Louisa May Alcott: With A Rose, published 1860

WITH A ROSE

That Bloomed on the Day of John Brown's Martyrdom.

In the long silence of the night,

    Nature's benignant power

Woke aspirations for the light

    Within the folded flower.

Its presence and the gracious day

    Made summer in the room,

But woman's eyes shed tender dew

    On the little rose in bloom.

Then blossomed forth a grander flower,

    In the wilderness of wrong,

Untouched by Slavery's bitter frost,

    A soul devout and strong.

God-watched, that century plant uprose,

    Far shining through the gloom,

Filling a nation with the breath

    Of a noble life in bloom.

A life so powerful in its truth,

    A nature so complete;

It conquered ruler, judge and priest,

    And held them at its feet.

Death seemed proud to take a soul

    So beautifully given,

And the gallows only proved to him

    A stepping-stone to heaven.

Each cheerful word, each valiant act,

    So simple, so sublime,

Spoke to us through the reverent hush

    Which sanctified that time.

That moment when the brave old man

    Went so serenely forth,

With footsteps whose unfaltering tread

    Reechoed through the North.

The sword he wielded for the right

    Turns to a victor's palm;

His memory Bounds forever more,

    A spirit-stirring psalm.

No breath of shame ran touch his shield,

    Nor ages dim its shine;

Living, he made life beautiful, -

    Dying, made death divine.

No monument of quarried stone,

    No eloquence of speech,

Can grave the lessons on the land

    His martyrdom will teach.

No eulogy like his own words,

    With hero-spirit rife,

"I truly serve the cause I love,

    By yielding up my life."

— L. M. Alcott.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 98

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, July 4, 1864

Eighty-eight years this day since our fathers gave to the world that important document setting forth the immortal truth that all men are born free with equal rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and declaring the independence of these states from foreign domination—the Declaration of American Independence. On these great truths they founded a Republic. Today their posterity are in mourning for the loss of sons. In painful expectations, in earnest hope and fear, their eyes are turned toward two mighty armies contending on the same soil, one for those principles and that Republic, the other battling to maintain a dying rebellion inaugurated to overthrow the work of their hands, and to found a government on principles the reverse. Nothing was ever more plainly asserted in both words and deeds than this. Here within the scope of my vision, are 26,000 men suffering for the great sin that has cursed our people, offered a living sacrifice that it may not be destroyed but saved free from the contaminating influence that has stained our fair emblem—the boasted emblem of liberty; that the Union of the States shall not be broken by the hands of Treason; the foul assassin of Liberty! O, that the day of glorious triumph may soon come and with it the right, and stop the horrid evil of war! Let the demon that actuated it be destroyed! Apropos to the day are these beautiful lines from Longfellow, which Thompson recited:

* * * Sail on, O Ship of State!

Sail on, O Union, strong and great!

Humanity with all its fears,

With all the hopes of future years,

Is hanging breathless on thy fate!

We know what Master laid thy keel,

What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,

What anvils rang, what hammers beat,

In what a forge and what a heat

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!

Fear not each sudden sound and shock,

'Tis of the wave and not the rock;

'Tis but the flapping of the sail,

And not a rent made by the gale!

In spite of rock and tempest's roar,

In spite of false lights on the shore,

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee.

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,

Are all with thee,—are all with thee!

Have had but little rest for two nights, owing to the storm and severity of my complaints. No rations since the 2nd. Two hours of terrible thunder storm. At the Sutler's "Shebang" I purchased a small wheat biscuit for 35 cents. This is my feast (after two days' fast) for July 4th, 1864.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 84-5

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, July 9, 1864

SCENES AMONG SICK.—RAIDERS CONVICTED.

Strong these men had been;

In vast army camps had duty done;

Had useful service in field and fort performed,

Some also on the sea and river fleets.

Strong on marches and in battles' strife;

Strong in perilous trenches behind belching guns

On skirmish lines at opening frays,

And bravely stood the shock of charging lines

That brought the battle's final test.

—From The Vision of North.

More than a week since a sick call. The Doctor came to the gate this morning; and many sick go forward. Crowds are carried who cannot walk and are laid over a large space. Still in a bad state and quite weak, I go, hoping to get a prescription, for "camphor pills," which sergeants of "nineties" draw, after the examination. Doctor comes in and looks them over hastily, going among them some, touching a few as though he felt squeamish. Two hours would be required, at least, to get along with the "nasty job," the doctors think, and only wink at them at that. I could not endure the hot sun, the awful stench, the sight of those sickening objects. I soon lost faith, if I had any, that I should be healed by a slight hem touch. I came to doubt, upon viewing the condition of so many others, whether I needed anything. More curious than charitable charity is a cripple here, begins and ends at home. I looked them over, and was not curious.

