Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, December 25, 1861

Gave passes to all the boys who desired to leave camp. The Major, Adjutant and I had a right royal Christmas dinner and a pleasant time. A fine fat chicken, fried mush, coffee, peaches and milk, were on the table. The Major is engaged now in heating the second tea-pot of water for punch purposes. His countenance has become quite rosy; this is doubtless the effect of the fire. He has been unusually powerful in argument; but whether his intellect has been stimulated by the fire, the tea, or the punch, we are at this time wholly unable to decide; he certainly handles the tea-pot with consummate skill, and attacks the punch with exceeding vigor.

_______________

BLOG EDITORS NOTE: For a punch recipe that includes hot water see 69th Regiment Punch.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 88-9

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, December 4, 1861

The story of yesterday's fight is all bosh. There were no two hundred prisoners taken—no fifteen killed—no fight—not a rebel seen! Munchausen must have been the legitimate son of a camp, or rather, the camp must be the legitimate progenitor of the whole race of Munchausen.

But it is surprising how camp life enhances the capacities of some men. I left home in July a dyspeptic. I came to Camp Griffin, in October, weighing one hundred and thirty-nine pounds. I record here, as something worth my remembering, an extract of a letter written to-day to a friend inquiring how camp life affected my health:

“ * * * I weigh now one hundred and fifty pounds. I have almost recovered my appetite. With other things in proportion, I now take three cups of coffee for breakfast, three cups tea at dinner, two cups at tea, and eat five meals a day, or suffer from hunger. My last meal is usually taken at 11 to 12 o'clock at night, and consists of one or two chickens, or a can of oysters, with a pot of English pickled cauliflower. With that I contrive to get through the night.

"But with the morrow's rising sun

The same dull round begins again."

"Last night, however, I was so unfortunate as to have no chickens. My can of oysters was sour, and I had to put up with a single head of boiled cabbage, half a dozen cold potatoes, and some cold boiled beef. I wonder what I shall do when we get away from the neighborhood of Washington to where there is no market, no oysters, no chickens, no cabbage, no cauliflower, 'no nothin'.' I shall be compelled to settle back to dyspepsia, and have no appetite."

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 59

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, December 21, 1861

Did ever husband and father need the comforting aid of the help-meets of home as I need them this evening? See my table. Six full foolscap sheets of letters from home—read, re-read, studied, spelled, and now to be answered. I wonder if any body ever imagines the value of a letter to a soldier. His power of estimating must be large indeed, if he can appreciate it. Were it not for this value I should never have the courage to attempt answering all this pile. But then, I have no room to arrange all these with a view to replies, for my whole tent is as crowded as my table, full of evidences of the kindness—I will dare to say, of the affection of so many of my kind lady-friends. The dictates of kindness and benevolence may crowd upon you articles of comfort and utility, but it requires the affections to indicate the numerous little tokens which peep from the packages of useful things now piled around my tent. They strengthen and they cheer me. I shall endeavor, right here, to make myself worthy of all this confidence. What a field this is for the exercise of the "unseen heroism" of life!

But how in the name of Legerdemain do our friends contrive to get so many things into a little box? Why, my 10x10 tent is absolutely full. It is well, too, that the box was opened just to-day, for things in it were getting considerably "mixed." Two or three preserve and jelly jars, and a bottle of pickles had been broken. The contents had escaped, and to make amends for their long confinement, like colts let loose, they ran considerably. The pickles had "pitched into" the sugar. The jelly had made a dash at the tea. The nutmegs were luxuriating in a mixture of preserves and coffee. There seemed to be an inclination amongst these belligerents to get into "a muss" generally; but I "offered mediation." After two or three hours of back-ache work, I got the conglomerates restored to their original elements, and gave the men a look at them. They were gratified and thankful. I do not think one man looked on one of these evidences of home rememberance but felt strengthened in his resolves to perform manfully the duties which he had undertaken.

Yesterday we had the first fight worthy the name, since we joined the army. General McCall sent out a Brigade (about 4,000 men) to reconnoitre. They came upon an equal number of the enemy, and after taking a good look at each other, concluded to "go in." In this fight we gained a decided victory. No mistake this time. We fought and won.

