in a while the thought would occur to me, “Why don't I go down?” But it was always answered with a wry face, and the hymn went on. Yet I knew he had come expecting to see me. On the table near me stood a bunch of snowdrops that Miriam had culled for her beloved Captain Bradford. An idea struck me so suddenly that my voice died instantly. The spirit of mischief had taken possession of me. Laughing to myself, I caught them up, drew three long bright hairs from my head — they looked right gold-y in the firelight — and tied them around the flowers — I thought I should never get to the end while wrapping them. Thus secured, a servant carried them into the parlor with “Miss Sarah's compliments to Mr. Halsey.” Poor Miriam's cry of surprise at finding her flowers thus appropriated, reached my ears and caused me to laugh again. It was rather cool! But then it was better fun than going down. And then didn't it flatter his vanity! O men! you vain creatures! A woman would receive a whole bunch of hair and forty thousand bouquets, without having her head turned; while you — Well! I heard enough from Miriam to amuse me, at all events.

And a day or two after, Captain Bradford had a long story to tell her — what he called a good joke on Mr. Halsey. Of how he had found him kissing three long bright hairs in rapture, and on asking where he got them, received as an answer — “From the God-blessedest little angel that ever wore long hair!” This blessedest little angel did not intend it as a souvenir, and is consequently annoyed about stories of three hairs, intended as a string and nothing more, being wrapped in tissue paper and treasured up — so goes the tale — instead of being thrown into the fire as I certainly expected.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

Last night Anna and Miriam sat on my bed at twilight, playing cards while I tried my guitar, when Captain C—, Major Spratley, and Lieutenant Dupre were announced. Quick, down went the cards as they sprang to their feet to throw off their neat calicoes. Where was Miriam's comb, and grenadine, and collar, and belt? Good gracious! where was her buckle? On the bureau, mantel, washstand, or under them? “Please move a moment, Anna!” In such a hurry, do! There was Anna, “Wait! I'm in a hurry, too! Where is that pomatum? You Malvina! if you don't help me, I’ll — There! take that, Miss! Now fly around!” Malvina, with a faint, dingy pink suddenly brought out on her pale sea-green face, did fly around, while I, hushing my guitar in the tumult, watch each running over the other, in silent amazement, wondering if order can come out of such confusion, and if the people downstairs were worth all that trouble.

When I finally made my appearance in the parlor, it was with the conviction that I would have a dreadfully stupid time, and Captain C— too. However, though at first I had both, soon only the last was left me. Some one suggested calling the Spirits, which game I had imagined “played out” long ago; and we derived a great deal of amusement from it. Six of us around a small table invoked them with the usual ceremony. There was certainly no trick played; every finger was above the board, and all feet sufficiently far from the single leg to insure fair play. Every rap seemed to come exactly from the centre of the table, and was painfully distinct though not loud. When asked if there was a writing medium present, it indicated Captain C—. I observed that he seemed averse to trying it, but yielded at length and took the pencil in his hand.

Our first question, of course, was, How long before Peace? Nine months was written. Which foreign nation would recognize us first? France, then England, in eight months. Who was Miriam to marry? Captain of a battery. “Who?” we all shouted. “Captain C. E. Fenner”¹ was written again. When? In ten months. I believe Captain C— to be honest about it. He seemed to have no control over his hand, and his arm trembled until it became exceedingly painful. Of course, I do not actually believe in Spiritualism; but there is certainly something in it one cannot understand; and Mrs. Badger's experience is enough to convert one, alone. Each was startled in turn by extraordinary revelations concerning themselves. Gibbes was to be transferred to the Trans-Mississippi Department,² George would come home, and all the gentlemen had the name and address of future sweethearts written in full. The question was asked, “Who will Sarah Morgan fall in love with?” Every eye was on the pencil as a capital “H” was traced. As the “a” followed, I confess to a decided disgust at the Spirits, and was about to beg it might be discontinued when the rest followed rapidly until in three separate lines appeared, “Has not seen him yet” (here came an exclamation of surprise from Lydia and Miriam, who knew how true it was, and even Gibbes looked astonished). “Captain, in Virginia. Captain Charles Lewis.”³ A perfect buzz of comments followed; every one asked every one else if they knew any one by that name, and every one said no. Gibbes was decidedly more interested than I. That odd “Has not seen him yet,” expressing so exactly the fact that I pride myself upon, carried conviction in the truth of Spirits, almost. “Who will she marry?” asked Gibbes. (He has a pet belief, in which I encourage him, that I will never marry.) Again came the name as distinctly as before, of Captain Charles Lewis. “When will she marry him?” “In June, 1864,” was the answer. I was to meet him in New Orleans. November followed, after a period.