"Here pity doth most show herself alive

When she is dead." —Dante.

There were stronger forms and more robust constitutions than mine, weaker than infants; more loathsome than if they were dead; so they soon must be once a part of the bone and sinew of the Union army! What ten times worse than ghastly expressions! What pitiful complaints! What peevish, unmanly cries, calling for the doctor to "Come quick, for Christ's sake, quick!" constantly begging for water! Aghast, I stepped hurriedly, shamblingly, but carefully over those wasted, corrupted bodies, once beautiful caskets of immortal spirits, and hastened here and sit down with the boys under the shade of the blanket, my heart sinking, is it not hardening with gloom? I shudder while I write lest my fate shall be like theirs.

"What did you get, North?" they asked.

"Nothing; didn't try."

"You ought to."

"It wouldn't amount to shucks."

"Perhaps it would; at any rate, get all you can out of the Confederacy."

"That would do."

"Then go back and try."

"That makes me think of a man standing all night in the cold to freeze an ugly dog. The soundest man in the bull-pen would be sick to stand in that dying crowd an hour."

"That's what's the matter."

Tonight some of the sick are still at the gate; no attention paid, but ordered left till sent back. Many of the worst cases were admitted to hospital, a large number carried back by friends. Out of those who remain, six have died during the day; others on the verge of death. Doctors claim they have no means to care for the sick, therefore neglect them, let them rot rather than parole and send them to our lines. They are not admitted to the hospital, which is little better than this den, until in a condition of death; nor are we allowed to go out for brush and timber to build shelter here though thousands would volunteer for that service and the timber is all about us.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 86-7

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 19, 1861

Reached camp yesterday at noon. My recruits arrived to-day.

The enemy was here in my absence in strength and majesty, and repeated, with a slight variation, the grand exploit of the King of France, by

"Marching up the hill with twenty thousand men,

And straightway marching down again."

There was lively skirmishing for a few days, and hot work expected; but, for reasons unknown to us, the enemy retired precipitately.

On Sunday morning last fifty men of the Sixth Ohio, when on picket, were surprised and captured. My friend, Lieutenant Merrill, fell into the hands of the enemy, and is now probably on his way to Castle Pinckney. Further than this our rebellious friends did us no damage. Our men, at this point, killed Colonel Washington, wounded a few others, and further than this inflicted but little injury upon the enemy. The country people near whom the rebels encamped say they got to fighting among themselves. The North Carolinians were determined to go home, and regiments from other States claimed that their term of service had expired, and wanted to leave. I am glad they did, and trust they may go home, hang up their guns, and go to work like sensible people, for then I could do the same.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 67-8

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 23, 1861

This afternoon I rode by a mountain path to a log cabin in which a half dozen wounded Tennesseeans are lying. One poor fellow had his leg amputated yesterday, and was very feeble. One had been struck by a ball on the head and a buckshot in the lungs. Two boys were but slightly wounded, and were in good spirits. To one of these-a jovial, pleasant boy—Dr. Seyes said, good humoredly: "You need have no fears of dying from a gunshot; you are too big a devil, and were born to be hung." Colonel Marrow sought to question this same fellow in regard to the strength of the enemy, when the boy said: "Are you a commissioned officer?" "Yes," replied Marrow. "Then," returned he," you ought to know that a private soldier don't know anything."

In returning to camp, we followed a path which led to a place where a regiment of the rebels had encamped one night. They had evidently become panic-stricken and left in hot haste. The woods were strewn with knapsacks, blankets, and canteens.

The ride was a pleasant one. The path, first wild and rugged, finally led to a charming little valley, through which Beckey's creek hurries down to the river. Leaving this, we traveled up the side of a ravine, through which a little stream fretted and fumed, and dashed into spray against slimy rocks, and then gathered itself up for another charge, and so pushed gallantly on toward the valley and the sunshine.

What a glorious scene! The sky filled with stars; the rising moon; two mountain walls so high, apparently, that one might step from them into heaven; the rapid river, the thousand white tents dotting the valley, the camp fires, the shadowy forms of soldiers; in short, just enough of heaven and earth visible to put one's fancy on the gallop. The boys are in groups about their fires. The voice of the troubadour is heard. It is a pleasant song that he sings, and I catch part of it.

"The minstrel 's returned from the war,

      With spirits as buoyant as air,

 And thus on the tuneful guitar

      He sings in the bower of the fair:

 The noise of the battle is over;

     The bugle no more calls to arms;

A soldier no more, but a lover,

     I kneel to the power of thy charms.

Sweet lady, dear lady, I'm thine;

     I bend to the magic of beauty,

Though the banner and helmet are mine,

     Yet love calls the soldier to duty."

