Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Sophia Birchard Hayes, November 9, 1861

Camp Ewing, November 9, 1861.

Dear Mother: — It is a rainy disagreeable November day. I have done up all the little chores required, have read the article in November number of the Atlantic Monthly on “Health in Camp,” and hope not to be interrupted until I have finished a few words to you.

I wish you could see how we live. We have clothing and provisions in abundance, if men were all thrifty — food enough and good enough in spite of unthrift. Blankets, stockings, undershirts, drawers, and shoes are always welcome. These articles or substitutes are pretty nearly the only things the soldiers' aid societies need to send. India-rubber or oilcloth capes, or the like, are not quite abundant enough. Our tents are floored with loose boards taken from deserted secession barns and houses. For warmth we have a few stoves, but generally fires in trenches in front of the tents or in little ovens or furnaces in the tents formed by digging a hole a foot deep by a foot and a half wide and leading under the sides of the tent, the smoke passing up through chimneys made of barrels or sticks crossed cob-house fashion, daubed with mud.

There is not much suffering from cold or wet. The sickness is generally camp fever — a typhoid fever not produced, I think, by any defect in food, clothing, or shelter. Officers, who are generally more comfortably provided than the privates, suffer quite as much as the men — indeed, rather more in our regiment. Besides, the people residing here have a similar fever. Exposure in the night and to bad weather in a mountain climate to which men are not accustomed, seems to cause the sickness irrespective of all other circumstances. We have nine hundred and twenty-five men and officers, of whom two hundred and thirty are sick in camp, in hospitals in Virginia and in Ohio. Less than one-fourth of the privates are sick. One-half the captains, and one-half the lieutenants are or lately have been sick. Few are seriously or dangerously sick. Almost all are able to walk about. Only five out of about as many hundred cases have died. Three of them were very excellent men. Overwork and an anxiety not [to] give up had much to do with the fatal nature of their attacks. One was one of our best and hardiest captains, and one a most interesting youngster who somehow always reminded me of Birch — Captain Woodward, of Cleveland, and Bony Seaman, of Logan County.

I never was healthier in my life. I do not by any means consider myself safe from the fever, however, if we remain in our present location — higher up in the mountains than any other regiment. If I should find myself having any of the symptoms, I shall instantly come home. Those who have done so have all recovered within a week or two and been able to return to duty. I do not notice any second attacks, although I suppose they sometimes occur. Other regiments have had more deaths than we have had, but not generally a larger sicklist.

Our men are extremely well-behaved, orderly, obedient, and cheerful. I can think of no instance in which any man has ever been in the slightest degree insolent or sullen in his manner towards me.

During the last week the enemy have made an attempt to dislodge us from our position by firing shot and shell at our camps from the opposite side of New River. For three days there was cannonading during the greater part of daylight of each day. Nothing purporting to be warfare could possibly be more harmless. I knew of two or three being wounded, and have heard that one man was killed. They have given it up as a failure and I do not expect to see it repeated.

Dr. Jim Webb came here a few days ago, on a dispatch from the general, and will aid in taking charge of the sick in some part of the army, not in our regiment. He brought many most acceptable knickknacks and comforts from home. . . .

The newspapers do great mischief by allowing false and exaggerated accounts of suffering here to be published. It checks enlistments. The truth is, it is a rare thing for a good soldier to find much cause of complaint. But I suppose the public are getting to understand this. I would not say anything to stop benevolent people from contributing such articles of clothing and bedding as I have described. These articles are always put to good use. — Love to all.