Of course, the Spirits produced some slight commotion which made the time pass pleasantly until Miriam began to waltz with her Monsieur Deux Temps. Then Captain C— told me why he had been unwilling to try it; of how his father believed so strongly in it that he had very nearly been made crazy by it, and how he had sworn to abandon the practice of consulting them, seeing the effect produced. He did not believe in Spirits himself; but could not account for the influence he was under, when he saw his hand involuntarily write things he was totally unconscious of, himself. However, he proposed that we two should have a private consultation with them, which I opened by asking when I should again see my home. I know he did not know anything about it; but on the paper appeared — “Five months have gone — five months more.” It is just five months since I did see home. I think it was the 26th of August that Charlie took me there. He asked if he should ever marry. “Never. You will be jilted by the lady you love in Missouri, Miss Christina P—.” I pointed it out to him, as he happened to be looking at me when it was written. It surprised him into saying, “Why, I'm engaged to her!” I asked whose spirit was communicating with us. He was watching the dance when his hand wrote, “John C —“ I laughed and asked if there was such a person, pointing to the name. He looked actually sick as he said, “Yes, my brother; he is dead.” I had not the heart to talk of Spirits again; so we took to writing poetry together, every alternate line falling to my lot. It made an odd jingle, the sentimental first line being turned to broad farce by my absurd second one.

_______________

¹ Note by Mrs. Dawson in 1896: wrong — she married Lieutenant Dupre.

² Note by Mrs. Dawson: he was transferred in his coffin.

³ Captain F. W. Dawson, whom Sarah Morgan eventually married, was at that time a captain in Virginia, and she had not yet seen him.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 319-24

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse: April 5, 1863

Headquarters Twelfth Army Corps,

April 5, 1863.

Again everything has the appearance of winter. Last night a furious storm of wind, snow and hail set in, and continued till near noon to-day. It will melt very fast, of course, but the roads, which before were nearly dry, will go back to their former state of mud. I got caught in the storm last night; I had been over to the cavalry with Tom Robeson; when we came back, the wind, hail and dust were directly in our faces and were perfectly blinding; the wind blew such a gale that the horses could hardly breast up against it.

I wouldn't have believed, two months ago, that popular feeling would be so unanimously for war. They have at last waked up to the fact that we've got to fight these rebels till we crush them, let it take one year or ten, and that there is no peace now but in dishonor and eternal disgrace. Who would have thought when the war broke out, that such sentiments could have been publicly uttered in Baltimore and Washington, as have been spoken at the late Union meeting there!

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 123

Major Wilder Dwight: November 16, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 16, 1861.

The difference between our actions in this war seems to be, that we don't half do our Ball's Bluffs, and we do half do our Port Royals. Fruit ripe in South Carolina, and no one to pick it. That's the way I read the news from the scene of our late success. Where are the next twenty thousand troops? They should be within an hour's sail of Port Royal. Is it a sagacious military conjecture, that a victory at that point would strike terror and panic to the neighboring cities? If so, should not that conjecture have anticipated the result of which we are just beginning to hear? Should it not have provided a force to enjoy and intensify that panic? I know of a whole division, which, instead of shivering in the mud of Maryland, would gladly be pursuing a panic-stricken multitude with fire and sword. Why not? Of course, we are much in the dark, but my guess is, that twenty thousand good soldiers could to-day enter either Charleston or Savannah. If they could not occupy and hold, they could burn and destroy. “Rebels and Traitors,” I would head my proclamation. Not “Carolinians and Fellow-citizens.” Not peace, but the sword. There is cotton to tempt avarice, negroes to tempt philanthropy, Rebels to tempt patriotism, — everything to warrant a great risk. As I read the Southern accounts, they seem to me to indicate the presence of panic. From that, I infer a weak and exposed condition. We shall leave them time to recover their courage, and strengthen their defences. I do not know what is possible to our “Great Country,” but, possible or impossible, I would pour an avalanche on that shore forthwith.