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 68-9

Diary of Lucy Larcom, March 2, 1861

What does cause depression of spirits? Heavy head and heavy heart, and no sufficient reason for either, that I know of. I am out of doors every day, and have nothing unusual to trouble me; yet every interval of thought is clouded; there is no rebound, no rejoicing as it is my nature to rejoice, and as all things teach me to do. We are strange phenomena to ourselves, when we will stop to gaze at ourselves; but that I do not believe in; there are pleasanter subjects, and self is a mere speck on the great horizon of life.

A new volume of poems by T. B. Aldrich, just read, impresses me especially with its daintiness and studied beauty. There are true flashes of poetry, but most carefully trimmed and subdued, so as to shine artistically. I believe the best poetry of our times is growing too artistic; the study is too visible. If freedom and naturalness are lost out of poetry, everything worth having is lost.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 84-5

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, June 20, 1864

Yesterday a sentry fired on a man who was attempting to kill a snake near the dead line, but missed him, the shot taking effect on four others; wounding one in the face, one in the thigh, both lying under their blankets, and grazed two others. Gen. Sturgis has blundered in a fight with Forrest in Tennessee; lost 900 men. Sigel has been relieved by Hunter for fighting Breckenridge with an inferior force, less than at his command. These seeming disasters fill Rebels with bombast and are not encouraging to us.

These little triumphs seem to raise their wind;

But great defeats they never seem to find;

They cut loops, but not the ropes that bind.

We look at them, then coolly turn aside,

Annoyed that Jonnies have such narrow pride,

That it should never enter in the mind,

'Tis but a wave blown up against the tide,

For surely Forrest breaks not the comet's tail,

And Joe E. Johnston goes down before it pale;

While flirting in Virginia are but attempts to rise

When U. S. Grant rolls Lee upon his thighs.

Robbers more desperate and bold. Two men have lately been murdered, and a number hurt and robbed. We watch nightly, fearing attack. Two guards are reported hung for attempting to escape with prisoners a few nights ago. The old guard leave this morning, probably for the front; we have a new set on.

Passing up from the creek this morning I saw a crowd standing around a dying negro boy about one-fourth white. A white man stood over him holding in his hand a stick, to one end of which was attached a stiff paper, with which he brushed the swarming flies from his face and fanned his dying breath. He was emaciated and bruised. Presently the feeble breath stopped the man bent and lay his bony hands on his breast. Again there was a faint heaving of the breast, the eyes brightened and glanced meaningly at him, then rolled back, and he breathed no more. I cannot tell why I forgot every thing for the time—

And intense interest took in him,

When hourly almost, each day, I see the dead

Of my own race, far loftier brows

And comelier forms, pass by.

Involuntarily, almost, my face turned towards the skies, my forehead and temples felt the soft, thrilling, intangible pressure of an electric band; my left arm and shoulder, for a moment, electrified. Then I looked at those about, and wondered what they thought. Turning to one, I remarked:

"I should have thought he had a soul, were he not a negro." He replied: "I know, if the human is immortal, he had a soul. I almost felt it when it departed."

This is what is going the rounds tonight: "They say Davis has sued for peace." Too sensible to be true!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 76-7

Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, Saturday, February 1, 1862

Nothing of any particular note has occured today. The ground was covered with Snow this morning, but it has thawed all day. Went down after dinner and with the three boys and got them all new boots with which they were highly pleased, paid $4.25 for the lot. Got “Bud” also a pair of pants $2.50, paid the Baker $4.25, Milkman $1.90. Got my Drawings today, shall put in my application in two or three days. I have not been out since dark, have been reading the papers, writing &c. Wife rc^d a letter from her Uncle Sullivan & [Mis Rec^d Cook?]. It is now ½ past ten. The boys went to bed at 8. Wife busy mending as usual evenings. Julia is writing off Poetry from a newspaper and I am going to bed.

SOURCE: Horatio Nelson Taft, The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865. Volume 1, January 1,1861-April 11, 1862, Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Washington D. C.

Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, Friday, February 21, 1862

It has been pleasant today, it was frozen up this morning. I have been in the office as usual. Willie Taft spent part of the day with me at the office while his Ma & the other boys went to the Presidents. The illumination will not take place tomorrow night in consequence of the Presidents affliction. The news from Tennessee is favorable for our cause, Nashville is probably in our possession. I have not been out tonight. Julia interested us for an hour reciting poetry from different authors. She quite surprised me with the accuracy of her reading (or rendering) Schillers Battle piece, E A Poe^s “Bells” &c. She recited whole pages from memory. “Bengen on the Rhine” was finely done, also “our Flag.” Near 11 o'clock. Julia and the boys were abed long ago. I have been Drafting some. Wife is frying doughnuts in the Kitchen.