Affectionately, your son,

R. B. Hayes.

Mrs. Sophia Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 141-3

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: November 10, 1862

Randolph very ill with typhoid fever; has been delirious almost a week. The Dr. thinks there is some change for the better. I pray it may be God's will to spare his life. A cadet has died at the Institute, with this same fever, after seven days' illness.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 156

Diary of Major Rutherford B. Hayes: Tuesday Morning, October 29, 1861

Camp Tompkins.  — A bright, cold October morning, before breakfast. This month has been upon the whole a month of fine weather. The awful storm on Mount Sewell, and a mitigated repetition of it at Camp Lookout ten days afterward, October 7, are the only storms worth noting. The first was unprecedented in this country and extended to most of the States. On the whole, the weather has been good for campaigning with this exception. Camp fever, typhus or typhoid, prevails most extensively. It is not fatal. Not more than four or five deaths, and I suppose we have had four or five hundred cases. Our regiment suffers more than the average. The Tenth, composed largely of Irish laborers, and the Second Kentucky, composed largely of river men, suffer least of any. I conjecture that persons accustomed to outdoor life and exposure bear up best. Against many afflictions incident to campaigning, men from comfortable homes seem to bear up best. Not so with this.

I have tried twenty cases before a court-martial held in Colonel Tompkins' house the past week. One conviction for desertion and other aggravated offenses punished with sentence of death. I trust the general will mitigate this.

We hear that Lieutenant-Colonel Matthews, who left for a stay of two weeks at home about the 18th, has been appointed colonel of a regiment. This is deserved. It will, I fear, separate us. I shall regret that much, very much. He is a good man, of solid talent and a most excellent companion, witty, cheerful, and intelligent. Well, if so, it can't be helped. The compensation is the probable promotion I shall get to his place. I care little about this. As much to get rid of the title “Major” as anything else makes it desirable. I am prejudiced against “Major.” Doctors are majors and (tell it not in Gath) Dick Corwine is major! So if we lose friend Matthews, there may be this crumb, besides the larger one of getting rid of being the army's lawyer or judge, which I don't fancy.

Colonel Baker, gallant, romantic, eloquent soldier, senator, patriot, killed at Edwards Ferry on the upper Potomac! When will this thing cease? Death in battle does not pain me much. But caught surprised in ambush again! After so many warnings. When will our leaders learn? I do not lose heart. I calmly contemplate these things. The side of right, with strength, resources, endurance, must ultimately triumph. These disasters and discouragements will make the ultimate victory more precious. But how long? I can wait patiently if we only do not get tricked out of victories. I thought McClellan was to mend all this. “We have had our last defeat, we have had our last retreat,” he boasted. Well, well, patience! West Pointers are no better leaders than others.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 126-7

