Daniel Webster to Franklin Haven, September 12, 1850

(PRIVATE.)

Washington, September 12, 1850.

MY DEAR SIR,—I use the confidential hand of another to write you a short letter, my eyes holding out only to perform a small part of the duty expected from them every day. I am in the midst of my periodical catarrh, or "hay fever," or whatever you please to call it, but which you know all about. I read nothing, and hardly write any thing but signatures. The disease is depressing and discouraging. I know that there is no remedy for it, and that it must have its course. It produces loss of appetite and great prostration of strength, but since the event of last week terminated, I have some little time for rest, and shutting myself up very much, I keep as quiet as I can.

My dear Sir, I think the country has had a providential escape from very considerable dangers. I was not aware of the whole extent of the embarrassment likely to arise till I came here, last December, and had opportunities of conversation with General Taylor, and the gentlemen of his administration. General Taylor was an honest and truly patriotic man; but he had quite enough of that quality, which, when a man is right, we call firmness, and when he is wrong, we denominate obstinacy. What has been called the President's plan, was simply this; to wit, to admit California under her free constitution, and to let the territories alone altogether, until they could come in as States. This policy, as it was thought, would avoid all discussion and all voting on the question of the Wilmot proviso. All that matter it was supposed, might be thus postponed, and the slavery question staved off. The objection to this plan, was the same as that to poor King Lear's idea of shoeing a company of horse in felt, and stealing upon his enemies. It was flatly impossible; that's all. But the purpose was settled and decided. General Taylor told me, in the last conversation I had with him, that he preferred that California should not come in at all, rather than that she should come in bringing the territories on her back. And if he had lived, it might have been doubtful whether any general settlement would have been made. He was a soldier, and had a little fancy, I am afraid, to see how easily any military movement by Texas could have been put down. His motto was, "vi et armis!" He had a soldier's foresight, and saw quite clearly what would be the result if Texan militia should march into New Mexico, and there be met by troops of the regular army of the United States. But that he had a statesman's foresight, and foresaw what consequences might happen in the existing state of men's opinions and feelings, if blood should be shed in a contest between the United States and one of the southern States, is more than I am ready to affirm. Yet long before his death, and in the face of that observation which he made to me, as already stated, I made up my mind to risk myself on a proposition for a general pacification. I resolved to push my skiff from the shore alone, considering that, in that case, if she foundered, there would be but one life lost. Our friend Harvey happened to be here, and with him and Mr. Edward Curtis, I held a little council the evening before the speech. What followed is known. Most persons here thought it impossible that I should maintain myself, and stand by what I declared. They wished, and hoped, and prayed, but fear prevailed. When I went to Boston soon afterwards, and was kindly received, and intimated that I should take no march backward, they felt a little encouraged. But truly it was not till Mr. Eliot's election that there was any confident assurance here that I was not a dead man. It would be of little consequence, my dear Sir, if I could only say that Boston saved me, but I can say with all sincerity, and with the fullest conviction of its truth, that Boston saved the country. From the commencement of the government, no such consequences have attended any single election, as those that flowed from Mr. Eliot's election. That election was a clear and convincing proof, that there was breaking out a new fountain of brilliant light in the East, and men imbibed hopes in which they had never before indulged. At this moment it is true that Mr. Eliot is the greatest lion that exhibits himself on Pennsylvania avenue. He is considered the personation of Boston; ever intelligent, ever patriotic, ever glorious Boston; and whatever prejudices may have existed in the minds of honorable southern men, against our good city, they are now all sunk and lost forever in their admiration of her nationality of spirit.

But I must stop here. There is much else that I could say, and may say hereafter, of the importance of the crisis through which we have passed. I am not yet free from the excitement it has produced. I am like one who has been sea-sick, and has gone to bed. My bed rolls and tosses by the billows of that sea, over which I have passed.

My dear Sir, this is for your own eye. You are much younger than I am, and hereafter possibly you may recur to this hastily dictated letter not without interest. If you think it worth reading, you may show it to T. B. Curtis, Mills, Fearing, and Harvey, &c. It is but half an hour's gossip, when I can do nothing but talk, and dictate to a confidential clerk.

Yours, always truly,

DAN'L WEBSTER.

