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

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: June 6, 1863

We have been interested lately by a visit to this village of our old friend, Mrs. Thornton, of Rappahannock County, She gives most graphic descriptions of her sojourn of seven weeks among the Yankees last summer. Sixty thousand surrounded her house, under command of General Siegel. On one occasion, he and his staff rode up and announced that they would take tea with her. Entirely alone, that elegant old lady retained her composure, and with unruffled countenance rang her bell; when the servant appeared, she said to him, “John, tea for fourteen.” She quietly retained her seat, conversing with them with dignified politeness, and submitting as best she could to the General's very free manner of walking about her beautiful establishment, pronouncing it “baronial,” and regretting, in her presence, that he had not known of its elegancies and comforts in time, that he might have brought on Mrs. Siegel, and have made it his head-quarters. Tea being announced, Mrs. T., before proceeding to the dining-room, requested the servant to call a soldier in, who had been guarding her house for weeks, and who had sought occasion to do her many kindnesses. When the man entered, the General demurred: “No, no, madam, he will not go to table with us.” Mrs. T. replied, “General, I must beg that you will allow this gentleman to come to my table, for he has been a friend to me when I have sadly wanted one.” The General objected no farther; the man took tea with the master. After tea, the General proposed music, asking Mrs. T. if she had ever played; she replied that “such was still her habit.” The piano being opened, she said if she sang at all she must sing the songs of her own land, and then, with her uncommonly fine voice, she sang “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” “Dixie,” and other Southern songs, with great spirit. They listened with apparent pleasure. One of the staff then suggested that the General was a musician. Upon her vacating the seat he took it, and played in grand style; with so much beauty and accuracy, she added, with a twinkle of her eye, that I strongly suspected him of having been a music-master. Since that time she has heard that he was once master of that beautiful art in Mobile. Well, he was at least a more innocent man then than now. Almost every woman of the South, or at least of Virginia, will have her tale to tell when this “cruel war is over.” The life of too many will be, alas! as a “tale that is told;” its interest, its charm even its hope, as far as this world is concerned, having passed away. Their crown of rejoicing will be in the public weal, which their loved and lost have fought, bled, and died to establish; but their own hearts will be withered, their hearths deserted.

Mrs. Greenhow Daniel, of Fredericksburg, has been giving some amusing incidents of her sudden departure from her home. She had determined to remain, but when, on the night of the bombardment, a shell burst very near her house, her husband aroused her to say that she must go. They had no means of conveyance, and her two children were both under three years of age, and but one servant, (the others having gone to the Yankees,) a girl twelve years old. It so happened that they had access to three straw carriages, used by her own children and those of her neighbours. They quickly determined to put a child in each of two carriages, and to bundle up as many clothes as would fill the third. The father drew the carriage containing one child, the mother the other child, and the little girl drew the bundle of clothes. They thus set out, to go they knew not whither, only to get out of the way of danger. It was about midnight, a dark, cold night. They went on and on, to the outskirts of the town, encountering a confused multitude rushing pell-mell, with ever and anon a shell bursting at no great distance, sent as a threat of what they might expect on the morrow. They were presently overtaken by a respectable shoemaker whom they knew, rolling a wheelbarrow containing a large bundle of clothes, and the baby. They were attracted by the poor little child rolling off from its elevated place on the bundle, and as Mrs. D. stopped, with motherly solicitude for the child, the poor man told his story. In the darkness and confusion he had become separated from his wife and other children, and knew not where to find them; he thought he might find them but for anxiety about the baby. Mrs. D. then proposed that he should take her bundle of clothes with his in the wheelbarrow, and put his child into the third straw carriage. This being agreed to, the party passed on. When they came to our encampment, a soldier ran out to offer to draw one carriage, and thus rest the mother; having gone as far as he dared from his regiment, then another soldier took his place to the end of his line, and so on from one soldier to another until our encampment was passed. Then she drew on her little charge about two miles farther, to the house of an acquaintance, which was wide open to the homeless. Until late the next day the shoemaker's baby was under their care, but he at last came, bringing the bundle in safety. As the day progressed the cannon roared and the shells whistled, and it was thought advisable for them to go on to Chancellorsville. The journey of several miles was performed on foot, still with the straw carriages, for no horse nor vehicle could be found in that desolated country. They remained at Chancellorsville until the 2d or 3d of May, when that house became within range of cannon. Again she gathered up her little flock, and came on to Ashland. Her little three-years old boy explored the boarding-house as soon as he got to it, and finding no cellar he became alarmed, and running to his mother, exclaimed, “This house won't do, mother; we all have no cellar to go into when they shell it!” Thus our children are born and reared amid war and bloodshed! It seemed so sad to me to see a bright little girl, a few days ago, of four years old, stop in the midst of her play, when she heard distant thunder, exclaiming, “Let me run home, they are firing!” Poor little child, her father had been a sacrifice; no wonder that she wanted to run to her mother when she thought she heard firing. Tales far more sad than that of Mrs. D. are told, of the poor assembled by hundreds on the roadside in groups, having no shelter to cover them, and often nothing to eat, on that dark winter's night.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 218-22