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: March 7, 1862

Just returned from the hospital. Several severe cases of typhoid fever require constant attention. Our little Alabamian seems better, but so weak! I left them for a few moments to go to see Bishop Meade; he sent for me to his room. I was glad to see him looking better, and quite cheerful. Bishops Wilmer and Elliott came in, and my visit was very pleasant. I returned to my post by the bedside of the soldiers. Some of them are very fond of hearing the Bible read; and I am yet to see the first soldier who has not received with apparent interest any proposition of being read to from the Bible. To-day, while reading an elderly man of strong, intelligent face sat on the side of the bed, listening with interest. I read of the wars of the Israelites and Philistines. He presently said, “I know why you read that chapter; it is to encourage us, because the Yankee armies are so much bigger than ours; do you believe that God will help us because we are weak?” “No,” said I, “but I believe that if we pray in faith, as the Israelites did, that God will hear us.” “Yes,” he replied, “but the Philistines didn't pray, and the Yankees do; and though I can't bear the Yankees, I believe some of them are Christians, and pray as hard as we do; [“Monstrous few on ‘em,’ grunted out a man lying near him;] and if we pray for one thing, and they pray for another, I don't know what to think of our prayers clashing.” “Well, but what do you think of the justice of our cause? don't you believe that God will hear us for the justice of our cause?  “Our cause,” he exclaimed, “yes, it is just; God knows it is just. I never thought of looking at it that way before, and I was mighty uneasy about the Yankee prayers. I am mightily obleeged to you for telling me.” “Where are you from?” I asked. “From Georgia.” “Are you not over forty-five?” “Oh, yes, I am turned of fifty, but you see I am monstrous strong and well; nobody can beat me with a rifle, and my four boys were a-coming. My wife is dead, and my girls are married; and so I rented out my land, and came too; the country hasn't got men enough, and we mustn't stand back on account of age, if we are hearty.” And truly he has the determined countenance, and bone and sinew, which make a dangerous foe on the battle-field. I wish we had 50,000 such men. He reminds me of having met with a very plain-looking woman in a store the other day. She was buying Confederate gray cloth, at what seemed a high price. I asked her why she did not apply to the quartermaster, and get it cheaper. “Well,” she replied, “I knows all about that, for my three sons is in the army; they gets their clothes thar; but you see this is for my old man, and I don't think it would be fair to get his clothes from thar, because he ain't never done nothing for the country as yet — he's just gwine in the army.” “Is he not very old to go into the army?” “Well, he's fifty-four years old, but he's well and hearty like, and ought to do something for his country. So he says to me, says he, ‘The country wants men; I wonder if-I could stand marching; I've a great mind to try.’ Says I, ‘Old man, I don't think you could, you would break down; but I tell you what you can do — you can drive a wagon in the place of a young man that's driving, and the young man can fight.’ Says he, ‘So I will — and he's agwine just as soon as I gits these clothes ready, and that won't be long.’” “But won't you be very uneasy about him?” said I. “Yes, indeed; but you know he ought to go — them wretches must be drove away.” “Did you want your sons to go?” “Want 'em to go!” she exclaimed; “yes; if they hadn't agone, they shouldn't a-staid whar I was. But they wanted to go, my sons did.” Two days ago, I met her again in a baker's shop; she was filling her basket with cakes and pies. “Well,” said I, “has your husband gone?” “No, but he's agwine tomorrow, and I'm getting something for him now.” “Don't you feel sorry as the time approaches for him to go?” “Oh, yes, I shall miss him mightily; but I ain't never cried about it; I never shed a tear for the old man, nor for the boys neither, and I ain't agwine to. Them Yankees must not come a-nigh to Richmond; if they does, I will fight them myself. The women must fight, for they shan't cross Mayo's Bridge; they shan't git to Richmond.” I said to her, “You are a patriot.” “Yes, honey — ain't you? Ain't everybody?” I was sorry to leave this heroine in homespun, but she was too busy buying cakes, etc., for the “old man,” to be interrupted any longer.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 97-100

John Lothrop Motley to Mary Benjamin Motley, July 7, 1861

Boston, July 7, 1861.

My Dearest Mary: I can't tell you how much delight your letters give me. . . .

Seid umschlungen, Millionen! You must give my kindest regards to dear Mrs. Norton, to Lady Dufferin, — if you are so fortunate as to see her, which seems too great a privilege ever really to come within your reach, — to Lady Palmerston and Lord Palmerston, to the adorable Lady and Lord , to Milnes, Stirling, Forster, to dear Lady William, with my most sincere wishes for her restoration to health. Tell her I should give myself the pleasure of writing to her, but my whole mind is absorbed with American affairs, and I know that they bore her inexpressibly, and I could write of nothing else. Don't forget my kind regards to Arthur, and to Odo if he comes. If you see Lady John Russell and Lord John, I wish you would present my best compliments, and say that I have been and am doing everything within my humble means to suppress the noble rage of our countrymen in regard to the English indifference to our cause, and that I hope partially to have succeeded. At any rate, there is a better feeling and less bluster; but alas and alas! there will never in our generation be the cordial, warm-hearted, expansive sentiment toward England which existed a year ago. Yet no one is mad enough not to wish for peaceful relations between the countries, and few can doubt that a war at this moment would be for us a calamity too awful to contemplate. Pray give my kindest regards to Mrs. Stanley; it was so kind of her to ask you to so pleasant a party as you mention. I hope you took the responsibility of remembering me to Froude; and indeed I wish really that you would say to all our friends individually, when you see them, that I beg my remembrances in each letter. There is no need of my specifying their names, as you see now that I have got to my third page and have not mentioned one third. Vivent nos amis les ennemis, and so I give my kind regards to Delane. I wish he wasn't such a good fellow, and that I didn't like him so well, for the “Times” has played the very devil with our international relations, and if there is one thing I have ever set my heart upon it is the entente cordiale between America and England. Give my kind regards to Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan.