We lost a few men—about ten killed and some thirty wounded. Amongst the latter is Lieutenant Colonel Kane of the Pennsylvania "Buck Tails." He is a brother of the late Doctor Kane, of the Arctic Expedition.*

Yesterday a few Surgeons met in my tent and gave expressions to their feelings against a self-constituted organization calling itself the "U. S. Sanitary Commission." I have had very little acquaintance with its members, or with its mode of doing business. From the almost universal prejudice which the Surgeons have against it, I infer that it must possess many bad or troublesome traits of character. I have naturally enough imbibed impressions which are anything but favorable in regard to it. At our little talk, yesterday, it was determined amongst us that the Commission must be "written down." I am selected to do the writing, my professional brothers to furnish the data. This morning I commenced my first article, but before it was finished, the roar of cannon and the bursting of shells arrested my attention, and I left my writing to watch the progress of the battle of Drainesville [sic]. In a little while, the wounded began to be brought in, and the whole being new to us, the Surgeons, now, for the first, began to examine their stores and appliances for wounded men. We had very few things which we needed, and whilst mourning over the delay necessary to procure them from Washington (some 9 miles distant) the agents of this Commission, having got wind of the progressing fight, had loaded up light wagons with their sanitary stores and rushed to the scene of suffering with the very things most needed. I confess that I feel a little ashamed to have been caught in the act of writing such an article, under such ci[r]cumstances. Something good may come out of Nazareth yet. I think I shall wait and see, rather than be induced by the prejudices or opinions of others, to commit an act, perhaps a wrong, which I may be sorry for.

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* Battle of Dranesville.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 66-9

Diary of Malvina S. Waring, May 5, 1865

Home again! But, ah! how changed a home!

All but God is changing day by day.

Changed are we, and changed our home, in everything but loving hearts. We are all here; nobody killed in battle; nobody dead from disease. Have we not something, after all, to be thankful for? Now Johnny must go to college and exchange the arts of war for the arts of peace.

Judge Aldrich took charge of me from Newberry. We came as far as Alston on the train, but the railroad being destroyed thence, we hired an old ambulance, which, although in a state of chronic dilapidation, luckily held together for the trip. We entered the city from the Main street road, our way being marked with desolation and ruin on all sides. One solitary house is all that is left upon that whole street above the State House. Turning out of that street, we lost our bearings in the surrounding mass of brick and ashes. There are few landmarks left in the heart of the city to enable the wayfarer to distinguish one locality from another. It is all so strange, so sad, so hard to realize. "How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people! How has she became as a widow!" The relief to my overwrought feelings as we drove through the silent streets was in a woman's refuge—tears; my companion's in a man's silence. We said little to each other; we only drew long, deep, sighing breaths of pain. War has no pity, yet, oh! the pity of it!

Thus we reached home.

Old mammy was the first to see, the first to greet me.

"Lawd! Lawd! young missis, dem Yankees ain't kill ye, sure enough!"

"No," said I; "they must catch before they kill."

"Bless Gawd fer dat! But I hope yer fetched yer rashuns wid yer."

"No," I was obliged to admit, "I only brought an appetite, and, I regret to state, a very good one."

"Den Lawd hab mercy on yer!" she remarked, "fer de blackberries, dey ain't got ripe yit."

And old Nancy shook her head mournfully.

As to my dear mother, she is so happy in my safe return that she scarcely reverts to our hardships. We still have each other. We two, and old mammy, are the only ones at home at present, the gentlemen of the family having gone up to the Broad River section in a wagon, in the hope of being able to procure some provisions. It is next door to starvation with us, and no mistake. Each day we send to headquarters for a little bacon and some meal, and that is what we live on, if it may be called living. It is true, we have a little sugar, and a small quantity of real tea a dear old lady gave me in Newberry, but the sugar was buried while the Federal army was here, and in consequence is infested with those pestiferous little creatures who never fail to make the best of their opportunities. Now, some who may chance to read these lines might say that they couldn't go ant-tea. But I go it! It is much better than no tea at all. Moreover, I manage it after a way of my own which vastly increases its palatability. I found out how to do it. I skim all I can conveniently off the top, then I shut my eyes tight and fast, then I open my mouth (which is a good-sized mouth) and it all runs down (ants too), and then I open my eyes and put the cup down and say to myself, "Good! Very good! I like tea."

