Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 24, 1865

Clear and very windy. The fear of utter famine is now assuming form. Those who have the means are laying up stores for the day of siege,—I mean a closer and more rigorous siege, when all communications with the country shall cease; and this makes the commodities scarcer and the prices higher. There is a project on foot to send away some thousands of useless consumers; but how it is to be effected by the city authorities, and where they will be sent to, are questions I have not heard answered. The population of the city is not less than 100,000, and the markets cannot subsist 70,000. Then there is the army in the vicinity, which must be fed. I suppose the poultry and the sheep will be eaten, and something like a pro rata distribution of flour and meal ordered.

There is a rumor of a great victory by Gen. Johnston in North Carolina, the taking of 4500 prisoners, 70 guns, etc.—merely a rumor, I am sure. On the contrary, I apprehend that we shall soon have news of the capture of Raleigh by Sherman. Should this be our fate, we shall soon have three or four different armies encompassing us!

I tried in vain this morning to buy a small fish-hook; but could not find one in the city. None but coarse large ones are in the stores. A friend has promised me one—and I can make pin-hooks, that will catch minnows. I am too skillful an angler to starve where water runs; and even minnows can be eaten. Besides, there are eels and catfish in the river. The water is always muddy.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 457-8

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 18, 1863

Haines Bluff, Miss. Once more on land, and glad are we of the change. We arrived at the mouth of the Yazoo at ten o'clock yesterday morning, six miles from Vicksburg, and, turning upstream, came to anchor at this place, fifteen miles from its mouth, at 12 m.

We had a perilous voyage down the river. It would seem, on looking back on the dangers through which we were safely carried, that a power higher than man's had been exerted in our behalf. To say nothing of the guerillas, three times were we in imminent danger of being "blown up." Once nothing but a miracle—men called it luck—saved us from capsizing; once we were driven on shore by a hurricane on the only spot, so said our pilot, where we could by any possibility have escaped being wrecked.

Part of our division, two days in advance of us, has reported at Vicksburg. Two divisions of the Ninth Corps are here, the other—the Third—is at Suffolk, Virginia. The place we now occupy was lately in possession of the Rebels. It is strong by nature, and has been made still stronger by man, but those terrible little gunboats made it too hot for secession, and they left in haste, leaving part of their baggage, a few horses and cattle, and even poultry, which our boys found skulking in the bushes. Of course, they arrested the cowardly creatures and brought them into camp.

The inhabitants have all left, driving their stock with them, and burning what furniture they could not carry.

The face of the country is rough and broken, quite as much so as Maryland and Virginia. Spite of Jeff. Davis' prohibition, I find much cotton planted in this part of Mississippi, but it will not come to much unless Uncle Sam soon gives it in charge of his colored children, who literally throng our camp. I wish I could describe the beauty and grandeur of these forests, but to be appreciated they must be seen. That which gives them their greatest charm is the long, wavy, gray moss which hangs suspended from every limb, from the smallest sapling to the mighty, towering oak. Wild plums and blackberries, large and luscious, abound and are now in season. Figs will soon be ripe. Among other things, good and bad, fleas and woodticks are in evidence.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 52-3

 

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: Thursday, October 16, 1862

5 a. m. The cars shrink, or the men swell, for certainly everybody had less room last night than before.

Cross and crabbed, sore in every joint, and mad at everything and everybody, we crawled out of our beds (?) and shook ourselves together. In spite of strict orders to the contrary, some fresh pork and some poultry found its way past the guards during the night. The owners needn't come looking for it, they would find only bristles and feathers if they did. I suppose the partaker is as bad as the thief, but I didn't feel guilty at all for accepting a slice of pork. I soon found a canteen with no owner, melted it apart over a fire and fried my pork and divided with my chums. There was no question about its being fresh, for we had no salt to make it otherwise. About 9 o'clock we tumbled into the cars and with no more adventures reached Camp Millington late in the afternoon. Can any one imagine our surprise and our great delight at finding the 150th N. Y. in camp right across the road from our camp? In a twinkling we were together. Discipline went to the winds. The officers tried to make a show of authority, but might as well have ordered the wind not to blow. All being from the same neighborhood, we were one great happy family, reunited after a long separation. I doubt if there is a man in either regiment who has not a friend, if not a brother, in the other. They have passed through about the same experiences in the recruiting camp and passed over the same route to this place. They knew the same people we knew and could give us late information about them. My own brother, John Van Alstyne, the same John who scolded me for enlisting, who called me a "fool" and lots of other bad names, had made the same sort of a fool of himself and was here with Uncle Sam's uniform on. Dozens of others I knew almost as well, and the same was the case all through, officers and men alike. As soon as the first round of handshaking was over and our volleys of questions about home and home people were answered, we took our turn at answering as to where we had been and what we had done, and how we liked it, etc., etc. Then we couldn't help standing up a little straighter, and showing as best we could the superiority of old bronzed soldiers like us over raw recruits like them. We had just returned from a sally against the enemy. The enemy had run off and given us no chance to show what we might have done, but that was no fault of ours. But soon the pangs of hunger, which had been forgotten for the time, came back, and as soon as the 150th took in the situation, over the fences and into their deserted camp they went, and soon everything eatable that their camp contained was transferred to ours, and soon afterwards to our stomachs. And how much good it did them to see us eat! They bought out the sutler and fed us until we could eat no more. And then we smoked and talked and chatted until late into the night. Surely I have never seen so much supreme satisfaction crammed into so small a space of time. But we finally separated and have quieted down, and now that I have written up my diary I will crawl in with my snoring comrades.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 52-4

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: November 20, 1863

We have reports of some successes to-day. Gen. Hampton, it appears, surprised and captured several companies of the enemy's cavalry, a day or two since, near Culpepper Court House. And Gen. Wheeler has captured several hundred of the enemy in East Tennessee, driving the rest into the fortifications of Knoxville. Gen. Longstreet, at last accounts, was near Knoxville with the infantry. We shall not be long kept in suspense — as Longstreet will not delay his action; and Burnside may find himself in a "predicament."

