1st Lieutenant Charles Wright Wills: May 27, 1862

Camp on Corinth Road, Miss., May 27, 1862.

Why don't you write me just a word, if no more? I'm almost uneasy. Not a line from home for a month. We hear that smallpox is raging in Canton, and — I want you to write. They say there is some smallpox in the center and right of the army, but think 'tis like the milk sickness of our Egypt, “a little further on.” There's enough sickness of other kinds, so we have no room for grumbling if we can't have that disease. The hospitals at Hamburg make almost a city. I think there can be no more sorrowful sight, real or imaginary, than that camp of the sick.

I don't know the number of patients, somewhere in thousands, all packed in tents as closely as they can lie, and with not one-tenth the care a sick horse would get at home. I suppose the surgeons, stewards and nurses have [f]eelings like men when they first enter the hospitals, but familarity with disease and suffering seem to make them careless and indifferent to a degree that surprises me, and I can't but look upon it as criminal. I suppose nearly half the bad cases are typhoid fever. Yellow fever, cholera and smallpox have never been known here to the citizens. They all say this is a very healthy country, and I believe it. Our boys are suffering from the change of climate and water, and as much as anything, the sudden change in temperature. Our regiment is improving in health now rapidly. We have gained about 40 for duty within a week. We had about 250 sick last week. The 17th has some 300. I found a batch of live secesh women last Sunday. I rode up to a fine looking house to get a glass of milk (I suppose I drink more milk than any six calves in Fulton) and found eight or ten ladies at dinner, accepted a rather cool invitation to dine wid’ ’em, and did justice to their peas and fodder generally, and was much amused. Think there was more spice to that dinner than I ever before saw. One black-eyed vixen opened the ball with “I don't see how you can hold your head up and look people in the face, engaged in the cause you are.” I told her I thought she had a free way of ’spressing her opinion. “Yes,” says she, “I can't use a gun but I can tongue lash you, and will every chance.” Then they all joined in, but I found that eating was my best “holt,” so they had it their own way. When I'd finished my dinner, told them “a la Buell,” that I thought their house would make, an excellent hospital, and that we'd probably bring out 80 or a 100 patients the next day for them to take care of. Scared them like the devil, all but one, and they all knew so much better places for the sick. This odd one said she had a way of “putting arsenic in some people's feed, and she'd do it, too.” Told her we'd give her a commish as chief taster, and put her through a course of quinine, asafœtida and sich. Said she'd like to see us dare to try it, she would. They were too much for me, but I'll never pass that place without calling. I'd give my shirt to have had Ame Babcock there. Those are the first outspoken female seceshers I have yet seen.

Deserters say that the Rebels have positively no forage or provisions in Corinth. That the Memphis and Mobile railways can barely bring enough daily, scraped from the whole length of the lines to feed the army. It is reported here that Sherman took possession of the Memphis road west of Corinth yesterday and has fortified his position. Pope got two or three men killed yesterday. There was about 5,000 of the enemy camped in the woods one and one-half miles in front of his posish, and he drove them back until they were reinforced and made him scoot again. I was out with a scout Sunday and started again last night at dark (Monday) and was out until 9 this a. m. The cause was some small bands raising the d---1 on our left. We didn't catch them. We were over to the Tennessee, Sunday, where we could see the sacred soil of Alabama. I like Alabama better than any other Southern State. She's never done the “blowing” the others have and people here say that she's nearer loyal than any other Southern state. They're raising loyal companies here now. There are two full in Savannah.

General Jeff C. Davis' division passed here to-day to join Pope's corps. Davis stopped with us and made quite a visit. General Ash of this division goes forward to-morrow. The 21st and 38th Illinois from Stules division went out yesterday. Eleven regiments in all added to Pope's command in two days; except the last two they were all at Pea Ridge and some at Wilson's Creek. A splendid lot of men but not drilled equal to many regiments of the “Army Miss.”