SOURCE: South Carolina State Committee United Daughters of the Confederacy, South Carolina Women in the Confederacy, Vol. 1, “A Confederate Girl's Diary,” p. 287-8

Diary of Malvina S. Waring, March 1, 1865

Ballard House, Richmond.—We have taken Richmond, if the Yankees haven't! Yes, we are here; but had some trouble to get settled. The fashionable mode of living is room-keeping, and we are strictly in the fashion. And now how nicely comes in that trunk of provisions my thoughtful papa made me bring, much against my own wishes. On opening it, we found meal, hominy, flour, a side of bacon, some coffee, tea, and a quantity of potatoes. They will help us along wonderfully, as all food products bring a tremendous price in this beleaguered city. Ernestine went to market this morning and paid $10 for a steak for our breakfast. At that rate we can only afford to take a savory smell occasionally! Ernie is simply angelic in spirit—she never loses patience, never gets cross, never says anything she oughtn't to say, even against the Yankees ! The city is crowded to suffocation, the streets thronged with soldiers in uniform, officers gaily caparisoned, and beautiful women, beautifully dressed, though not in the latest Parisian toilettes. I should say there is no more brilliant capital among all the nations. Are there great and somber tragedies going on around us? Is there a war? I thought so before I reached Richmond!

SOURCE: South Carolina State Committee United Daughters of the Confederacy, South Carolina Women in the Confederacy, Vol. 1, “A Confederate Girl's Diary,” p. 277-8

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: August 8, 1864

NED CARTER THE BLACKSMITH.

When I first came here I was pretty well used up, but thanks to my friends, Garland of company C and Wheelock and Aldrich of my own company (who are attaches of this hospital), and also to Miss Dame for their attention, kindness and favors, I am feeling the best now I have any time this summer. For their sympathy, attentions and kind offices, I am under a debt of everlasting gratitude.

Within a week two of my sick men have died and another is fast going.

One of them was a character in his way. As near as one can guess the age of a darky I should judge he was about 60 years old, and rather an intelligent man. He always called himself Ned Carter the blacksmith, and delighted in having others call him so. He would talk by the hour of old times, about his old master, and the good times and good cheer they used to have at Christmas time. When I first took this ward I saw that Ned was a sick darky and told him to have things his own way; if he felt like sleeping in the morning and didn't want to come out to roll call I would excuse him. I noticed that he seldom went for his rations, but would send his cup for his coffee and tea.

He said there was very little at the kitchen he could eat. I asked him what he could eat. He said he thought some cracker and milk would taste good. I took his cup up to Miss Dame and asked her if she would give me some condensed milk and a few soda crackers for a sick darky. She gave them to me, and Ned Carter the blacksmith was happy. The convalescent camp is not allowed anything from the sick kitchen, except by order of Doctor Fowler, so any little notion I get from there is through the kindness of Miss Dame or my friend Wheelock. I have often carried Ned a cup of tea and a slice of toast, with some peach or some kind of jelly on it, and the poor fellow could express his gratitude only with his tears, he had no words that could do it. One morning after roll call I went to his little tent and called Ned Carter the blacksmith. I got no response, and thinking he might be asleep I looked in. Ned Carter the blacksmith was gone, but the casket that had contained him lay there stiff and cold.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 144

John B. Lamar to Howell Cobb, June 24, 1846

MACON [GA.], June 24th, 1846

Dear Howell, In a previous letter I mentioned that there was, with few exceptions, a patriotic spirit among the Whigs to sustain the country in the war against Mexico. So there was as long as the first generous impulse lasted. But a change has come over the spirit of their dream. And I do verily believe if the raising of volunteers had been postponed to this time the Whig leaders and presses would take such an attitude as to prevent any member of their party from volunteering, thereby making, literally, a Democratic war. They are perfectly rabid. The tone of their editorials and conversations on the subject of the administration and the war generally is of such a virulent character as to be actually loathsome. I had no idea that the rancor of party spirit, as potent as it is, could carry men so far from all just ideas of patriotism, when the country is engaged in a war.