SOURCE: Fletcher Webster, Editor, The Private Correspondence of Daniel Webster, Vol. 2, p. 386-8

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: April 8, 1864

Negroes by the hundreds are flocking to our camp; all sizes and ages, ranging from one year to one hundred years old. Poor deluded beings, how extravagant have been their conceptions relative to the Yankees. An order from headquarters at Baily Springs this evening informs us that Colonel Rowett has fought himself away from Camp Butler and returned to the command of the regiment. Remaining in camp at Jackson's until the fifteenth, we leave and report to regimental headquarters. Immediately Captain Ring receives orders to proceed with the detachment to Center Star, where we arrive in the evening and go into camp, after which patrols are sent out to Bainbridge and Lamb's Ferry. This detachment will long remember their camp and stay at the Jackson plantation; how Captain R, Sergeants N. and A. made journeys across the Blue Water, and how the Captain when coming in contact with one of the South's fair literary stars, discoursed so freely upon the American and English poets—especially upon the merits of the Bard of Avon.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 231-2

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, January 30, 1864

Camp near Orange Court House, Va.,

January 30, 1864.

The weather has been fine recently and there have been some indications of a move. Yesterday we were ordered to cook one day's rations and be ready to march, but it has turned very cold to-day and everything is quiet again.

About ten days ago I succeeded in buying some turnips and cabbage, and I found them most delightful for a change until our box from home arrived. Everything in it was in excellent condition except the sweet potatoes. It contained ten gallons of kraut, ten of molasses, forty pounds of flour, twelve of butter, one-half bushel of Irish potatoes, one-half peck of onions, about one peck of sausage, one ham, one side of bacon and some cabbage. I am expecting Edwin to visit me to-morrow and I shall offer him part of the kraut and some of the molasses, but he is so independent I am afraid he will not accept it.

I saw Colonel Hunt's wife yesterday, and she is the first lady with whom I have conversed since my return in December. He pays ten dollars a day board for himself and wife at a house near our camp.

Dr. Tyler has had his furlough extended twenty days by the Secretary of War, and will not return before February. I have been alone for over four weeks. I have had such a quiet time that I have been reading Shakespeare some recently. I received a letter from Robert Land's wife begging me to give her husband a sick furlough, and I told him to write her that if he could ever get sick again he certainly should go at once.

The postmaster is here and I must close.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 88-9

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, January 16, 1863

This morning the boys are seen wending their way to the timber to chop wood. It is very cold, and the boys are kept busy getting fuel. It snows all day, and except those detailed to get wood, the boys keep close around the camp fires, busily engaged at something. Some talking of home and friends, some about the armies, and others about the Emancipation Proclamation. Some are perusing old Waverlys, and others amusing themselves with Harper's cuts, one has a volume of Shakspeare with his mind following intently the dramatic play of Edward the "three times.” We are wondering now, how the leaders of northern democracy would feel could they hear the comments made, and the anathemas heaped upon their devoted heads by the soldiers, sitting around the winter camp-fires to-night in Mississippi. We are of the opinion that they would not consider themselves very much flattered.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 131

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 23, 1864

Snow fell all night, and was eight or ten inches deep this morning; but it was a bright morning, and glorious sunshine all day, the anniversary of the birth of Shakspeare, 300 years ago,—and the snow is melting rapidly.

The Secretary of War had a large amount of plate taken from the department to-day to his lodgings at the Spottswood Hotel. It was captured from the enemy with Dahlgren, who had pillaged it from our opulent families in the country.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 175

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

Played some at chess and read a little in Shakespeare. Eyes quite weak. Letters from home and Floy. Quiet. Heavy firing in direction of Petersburg. Rained almost all day.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 125

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: July 20, 1864

All quiet with the pickets. Played some at chess. Read papers and "Othello." Wrote to Ella Clark.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 125

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: June 5, 1863

Big scuffle with Rob yesterday. Makes me somewhat sore. Played a game of chess with John. Read the Atlantic which A. B. lent me. Called on him. Rather better than for some time. Up most all day. Called at Mrs. Vickery's and got Shakespeare and some other books. Very pleasant.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 72

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 30, 1863

Gen. Bragg dispatches the government that Gen. Forrest has captured 800 prisoners in Tennessee, and several thousand of our men are making a successful raid in Kentucky.

Gen. Whiting makes urgent calls for reinforcements at Wilmington, and cannot be supplied with many.

Gen. Lee announces to the War Department that the spring campaign is now open, and his army may be in motion any day.

Col. Godwin (of King and Queen County) is here trying to prevail on the Secretary of War to put a stop to the blockaderunners, Jews, and spies, daily passing through his lines with passports from Gens. Elzey and Winder. He says the persons engaged in this illicit traffic are all extortioners and spies, and $50,000 worth of goods from the enemy's country pass daily.

Col. Lay still repudiates Judge Meredith's decision in his instructions to the Commandants of Camps of Instruction. Well, if we have a superabundance of fighting men in the field, the foreign-born denizens and Marylanders can remain at home and make money while the country that protects them is harried by the invader.