You see that reflection and conjecture are the only amusements of our rainy days. So I must fill my letters with guesses and hopes. I advise you to read McClellan's Reviewof the War in the Crimea. One could wish that his pen were free to criticise his own campaign. Could he not expose, here and there, a blunder? Perhaps the answer is, It is not his campaign.

My new man arrived last night, very unexpectedly to himself, apparently; for he seemed to find obscurity enveloping his path, and to think his advance to this point a great success.

He brought letters which delighted me. It was mail night, and I had no mail till John came with his budget. Father seems to speak stoically of “a long war.” What it may be mismanaged into I cannot say, but, decently managed, it cannot be a long war. The disasters and embarrassments which will follow in its train will be long enough; the war itself short and desperate, I hope.

There is something ludicrous in writing so quietly on calm, white paper, without expressing at all the roaring, whistling, wintry surroundings of my present scene. Our yesterday's rain has cleared off cold. Real winter this morning. Ice in the wash-basin, numbness in the fingers, frost from the breath. I rejoice in the invigorating turn that the weather has taken. I feel myself much better for it, and I know it must improve the health and vigor of the camp. But the howling blast is a stern medicine, and even now it shakes my tent so that my pen trembles. I should like you to have seen the picture our camp presented at reveillé this morning. I purposely went out without my overcoat, and walked leisurely down the line, as if I were fanned by the zephyrs of June. I wished to have the men observe that I recognized nothing unusual in our first taste of winter. Still, in point of fact, it was cold. Now drill is going on without overcoats. I told them they must double-quick if they were cold. The only way is, to hold things up to the sharp line under all circumstances. It will be a little hard to keep up the illusion all winter, I fear, however. Still, everything requires bracing up constantly. The virtue of this military life is the importunate recurrence of daily duty. Rain or shine, health or sickness, joy or grief, reveillé knocks “ӕquo pede” with impartial cadence at every tent. Its lively and awakening beat thrills a new life through the camp, as the rising sun whitens the glowing east. And then when tattoo at evening awakes the men to sleep (for it is not a soothing strain), “duty performed” has made them happy, or should have done so, on the authority of the great expounder of the Constitution himself. Such are the consolations of camp life in November. But then, as Dr. Hedge happily observes in a discourse on “National Weakness,” “the Rebel power is still unsubdued; the harvest is passed, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.” True, but we are not lost. We propose in the Massachusetts Second to keep Thanksgiving day thankfully, if not for what has happened, at least for what has not happened. I have just sent out an order for the provision of Thanksgiving dinners for the men. And I quite expect that turkey and plum-pudding will smoke on our mess-pans and exhale from our ovens on Thursday next. I could be content to be at home on that day, but, failing that, I shall enjoy an attempt to extemporize and emulate a New England Thanksgiving in a Maryland camp on the wrong bank of the Potomac. We shall read the Thanksgiving Proclamation, and be as happy as we may. I suppose you will have your usual celebration. I expect to enjoy the unusual honor to come in among the absent friends. . . . .

The pleasure of reading your last letter was somewhat alloyed, I confess, by the pervading strain of eulogy of my own letters. It is all nonsense. The story is a very good one, perhaps; the telling it is nothing; and as for “historical value,” you just wait. Our little events will not be a paragraph in the record which ought to be and must be written.

Father closes his last letter with the very kind wish that he knew what to send me. I happen to be able to tell him, — viz. a little nice English breakfast tea. A good honest cup of black tea would delight me. If you should find that Colonel Gordon has not gone back before this reaches you, pray make him the bearer of a small package of tea.

I see by to-night's Clipper (it is Saturday evening while I write), that a delegation from Baltimore goes to ask the President for government patronage for the repentant city. This fulfils a prediction I had the honor to make. I see, also, that the landing of our force at Beaufort was a scene of disorder and confusion. That comes of sending the rawest troops to the hardest duty. I am puzzled to know why this is done to such an alarming extent. But tattoo is just beating. It is a raw and gusty night. The air bites shrewdly. I think I will leave that puzzle unsolved, and get within the warm folds of my constant buffalo-robe. Good night. Grandmother will be pleased to hear, before I go to bed, that with one of her blankets I have just made Captain Mudge warm and comfortable in a little attack of illness which has just overtaken him. The soft blanket will be as good as the Doctor's medicine, — better, perhaps. . . . .

I have just room to bid you good morning, this Sunday morning. I am just ready for inspection, and have no doubt the day will work itself off quietly and pleasantly.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 144-7

Major Wilder Dwight: November 6, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, November 6, 1861.