I don't honestly believe that we have with all our reinforcements 100,000 men here; but don't believe the Rebels have 75,000; of course I mean effective men that can be called on the field to fight. We have just received orders to move to front to-morrow.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 92-4

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: April 9, 1864

See here Mr. Confederacy, this is going a little too far. You have no business to kill us off at this rate. About thirty or forty die daily. They have rigged up an excuse for a hospital on the outside, where the sick are taken. Admit none though who can walk or help themselves in any way some of our men are detailed to help as nurses, but in a majority of cases those who go out on parole of honor are cut-throats and robbers, who abuse a sick prisoner. Still, there are exceptions to this rule. We hear stories of Capt. Wirtz's cruelty in punishing the men, but I hardly credit all the stories. More prisoners to-day. Some captured near Petersburg. Dont know anything about exchange. Scurvy and dropsy taking hold of the men. Many are blind as soon as it becomes night, and it is called moon blind. Caused, I suppose, by sleeping with the moon shining in the face. Talked with Michael Hoare, an old school fellow of mine. Mike was captured while we were in Pemerton Building, and was one of Dahlgreen's men Was taken right in the suburbs of Richmond. Has told me all the news of their failure on account of Kilpatrick failing to make a junction at some point. Mike is a great tall, slim fellow, and a good one. Said he heard my name called out in Richmond as having a box of eatables from the North. He also saw a man named Shaw claim the box with a written order from me, Shaw was one of our mess on Belle Isle. He was sent to Richmond while sick, from the island, knew of my expecting the box, and forged an order to get it. Well, that was rough, still I probably wouldn't have got it any way. Better him than some rebel. Mike gave me a lot of black pepper which we put into our soup, which is a luxury. He has no end of talk at his tongue's end, and it is good to hear. Recounts how once when I was about eight or ten years old and he some older, I threw a base ball club and hit him on the shins. Then ran and he couldn't catch me. It was when we were both going to school to A. A. Henderson, in Jackson, Mich. Think I remember the incident, and am strongly under the impression that he, caught me It is thus that old friends meet after many years. John McGuire is also here, another Jackson man. He has a family at home and is worried. Says he used to frequently see my brother George at Hilton Head, before being captured.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 48-9

Diary of John Hay: September 1, 1862

Saturday morning, the 30th of August, I rode out into the country and turned in at the Soldiers' Home. The President’s horse was standing by the door, and in a moment the President appeared, and we rode into town together.

We talked about the state of things by Bull Run and Pope’s prospect. The President was very outspoken in regard to McClellan’s present conduct. He said that it really seemed to him McC. wanted Pope defeated. He mentioned to me a despatch of McC.^s in which he proposed, as one plan of action, to “leave Pope to get out of his own scrape and devote ourselves to securing Washington.” He spoke also of McC’s dreadful panic in the matter of Chain Bridge, which he had ordered blown up the night before, but which order had been countermanded; and also of his incomprehensible interference with Franklin’s Corps which he recalled once, and then, when they had been sent ahead by Halleck’s order, begged permission to recall them again; and only desisted after Halleck’s sharp injunction to push them ahead till they whipped something, or got whipped themselves. The President seemed to think him a little crazy. Envy, jealousy and spite are probably a better explanation of his present conduct. He is constantly sending despatches to the President and Halleck asking what is his real position and command. He acts as chief alarmist and grand marplot of the army.

The President, on my asking if Halleck had any prejudices, rejoined: — “No! Halleck is wholly for the service. He does not care who succeeds or who fails, so the service is benefited.”

Later in the day we were in Halleck’s room. Halleck was at dinner and Stanton came in while we were waiting for him, and carried us off to dinner. A pleasant little dinner and a pretty wife as white and cold and motionless as marble, whose rare smiles seemed to pain her. Stanton was loud about the McC. business. He was unqualifiedly severe upon McClellan. He said that after these battles there should be one court-martial, if never any more. He said that nothing but foul play could lose us this battle, and that it rested with McC. and his friends. Stanton seemed to believe very strongly in Pope. So did the President, for that matter. We went back to the Headquarters and found General Halleck. He seemed quiet and somewhat confident. He said the greatest battle of the century was now being fought. He said he had sent every man that could go to the field. At the War Department we found that M^r Stanton had sent a vast army of volunteer nurses out to the field, probably utterly useless, over which he gave Gen^l Wadsworth command.

Everything seemed to be going well and hilarious on Saturday, and we went to bed expecting glad tidings at sunrise. But about eight o'clock the President came to my room as I was dressing, and calling me out, said: — “Well, John, we are whipped again, I am afraid. The enemy reinforced on Pope and drove back his left wing, and he has retired to Centreville where he says he will be able to hold his men. I don't like that expression. I don't like to hear him admit that his men need holding.”