. . . It never occurs to me that any one can doubt the warmth of my feelings toward England, and so when I try to picture the condition here it is that my friends in England may see with my eyes, which must be of necessity quicker to understand our national humors than those of any Englishman can be. Give my regards to Parker, to whom I dare say you read portions of my letters. Pray don't forget to present my most particular regards to Lord Lansdowne, and I hope it may have occurred to you to send him some of my letters, as I can't help thinking that it would interest him to have private information about our affairs, which, so far as it goes, can at least be relied upon. Don't forget my kind regards to Layard and to the dear Dean of St. Paul's and Mrs. Milman, and to those kindest of friends, Lord and Lady Stanhope, and also to the Reeves. As for my true friend Murray, I am ashamed not to have written him a line; but tell him, with my best regards to him and Mrs. M., that I have scarcely written to any one but you. If you see him, tell him what I think of our politics. It will distress his bigoted Tory heart to think that the great Republic has not really gone to pieces; but he must make up his mind to it, and so must Sir John Ramsden. The only bubble that will surely burst is the secession bubble. A government that can put 250,000 men in the field within ten weeks, and well armed, officered, and uniformed, and for the time well drilled, may still be considered a nation. You see that Abraham asks Congress for 400,000 soldiers and 400,000,000 of dollars, and he will have every man and every dollar.

But before I plunge into politics, let me stick to private matters for a little. If I have omitted any names in my greetings, supply them and consider them as said. I write to scarcely any one but you, and then to such as I know are sincerely interested in American affairs. To-day I send a letter to Lord Lyndhurst, a long one, and I am awfully afraid that it will bore him, for unluckily I haven't the talent of Sam Weller to make my correspondent wish I had said more, which is the great secret of letter-writing.

McClellan and Lyon and Mansfield and McDowell and a host of others, all thoroughly educated soldiers with large experience, to say nothing of old Scott, whose very name is worth 50,000 men, are fully a match for Jeff and Beauregard, able men as they unquestionably are. Then as to troops, I wish those who talk about Northern mercenaries, all Irish and German, and so on, could take a look at the Rhode Islanders, at the Green Mountain boys from Vermont, at the gigantic fellows from Maine, whose magnificent volunteers excite universal applause, at the Massachusetts fellows, who can turn their hands to anything, at the 50,000 men from the “Empire State,” already marched forward and equipped like regulars, and so on to Ohio and Pennsylvania, Illinois, Michigan, Minnesota, etc. I thought before I came home that there was some exaggeration in the accounts we received; but the state of things can't be exaggerated. I never felt so proud of my country as I do at this moment. It was thought a weak government because it was forbearing. I should like to know how many strong governments can stamp on the earth and produce 250,000 — the officially stated number of fighting men — almost at a breath; and there was never in history a nobler cause or a more heroic spectacle than this unanimous uprising of a great people to defend the benignant government of their choice against a wanton pro-slavery rebellion which had thought the country cowardly because she had been forbearing and gentle. A whole people, 22,000,000, laying aside all party feeling, stand shoulder to shoulder to protect this western continent, the home of freemen, from anarchy, perpetual warfare, and the universal spread of African slavery. But for this levy of bucklers the great Republic would have been Mexico and Alabama combined. Now slavery as a political power is dethroned, it can never spread an inch on this continent, and the Republic will come out of this conflict stronger and more respected than it ever was before.

Yesterday was a painfully interesting day. The Gordon regiment — the Massachusetts Second, of which I have spoken to you so often — took its departure for the seat of war. They have been in camp at Brook Farm for several weeks, and I have visited them often and have learned to have a high regard for Gordon. He was an excellent scholar at West Point, and served with distinction in the Mexican War. Afterward, becoming tired of quarters in Oregon and such wildernesses in the piping times of peace, he left the profession and studied and commenced the practice of law in Boston. But on the breaking out of the great mutiny he at once applied for leave to raise a regiment. His lieutenant-colonel, Andrews, is also a West Point man, having graduated first in his class. Wilder Dwight, whom you knew in Florence, is major, and a most efficient, energetic, intelligent fellow he is. . . .