“The war cannot be long. It may be desperate.” This is not prophecy from the closet. It is inspiration from the master of the position. I claim for our General the rare virtue of sincerity, — the fibre of all genuine character. I repose on his statements. Recollect that he wields the causes. Shall he not predict the consequence? “I ask in the future forbearance, patience, and confidence.” But not for long. If he can compel our people to yield him those, he has already gained a victory like the conquest of a city. “I trust and feel that the day is not far distant when I shall return to the place dearest of all others to me.”

Now that's cheerful. Of course he won't go home and leave us on the wrong bank of the Potomac, — of course he won't go home and leave his lambs to come back wagging their tales, or tails, behind them and him. No! let us accept, let us hail the omen. “Youth is at the prow.” “Pleasure,” God's own pleasure, “has the helm.” For one, I am ready for the voyage. I take McClellan's speech to the Philadelphia deputation for my chart.

I am afraid this is in the nature of rhapsody; but then it is November, and one must live in the imagination, and look over into the land of promise, or he may wither and fall like the leaves about him.

I wrote thus far yesterday, but the gloomy sky and chilling blasts were so unpropitious, that I thought I would not attempt to resist their influence. It was a regular heavy, clouded, wet day. We had as yet no news of the fleet, and nothing to lift ourselves above the influence of the weather. Last evening we got a rumor of the safe arrival of the fleet off Bull's Bay, near Charleston, after the blow.

Upon this vague elation we went to sleep I am very glad to receive your copy of Howard's letter, and rejoice that he is in the midst of serious work. I recognize in his account the inevitable hardships and vicissitudes of his new life. As part of the Western army, he will undoubtedly see active service this winter, and will perhaps hardly get breathing time, unless he pauses awhile in Memphis to take a look at his old cotton-press. I am very glad that he is there, and prefer his position in the line to one on the staff, if he is equally well pleased with it. You say you like to receive my letters, and so, of course, I am most happy to write, but there is really just nothing to say. Yesterday, for example, all our fires smoked. My little stove was very vigorous in that direction. Proverbs are said to be the condensed wisdom of ages. I recalled that, “Where there is so much smoke there must be some fire,” and cheerfully hung on to the maxim through the day; but I felt very little fire. Then the question of moving the hospital was raised, considered, and settled; then the increase of measles was croaked and investigated; then the news came that the patient sick with typhus would die, and at evening he was dead; and now, this morning, we are preparing his funeral

To-day we have no news but the prevailing and increasing rumor that we shall move, in a day or two, into winter-quarters, or, at least, out of these quarters. I have a sort of hope that the fates may select our regiment for some Southern service, if we succeed in getting a good foothold on the coast.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 138-9

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Wednesday, December 28, 1864

It was cloudy with some rain, though it cleared off in the afternoon and turned quite cool. Things are very quiet in camp, and our duty is light; we do not have even picket duty, as the cavalry are doing that on the outskirts. Nearly all the citizens inside of our lines have taken the oath, swearing that they will not aid the Southern Confederacy. All of them express the view that the war will come to a close soon. We hope their view will prove true.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 241-2

Letter from a South Carolina Mother to Charlotte Cross Wigfall, December 15, 1863

Dec. 15th, 1863.