The gaunt form of wretched famine still approaches with rapid strides. Meal is now selling at $12 per bushel, and potatoes at $l6. Meats have almost disappeared from the market, and none but the opulent can afford to pay $3.50 per pound for butter. Greens, however, of various kinds, are coming in; and as the season advances, we may expect a diminution of prices. It is strange that on the 30th of March, even in the “sunny South,” the fruit-trees are as bare of blossoms and foliage as at mid-winter. We shall have fire until the middle of May, — six months of winter!

I am spading up my little garden, and hope to raise a few vegetables to eke out a miserable subsistence for my family. My daughter Ann reads Shakspeare to me o' nights, which saves my eyes.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 282-3

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: February 23, 1863

Cleared off pleasantly. Busy in morning getting memorandum receipts of the stores for the month. Afternoon rode to town and beat Melissa at a game of chess. F. gone. Had a good time. Spent the evening. M. and N. went to theatre to hear Macbeth.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 57

Diary of John Hay: Tuesday, December 15, 1863

The President took Stoddard, Nicolay and me to Ford’s with him to see Falstaff in Henry IV. Dixon came in after a while. Hackett was most admirable. The President criticised his reading of a passage where Hackett said, “mainly thrust at me,” the President thinking it should read “mainly thrust at me.” I told the President I thought he was wrong; that “mainly” merely meant “strongly,” “fiercely.” The President thinks the dying speech of Hotspur an unnatural and unworthy thing — as who does not. . . .

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 141; Roy Prentice Basler, A Touchstone for Greatness: Essays, Addresses, and Occasional Pieces about Abraham Lincoln, p. 217

Diary of John Hay: December 13, 1863

The President, speaking to-day about Missouri matters, said he had heard some things of Schofield which had very much displeased him: — That while Washburne was in Missouri, he saw or thought he saw that Schofield was working rather energetically in the politics of the State, and that he approached Schofield and proposed that he should use his influence to harmonize the conflicting elements so as to elect one of each wing, Gratz Brown and Henderson. Schofield’s reply was that he would not consent to the election of Gratz Brown.

Again when Gratz Brown was about coming to Washington, he sent a friend to Schofiled to say that he would not oppose his confirmation, if he (S.) would, so far as his influence extended, agree to a Convention of Missouri to make necessary alterations in her State Constitution. Schofield’s reply, as reported by Brown to the President was that he would not consent to a State Convention. These things, the President says, are obviously transcendent of his instructions and must not be permitted. He has sent for Schofiled to come to Washington and explain these grave matters.

The President is inclined to put Rosecrans in Schofield’s place, and to give to Gen. Curtis the Department of Kansas. But Halleck and Stanton stand in his way, and he has to use the strong hand so often with those impractical gentlemen that he avoids it when he can.

To-night Hackett arrived and spent the evening with the President. The conversation at first took a professional turn, the President showing a very intimate knowledge of those plays of Shakespeare where Falstaff figures. He was particularly anxious to know why one of the best scenes in the play — that where Falstaff and Prince Hal alternately assume the character of the king — is omitted in the representation. Hackett says it is admirable to read, but ineffective on stage; — that there is generally nothing sufficiently distinctive about the actor who plays Henry to make an imitation striking.

Hackett plays with stuffing of india-rubber; — says Shakespeare refers to it when he says: “How now! blown Jack!” Hackett is a very amusing and garrulous talker. He had some good reminiscences of Houston, Crockett (the former he admires, the latter he thinks a dull man), McCarty and Prentiss. . . .

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 139-40; For the whole diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 137-9.

Diary of John Hay: August 23, 1863

Last night we went to the Observatory with Mrs. Long. They were very kind and attentive. The Pre^st took a look at the moon & Arcturus. I went with him to the Soldiers’ Home, and he read Shakespeare to me, the end of Henry V, and the beginning of Richard III, till my heavy eyelids caught his considerate notice, and he sent me to bed. This morning we ate an egg, and came in very early.

He went to the library to write a letter to Conkling, and I went to pack my trunk for the North. . . . Staid about a week at Long Branch. Fine air — disgusting bathing — pretty women, and everything lovely. No politics, no war, nothing to remind me while there that there was such a thing as government or a soul to save. Count Gurowski was an undertone of nuisance — that was all.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 94; For the whole diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 82-3.

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Monday, June 16, 1862

Camp Jones, Flat Top. — A cold morning and a cloudy, clearing off into a bright, cool day.