After awhile, however, things began to look better, and, people's spirits rose as the heavens cleared. The President was in a singularly defiant tone of mind. He often repeated, “We must hurt this enemy before it gets away.” And this morning, Monday, (September 1), he said to me, when I made a remark in regard to the bad look of things: — “No, Mr. Hay, we must whip these people now. Pope must fight them; if they are too strong for him he can gradually retire to these fortifications. If this be not so, — if we are really whipped, and to be whipped, we may as well stop fighting.”

It is due in great measure to his indomitable will that army movements have been characterized by such energy and celerity for the last few days. There is one man who seems thoroughly to reflect and satisfy him in everything he undertakes. This is Haupt, the Railroad man at Alexandria. He has, as Chase says, a Major General's head on his shoulders. The President is particularly struck with the business-like character of his despatch, telling in the fewest words the information most sought for, which contrasted so strongly with the weak, whining, and incorrect despatches of the whilom General-in-Chief. If heads or shoulder straps could be exchanged, it would be a good thing, in either case, here. A good railroader would be spoiled, but the General gained would compensate. The corps of Haupt starting from Alexandria, have acted as pioneers, advance-guard, voltigeurs, and every other light infantry arm of the service.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 60-4;  Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War: in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 44-7.

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Tuesday, June 23, 1863

Lawley and I went to inspect the site of Mr Mason's (the Southern Commissioner in London) once pretty house — a melancholy scene. It had been charmingly situated near the outskirts of the town, and by all accounts must have been a delightful little place. When Lawley saw it seven months ago, it was then only a ruin; but since that time Northern vengeance (as directed by General Milroy) has satiated itself by destroying almost the very foundations of the house of this arch-traitor, as they call him. Literally not one stone remains standing upon another; and the debris seems to have been carted away, for there is now a big hole where the principal part of the house stood. Troops have evidently been encamped upon the ground, which was strewed with fragments of Yankee clothing, accoutrements, &c.

I understand that Winchester used to be a most agreeable little town, and its society extremely pleasant. Many of its houses are now destroyed or converted into hospitals; the rest look miserable and dilapidated. Its female inhabitants (for the able-bodied males are all absent in the army) are familiar with the bloody realities of war. As many as 5000 wounded have been accommodated here at one time. All the ladies are accustomed to the bursting of shells and the sight of fighting, and all are turned into hospital nurses or cooks.

From the utter impossibility of procuring corn, I was forced to take the horses out grazing a mile beyond the town for four hours in the morning and two in the afternoon. As one mustn't lose sight of them for a moment, this occupied me all day, while Lawley wrote in the house. In the evening we went to visit two wounded officers in Mrs ——'s house, a major and a captain in the Louisianian Brigade which stormed the forts last Sunday week. I am afraid the captain will die. Both are shot through the body, but are cheery. They served under Stonewall Jackson until his death, and they venerate his name, though they both agree that he has got an efficient successor in Ewell, his former companion in arms; and they confirmed a great deal of what General Johnston had told me as to Jackson having been so much indebted to Ewell for several of his victories. They gave us an animated account of the spirits and feeling of the army. At no period of the war, they say, have the men been so well equipped, so well clothed, so eager for a fight, or so confident of success — a very different state of affairs from that which characterised the Maryland invasion of last year, when half of the army were barefooted stragglers, and many of the remainder unwilling and reluctant to cross the Potomac.

Miss —— told me to-day that dancing and horseracing are forbidden by the Episcopal Church in this part of Virginia.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 234-6

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Sunday, May 24, 1863

We reached Meridian at 7.30 A.M., with sound limbs, and only five hours late.

We left for Mobile at 9 A.M., and arrived there at 7.15 P.M. This part of the line was in very good order.

We were delayed a short time owing to a “difficulty” which had occurred in the up-train. The difficulty was this. The engineer had shot a passenger, and then unhitched his engine, cut the telegraph, and bolted up the line, leaving his train planted on a single track. He had allowed our train to pass by shunting himself, until we had done so without any suspicion. The news of this occurrence caused really hardly any excitement amongst my fellow-travellers; but I heard one man remark, that “it was mighty mean to leave a train to be run into like that.” We avoided this catastrophe by singular good fortune.¹

The universal practice of carrying arms in the South is undoubtedly the cause of occasional loss of life, and is much to be regretted; but, on the other hand, this custom renders altercations and quarrels of very rare occurrence, for people are naturally careful what they say when a bullet may be the probable reply.