I have passed many anxious months lately, in this siege of Charleston. My only child and son was at Fort Sumter, a First Lieutenant in the 1st Regular Artillery Regiment. He passed through the first attack in April safely — though occupying a post of danger, but, on the 17th of August, in the attack upon Sumter from the enemy's land batteries, on Morris Island, my poor boy was wounded by a fragment of a 200-pound parrott shell: he was slightly cut in the back of the head and wounded in two places in the shoulder; and picked up insensible. I went to him as soon as the news reached us of his being wounded, but was but two days in Charleston, when we were roused from our slumbers, at two hours past midnight, by the enemy shelling the town filled with sleeping, helpless women and children. The next day I left with my wounded boy to return to my quiet home in Georgia. He was with me but ten days, when he returned to Charleston, though he had not then recovered the use of his right hand and arm, which had been, from the severe contusions on the shoulder, entirely paralyzed. He had been in command of his company, at Sumter, since the first of the attack, his captain being absent on sick leave, so that he was anxious to return to duty and has been ever since, for the last three months, at a battery on James Island, near Fort Johnson, where I am again anxious about him. He is a devoted son, and the trial to me of having the boy so constantly exposed to danger is almost more than I can bear. ... I had hoped you were spared the anxiety of having an only son in the service, so young as he is, I can truly feel for you, but then he is not your only child. You have daughters at home to cheer and comfort you. I never wished until this cruel war that my son had been a daughter, but we must believe it is ordered for the best. I was made very happy last week by my son's return to us on a short leave — he makes everything bright and joyous for me and I miss him sadly when away. If we had only had a navy to fight for us, as the army has done, this war would have ended in a few months, I imagine; and now, who can see the end of it? With the coming spring instead of peace and joy, when the earth is all beautiful and smiling, we are told to prepare for another fierce attack of our cruel foe and more carnage and blood and slaughter await us. My heart sickens at the thought. I heard from Aunt N. from New York, December 6th. She seems very miserable about us all, and wishes I were in New York to share some of the many comforts they enjoy. Much as I once liked New York, I never desire to see it again and would rather starve and die here than live and grow fat under Lincoln! They have no idea, even our Southern friends there, of the feelings aroused in our hearts by this war. I am busy getting John ready to return to his post on James Island. As it breaks my heart to think of the poor boy being on picket all night in the rain and having only dry hominy and cold water for breakfast, I am scouring the country to buy syrup and eggs and a few comforts to keep him from starving.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 162-5

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Sophia Birchard Hayes, February 18, 1862

Cincinnati, February 22, 1862.

Dear Mother: — I am ready to start back to Virginia on the first steamer for the Kanawha River. I expect to get off tomorrow or next day.

I found Uncle in good health for him. The other friends were as usual.  . . . I returned home Monday finding all here as I left them.

The recent victories convince everybody that the Rebellion can be conquered. Most people anticipate a speedy end of the war. I am not so sanguine of a sudden wind-up, but do not doubt that the Confederacy is fatally wounded. We are having a gaudy celebration of the 22nd here with the usual accompaniments which delight the children.

Affectionately, your son,

Rutherford.

Mrs. Sophia Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 200

Charlotte Cross Wigfall to Lieutenant Francis H. Wigfall, July 16, 1863

orange C. H., July 16th, 1863.

It is some time since I have written to you, my dearest son, but the uncertainty of your getting letters make it almost useless to write. The note you sent in pencil by Mr. Winston came yesterday and was thankfully received. ’Tis the only tidings we have had of you for weeks except from Col. P., who told me you were well up to the 23rd of June, and your father saw an officer on the cars who said he had seen you on the 4th. Your note bears date a week later. Write, my child, whenever opportunity offers. You cannot tell the intense anxiety and uneasiness of those left at home. We have all been watching with painful interest the course of our Army since it crossed the border, and although late accounts have cast a gloom upon us, we all feel assured that Lee will yet do something to make them tremble as much as they are now exulting over our misfortunes. Troubles seem to thicken upon us all at once. The fall of Vicksburg and the attack on Charleston when so many of the troops have been withdrawn are enough to dispirit us, but we are not dismayed, but believe that all will yet be right. The most sickening feature is the prolongation of the war. Groaning, however, will do neither you nor me any good, so a truce to it.

I had a long letter from Mrs. Johnston dated July 5th. She had not then heard of the fall of Vicksburg, but fully expected it as did we. Genl. Johnston wrote fully to your father June 28th, and told him it was utterly impossible with his 25,000 men, scarcely then equipped, to relieve the place and that if Kirby Smith could do nothing it must fall. Mrs. Johnston encloses me a letter to her from her husband, which is so noble and manly in its tone that I don't wonder that she is proud of him. . . .

F. has just come in with a letter from Genl. Hampton to your father. He writes from Charlottesville, says he is doing well and hopes in a few days to go home. Genl. Hood came with him to Staunton where he is under the care of Dr. Darby, requires nothing but good nursing and generous diet and proposes to pay us a visit if he can.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 141-2

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Sardis Birchard, December 23, 1861

Fayetteville, Virginia, December 23, 1861.

Dear Uncle: — I have just heard by telegraph of the birth of my fourth son. In these times, boys are to be preferred to girls. Am glad to hear Lucy is doing well. . . .