Last night walked with Captain Warren down to General Cox's headquarters. Talked book; the general is a reader of the best books, quite up in light literature; never saw the Shakespeare novels; must try to get him “Shakespeare and his Friends.”

The extracts from Richmond papers and Jeff Davis' address to the soldiers indicates that the Rebels are making prodigious efforts to secure the victory in the approaching struggle. I trust our Government will see that every man is there who can possibly be spared from other quarters. I fear part of Beauregard's army will get there. Can't we get part of Halleck's army there?

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 291

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Thursday, September 4, 1862

Read some in “Othello.” Enjoyed some parts much. News came that Jackson had been taken with 20,000 men. Proved a lie. Tried to write a decently neat letter to Ella Clark, didn't succeed very well. Didn't finish in time for the evening mail. A good letter came from Fannie — a little behind time. Enjoyed it all. Read the latest Cleveland papers. News of the morning proved entirely false and we the ones whipped.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 30

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Tuesday, September 2, 1862

Slept till rather late — up in time for Sandy's breakfast. During the day wrote to Fannie Andrews. Delos called in the morning and I read Ella's letter to him. Commented upon it. In the evening Charlie came up and I again reviewed Ella's letter with him. Read some in Shakespeare and the latest papers. Received letter from home. Last one from Minnie E. Tenney.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 30

Diary of Sarah Morgan: September 6, 1862

Beech Grove,

September 6th, Saturday.

Another perch for Noah's duck! Where will I be in a week or two from this? I shall make a mark, twenty pages from here, and see where I shall be when I reach it. Here, most probably; but oh, if I could then be at home! General Carter, who spent the evening with us day before yesterday, remarked that the first thing he heard as he reached town was that all the gentlemen and ladies of Clinton were hunting for country lodgings for us. It was pretty much the case. The General was as kind as ever, bless his gray head! and made us promise to go back to Linwood with him when he passes back next week. This is the way we keep the promise — coming out here.

Early yesterday morning we received a note from Eliza Haynes, one of our indefatigable agents, saying her grandmother, Mrs. McCay, had consented to receive us, and would come for us in the evening. Immediately my packing task was begun. But imagine my disappointment, just as I had finished one trunk, to hear mother announce her determination to let us go alone, while she remained with Lilly! Prayers, entreaties, tears, arguments, all failed; and we were forced to submit. So with a heart fuller than I can express, I repacked the trunk with Miriam's and my clothing, and got ready to depart. In the evening the carriage drove up to the door with Eliza and her grandmother, and with a hasty and rather choky good-bye to Lilly and mother, we were hurried in, and in another moment were off.

I fancied the house would be north of Clinton, so of course the horses took the road south. Then I decided on a white cottage to the left of the road, and about two miles out, found that it was to the right, not painted, and no cottage at all, but a nondescript building, besides. “’T was ever thus from childhood's hour!” When did I ever fancy anything exactly as it was? But the appearance does not affect the house, which is really very comfortable, though apparently unfinished. The same objection might be made to it that I made to Mrs. Moore's, for there is not a shutter on the place. But fine shade trees take their place, and here I do not feel the want of them so much, as our room is in the back of the house, to the west, where the rising sun cannot salute my nose as it did at Mrs. Moore's. As to what effect the setting sun has, I must wait for the evening to decide, though I always enjoy that At Greenwell, we used to walk a mile away from home to see the sun set in an open field.

I find Mrs. McCay an excellent, plain old lady, with neither airs nor pretentions, and very kindhearted. Here she lives alone, with the exception of an orphan girl called Jane, whose position, half-menial, half-equal, it would be hard to define. Poor girl! the name of orphan alone was enough to make me sorry for her. She must be Friday's child”! she is so “ready and willing.” Eliza, who it seems stays a great deal with her grandmother, is one of the brightest little girls I have seen for a long while. She sings and plays on the piano with a style and assurance that I can only mutely covet. Why can not I have the confidence I see all others possess? She took me to the gin-house last evening, though I could not see much, as it was almost sunset when we arrived. An early tea, and singing, and music after, completed our evening, and then we were shown to our room.

Mrs. McCay has only room for us two, so it is fortunate that mother would not come. She says she wants us to spend a few days with her, to see if we like it, or if we will be willing to be separated from mother. In the mean time, we can look around for lodgings in a larger and more comfortable place where we can be together. She tells such stories about the house Lilly lives in, of its age, and unhealthiness, that I am frightened about mother. She says she will die if she stays there this month. Miriam and Eliza have gone to town to see them, and are then going to Mrs. George's to see if she can accommodate us.