SOURCE: Horatio Nelson Taft, The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865. Volume 1, January 1,1861-April 11, 1862, Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Washington D. C.

Diary of Private John C. West, Wednesday, April 22, 1863

Got up this morning feeling pretty well and concluded to leave to-morrow; went up town and mailed a letter to my wife; saw Dr. Johnson and got a certificate from him accounting for my delay, and a mixture of chalk and laudanum to take on the road; had a long talk with the doctor and Rev. Mr. Wilson about the Downs and Sparks, citizens of Waco; the doctor refused to charge me anything. I borrowed seventy-five dollars from Major Holman and gave him my note. Have been reading Bulwer's “Strange Story" a good deal to-day. Mrs. Weir came in this evening and talked very kindly to me; wants me to stay longer, but I must go; every man ought to go. Witnessed a cock fight in the streets a few minutes ago and rather enjoyed it; wonder how my chickens come on at home, and what my dear wife and dear little Stark and Mary are doing now. Mrs. Bacon has just brought me a pocketbook, and she and Mrs. Brownnigg and Mrs. Weir have offered me money. Miss Gregg has brought me a toddy and I must drink it. Oh! these women!

"The world was sad, the garden was a wild,

 And man, the hermit, sighed till woman smiled."

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 22-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, June 1, 1864

Scalding heat during forenoon; heavy showers follow. Water is running through camp like a flood. Prisoners reported missing, rations suspended; Rebels are making a stir on the outside.

Finished "Paradise Lost"; called on Harriman. He supplied us with Pollock's "ourse of Time." We had read this, but it is now more acceptable. In our view it is a work of more natural thought and imbibes less of the unnatural. Milton has soulstirring passages, alive with truth, significant expression and beautiful simplicity. Then he goes deeply into themes beyond most conceptions; we don't wish to not, unless this is "Paradise Lost." Confederacy when he said:

follow him, or cannot, have Did he mean the Southern

"Devils with devils damned firm concord hold."

Did he mean the North when he wrote:

"Men only disagree of creatures rational,

Though under hope of heavenly grace"

how they should save the Union?

The following lines express a truth in human experience:

"God proclaiming peace,

Yet men live in hatred, enmity and strife

Among themselves, and levy cruel wars

Wasting the earth, each other to destroy,

As if man had not hellish foes enough besides,

That day and night for his destruction wait."

Milton seems to have designed to impress the thought that man had hellish foes distinct from his race, awaiting his destruction, which originated through rebellious war in heaven. I think the causes of our troubles lie in our lack of knowledge and misconception of our social relations, wicked ambition, foolish pride, and that these lines better fit an earthly than a heavenly realm.

The usual monotony except an unusual amount of firing by sentry. Prisoners arrive daily from both our great armies. Men crowd near them to get news and hardtack; occasionally old friends meet. About half the camp draw raw meal; we are of that half this week; have the trouble of cooking it without salt or seasoning or wood, half the time. We stir it in water, bake it on plates held over a splinter fire with a stiff stick, or boil it into mush or dumplings, baking or boiling as long as fuel lasts.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 70-1

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, June 15, 1864

Last night "raiders" attempted to profit by their vile practices. "Moseby's" (this name is given one of the chiefs) whistles blew and was responded to by the subleaders. Suspicious-looking chaps move through parts of the prison. Presently the cry of "thief," "raiders," and suppressed voices are heard, like men in a struggle. Again cries of "catch him," "murder," "Oh, God, they've killed me!" Now and then one is caught, and cries, and begs dolefully. Then a squad of twenty strong savage-looking men ran through the streets with clubs; soon there is a desperate fight. Blows are plainly heard, and savage oaths and cries of fright and distress. For a time the desperadoes vanish, then reappear. The disturbance kept up all night; we did not feel safe to lie down unless someone of our tent watched. I hear of two watches and other things being lost; have seen some men who got hit. Some Massachusetts boys near us had their blanket seized. Luckily one awoke as the last corner was drawn from him. He sprang up and so closely pursued the thief that he dropped it. This morning a fellow had his head shaved for stealing rations. Toward noon excitement attracted attention to the north side. Going thither we found a fellow had been seized and was being shorn of one-half of his hair and whiskers. He had been outside shoemaking and had been commissioned by the Confederates to come in and take the names of others, of the same trade, with the view that they might be induced or impressed into the service, for Rebels are in need of men of all trades; especially men are wanted to make "government shoes." I saw a man playing the same treasonable game yesterday and a group of us resolved he should not go unnoticed. Shame on those men who are willing to sell their birthright for a loathsome crust! Turn their hands against the cause for which they fought, and virtually balance the power of brothers in the field! The blood of our brothers would cry out against us. For a Southerner to do this is treason; for one of our own men to do it, what is it?