Yes, we are in winter quarters, most comfortable quarters. I have to myself as nice a room as your large room, papered, carpeted, a box full of wood, and with a wild snow-storm blowing outside to make it more cheerful by contrast. We have had eighteen days of fine weather to get ready in, and are in pretty good condition. We have our telegraph line running down to civilization; get Cincinnati papers irregularly from four to ten days old. I have enjoyed the month here very much. Busy fortifying — not quite ready yet, but a few more days of good weather will put us in readiness for any force. The enemy are disheartened; the masses of the people want to stop. If England does not step in, or some great disaster befall us, we shall conquer the Rebellion beyond doubt, and at no distant period. . . .

I shall go home about the time Dr. Joe starts back here — say the 15th to 20th January, if nothing new occurs to prevent. If you can't come down to Cincinnati, I shall go to Fremont.

Sincerely,

R. B. Hayes.

S. BlRCHARD.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 166-7

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, October, 1863

Vienna, October, 1863.

It has been a lovely day, — I hope we shall have such days after you come here, — the woods in all their softest and warmest colours, and seen in the light of a balmy Italian spring sky. I am afraid it has “demoralized” me or discouraged me, and made me feel as if the end of the war were a great way off yet: we don't deserve to have peace yet: what I have seen of the Army of the Potomac really pains me: I do not mean that the men are not in good spirits and ready to fight, but the tone of the officers (those that I see) doesn't seem to improve in earnestness at all. I almost think we shall need a Cromwell to save us. I cannot feel about Lincoln at all as you do, — and as to Halleck — . . .

I do not see that this war has done us as a nation any good, except on the slave question, — in one sense that is enough; but how is it that it has not taught us a great many other things which we hoped it would ?¹

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¹ Colonel Lowell obtained a short leave of absence, and, on the last day of October, married Miss Shaw, at Staten Island. Soon after, she came with him to his brigade camp at Vienna, and they had their only home life that winter and the following spring, in a little house within the camp lines, and when the camp was moved to Fall's Church, for a short time in a tent. Yet couriers by day, bringing word of Mosby's ubiquitous raids, and sudden and stealthy attacks on the pickets at midnight, constantly harassed the command, and did not allow the Colonel to relax his vigilance.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 313-4, 445

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: May 11, 1864

We surely “dwell in the midst of alarms.” We were roused from our beds this morning at five o'clock by an order for the impressment of our horses to haul the Institute cannon: then came Frank, Preston Cocke, and William Lewis for a hurried breakfast, and provision for their haversacks; ordered towards Winchester, where is Seigle with a large Yankee force. They left at seven o'clock; all the Home Guard is ordered out too; so Lexington is left without men. Last night firing was heard by a great many persons, more distinctly they say than ever before. They suppose it to be at Richmond. I'm thankful my husband is away, on the errand of God's Church, and so escapes going to Winchester. He will regret it no little!

I was very much struck, a few weeks ago, in listening to my children at play. They dramatized that familiar passage in Childe Harold as closely as if it had been explained to them, —

“There was a sound of revelry by night,” &c.

Of course they had never even heard it read; but they got their “Mammy” to cut paper soldiers and ladies; then they had a “party,” and made the soldiers and ladies dance together. While they were busy dancing, came a shout from George: “The enemy — the Yankees — they are coming! Your guns! Your guns!” So the soldiers tore themselves away. “There was mounting in hot haste,” and they made them rush to battle, leaving the poor paper ladies scattered disconsolately about the floor. The thought of war is never out of our minds. If it could be, our children would bring it back by their plays! For they are almost wholly of a military character. Oh! when will the end come! No mail last night; but news by stage that Pickett has been successful above Petersburg.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 179-80

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: September 6, 1861

We are not increasing our forces as rapidly as might be desired, for the want of arms. We had some 150,000 stand of small arms, at the beginning of the war, taken from the arsenals; and the States owned probably 100,000 more. Half of these were flint-locks, which are being altered. None have been imported yet. Occasionally a letter reaches the department from Nashville, offering improved arms at a high price, for gold. These are Yankees. I am instructed by the Secretary to say they will be paid for in gold on delivery to an agent in Nashville. The number likely to be obtained in this manner, however, must be small; for the Yankee Government is exercising much vigilance. Is not this a fair specimen of Yankee cupidity and character? The New England manufacturers are furnishing us, with whom they are at war, with arms to fight with, provided we agree to pay them a higher price than is offered by their own Government! The philosophical conclusion is, that this war will end when it ceases to be a pecuniary speculation.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 78

Major Wilder Dwight: Tuesday Evening, August 20, 1861

Camp Stampede, Maryland Heights,

Tuesday Evening, August 20, 1861.