I wanted to have a splendid dream last night, but failed. It was pleasant, though, to dream of welcoming George and Gibbes back. Jimmy I could not see; and George was in deep mourning. I dreamed of fainting when I saw him (a novel sensation, since I never experienced it awake), but I speedily came to, and insisted on his “pulling Henry Walsh's red hair for his insolence,” which he promised to do instantly. How absurd! Dreams! dreams! That pathetic “Miss Sarah, do you ever dream?” comes vividly back to me sometimes. Dream? Don't I! not the dreams that he meant; but royal, purple dreams, that De Quincey could not purchase with his opium; dreams that I would not forego for all the inducements that could be offered. I go to sleep, and pay a visit to heaven or fairyland. I have white wings, and with another, float in rosy clouds, and look down on the moving world; or I have the power to raise myself in the air without wings, and silently float wherever I will, loving all things and feeling that God loves me. I have heard Paul preach to the people, while I stood on a fearful rock above. I have been to strange lands and great cities; I have talked with people I have never beheld. Charlotte Bronte has spent a week with me — in my dreams — and together we have talked of her sad life. Shakespeare and I have discussed his works, seated tête-à- tête over a small table. He pointed out the character of each of his heroines, explaining what I could not understand when awake; and closed the lecture with “You have the tenderest heart I have ever read, or sung of” — which compliment, considering it as original with him, rather than myself, waked me up with surprise.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 213-7

Major General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, January 26, 1863

CAMP NEAR FALMOUTH, January 26, 1863.

We are much excited by rumors of what is going to be done. It is generally believed Burnside is in Washington, though when you go to see him, as I did yesterday, you are informed he is out riding.

This war will never be terminated until one side or the other has been well whipped, and this result cannot be brought about except by fighting. Hence, although I like fighting as little as any man, yet if it has to be done, and I don't see how it can be avoided, I am of Shakespeare's opinion, “if it were done, then 't were well it were done quickly.”

I send you three letters which I think you will be interested in reading, and which you may as well keep as mementoes of the war. The first is from Levi Richards, a private in the Pennsylvania Reserves, who was detailed as a teamster and drove my wagon while I was connected with the Reserves. His letter is spontaneous, he having nothing, as he says, to gain by it, as we are now separated, but it is gratifying to me as an evidence of the opinion entertained of me by the soldiers of my command. The second is from Surgeon Pineo, one of the most accomplished officers of his department, who was under me, while I had command of the First Corps, as medical director. He asked me to recommend him for promotion, which I did, and his letter in reply shows what some officers think of me. The other is from Hon. William Wilkins, formerly judge in Pennsylvania, Senator and Secretary of War. He desires a favor for his grandson, but he is pleased to say I am powerful and in favor, hence his letter indicates in some measure public opinion in regard to me. I send them because, knowing how much you think of me, I know it will gratify you to know that others have a favorable opinion. This may be vanity, but I deem it pardonable in writing to one's wife.

George¹ gave me my spectacles, and the glasses suit exactly, and are truly welcome, for a day or two before we moved, I was on horseback, when a sudden puff of wind carried away the only pair of spectacles I had, and for a few minutes I was in despair, until fortunately my orderly found them. Now I am provided against such accidents.

__________

¹ Son of General Meade.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 349-50

The Hope of the Rebels

The condition of the rebels in becoming more and more hopeless the necessity of the rebellion being crushed before the approaching hot weather renders it hazardous to fight the insurgents on their own ground, is causing the Government to put forth every energy to its suppression.  Driven from Yorktown and Corinth, their two strongest positions, there are no other points upon which the rebels can concentrate their forces with any show or hope of success.  Since the beginning of the year they have sustained defeat in every engagement and in almost every petty skirmish they have had with the federal troops.

Fighting in a bad cause, and without a particle of hope for the future, led by wicked men who never had higher aspirations than personal aggrandizement, the incentives to bold and determined action have been wanting.  Like the hirelings of the despotic governments, the rebel soldiery have fought from pure love of fighting, from the excitement it brings and the pay that was promised them, without any of those ennobling feelings that fill the hearts of men contending for their dearest rights.  Defeated at every point, in very desperation they now obey their unprincipled leaders, and doggedly fight without one ray of hope to illuminate their darkened minds.  Shakespeare has said, that “the miserable hath no other medicine, but only hope.”  Even that is denied the rebels, and of all men they are certainly the most miserable.  As the same author further says: –

“So weary with disasters, tugg’d with fortune,

That they would set their lives on any chance,

To mend it or rid on’t.

So cowards fight, when they can fly no farther.”

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Thursday Morning, May 8, 1862, p. 2