By the intercession of Captain Brown, I was allowed to travel in the ladies' car. It was cleaner and more convenient, barring the squalling of the numerous children, who were terrified into good behaviour by threats from their negro nurses of being given to the Yankees.

I put up at the principal hotel at Mobile — viz., the “Battlehouse.” The living appeared to be very good by comparison, and cost $8 a-day. In consequence of the fabulous value of boots, they must not be left outside the door of one's room, from danger of annexation by a needy and unscrupulous warrior.

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¹ I cut this out of a Mobile paper two days after:—

“attempt To Commit Murder.—We learn that while the uptrain on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad was near Beaver Meadow, one of the employees, named Thomas Fitzgerald, went into one of the passenger cars and shot Lieutenant H. A. Knowles with a pistol, the ball entering his left shoulder, going out at the back of his neck, making a very dangerous wound. Fitzgerald then uncoupled the locomotive from the train and started off. When a few miles above Beaver Meadows he stopped and cut the telegraph wires, and then proceeded up the road. When near Lauderdale station he came in collision with the down-train, smashing the engine, and doing considerable damage to several of the cars.² It is thought he there took to the woods; at any rate he has made good his escape so far, as nothing of him has yet been heard. The shooting, as we are informed, was that of revenge. It will be remembered that a few months ago Knowles and a brother of Thomas Fitzgerald, named Jack, had a renconter at Enterprise about a lady, and during which Knowles killed Jack Fitzgerald; afterwards it is stated that Thomas threatened to revenge the death of his brother; so on Sunday morning Knowles was on the train, as stated, going up to Enterprise to stand his trial. Thomas learning that he was on the train, hunted him up and shot him. Knowles, we learn, is now lying in a very critical condition.”

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² This is a mistake.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 127-9

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: Good Friday, April 14, 1865

As usual, I went to the hospital, and found Miss T. in much trouble. A peremptory order has been given by the Surgeon-General to remove all patients. In the opinion of our surgeon, to five of them it would be certain death. The ambulances were at the door. Miss T. and myself decided to go at once to the Medical Director and ask him to recall the order. We were conducted to his office, and, for the first time since the entrance of the Federal army, were impolitely treated. On two occasions we had been obliged to make application to officials, and had been received with great respect and consideration, and we believe it has been uniformly the case; and we were, therefore, very much surprised when a request which seemed to us so reasonable was at first refused most decidedly. We could not give up our application, as it seemed to be a matter of life and death; so we told him what our surgeon had said, and that we hoped he would reconsider his order. He replied, that he should send a surgeon with the ambulances, and if in his judgment they could be removed, it should be done without hesitation, as he was determined to break up the small hospitals which you have all about town, (ours is the only small hospital in town,) and that he had ordered neither rations nor medicines to be issued to them. Miss T. told him that nothing of the sort was necessary; she had never asked nor received rations from the Federal Government; that she had now but five men under her care, and they were desperately wounded, and she would greatly prefer that the hospital should be considered in the light of a private establishment, which we could take care of without asking help. A change came over his countenance, but not his manner; he brusquely told us that he would “see about it.” In an hour afterwards the surgeon and the ambulance came, but after what seemed to me rather a pompous display of surgical examination and learned medical terms, addressed to the lady-nurses, he determined to leave our dear mangled soldiers to our care. One of them is in a dying condition; he cannot survive many hours.

We had no service in our churches to-day. An order came out in this morning's papers that the prayers for the President of the United States must be used. How could we do it? Mr. ——— went to the hospital by the request of Colonel Richardson, and had prayers in his room. Ambulances are constantly passing with horses in the finest possible condition — even finer than ours were in the beginning of the war. It seems to me passing strange that, with all their advantages, we kept them at bay so long, and conquered them so often. Had one port been left open to us — only one, by which we might have received food and clothing — Richmond would not now be in their hands; our men were starved into submission.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 354-5

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: October 28, 1864

Very much interested lately in the hospitals; not only in our own, “the Robertson hospital,” but in Mr. –––’s, the officers’ hospital.”