They are now looking on the action of Congress with regard to the tariff with the eagerness of hyenas and jackals, waiting only for the onslaught to be over to rush on to the work of mutilation. The duty on tea and coffee is the object on which they gloat. It is there they expect — if the duty is laid — to find a vulnerable point to go before the prejudices of the people with during the next Congressional campaign. They already smile a malignant smile in anticipation of the havoc they expect to deal with this pitiful weapon. And in order to render it effective they are preparing the way ingeniously by industriously endeavouring to dampen or extinguish altogether every ardent feeling in their party for the success of our arms in the contest with the Mexicans. If they can succeed in making the rank and file of their party feel as little interest as themselves in the matter, and the apathy spreads into our ranks, they will then have a fair field for clap-trap. But if, as I think must be the case in spite of their treasonable purposes, the people of both parties continue to look with interest to our army and its operations, they will signally fail. They underrate the patriotism and intelligence of the people. During times of peace and quiet the people collectively, like individual men, are easily appealed to through the pocket nerve. A penurious man, if every generous sentiment is not extinguished by avarice, will make sacrifices for a brother who requires his aid; and a mass of men, penny saving tho' they be, when the honor of their country is at stake will feel a generous emotion of patriotism arise in their breasts and stifle every petty feeling of avarice.

When the cry of tea and coffee is proclaimed from the stump, as it will be, it can be easily met by telling how Ward and Fannin were butchered; the mangled corpses of Cross and the soldiers who fell into the hands of the Mexicans will raise a feeling stronger than the strongest decoction of which coffee is capable. And then Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma will rouse feelings of pride, and every man, woman and child is vulnerable there. The victories achieved by our army all feel a personal interest in. A man may be very peacefully inclined, but still he loves military glory in a secret corner of his heart and is proud to be one of a nation who can exhibit its strength on the battle field. Men have a very ingenious way of appropriating a share in such things to themselves, altho' they have had no hand in the matter. If you ever noticed it, a man from Massachusetts is prouder than one from Connecticut. And a South Carolinian is haughtier than a Georgian, because there have been more battles fought in the former than the latter. A Massachusetts man, see him where you will, looks and feels like he was a cap stone of the Bunker Hill monument. And a S. Carolinian supposes that when you see him it naturally reminds you of Eutaw, and the Cowpens. I have observed this propensity to identify one's self with the glories of his locality carry itself from deeds to the capabilities of the soil. Thus, notice most men from Mississippi, and they seem to feel like the personification of an acre of land which could produce a 500 weight bag of cotton without the aid of manure, while a gentleman from North Carolina where the soil has not so much a reputation abroad, is usually not so assuming in his bearing. This is an odd fancy of my own, but nevertheless men are very proud of noble deeds done by others if there is the least excuse for appropriating any tithe of it however indirectly, and appeal to a man's pride of country and he is vulnerable. No talk about coffee can compete with a fanfaronade about roaring cannon and charging squadrons. Every man is at heart a soldier, altho' he may never have borne a musket or seen a bomb shell fired from a mortar. His ignorance of such things only increases his respect and admiration. I think you may feel safe about the coffee if I am any judge of human nature, especially as you can spare a few voters who may be devotees to that beverage. But if you charge yourself with a full load of Mexican cruelty and perfidy and of American chivalry, you will find few people proof against it. There are few men in your district who will admit that they would not if called on "fight, bleed and die" in defense of their country; to pay a few cents more on the pound for coffee to raise money to support our volunteers who have gone to Mexico, is much cheaper when they consider it maturely than "bleeding and dying," however patriotic the latter evolutions may be. Tell a man that a regiment composed of 930 enthusiastic Georgians have gone to defend the honour of the country and expose themselves to the rigours of an almost tropical climate, while he is left at home to make and gather his crop and enjoy the society of his family and the comforts of home, and all that is required of him is to pay a few cents on a pound of coffee to sustain the brave fellows, and he will see at once that he has decidedly the best of the bargain, even putting it on the score of dollars and cents. If in addition to this the duty on iron and sugar is reduced the proposition will be a plainer one and leave but little fulcrum space for the lever which the Whigs are calculating on wielding with such effect.