Twice, the first in two days, has the sun appeared today, but it is still rainy. Several hundred men arrive from our army in Virginia, the majority of whom are stripped of blankets and tents. The number of deaths within 24 hours ending at 9 a. m. today is stated at 160.

A hermit wrote of his situation in solitude as "a horrible place"; "Better dwell in the midst of alarms." But we have no choice; we both—

"Dwell in the midst of alarms,"

And "reign in this horrible place."

It was not poetical to call Nature's solitude horrible; nothing is so horrible as subverted, debased, cruelized, distorted, dying human nature.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 75-6

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: August 2, 1861

Jerrolaman went out this afternoon and picked nearly a peck of blackberries. Berries of various kinds are very abundant. The fox-grape is also found in great plenty, and as big as one's thumb.

The Indianians are great ramblers. Lieutenant Bell says they can be traced all over the country, for they not only eat all the berries, but nibble the thorns off the bushes.

General Reynolds told me, this evening, he thought it probable we would be attacked soon. Have been distributing ammunition, forty rounds to the man.

My black horse was missing this morning. Conway looked for him the greater part of the day, and finally found him in possession of an Indiana captain. It happened in this way: Captain Rupp, Thirteenth Indiana, told his men he would give forty dollars for a sesesh horse, and they took my horse out of the pasture, delivered it to him, and got the money. He rode the horse up the valley to Colonel Wagner's station, and when he returned bragged considerably over his good luck; but about dark Conway interviewed him on the subject, when a change came o'er the spirit of his dream. Colonel Sullivan tells me the officers now talk to Rupp about the fine points of his horse, ask to borrow him, and desire to know when he proposes to ride again.

A little group of soldiers are sitting around a camp-fire, not far away, entertaining each other with stories and otherwise. Just now one of them lifts up his voice, and in a melancholly strain sings:

Somebody —— “is weeping

For Gallant Andy Gay,

Who now in death lies sleeping

On the field of Monterey.”

While I write he strikes into another air, and these are the words as I catch them:

“Come back, come back, my purty fair maid!

Then thousand of my jinture on you I will bestow

If you’ll consent to marry me;

Oh, do not say me no.”

But the maid is indifferent to jintures, and replies indignantly:

“Oh, hold your tongue, captain, your words are all in vain;

I have a handsome sweetheart now across the main,

And if I do not find him I’ll mourn continuali.”

More of this interesting dialogue between the captain and the pretty fair maid I can not catch.

The sky is clear, but the night very dark. I do not contemplate my ride to the picket posts with any great degree of pleasure. A cowardly sentinel is more likely to shoot at you than a brave one. The fears of the former do not give him time to consider whether the person advancing is friend or foe.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 41-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, May 18, 1864

"Grant defeated, sho'," exclaimed a lieutenant who appeared on our floor this morning. We draw no rations today. Tomorrow we expect to start for Georgia. Savannah, Americus and Macon are points named.

Buchanan sat in Federal chair

While Rebs purloined our cash and guns.

They stole our forts,—'twas all unfair,—

From office every Rebel runs,

With none to him succeed,

And took these guns and turned about,

While several States secede,

And boasted they were brave and stout

And sneered the North they'd bleed,

And "Yankee armies put to rout

For we've stole the stuff they need;"

And in the Northern face did flout

Insults their crimes did breed.

 

Buchanan turned with mien devout

A Nation's brittle reed!

Said: "North, I said, 'twould thus come out,

If their threats you failed to heed;

I begged these States not to go out,

But can't help it if they do secede.

Now, friends, if you would win 'em back,

Drop down upon your knees,

Like slaves who fear the lash's crack,

And try again to please;

For, if you fail this act to do

Secession stands-alack!

For if these States shall choose to go,

You can't coerce them back!"

 

So up they hoist a Rebel flag;

They shake it in the Nation's face

An insolent old slavery rag

To all the land disgrace!

Then Lincoln to the loyal said:

"What will my brothers do?

You as the people, I the head,

To Justice must be true!

Come forth to meet this traitorous horde;

Defeat them where they stand;

They'd wreck the Nation with the sword,

Come and redeem the land!

They challenge us; shall we be brave,

Or cowards shall we be?

From basest treason shall we save

What God proclaimed was free?"

 

"We're coming, honest Abraham,”

Replied the loyal North,

"The plea of tyranny we'll damn;

By thousands we come forth;

For slavery we much abhor,

We've borne its insults many years,

And though we mourn the woes of war,

Our honor knows no fear!"