He has just told me of a case which has interested me deeply. An officer from the far South was brought in mortally wounded. He had lost both legs in a fight below Petersburg. The poor fellow suffered excessively; could not be still a moment; and was evidently near his end. His brother, who was with him, exhibited the bitterest grief, watching and waiting on him with silent tenderness and flowing tears. Mr. ––– was glad to find that he was not unprepared to die. He had been a professor of religion for some years, and told him that he was suffering too much to think on that or any other subject, but he constantly tried to look to God for mercy. Mr. ––– then recognized him, for the first time, as a patient who had been in the hospital last spring, and whose admirable character had then much impressed him. He was a gallant and brave officer, yet so kind and gentle to those under his control that his men were deeply attached to him, and the soldier who nursed him showed his love by his anxious care of his beloved captain. After saying to him a few words about Christ and his free salvation, offering up a fervent prayer in which he seemed to join, and watching the sad scene for a short time, Mr. ––– left him for the night. The surgeons apprehended that he would die before morning, and so it turned out; at the chaplain's early call there was nothing in his room but the chilling signal of the empty “hospital bunk.” He was buried that day, and we trust will be found among the redeemed in the day of the Lord. This, it was thought, would be the last of this good man; but in the dead of night came hurriedly a single carriage to the gate of the hospital. A lone woman, tall, straight, and dressed in deep mourning, got quickly out, and moved rapidly up the steps into the large hall, where, meeting the guard, she asked anxiously, “Where's Captain T.?” Taken by surprise, the man answered hesitatingly, “Captain T. is dead, madam, and was buried to-day.” This terrible announcement was as a thunderbolt at the very feet of the poor lady, who fell to the floor as one dead. Starting up, oh, how she made that immense building ring with her bitter lamentations! Worn down with apprehension and weary with travelling over a thousand miles by day and night, without stopping for a moment's rest, and wild with grief, she could hear no voice of sympathy — she regarded not the presence of one or many; she told the story of her married life, as if she were alone — how her husband was the best man that ever lived; how everybody loved him; how kind he was to all; how devoted to herself; how he loved his children, took care of, and did every thing for them; how, from her earliest years almost, she had loved him as herself; how tender he was of her, watching over her in sickness, never seeming to weary of it, never to be unwilling to make any sacrifice for her comfort and happiness; how that, when the telegraph brought the dreadful news that he was dangerously wounded, she never waited an instant nor stopped a moment by the way, day nor night, and now “I drove as fast as the horses could come from the depot to this place, and he is dead and buried! — I never shall see his face again!” “What shall I do?” — “But where is he buried?” They told her where. “I must go there; he must be taken up; I must see him!” “But, madam, you can't see him; he has been buried some hours.” “But I must see him; I can't live without seeing him; I must hire some one to go and take him up; can't you get some one to take him up? I'll pay him well ; just get some men to takt him up. I must take him home; he must go home with me. The last thing I said to his children was, that they must be good children, and I would bring their father home, and they are waiting for him now! He must go; I can't go without him; I can't meet his children without him!” and so, with her woman's heart, she could not be turned aside — nothing could alter her purpose. The next day she had his body taken up and embalmed. She watched by it until every thing was ready, and then carried him back to his own house and his children, only to seek a grave for the dead father close by those he loved, among kindred and friends in the fair sunny land he died to defend. Many painfully interesting scenes occur, which I would like so much to write in my diary, but time fails me at night, and my hours of daylight are very closely occupied.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 311-4

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: June 14, 1862

The wounded soldiers bless the ladies, who nurse them unceasingly.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 134

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: May 31, 1862, Night

The ambulances are coming in with our wounded. They report that all the enemy's strong defenses were stormed, just as we could perceive from the sounds. They say that our brave men suffered much in advancing against the intrenchments, exposed to the fire of cannon and small arms, without being able to see the foe under their shelter; but when they leaped over the breastworks and turned the enemy's guns on them, our loss was more than compensated. Our men were shot in front; the enemy in the back — and terrible was the slaughter. We got their tents, all standing, and a sumptuous repast that had just been served up when the battle began. Gen. Casey's headquarters were taken, and his plate and smoking viands were found on his table. His papers fell into our hands. We got a large amount of stores and refreshments, so much needed by our poor braves! There were boxes of lemons, oranges, brandies and wines, and all the luxuries of distant lauds which enter the unrestricted ports of the United States. These things were narrated by the pale and bleeding soldiers, who smiled in triumph at their achievement. Not one in the long procession of ambulances uttered a complaint. Did they really suffer pain from their wounds? This question was asked by thousands, and the reply was, “not much.” Women and children and slaves are wending to the hospitals, with baskets of refreshments, lint, and bandages. Every house is offered for a hospital, and every matron and gentle daughter, a tender nurse.