A soldier's life is always gay! Yesterday, Colonel Andrews and I went out prospecting, as they say in this country, — reconnoitring, I prefer to call it.

At the Ferry we found a slight panic caused by the reported advent of a few cavalry in the town. Colonel A. and I went on up the mountain and spent the afternoon in looking about, &c. We wound down the new mountain road, built by the immortal Massachusetts Second, just at sunset, after enjoying the glorious views up the two valleys. Then we had a quiet dress-parade, and composed ourselves for the night. Composed ourselves for the night! Here comes the incident of my letter. Now for the catastrophe of my story. The Doctor appeared at the door of my tent, breaking the first sleep, to say the Colonel had just received a special message, and ridden off on horse. I refused to be disturbed or excited, and got asleep again. At half past one the Colonel appeared. “Major, get the tents struck, and set the men cooking rations. I have information that the Rebels are advancing on Harper's Ferry.” Up I went. Captains were awakened. Soon the camp was silently busy on its work for starting. Then I was ordered to saddle my horse and get a messenger to call the Massachusetts Thirteenth, Colonel Leonard, from Sharpsburg. I went galloping off in the night through the fields to a house where a Union man lives, who gave me the direction of a safe messenger, then back to camp. Then Dr. Sargent was despatched to Berlin, down the river, to get two pieces of artillery which General Banks had ordered up to protect the ford. Then the camp-fires were glowing, and I spent an hour among the cooks, urging on the rations. Then the dawn began to peep. Colonel Andrews went up the hill to gaze, through the first light, at Harper's Ferry and its surroundings. Light brought the conviction that our haste was premature.

The packed wagons were ready to move. The regiment was ready to hold ford and ferry as long as possible, and we were all agog. The morning came, and no enemy were in position. We had our stampede. The reports of the enemy were circumstantial and probable, but the appearance failed to confirm them. This morning the camp is composed again. But life has been lively and brisk, though fruitless, for the last twelve hours

Here comes the Colonel, who has been down to Sandy Hook. He brings news that the paymaster is coming. Hurrah! Also that three hundred car-loads of troops went into Washington on Monday. Good!

We are awaking, I hope, to the size of the work. A short war is the policy, but a war. I am glad you are getting awake to it. No one who can come, effectively, has a right to stay at home.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 79-81

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, September 10, 1863

Centreville, Sept. 10, 1863.

I to-day had to call attention in a general order to the prevalence of profanity in the command, and at the same time to add that perhaps I had not set them a good example in this respect. I don't swear very much or very deep, — but I do swear, more often at officers than men, and there is a great deal of swearing in the regiment which I wish to check: of course, I shall stop it in myself entirely; I shall enforce the Articles of War if necessary. . . .

I think we must make up our minds to a long war yet, and possibly to a war with some European power. For years to come, I think all our lives will have to be more or less soldierly, — i. e. simple and unsettled; simple because unsettled.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 301

The Duke of Argyll to Mary Benjamin Motley, August 20, 1861

Inveraray, August 20, 1861.

My Dear Mrs. Motley: Many thanks for the inclosed. You need not apologize for sending me letters containing details. All that I have seen in your husband's letters tends to increase our warm esteem and regard for him. I was sure he would feel the Manassas affair very keenly, and we feel much for him. It seems certain that the defeat was made far worse by the exaggeration of the press, though Russell's account in the "Times" is so far confirmatory of the papers. But Russell never reached the real front of the Federal line, and consequently saw nothing of the troops that behaved well.

I think your husband's argument against Lord Russell's advice (at least as that advice is quoted) is excellent. It does seem probable that to have allowed secession without a fight would have led to the complete disintegration of the Northern States.

I fear you have now before you a long war. It is clear that a regular trained army must be formed before the subjugation of the South can be rendered possible, and I confess I am not so hopeful of the result as I once was.

You may set Mr. Motley's mind at rest, I think, as regards any possibility of our interfering — provided, of course, the contest is carried on with a due regard to the law of nations and the rights of neutrals. But we have been in some alarm lest the government were about to adopt measures which that law does not recognize. I hope that danger also has passed away.

May I ask you to direct the inclosed letter to your husband?

I am, my dear Mrs. Motley,

Yours very sincerely,

Argyll.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 200-1