A private soldier writes the Secretary to-day that his mother is in danger of starving — as she failed to get flour in Richmond, at $100 per barrel. He says if the government has no remedy for this, he and his comrades will throw down ,their arms and fly to some other country with their families, where a subsistence may be obtained.

Every night robberies of poultry, salt meats, and even of cows and hogs are occurring. Many are desperate.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 100-1

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: October 28, 1862

Went on a foraging expedition and secured some poultry for home consumption. Heard news of a fight between our brigade and the rebels at Thibadeauville. Our boys were victorious, taking seventy or eighty prisoners who were sent to New Orleans on transports.

SOURCE: Abstracted from George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 34

Major Wilder Dwight: November 26, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 26, 1861.

If you are to have another letter from a major commanding, I suppose it had better be written to-night. Tomorrow, I feel sure, will bring back Colonel Gordon, and I shall very gladly shift that burden to his shoulders. There are some objections to holding the reins, very long, of power that you are not to continue in the exercise of; and, though I must say the Colonel has got a very easily managed regiment, and I have had no difficulty in my path, yet the temptation to mould things to your own will is a strong one, not to be indulged in temporary command. On the whole, this is probably better for the regiment, — it is certainly safer for me. The month of November, though we have spent it quietly in camp, has been the most trying one to the regiment in its whole history. I am glad to be able to persuade myself that we stand firmer than we did three weeks since. I hope we shall steadily improve. There is a hopeless desperation chilling one when engaged in a contest with disease. The unseen malaria has such an advantage in the fight. I had rather meet anything for the regiment than the enemy who surprised us in our former camping-ground, and who seems hardly yet to have given up beat. Two weeks ago I had something as much like depression as I ever allow myself the indulgence of. Now I feel quite glad again. This afternoon, for example, a blue, overcast November sky, but a keen, bracing air, we bad a lively battalion drill, which went quite well. The regiment turned out full companies, and, altogether, looked its old self — There, I was just in the midst of this last exultant sentence, when what should happen but a knock at my tent. Enter Captain . “Major, two men of my company are very sick in quarters, and ought to be in hospital, but there is not room.” “Well, sir, I can't make room.” Then the same complaint from another captain. I send for the Doctor. He is abed, having been sick for the past three days. I send for the Assistant Surgeon. He says, “Yes, it is so; but the Brigade Surgeon promises a tent soon. The measles cases have increased within two days.”

I require from him a report of every case in quarters, and a statement of how many sick men ought to be in hospital. This is the nature of the work to be done. To make bricks without straw. Our sick officers have not yet returned to duty. The Adjutant is still away. I have to look after everything myself. Still, I do insist that we are getting better. A week on a high piece of ground three miles from the river would put us all on our feet again. But as long as the morning sun rises only to quicken the fatal exhalations from this pestilent Potomac, and the evening dews fall only to rise again with fever in their breath, the contest is unequal and the victory uncertain. Well, we can only hope for better things, and be thankful for what we have. You will see, however, that the constant maintenance of military efficiency under all these circumstances exacts constant effort. I rejoice in continued health and increasing strength, and am thankful and happy. I think, too, that our experience will be a sort of seasoning. One thing is certain, — we cannot have the measles again!

I have just come in from my nightly round through the camp; and, as taps have sounded, all is quiet. I sit alone in my tent a-thinkin' o' nothin' at all, — and writing about it, too. Yes, I can tell you about our domestic arrangements, — I mean our mess.

We have intruded upon an elderly lady who lives near our lines. She has given us her parlor and the use of her cooking-stove. Tony is in great feather. He rejoices in all kinds of culinary eccentricities.

The old lady, meantime, is repaid by our protection. She confides to me her griefs for the losses of fence-rails and cabbages, of pigs and poultry. This happened when a former regiment was here. Now she is safe. Tony and she observe an armed neutrality over the common cooking-stove. This evening she told us the history of Jack Cross, the husband of the lady who owns the house where Colonel Andrews is sick. Jack is in prison — at Fort Warren perhaps — as a traitor. The good lady described his capture. Said she: “The officers came to me, and says they, ‘Do you know of Jack Cross's hanging or shooting any one?’ “As for shooting,” says I, “I've known him from a boy, and a more peaceable man I never knew; and as for hanging,” says I, “I never knew him to hang anything except a big black dog.” Which was true, indeed, and I recollect how the dog looked, and he most frightened me to death. But they took him. He was an unfortunate man, but he was a good neighbor; and a good neighbor can't be a bad man. But this business has got him into trouble; but I can't seem to understand it no how. I'm for the Union and peace before I die.” I think she would have talked till now, had we not left the table, her ideas running in a beaten track of puzzlement and dread. She evidently does not either understand or enjoy civil war.

I said our camp was still. I ought to admit that the night is full of echoes with the barking cough that prevails, — an unwholesome sound. Good night, and God bless you all at home.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 157-9