But how fares it with the invader? Unable to recross the swollen Chickahominy, the Yankees were driven into an almost impenetrable swamp, where they must pass the night in water up to their knees. The wounded borne off by them will have no ministrations from their sisters and mothers, and their dead are abandoned on the field. If Huger had come up at the time appointed, the enemy would have been ruined.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 130-1

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: June 24, 1864

I have been much occupied nursing the sick, not only in the hospital, but among our own friends; and a sad, sad week has the last been to us. We have had very little time to think of public affairs, but now that the last sad offices have been performed for one very, very dear to us, with sore hearts we must go back to busy life again. It is wonderful to me that we retain our senses. While the cannon is booming in our ears from the neighbourhood of Petersburg, we know that Hunter is raiding among our friends in the most relentless way; that the Military Institute has been burnt, and that we have nothing to hope for the West, unless General Early and General Breckinridge can destroy him utterly.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 281

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: May 16, 1863

We were aroused this morning before daylight, by reports that the Yankees were making a raid, and were very near this place. We all dressed hastily, and the gentlemen went out to devise means to stop the trains which were to pass through. Though within five miles of us, they became aware that notice had been given of their purpose, and they immediately turned their steps to some more private place, where they might rob and plunder without molestation. The miserable poltroons, when on one of their raids, will become frightened by the sudden rising of a covey of partridges, and be diverted from their course; then they will ride bravely to a house, where they know they will only find women and children; order meals to be prepared; search the house; take the valuables; feed their horses at the barns; take off the horses from the stables; shoot the pigs, sheep, and other stock, and leave them dead in the fields; rob the poultry-yards; then, after regaling themselves on the meals which have been prepared by force, with the threats of bayonets and pistols, they ride off, having pocketed the silver spoons and forks, which may have unwittingly been left in their way.

I have been in Richmond for two days past, nursing the wounded of our little hospital. Some of them are very severely injured, yet they are the most cheerful invalids I ever saw. It is remarked in all the hospitals that the cheerfulness of the wounded in proportion to their suffering is much greater than that of the sick. Under my care, yesterday, was one poor fellow, with a ball embedded in his neck; another with an amputated leg; one with a hole in his breast, through which a bullet had passed; another with a shattered arm; and others with slighter wounds; yet all showed indomitable spirit; evinced a readiness to be amused or interested in every thing around them; asked that the morning papers might be read to them, and gloried in their late victory; and expressed an anxiety to get well, that they may have another “chance at them fellows.” The Yankees are said to have landed at West Point, and are thence sending out raiding parties over the country. Colonel Davis, who led the party here on the third, has been severely wounded by a scouting party, sent out by General Wise towards Tunstall's Station. It is said he has lost his leg. So may it be!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 213-4

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: August 19, 1864

Began my regular attendance on the Wayside Hospital. To-day we gave wounded men, as they stopped for an hour at the station, their breakfast. Those who are able to come to the table do so. The badly wounded remain in wards prepared for them, where their wounds are dressed by nurses and surgeons, and we take bread and butter, beef, ham, and hot coffee to them.

One man had hair as long as a woman's, the result of a vow, he said. He had pledged himself not to cut his hair until peace was declared and our Southern country free. Four made this vow together. All were dead but himself. One was killed in Missouri, one in Virginia, and he left one at Kennesaw Mountain. This poor creature had had one arm taken off at the socket. When I remarked that he was utterly disabled and ought not to remain in the army, he answered quietly, “I am of the First Texas. If old Hood can go with one foot, I can go with one arm, eh?”

How they quarreled and wrangled among themselves — Alabama and Mississippi, all were loud for Joe Johnston, save and except the long-haired, one-armed hero, who cried at the top of his voice: “Oh! you all want to be kept in trenches and to go on retreating, eh?” “Oh, if we had had a leader, such as Stonewall, this war would have been over long ago! What we want is a leader!” shouted a cripple.

They were awfully smashed-up, objects of misery, wounded, maimed, diseased. I was really upset, and came home ill. This kind of thing unnerves me quite.

Letters from the army. Grant's dogged stay about Richmond is very disgusting and depressing to the spirits. Wade Hampton has been put in command of the Southern cavalry.

A Wayside incident. A pine box, covered with flowers, was carefully put upon the train by some gentlemen. Isabella asked whose remains were in the box. Dr. Gibbes replied: “In that box lies the body of a young man whose family antedates the Bourbons of France. He was the last Count de Choiseul, and he has died for the South.” Let his memory be held in perpetual remembrance by all who love the South!