Thus awoke the loyal host,

E'en where Treason claimed to reign;

And though they strive, and threat, and boast,

Their striving shall be vain.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 47-49

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, May 20, 1864

As it grew daylight we arrived at Greenboro, N. C., a pleasant place, appropriately named, I judge, for the beauty of the scene cheered and made me forget I was not on a pleasure trip. The village is full of green trees and flower gardens, splendidly located in a slightly undulating, but not hilly region. Away to the west the Blue Ridge appeared like a panorama. We stopped near a large, thickly wooded park charming as the original forest. The wide streets, rows of green trees glistening with dew as the sun shone on them, the morning songs of birds, and the people on the street and those that came to look at us as though we were a caravan of strange animals again made us think of lost liberty. The people appeared anxious to talk but were prevented. The soldiers said a strong Union feeling existed. I judge they are tolerable compromisers. We left Greenboro at 8 p. m.; while there I traded by hat cord for three biscuits with a Rebel soldier going to the front. Thompson and I call it breakfast. From here to Salisbury we halted at three stations; the people appeared kindly disposed, mannerly, our folks like. At one station a citizen gave the boys a few cakes. I find human nature is the same everywhere. Men may differ widely in opinion, still they are alike. Today we can forgive or embrace what yesterday we fought. Whoever we meet and wherever we meet them, we see something of ourselves reflected. This is consoling in circumstances like these; so if we love ourselves we must love our enemies. Man is a curious compound of many animate beings with an additional quality higher and better.

"His nature none can o'errate, and none

Can under rate his merit."

At Salisbury we stopped two hours. Men and women came out to talk but were not freely allowed. One family inquired for Pennsylvanians, stated that they formerly lived in that State, and sent two little negro girls to bring us water, but were finally forbidden intercourse. Here is a prison where many Union officers and Union citizens and newspaper correspondents are confined. At 6:30 p. m. we reach Charlotte, 93 miles south of Greenboro and were marched a mile and camped. After dark we drew a day's ration of hard bread and bacon; had had nothing for 36 hours.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 50-1

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, May 21, 1864

We were awakened at 3 o'clock this morning to get ready to go, but remained until 4 p. m. During the day a train arrived with officers who were captured with us and elsewhere. Among the officers of my regiment were Major John W. Young, Captains Swan and Clyde, Lieutenants Buchanan, Homer Call and Cahill, also Lieutenant Cheeseman of General Rice's staff. Among the other officers were Brigadier Generals Shaler and Seymour who belonged to the 6th corp and were taken in the battle of May 6th with portions of their command in the Wilderness, when Longstreet's corp overlapped the Union lines in the crisis of that engagement that threatened decisive disaster to the Rebel army. General Shaler, speaking of the battle of the 6th, says the practical result of Longstreet's arrival simply prevented our victory and saved the Rebel army from decisive defeat, and will simply prolong the fighting before Lee can be forcd back on Richmond. Longstreet's arrival on the field was unanticipated and unprepared for so early in the day. Had it not been for this desperate attack the Rebel army would have found what Pickett got at Gettysburg and Lee's retreat to Richmond would have been hastened. "The battles of May 5th and 6th," said Gen. Shaler, "have put Lee on the defensive, but he is in shape to put up a hard fight. All the fields fought over are ours; success is simply postponed. Both armies are moving on Richmond, Lee because he has to, Grant because he wants to." This made us happy.

Groups of ladies come to look at us but are kept at a distance. At 4:30 p. m. the train moves off and fourteen miles bring us into South Carolina.

IN SLAVEDOM.

 

If "Jove fixed it certain that whatever day

Makes man a slave takes half his worth away,"

'Tis no less certain that the galling cord

That binds the slave perverts his haughty lord.

Corroding links his better nature rive

From spiritual touch of his enslaving gyve.

'Tis plain as stars that in the heavens lie,

As plain as sun that burns through lofty sky,

That in a land where men their slaves do count,

That interest rises always paramount.

All else is smothered like flowers overrun

By poisonous weeds that thrive in rain and sun

While freest men are shackled to their grave;

And cannot rise where masters stern enslave.

Freest souls are but subaltern tools;

The truth is silenced wherever slavery rules.

Men's thoughts grow dormant, their passions turn to hate,

As waters in a silent pool stagnate;

Its merits, or demerits, none debate;

The mass may vote, but must not rule a State.

Public squares, feigned to adorn a town,

Where struts the driver like a Pagan clown,

Are where grave masters sell their slaves for cash;

The press and pulpit help them wield the lash.

The ruling spirit is a demon fraught

With hellish wrath, where men are sold and bought,

And raised like mules for service, and for gain,

For market like steers upon a Texas plain,

Or swine for bacon, that root in Southern wood;

So Sambo's bred sole for his master's good.

He must know but little, never much;

To teach him more no saint may touch;

His innate sense that he, too, is a man,

The breath of Freedom shall ne'er to action fan.