Well, a telegram came on Saturday evening last, signed “Winfield Scott,” ordering the Second to move forward at once to help reinforce General Patterson in Martinsburg, Virginia. Patterson is expecting daily an engagement with Johnston, one of the best of the rebel generals, who commands some 20,000 men within a few miles of Martinsburg, so that the Second Regiment is going straight to glory or the grave. It was this that made the sight so interesting. It is no child's play, no holiday soldiering, which lies before them, but probably, unless all the rebel talk is mere fustian, as savage an encounter as men ever marched to meet. Within four days they will be on the sacred soil of Virginia, face to face with the enemy. The regiment came in by the Providence Railroad at eleven o'clock. It had been intended that they should march through many streets, as this was the first opportunity for the citizens of Boston to see the corps; but the day was intensely hot, a cloudless sky and 95° of Fahrenheit in the shade, so they only marched along Boylston, Tremont, up Beacon streets, to the Common, very wisely changing the program. They made a noble appearance: the uniform is blue, and they wore the army regulation hat, which I think — although Mr. Russell does not — very becoming with its black ostrich plumes, and I am assured that it is very convenient and comfortable in all weathers, being both light, supple, and shady. The streets were thronged to cheer them and give them God-speed. There was a light collation spread on tables in the Beacon Street Mall, and I walked about within the lines, with many other friends, to give the officers one more parting shake of the hand. There were many partings such as press the life from out the heart.

I was glad that M— and the girls were not there; but I saw Mr. and Mrs. D—, Mrs. Quincy, and many other wives and mothers. You may judge of the general depth of feeling when even Tom D— wouldn't come to see the regiment off for fear of making a fool of himself. People seemed generally to be troubled with Lear's hysterica passio, so that the cheers, although well intentioned, somehow stuck in their throats. The regiment got to the cars at three o'clock, and were to go via Stonington to New York, and soon via Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, to Williamsport, Maryland, and Martinsburg. We shall hear of them by telegram, and I hope occasionally to get a line from Gordon. Oh, how I wish that I had played at soldiers when I was young; wouldn't I have applied for and got a volunteer regiment now! But alas! at forty-seven it is too late to learn the first elements, and of course I could not be a subaltern among young men of twenty-two. William Greene — lucky fellow! — is raising a regiment; he was educated at West Point, you know, and served in the Florida war; and Raymond Lee, also a West Point man, is raising another of the additional ten regiments offered by Massachusetts. Young Wendell Holmes — who, by the way, is a poet and almost as much a man of genius as his father, besides being one of the best scholars of his time — has a lieutenant's commission in Lee's regiment, and so on. Are you answered as to the Irish and German nature of our mercenaries?

Nothing decisive has yet occurred. The skirmishes — outpost affairs, and which have furnished food for telegrams and pictures for the illustrated newspapers — are all of no consequence as to the general result. Don't be cast down, either, if you hear of a few reverses at first. I don't expect them; but, whether we experience them or not, nothing can prevent our ultimate triumph and a complete restoration of the Union. Of this I feel very confident. I don't like to prophesy, — a man always makes an ass of himself by affecting to read the future, — yet I will venture one prediction: that before eighteen months have passed away the uprising of a great Union party in the South will take the world so much by surprise as did so recently the unanimous rising of the North. For example, only a very few months ago, the Confederate flag was to wave over Washington before May 1, and over Faneuil Hall before the end of this year; there was to be a secession party in every Northern State, and blood was to flow from internecine combats in every Northern town. Now Washington is as safe as London; the North is a unit, every Northern town is as quiet and good-natured, although sending forth regiment after regiment to a contest far away from home, as it was five years ago; while Virginia is the scene of civil war — one Virginia sending senators and representatives to Washington, while another Virginia sends its deputies to Jeff Davis's wandering capital, and the great battle-field of North and South will be on the “sacred soil.” I feel truly sorry for such men as C—; there could not be a man more amiable or thorough gentleman than he seemed to be on our brief acquaintance. But rely upon it that Abraham is a straightforward, ingenuous, courageous backwoodsman, who will play his part manfully and wisely in this great drama.