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 321-2

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, September 11, 1864

This is a quiet day. I have only five boys in my ward now with one nurse. The ward is to be closed in a few days and some of the wounded out in the tents will occupy it.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 214

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Monday, August 8, 1864

This morning I was put in as head nurse of ward D, hospital number 4. My duty is to direct the nurses in dealing out medicine and attending to the needs of the sick.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 209

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Sunday, April 13, 1862

In the morning cleared up to my disgust. In the afternoon had my horse shod and visited hospital, very neat and clean. There seems to be so much need of female nurses. Went down and saw Indians (Delawares and Osages) in their savage state — had heavy beads and rings in their ears — wore buckskin leggings and red blankets, faces all painted and marked. Good visit with A. B. N.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 11

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 22, 1862

Dr. T. called to-day, to say that the firing we heard on Friday was from our guns shelling the enemy, to drive them lower down the Chickahominy. Letters, by underground railroad, from our dear William, at Fort Delaware. He complains of nothing but his anxiety to be exchanged, and the impossibility of hearing from home. C, at the same time, got a letter from my brother. He writes in good spirits about our affairs. Jackson's career is glorious. The sick and wounded are doing well; hospitals are in good order, and the ladies indefatigable in nursing. Surgeon-like, he tells more of the wounded than any thing else. Rev. Mr. C. came up to-day, and gave us some amusing incidents of Stuart's raid. As some of our men rode by Mr. B's gate, several of them went in with Mr. B's sons for a few moments. A dead Yankee lay at the gate. Mrs. W. (Mrs. B's daughter) supposing he was only wounded, ran out with restoratives to his assistance. While standing there, two Yankees came up. Mrs. W. ordered them to surrender, which one did without the slightest hesitation, giving up his arms, which she immediately carried in to her younger brother, who was badly armed. The other escaped, but her prisoner went along with the crowd. Yankee wagons are again taking off corn from W. The men are very impertinent to C.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 146-7

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: July 13, 1862

Halcott Green came to see us. Bragg is a stern disciplinarian, according to Halcott. He did not in the least understand citizen soldiers. In the retreat from Shiloh he ordered that not a gun should be fired. A soldier shot a chicken, and then the soldier was shot. “For a chicken!” said Halcott. “A Confederate soldier for a chicken!”

Mrs. McCord says a nurse, who is also a beauty, had better leave her beauty with her cloak and hat at the door. One lovely lady nurse said to a rough old soldier, whose wound could not have been dangerous, “Well, my good soul, what can I do for you?” “Kiss me!” said he. Mrs. McCord's fury was “at the woman's telling it,” for it brought her hospital into disrepute, and very properly. She knew there were women who would boast of an insult if it ministered to their vanity. She wanted nurses to come dressed as nurses, as Sisters of Charity, and not as fine ladies. Then there would be no trouble. When she saw them coming in angel sleeves, displaying all their white arms and in their muslin, showing all their beautiful white shoulders and throats, she felt disposed to order them off the premises. That was no proper costume for a nurse. Mrs. Bartow goes in her widow's weeds, which is after Mrs. McCord's own heart. But Mrs. Bartow has her stories, too. A surgeon said to her, “I give you no detailed instructions: a mother necessarily is a nurse.” She then passed on quietly, “as smilingly acquiescent, my dear, as if I had ever been a mother.”

Mrs. Greenhow has enlightened Rachel Lyons as to Mr. Chesnut's character in Washington. He was “one of the very few men of whom there was not a word of scandal spoken. I do not believe, my dear, that he ever spoke to a woman there.” He did know Mrs. John R. Thompson, however.

Walked up and down the college campus with Mrs. McCord. The buildings all lit up with gas, the soldiers seated under the elms in every direction, and in every stage of convalescence. Through the open windows, could see the nurses flitting about. It was a strange, weird scene. Walked home with Mrs. Bartow. We stopped at Judge Carroll's. Mrs. Carroll gave us a cup of tea. When we got home, found the Prestons had called for me to dine at their house to meet General Magruder.

Last night the Edgefield Band serenaded Governor Pickens. Mrs. Harris stepped on the porch and sang the Marseillaise for them. It has been more than twenty years since I first heard her voice; it was a very fine one then, but there is nothing which the tooth of time lacerates more cruelly than the singing voice of women. There is an incongruous metaphor for you.