So it has grown a cancer on the heart

Of this Republic the master's sword would part—

Who knows no freedom but to enslave at will—

The North must yield or human blood shall spill!

They claimed for slavery, indeed, the foremost chance

In all the realm where Freedom's hosts advance;

But this denied, a raving spirit rash,

Now lifts the sword to supplant the lash,

And good men rush, enamored for a cause

Where wrong is foremost in their social laws!

And so I muse as on this way we wend

To be enslaved-in some damned prison penned!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 51-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, May 23, 1864

Arrived at Augusta, Ga., at daylight, one of the nicest towns of its size in the South; the home of Alexander H. Stephens, long celebrated as one of the ablest Southern men, now the Vice President of this so-colled Confederacy. Business appeared dull. Trains from Savannah had troops to reinforce Johnston beyond Atlanta. After an hour we run out of town and changed trains. We have had no rations since the 20th, resort to various means to obtain bread. Brass buttons, pocket books, knives, any Yankee trinket are in good demand; bread is scarce, prices enormous when we find it. They like Yankee notions emblazoned in brass and gutta percha, but they are too supercilious to adopt Northern principles. I succeeded in trading a silk necktie and an ink stand for a loaf of bread. These fellows are the queerest traffickers I ever saw. The Esquimaux and native Indians have no greater hankering for a ten-penny nail than these people have for brass ornaments. A good jack knife counted in their cash, is worth about $25; a wooden inkstand $3 to $15; brass buttons from $3 to $10 per dozen. The country around Augusta looks nice; it is on the Savannah River; population about 8,300. In the afternoon we drew rations for a day; moved on at 3 o'clock.

On, on, on we go down to the Rebel jail;

I reckon this is rather rough a riding on a rail.

Oh, here are boys from many a hearth,

Dear to many a breast,

Many a mothers heart is dearth,

Many a wife with woe is press'd;

And many a kin and many a friend

Will long to know their fate;

[But] many a precious life will end

Within that prison gate;

And many a day ere we can see

That dear old home again,

And rest beneath that banner free

That traitors now disdain.

Many a long, long weary day,

Many a dismal night,

Our hope and strength may waste away

By hunger, pain and blight;

And many a vow may be forgot,

But we shall not forget

The glorious truths for which we fought.

The cause that triumphs yet.

But we hear their vauntings everywhere;

They never can prove true;

And yet what devils ever dare

These Rebels dare to do;

And matters look a little rough,

Things look a little blue,

You bet it is a little tough,

Going down to Rebel jail;

'Tis not so very pleasant, though,

This riding on a rail!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 54-5

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: May 24, 1865

On the 24th of May we cross the long bridge spanning the Potomac and enter Washington City and pass up Pennsylvania Avenue, and by the White House, with Sherman's army in the grand review. This was a proud day for Sherman and his army. Flowers and wreaths, plucked and formed by the hands of the nation's fair ones, fell thick and fast at the feet of the tramping army as it surged like an ocean wave in the great avenue. Passing by the stand where stood the nation's great men, General Sherman turns to his wife and says, "There are the Seventh Illinois and the sixteen-shooters that helped to save my army in the great battle on the Allatoona hills."

On that day there were men in the national capital who were loud in denouncing Sherman as a traitor, for his actions in his conference with General Joe Johnson [sic]. Generals Howard, Logan, Blair and Slocum are familiar with the circumstances that controlled Sherman in that conference. The seventy thousand who with him tramped the continent, have learned the history of those negotiations, and their expression is unanimous for Sherman, and to-day they are wild in denouncing all who oppose him. Catching the spirit of these stalwart men, Lieutenant Flint, of Company G, writes thus:

Back to your kennels ! 'tis no time
To snarl upon him now,
Ye cannot tear the blood-earned bays
From off his regal brow.

Along old Mississippi's stream,
We saw his banner fly;
We followed where from Georgia's peaks
It flapped against the sky.

And forward! vain her trackless swamps,
Her wilderness of pines,
He saw the sun rise from the sea
Flash on his serried lines!

Back to your kennels! 'tis too late
To sully Sherman's name;
To us it is the synonym
Of valor, worth and fame.

A hundred fights, a thousand miles
Of glory, blood and pain,
From our dear valley of the west,
To Carolina's plain,

Are his and ours; and peace or war,
Let his old pennon reel,
And ten times ten thousand men
Will thunder at his heel,"

After the grand review, we go into camp a few miles from the capital near the Soldier's Home. Treason and rebellion being prostrate, and the Union saved, the western troops are ordered to rendezvous at Louisville, Kentucky, preparatory to their muster out of the United States service.