P.S. — I shall not go north before you return, if at all. I shall go to your house and spend most of my summer, I think.

SOURCE: Ulrich Bonnell Phillips, Editor, The Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1911, Volume 2: The Correspondence of Robert Toombs, Alexander H. Stephens, and Howell Cobb, p. 82-4

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: August 16, 1863

The President rides out with some of the female members of his family every afternoon, his aids no longer accompanying him. In this he evinces but little prudence, for it is incredible that he should be ignorant of the fact that he has some few deadly enemies in the city.

Everywhere the ladies and children may be seen plaiting straw and making bonnets and hats. Mrs. Davis and the ladies of her household are frequently seen sitting on the front porch engaged in this employment. Ostentation cannot be attributed to them, for only a few years ago the Howells were in humble condition and accustomed to work.

My wife borrowed $200 of Mr. Waterhouse, depositing $20 in gold as security — worth $260 — which, with the $300 from Evans on account of rent, have been carefully applied to the purchase of sundry housekeeping articles. After the 1st September we shall cease to pay $40 per month rent on furniture, but that amount for house-rent, so that in the item of rent my expenses will be less than they were the preceding year. So far, with the exception of crockery-ware and chairs, the purchases (at auction) have been at low prices, and we have been fortunate in the time selected to provide indispensable articles.

I often wonder if, in the first struggle for independence, there was as much suffering and despondency among certain classes of the people as we now behold. Our rich men are the first to grow weary of the contest. Yesterday a letter was received by the Secretary of War from a Mr. Reanes, Jackson, Mississippi, advising the government to lose no time in making the best terms possible with the United States authorities, else all would be lost. He says but a short time ago he was worth $1,250,000, and now nothing is left him but a shelter, and that would have been destroyed if he had not made a pledge to remain. He says he is an old man, and was a zealous secessionist, and even now would give his life for the independence of his country. But that is impracticable — numbers must prevail — and he would preserve his wife and children from the horrors threatened, and inevitable if the war be prolonged He says the soldiers that were under Pemberton and Lovell will never serve under them again, for they denounce them as traitors and tyrants, while, as they allege, they were well treated by the enemy when they fell into their hands.

Yet it seems to me that, like the Israelites that passed through the Red Sea, and Shadrach and his brethren who escaped unscorched from the fiery furnance, my family have been miraculously sustained. We have purchased no clothing for nearly three years, and had no superabundance to begin with, but still we have decent clothes, as if time made no appreciable change in them. I wear a hat bought four years ago, and shoes that cost me (government price then) $1.50 more than a year ago, and I suppose they would sell now for $10; new ones are bringing $50.

My tomatoes are maturing slowly, but there will be abundance, saving me $10 per week for ten weeks. My lima beans are very full, and some of them will be fit to pull in a few days. My potatoes are as green as grass, and I fear will produce nothing but vines; but I shall have cabbages and parsnips, and red peppers. No doubt the little garden, 25 by 50, will be worth $150 to me. Thank Providence, we still have health!

But the scarcity — or rather high prices, for there is really no scarcity of anything but meat — is felt by the cats, rats, etc., as well as by the people. I have not seen a rat or mouse for months, and lean cats are wandering past every day in quest of new homes.

What shall we do for sugar, now selling at $2 per pound? When the little supply this side of the Mississippi is still more reduced it will probably be $5! It has been more than a year since we had coffee or tea. Was it not thus in the trying times of the Revolution? If so, why can we not bear privation as well as our forefathers did? We must!

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 15-7

1st Lieutenant Charles Wright Wills: June 29, 1862, 11. p.m.