The negroes on the coast received the Rutledge's Mounted Rifles apparently with great rejoicings. The troops were gratified to find the negroes in such a friendly state of mind. One servant whispered to his master, “Don't you mind ’em, don't trust ’em” — meaning the negroes. The master then dressed himself as a Federal officer and went down to a negro quarter. The very first greeting was, “Ki! massa, you come fuh ketch rebels? We kin show you way you kin ketch thirty to-night.” They took him to the Confederate camp, or pointed it out, and then added for his edification, “We kin ketch officer fuh you whenever you want ’em.”

Bad news. Gunboats have passed Vicksburg. The Yankees are spreading themselves over our fair Southern land like red ants.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 203-5

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, July 17, 1864

The same as ever. Am still in the hospital, but getting some better, and I am very thankful, for it is very disagreeable to lie sick in a field hospital. We have soldiers for nurses, and though they are convalescents, yet they are strong enough to care for the sick and wounded. They are glad to do everything possible for their comrades.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 205

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: June 27, 1862 – 10 p.m.

Ten o’clock at Night.—Another day of great excitement in our beleaguered city. From early dawn the cannon has been roaring around us. Our success has been glorious! The citizens — gentlemen as well as ladies — have been fully occupied in the hospitals. Kent, Paine & Co. have thrown open their spacious building for the use of the wounded. General C., of Texas, volunteer aid to General Hood, came in from the field covered with dust, and slightly wounded; he represents the fight as terrible beyond example. The carnage is frightful. General Jackson has joined General Lee, and nearly the whole army on both sides were engaged. The enemy had retired before our troops to their strong works near Gaines's Mill. Brigade after brigade of our brave men were hurled against them, and repulsed in disorder. General Lee was heard to say to General Jackson, “The fighting is desperate; can our men stand it?” Jackson replied, “General, I know our boys — they will never give back.” In a short time a large part of our force was brought up in one grand attack, and then the enemy was utterly routed. General C. represents the valour of Hood and his brigade in the liveliest colours, and attributes the grand success at the close of the day greatly to their extraordinary gallantry. The works were the strongest ever seen in this country, and General C. says that the armies of the world could not have driven our men from them.

Another bulletin from the young surgeon of the Fortieth. That noble regiment has lost heavily — several of the "Potomac Rifles" among the slain—sons of old friends and acquaintances. E. B., dreadfully wounded, has been brought in, and is tenderly nursed. Our own boys are mercifully spared. Visions of the battle-field have haunted me all day. Our loved ones, whether friends or strangers — all Southern soldiers are dear to us — lying dead and dying; the wounded in the hot sun, the dead being hastily buried. McClellan is said to be retreating. “Praise the Lord, O my soul!”

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 125-6

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: June 6, 1862

Paul Hayne, the poet, has taken rooms here. My husband came and offered to buy me a pair of horses. He says I need more exercise in the open air. “Come, now, are you providing me with the means of a rapid retreat?” said I. “I am pretty badly equipped for marching.”

Mrs. Rose Greenhow is in Richmond. One-half of the ungrateful Confederates say Seward sent her. My husband says the Confederacy owes her a debt it can never pay. She warned them at Manassas, and so they got Joe Johnston and his Paladins to appear upon the stage in the very nick of time. In Washington they said Lord Napier left her a legacy to the British Legation, which accepted the gift, unlike the British nation, who would not accept Emma Hamilton and her daughter, Horatia, though they were willed to the nation by Lord Nelson.

Mem Cohen, fresh from the hospital where she went with a beautiful Jewish friend. Rachel, as we will call her (be it her name or no), was put to feed a very weak patient. Mem noticed what a handsome fellow he was, and how quiet and clean. She fancied by those tokens that he was a gentleman. In performance of her duties, the lovely young nurse leaned kindly over him and held the cup to his lips. When that ceremony was over and she had wiped his mouth, to her horror she felt a pair of by no means weak arms around her neck and a kiss upon her lips, which she thought strong, indeed. She did not say a word; she made no complaint. She slipped away from the hospital, and hereafter in her hospital work will minister at long range, no matter how weak and weary, sick and sore, the patient may be. “And,” said Mem, “I thought he was a gentleman.” “Well, a gentleman is a man, after all, and she ought not to have put those red lips of hers so near.”

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 176-7