The other day I dined with Mr. Palfrey. It was a very pleasant little dinner, and besides Frank and the daughters there were Holmes, Lowell, and John Adams. Frank Palfrey is lieutenant-colonel in William Greene's regiment; Mr. Palfrey's other son, John, is a lieutenant in the regular army, and I am truly sorry to hear today that he has just come home from Fortress Monroe with typhoid fever. I am just going down to inquire after him. Lowell and Holmes were as delightful as ever. I liked John Adams very much indeed; he seemed to me very manly, intelligent, and cultivated, and very good-looking. He was kind enough to ask me to come down to Quincy to dine and pass the night, and I certainly shall do so, for besides wishing to see the ancient abode of the Adamses, I must go and see the venerable Mr. Quincy, who has kindly sent for me once or twice. By the way, remember me kindly to Mr. and Mrs. Adams whenever you see them. I hear that they speak of you in all their letters in the most friendly and agreeable manner. . . .

Ever yours affectionately,

J. L. M.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 164-72

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: Tuesday August 6, 1861

The North requires 600,000 men to invade us. Truly we are a formidable power! The Herald says it is useless to move with a man less than that. England has made it all up with them, or rather, she will not break with them. Jerome Napoleon is in Washington and not our friend.

Doctor Gibbes is a bird of ill omen. To-day he tells me eight of our men have died at the Charlottesville Hospital. It seems sickness is more redoubtable in an army than the enemy's guns. There are 1,100 there hors de combat, and typhoid fever is with them. They want money, clothes, and nurses. So, as I am writing, right and left the letters fly, calling for help from the sister societies at home. Good and patriotic women at home are easily stirred to their work.

Mary Hammy has many strings to her bow — a fiancé in the army, and Doctor Berrien in town. To-day she drove out with Major Smith and Colonel Hood. Yesterday, Custis Lee was here. She is a prudent little puss and needs no good advice, if I were one to give it.

Lawrence does all our shopping. All his master's money has been in his hands until now. I thought it injudicious when gold is at such a premium to leave it lying loose in the tray of a trunk. So I have sewed it up in a belt, which I can wear upon an emergency. The cloth is wadded and my diamonds are there, too. It has strong strings, and can be tied under my hoops about my waist if the worst comes to the worst, as the saying is. Lawrence wears the same bronze mask. No sign of anything he may feel or think of my latest fancy. Only, I know he asks for twice as much money now when he goes to buy things.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 100-1

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: Sunday Night, October 20, 1861

To-day went to church, and heard an admirable sermon from Mr. J. As we returned, we called at the post-office, and received a newspaper from Dr. Drane, of Tennessee, in which is recorded the death of his son James. He belonged to the army in Western Virginia, and died there of typhoid fever. He was one of the late pupils of the E. H. S., a most amiable, gentlemanly youth; and it seems but as yesterday that I saw him, light-hearted and buoyant, among his young companions. He is constantly before my mind's eye. His parents and young sister — how my heart bleeds for them! Our poor boys! What may not each battle bring forth? Scarcely a battalion of the army, in any part of the Confederacy, where they are not.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 69

Brigadier-General John A. Rawlins to Congressman Elihu B. Washburne, January 20, 1864

Headquarters Military Division Of The Miss.,

Nashville, Tenn., Jan. 20, 1864.

Dear Washburne:

On my return from the North I was pleased to find your very welcome and interesting letter of the 20th ultimo, and I hasten to assure you, your friendship for the General, your devotion to our common country, and heroic manifestation of interest in the welfare and success of our army here, through evil as well as good report, in the dark hour of the Nation's despondency, as well as in the light of its victories, are truly and honestly appreciated, and to you, more than any one in Congress, the great heart of the army warms with gratitude as its true representative and hold and uncompromising defender. So give yourself no concern in the matter of the cavalry regiment you speak of, for the General fully understands your motives and knows them to be prompted solely by a desire for the public service and in friendship to him.