11 p. m., 29th. — There is talk among the officers that Buell with 60,000 men is en route for Atlanta, Ga., intending to occupy that city, and thus cut off connection between the eastern and western portions of the Rebel Army. It will be a bold strike and looks safe; but it seems to me, from a glance at the map, that the occupation of Montgomery, Ala. would more effectually accomplish that end, for then there would be no railroad line open to the Rebels (we holding the Memphis and Charleston) while there are two lines running east from Montgomery, only one of which a force at Atlanta could cover. A deserter came in this evening who says that they are organizing the army at Tupelo, mustering the men as five years' regulars, with promises of furloughs until this war is over. That England and France have decided that the Southern States shall all have a chance at the ballot box, and must, within 60 days, say whether they will cleave to the Government of the United States or be independent; if the latter, those governments will sustain them and thus end the war, and if the former, the war will be ended accordingly. So they are organizing a regular army upon the supposition that they will be an independent confederacy. The above shows they are able to start as huge a lie in their camps as we can in ours. I wouldn't have believed it before.

The colonel, A. D. C. and myself took tea with General Ashboth this evening. He is such a pleasant man. Has a great liking for pets. He has a tremendous large dog, who lays his head on the table right by the general's plate during meal time, and he gets his share at the first table. On the other side of him two little Indian ponies range themselves as quick as he sits down, and he lays biscuits on the corner of the table for them, which they gobble with the greatest relish. He spreads biscuits for one pony with sugar, and with salt for the other. His conversation is divided about equally between his ponies, the dog, and his other guests. The ponies he got in Arkansas, and they are the prettiest little fellows imaginable. The general is one of the most polite and kind men I ever saw. His troops all love him. He carries his right arm in a sling yet from a wound received at Elkhorn.

If you'd multiply all the bugs, say by 10,000, you'd have something near the number that visit me nightly. They are of all sizes less than a door knob, and the shapes and colors are innumerable. When they're bumping against you by candle light, if you were not acclimated, you would swear someone was brickbatting you.

We could overrun the whole West and Southwest as fast as we could travel, with the army we had here, if it were policy. Vicksburg cannot stand two hours when attacked. But it has leaked out at headquarters that we are letting them think they are holding us in check, so that they will keep all their forces in the West until after the big fight at Richmond. I have heard from Captain Nelson that Sammy Nutt distinguished himself in the skirmish yesterday. He captured that prisoner I spoke of. Captain says Sam was the head man in the chase and that no man ever behaved better. Sam's pistol went off accidentally after he had captured the secesh and the bullet came within half an inch of knocking a hole in the Rebel's head. The boys all give Sam a great deal of praise. ’Twas daring of the captain to run his handful of men almost into the enemy's camp, and 25 miles from any support; but if any company can do it, Company K can. Captain Nelson looks well but grumbles at being brought back from the front to where there is nothing to do but rest. His men feel the same way. For my part I don't consider myself in the war here any more than I would be in Canton.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 110-2

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 31, 1864

A rebel came inside to-day and enquired for me, in the tenth squad, first mess. I responded, wondering and fearful as to what they should want with me. Was happily surprised on going to the gate to see Hendryx with something in his hand for me. Seemed thunderstruck at my appearance and said I was looking bad. He was looking better than when he went out. Had brought me luxuries in the shape of ginger bread, onions and tea, and am happy. Geo. is a brick. Says it is against orders to send anything inside but he talked them over. Was afraid the raiders would waylay me before reaching the mess but they did not.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 62

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 29, 1863

Went out for oats. After breakfast started back to Somerset. Let our horses eat and then followed. Drake, Ritter, Bob and I stopped half way and got a cup of tea. Found reinforcements at S. Issued pork. No mail for me. “H,” “E,” and “M” ordered over the river. In the evening got my coat fixed — mended. Got my washing. Wrote to Fannie.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 67

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 27, 1863

Up at 4 and an early breakfast in anticipation of marching. Infantry came in a little before noon. Saw Wattle. Got dinner and then started. Bob, Col. A. and I went. Covil and Dod stayed. Marched by way of “Fishing Creek.” Very high banks. Country quite mountainous. Fun to see the infantry fording. Encamped at 16 miles. Got a ham and had tea and crackers. Rained in the night.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 67

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 16, 1863

Got up and foraged eggs for myself and oats for my horse. Box gone. Team tipped over last night three times. Very dark. Slept with Thede. 103rd camped near by. Many boys came over, seemed good to see them. Issued beef. Boiled beef and had tea, crackers and gingerbread for supper. Like old times. Thede and Charlie on picket. Occupied their tent alone. Wrote to Sarah Felton.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 65

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: Wednesday, February 25, 1863

After breakfast wrote to Fannie. Thede took the letter to town. Found tea, candles and coffee in McGuire's box — the thief. In evening at quartermaster's. Ate apples. Got beaten at four games of checkers. Read in Irving. Am rejoiced at the reaction against the Copperheads. God still rules.