SOURCE: abstracted from Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 309-11

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: about June 1, 1865

About the first of June we leave Washington by rail, taking the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, and while passing by Harper's Ferry the men make the welkin ring by singing "John Brown's soul is marching on." Upon arriving at Parkensburg, Va., we embark on Government steamer and are soon floating down the Ohio.

Sitting upon the deck of the proud steamer, Lieutenant Flint, ever full of his poetical genius, writes:

Beautiful river; well named they of old

Thee, the blue flood that pours o'er thy channel of gold,

Speed down from the mountains, thou fairest of daughters,

That meet on the breast of the father of waters.

Rush down from thy mountains and bear us along,

With bugle and drum note, and wild burst of song,

Our eyes will grow dim as they follow thy shore,

And thy waves bear us downward and homeward once more.

Bring out the old flags; their rents and their scars,

Are as dear to our hearts as their stripes and their stars,

Wave your old flags, men, point them towards home,

Proudly in victory and honor we come.

O mothers and sisters, and sweethearts and wives,

Glean our prairies of flowers for this crown of our lives;

Strew a path for the war-horse that moves at our head,

For his rider is dear to the legions he led.

Know ye our leader? Aye, millions shall tell

How the strongholds of Treason like Jerichos fell,

From the streams of the west to the furthermost shore,

His story is writ on the banners he bore.

Shake out your old flags and point to their scars,

Sherman is leading his host from the wars;

Wave your old flags, men, point them towards home,

Shout! for in victory and honor we come.

The weather is pleasant and the boys seem happy as they remember that blood has ceased to flow, and that a conquered peace is drawing nigh. As we stand upon the steamer moving so queenly, we cast our eyes towards the Kentucky shore; the hills are green and our feelings tell us they never were so beautiful before. Years ago, one could not help thinking of the many sad hearts that throbbed over there. But now the song of freedom is sung on that side of the river as well as on this side. Yet there are memories associated with those hills that will make us sad years to come, for many brave hearts are stilled in death over there. Over and around their graves the green grass is growing, and the freedman will weave chaplets of flowers and spread over the graves of the lone soldiers; and may be he will sing a song in grateful remembrance of his fallen benefactor. Arriving at Louisville we pass through the city and go into camp about five miles up the river.

We now notice that Colonel Rowett wears the well merited stars, which are honors fitly bestowed, and which should have fallen upon his shoulder long ere this. But as it happened he was no sycophant, and never crawled at the feet of power. After remaining in camp here a short time the Seventh is ordered to proceed to Louisville and report to the post commander for provost guard duty. We go into camp upon one of the vacant lots in the city where we remain performing the aforesaid duty, until we receive orders to prepare to be mustered out and discharged from the United States service.

SOURCE: abstracted from Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 311-13

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: July 9, 1865

After weeks of anxious waiting for the orders and the completing of the rolls, on the ninth day of July, 1865, the Seventh Illinois Veteran Volunteer Infantry is mustered out of the United States service. The same evening we cross the Ohio river and take the cars at Jeffersonville, Indiana, for Springfield, Illinois, where we arrive on the 11th of July and go into camp near Camp Butler, and remain there until the 18th, when we receive our pay and final discharge, and to our homes return to enjoy again the peace and quiet of civil life.

Kind reader, our task is done; through more than four years of war and carnage unknown to but few nations, we have gone step by step to tell the story of the Seventh in those turbulent years—"years that saw this nation brought up from darkness and bondage, to light and liberty." Our mind now reverts, and we remember when they fell—remember where their life blood ebbed away, while it was yet the spring-time of life with them.

"But it was duty."

"Some things are worthless, and some others so good,

That nations who buy them pay only in blood;

For Freedom and Union each man owes his part,

And these warriors have paid their share all warm from the heart.

"For it was duty."

As the years of peace roll in, may America's triumphant and happy people cherish their names, and passing the scenes of their glory and their last struggle in their country's cause, may they drop tears to their memory, remembering that they helped to save this union in those days of war's wrathful power. In uncoffined graves, among strangers they are now resting, and no chiseled stones stand there to tell the wandering pilgrims of freedom where they sleep. Hence no epitaphs are theirs, but they need none, for these are written in the hearts of their countrymen. Farewell, ye brave-hearted men! Farewell, bright hopes of the past; farewell! farewell, noble comrades who sleep in the sunny south! Peace to the ashes of the Seventh's noble fallen; peace, eternal peace to the ashes of every fallen soldier who went down in America's great crusade for freedom, truth, and the rights of men!

"How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
With all their country's wishes blest!
When spring with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck the hallowed mound,
She then shall dress a sweeter sod,
Than fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung,
Their honor comes a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

"On fame's eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn rounds,
The bivouac of the dead."

SOURCE: abstracted from Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 313-15