I see by the papers the bill creating a Lieutenant Generalcy is still undisposed of. So far as General Grant may be regarded in connection with it, I can only say that if the conferring of this distinguished honor upon him would be the taking him out of the field, or would supersede General Halleck, he would not desire it, for he feels that if he can be of service to the Government in any place, it is in command of the army in the field, and there is where he would remain if made a lieutenant general; besides, he has great confidence in and friendship for the General-in-Chief, and would without regard to rank be willing at all times to receive orders through him.

The advocacy of the New York Herald and other papers of the General for the Presidency gives him little concern; he is unambitious of the honor and will voluntarily put himself in no position nor permit himself to be placed in one he can prevent that will in the slightest manner embarrass the friends of the Government in their present grand effort to enforce its rightful authority and restore the Union of the States. Of his views in this matter, I suppose he has fully acquainted you.

The presence of Longstreet in East Tennessee is much to be regretted. Had General Grant's order been energetically and with a broader judgment executed by General Burnside, Longstreet would have been forced to have continued his retreat from Knoxville to beyond the Tennessee line. The General's official report will show the facts and order and be satisfactory, I have no doubt, to the Government. Our forces in the Holsten Valley, east of Knoxville, have been compelled by Longstreet to fall back towards Knoxville. Whether he intends to again undertake the capture of that place, or simply to extend his forage ground, is not as yet known. In either design he must be foiled. General Grant, General W. F. Smith and myself go forward to-morrow to Chattanooga, that the General may be enabled to give his personal attention to affairs in the direction of Knoxville. Fred, the General's oldest son, is lying very sick at St. Louis with the “Typhoid Pneumonia,” and he was intending to start to see him this morning, but despatches from Knoxville detained him, and he turns in the direction of duty to his country, leaving his afflicted family to the care of friends.

I am sorry I did not see you when in New York — there is much that I would have been pleased to tell you that one cannot write.

While North, on the 23rd day of December, 1863, at Danbury, Conn., I was married to Miss Mary E. Hurlbut, a native of that place and daughter of S. A. Hurlbut, Esq. I first met her in Vicksburg in the family at whose house we made headquarters after the fall of that place. She was in the city during the entire siege, having gone South with friends previous to the breaking out of the rebellion. From my acquaintance with her, she was in favor of the Union, and will instruct and educate my children in the spirit and sentiment of true patriotism that I hope will ever actuate them in the support and maintenance of the princely inheritance bequeathed us by our revolutionary fathers and now being daily enhanced in value and increased in endearment by the sacrifices we are making for its preservation. She is now with my three little ones at the home of my parents near Galena. I saw few of my friends in Galena, owing to my limited stay, having been there only about six hours of daylight. I had hoped to spend a week, but detention on the cars from snow prevented it. Galena was really lively and all seemed well.

General Grant is in excellent health and is “himself” in all things. Colonel Brown, Major Rowley, etc., all send their regards to you. General Wilson has been ordered to Washington to take charge of the Cavalry Bureau. He is a brave and accomplished young officer, and has rendered valuable services in the field. I hope he may be successful in his new duties and bespeak for him your kind offices of friendship.

I met Russell Jones in Chicago, and he made me go to see Mr. Autrobus's paintings of the General. They are both very fine, and the full-size one I regard as the finest likeness I ever saw. I am no judge of paintings, but I examined this one closely and compared it in my own mind with the General and pronounced it like him, and since my return I have looked at and watched the General with interest and compared him with the picture, and am sure he is like it. . .

.

Hoping to hear from you soon, I remain, your friend.