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

Diary of Brigadier-General William F. Bartlett: Friday, August 19, 1864

Another day gone. I am still improving. Walk out on crutches a few steps. Am very, very weak. Rainy still. Major Morfit, commanding prison, must have noticed the scrap of paper on which I wrote Agnes, for to-day he sent me up several sheets of note-paper with his compliments. Reading all day, “Artist's Bride,” Emerson Bennett. Poor trash. I long to hear from home. I have an egg for breakfast now, with some toast, and clover or hay tea; for dinner, boiled rice which has to be examined; for supper, baked apple and tea.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 127

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: January 2, 1865

This bitter cold morning, when we entered the office, we found that our good “Major” had provided us a New Year's treat of hot coffee. Of course we all enjoyed it highly, and were very grateful to him; and when I returned home, the first thing that met my eye was a box sent from the express office. We opened it, and found it a Christmas box, filled with nice and substantial things from a friend now staying in Buckingham County, for whom I once had an opportunity of doing some trifling kindness. The Lord is certainly taking care of us through His people. The refugees in some of the villages are much worse off than we are. We hear amusing stories of a friend in an inland place, where nothing can possibly be bought, hiring a skillet from a servant for one dollar per month, and other cooking utensils, which are absolutely necessary, at the same rate; another in the same village, whose health seems to require that she should drink something hot at night, has been obliged to resort to hot water, as she has neither tea, coffee, sugar, nor milk. These ladies belong to wealthy Virginia families. Many persons have no meat on their tables for mouths at a time; and they are the real patriots, who submit patiently, and without murmuring, to any privation, provided the country is doing well. The flesh-pots of Egypt have no charms for them; they look forward hopefully to the time when their country shall be disenthralled, never caring for the trials of the past or the present, provided they can hope for the future.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 327-8

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: May 23, 1862

Oh, the extortioners! Meats of all kinds are selling at 50 cts. per pound; butter, 75 cts.; coffee, $1.50; tea, $10; boots, $30 per pair; shoes, $18; ladies' shoes, $15; shirts, $6 each. Houses that rented for $500 last year, are $1000 now. Boarding, from $30 to $40 per month. Gen. Winder has issued an order fixing the maximum prices of certain articles of marketing, which has only the effect of keeping a great many things out of market. The farmers have to pay the merchants and Jews their extortionate prices, and complain very justly of the partiality of the general. It does more harm than good.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 128

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: April 1, 1864

My diary has been somewhat neglected, for after looking over commissary accounts for six hours in the day, and attending to home or hospital duties in the afternoon, I am too much wearied to write much at night. There are reports of movements in the armies which portend bloody work as the season advances. Oh that the Lord may have us in his holy keeping!

We continue quite comfortable at home. Of course provisions are scarce; but, thanks to our country friends and relatives, we have never been obliged to give up meat entirely. My brother-in-law, Mr. N[ewton], has lately sent us twelve hams, so that we are much better supplied thau most persons. Groceries are extremely high. We were fortunate in buying ten pounds of tea, when it only sold for $22 per pound. Coffee now sells for $12, and brown sugar at $10 per pound. White sugar is not to be thought of by persons of moderate means. Milk is very scarce and high, so that we have only had it once for many months; and we, the Colonel, Mr. ––––, and myself, are very glad to get a cup of tea, night and morning, sweetened with brown sugar, and without milk or cream. Before the war we would have scorned it, but now we enjoy it exceedingly, and feel ourselves very much blessed to have it. The girls have given up tea and coffee; I attempted to do it, and for several days drank only water, but such is the effect of habit upon old people, it made me perfectly miserable; I lost my elasticity of spirit; the accounts in the office went on heavily, everybody asked me if I had heard any bad news, and the family begged me not to look so unhappy. I struggled and strived against the feeling, but the girls pronounced me utterly subjugated, and insisted on my returning to my old beverage. I found myself much more easily persuaded than it is my wont to be, and was happy to resume my brown-sugar tea without cream.