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: January 19, 1863

Colonel Bradley Johnson has been with us for some days. He is nephew to Bishop J., and as bright and agreeable in private as he is bold and dashing in the field. Our little cottage has many pleasant visitors, and I think we are as cheerful a family circle as the Confederacy can boast. We are very much occupied by our Sunday-schools — white in the morning, and coloured in the afternoon. In the week we are often busy, like the “cotter's” wife, in making “auld claes look amaist as weel as new.” “New claes” are not attainable at present high prices; we are therefore likely to become very ingenious in fixing up "auld anes.” My friend who lately arrived from Washington looked on very wonderingly when she saw us all ready for church. “Why, how genteel you look!” at last broke from her; “I had no idea of it. We all thought of you as suffering in every respect.” I told her that the Southern women were as ingenious as the men were brave; and while we cared little for dress during such anxious times, yet when our husbands and sons returned from the field we preferred that their homes should be made attractive, and that they should not be pained by the indifferent appearance of their wives, sisters, and mothers. She was still more surprised by the neatly fitting, prettily made dresses of Southern manufacture. “Are they of Virginia cloth?” she asked. No, poor old Virginia has no time or opportunity for improving her manufactures, while almost her whole surface is scarred and furrowed by armies; but Georgia and North Carolina are doing much towards clothing the first ladies in the land. Sister M. has just improved my wardrobe by sending me a black alpaca dress, bought from a Potomac blockade-runner. We, ever and anon, are assisted in that way: sometimes a pound of tea, sometimes a pair of gloves, is snugged away in a friendly pocket, and after many dangers reaches us, and meets a hearty welcome; and what is more important still, medicine is brought in the same way, having escaped the eagle eyes of Federal watchers. A lady in Richmond said laughingly to a friend who was about to make an effort to go to Baltimore, “Bring me a pound of tea and a hoop-skirt;” and after a very short absence he appeared before her, with the tea in one hand and the skirt in the other. It is pleasant to see how cheerfully the girls fall into habits of economy, and occupy themselves in a way of which we never dreamed before.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 185-6

Major Wilder Dwight: September 2, 1861

camp Near Darnestown, Monday, September 2, 1861,

Supply Train Camp.

I have got a chance at pen and paper in the Commissary's office, and improve the chance for a letter. I am here in charge of two companies guarding our Division Supply Train, but shall be relieved to-day. The duty is a tedious one. The event of yesterday was the arrival of the coffee-mills. Colonel Gordon reports that the men are in ecstasies with them. I am only a witness by his report, for I was ordered off on this duty just as the coffee-mills arrived. I know how badly they were needed, and I hear how admirably they work. Since our arrival here at this new camp we have undergone the invariable inconveniences attending the moving of a division, and for the past two days my mind and time have been absorbed with the problem of how to overcome them. Night before last, having accumulated the evidence from reports of captains, and from our own quartermaster, about the want of tea, hard bread, salt pork, &c., I went up to General Banks's head-quarters, and had a long talk with him, urging the remedies which have occurred to me. The General promises to change all this, and to accomplish the regular and constant issue of the ration to the soldier in the form and at the moment required by law. I was so much struck with the difference between our condition and that of the grand army about Washington, that I have been the more exercised since my return. One consolation I have, that we are learning lessons and acquiring habits which will have to be learned, perhaps, under less favorable circumstances by others; and I have hopes that something may be done to make feeding easier. We have had a grand reduction of baggage going on, in order to get us into easier moving train. I am persuaded that the true equipment for the soldier is the combination tent and knapsack, which enables him to carry his shelter on his back, and which dispenses with more than one half of the wagons of a regiment. By that arrangement every four men would carry their tent. It is put up in a moment, and they are never separated from it. In the future, if the war lasts, I hope to get our regiment equipped with it. The autumn campaign, however, must be made in our present trim, and we must prepare, as best we can, to make it. Where are the enemy? In our isolated position we hear nothing of them. I confess that this quietness puzzles me. If they only knew their opportunities, what fine fun they might have had.

My head-quarters in my present guard duty are on a pine hill, under a bower built of pine-boughs. We had a good camp-fire last night, and I enjoyed it very much. This morning I visited all my pickets and outposts very early, and had a fine ride through the woods. I am writing in the midst of a Babel of mule-teams, and am surrounded by huge piles of barrels of flour and hard bread, boxes of soap, bags of oats and corn, and other stores. The wagons are packed in two fields, and the work of distribution is going on all the time. The portable forges are just back of the tent where I write, and a dozen busy blacksmiths are ringing their anvils. It is a lively scene. I do not know that there is anything of narrative or prophecy that I can send you entertaining. I hope father will send the coffee-roaster, and have it as portable as the required result will allow. It will complete my effort in that direction. I have been some time without a letter, because our mail has not yet found us out in our new position. I hope it will do so tomorrow. I must get on my horse and go about to visit my guard. We sent our pay-rolls to Washington to-day, which is prompt work. Our pay will come again next week. The men of our regiment are now contented and efficient, illustrating my statement, that the only trouble was the want of pay. All those questions of enlistment, &c., have died out. They never had any real hold on the men, but were a form of grumbling. The change was abrupt and sudden. The paymaster came like a sunbeam. Good by. Love to all.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 90-2