On going down-stairs this evening, I found my friend Mrs. Upshur awaiting me in the parlour. She is the widow of the Hon. Abel P. Upshur, Secretary of War in Mr. Tyler's administration, whose untimely end we remember so well. She is a refugee from Washington, and called to ask me to assist her in finding a room to accommodate herself, her sister, and her little grandson. Her present room, in the third story of a very nice house, suited her very well, but the price was raised every month, until it had become beyond her means. She is rich, but it is almost impossible for her to get funds from Washington. To obtain a room is a most difficult task, but I cheerfully promised her to do what I could; but that I must first go up the street to get some flour, for as it was $300 per barrel, we could not get one, but must purchase it at $1.25 per pound, until we could get some wheat, which we were then expecting from the country, and have it ground. She at once insisted on lending me flour until ours was ground; this being agreed to, we continued on our walk in pursuit of the room. We naturally talked of the past. She related to me a circumstance which occurred when I was a young girl, and was a striking illustration of the change which time and the war had brought on us both. She said that during the political Convention of 1829-30, she came to Richmond with her husband, who was a member of it. The first entertainment to which she was invited was given at my father's house. When she entered the room my mother was standing about the centre of it, receiving her guests, and seeing that Mrs. Upshur was young and a perfect stranger, she took her by the hand and seated her by Mrs. Madison, at the same time introducing her to that celebrated woman. She said it was one of the most pleasant evenings of her life, and she looked back upon it with peculiar satisfaction, for she was then introduced to Mr. Madison, Mr. Monroe, Mr. Benjamin Watkins Leigh, and many others of the celebrated men of the day, who were attending the Convention. Could we then have looked through the vista of time, and have seen ourselves in this same city, the one looking for a cheap room in somebody's third story, the other looking for cheap bread, would we have believed it? The anecdote saddened us both for a time, but we soon recovered, and went on our way in cheerful, hopeful conversation. But we did not find the room.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 257-9

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: December 12, 1863

To-day I was examined on arithmetic — “Denominate numbers, vulgar and decimal fractions, tare and tret,” etc., etc., by Major Brewer, of the Commissary Department. I felt as if I had returned to my childhood. But for the ridiculousness of the thing, I dare say I should have been embarrassed. On Monday I am to enter on the duties of the office. We are to work from nine till three.

We have just received from our relatives in the country some fine Irish and sweet potatoes, cabbages, butter, sausages, chines, and a ham; and from a friend in town two pounds of very good green tea. These things are very acceptable, as potatoes are twelve dollars per bushel, pork and bacon two dollars fifty cents per pound, and good tea at twenty-five dollars per pound. How are the poor to live? Though it is said that the poor genteel are the real sufferers. Money is laid aside for paupers by every one who can possibly do it, but persons who do not let their wants be known are the really poor.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 247

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: December 3, 1864

We drank tea at Mrs. McCord's; she had her troubles, too. The night before a country cousin claimed her hospitality, one who fain would take the train at five this morning. A little after midnight Mrs. McCord was startled out of her first sleep by loud ringing of bells; an alarm at night may mean so much just now. In an instant she was on her feet. She found her guest, who thought it was daylight, and wanted to go. Mrs. McCord forcibly demonstrated how foolish it was to get up five hours too soon. Mrs. McCord, once more in her own warm bed, had fallen happily to sleep. She was waked by feeling two ice-cold hands pass cautiously over her face and person. It was pitch dark. Even Mrs. McCord gave a scream in her fright. She found it was only the irrepressible guest up and at her again. So, though it was only three o'clock, in order to quiet this perturbed spirit she rose and at five drove her to the station, where she had to wait some hours. But Mrs. McCord said, “anything for peace at home.” The restless people who will not let others rest!

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 337-8