SOURCE: James H. Wilson, The Life of John A. Rawlins, p. 387-9

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: July 18, 1861

During the last ten days we have been visiting among our friends, near Berryville, and in Winchester. The wheat harvest is giving the most abundant yield, and the fields are thick with corn. Berryville is a little village surrounded by the most beautiful country and delightful society. Patriotism burns brightly there, and every one is busy for the country in his or her own way. It is cheering to be among such people; the ladies work, and the gentlemen — the old ones — no young man is at home — give them every facility. But Winchester, what shall I say for Winchester that will do it justice? It is now a hospital. The soldiers from the far South have never had measles, and most unfortunately it has broken out among them, and many of them have died of it, notwithstanding the attention of surgeons and nurses. No one can imagine the degree of self-sacrificing attention the ladies pay them; they attend to their comfort in every respect; their nourishment is prepared at private houses; every lady seems to remember that her son, brother, or husband may be placed in the same situation among strangers, and to be determined to do unto others as she would have others to do unto her.

War still rages. Winchester is fortified, and General Johnston has been reinforced. He now awaits General Patterson, who seems slowly approaching.

While in Winchester, I heard of the death of one who has been for many years as a sister to me — Mrs. L. A. P., of S. H., Hanover County. My heart is sorely stricken by it, particularly when I think of her only child, and the many who seemed dependent on her for happiness. She died on Saturday last. With perfect resignation to the will of God, she yielded up her redeemed spirit, without a doubt of its acceptance. In cœlo quies. There is none for us here.

We have been dreadfully shocked by the defeat at Rich Mountain and the death of General Garnett! It is the first repulse we have had, and we should not complain, as we were overpowered by superior numbers; but we have so much to dread from superior numbers — they are like the sand upon the sea-shore for multitude. Our men say that one Southern man is equal to three Yankees. Poor fellows! I wish that their strength may be equal to their valour. It is hard to give up such a man as General Garnett. He was son of the late Hon. Robert S. Garnett, of Essex County; educated at West Point; accomplished and gallant. His military knowledge and energy will be sadly missed. It was an unfortunate stroke, the whole affair; but we must hope on, and allow nothing to depress us.

I have just returned from a small hospital which has recently been established in a meeting-house near us. The convalescent are sent down to recruit for service, and to recover their strength in the country, and also to relieve the Winchester hospitals. The ladies of the neighbourhood are doing all they can to make them comfortable. They are full of enthusiasm, and seem to be very cheerful, except when they speak of home. They are hundreds of miles from wife, children, and friends. Will they ever see them again? I have been particularly interested in one who is just recovering from typhoid fever. I said to him as I sat fanning him: “Are you married?” His eyes filled with tears as he replied, “Not now; I have been, and my little children, away in Alabama, are always in my mind. At first I thought I could not leave the little motherless things, but then our boys were all coming, and mother said, ‘Go, Jack, the country must have men, and you must bear your part, and I will take care of the children;’ and then I went and ‘listed, and when I went back home for my things, and saw my children, I 'most died like. ‘Mother,’ says I, ‘I am going, and father must take my corn, my hogs, and every thing else he likes, and keep my children; but if I never get back, I know it will be a mighty burden in your old age; but I know you will do your best.’ ‘Jack,’ says she, ‘I will do a mother's part by them; but you must not talk that way. Why should you get killed more than another? You will get back, and then we shall be so happy. God will take care of you, I know He will.’” He then took a wallet from under his pillow, and took two locks of hair: “This is Peter's, he is three years old; and this is Mary's, she is a little more than one, and named after her mother, and was just stepping about when I left home.” At that recollection, tears poured down his bronzed cheeks, and I could not restrain my own. I looked at the warm-hearted soldier, and felt that he was not the less brave for shedding tears at the recollection of his dead wife, his motherless children, and his brave old mother. I find that the best way to nurse them, when they are not too sick to bear it, is to talk to them of home. They then cease to feel to you as a stranger, and finding that you take interest in their “short and simple annals,” their natural reserve gives way, and they at once feel themselves among friends.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 37-40

Charles D. Miller, to Samuel L. M. Barlow, February 26, 1860

Peterboro, February 26th, 1860.

S. L. M. Barlow, Esq.:

Sir: I have your letter of 22d inst. Mr. Smith desires me to say that his attention was called at the same time to all the references to himself in your “Manifesto.” That he complained of but one, was by no means because he acquiesced in the others. Compared with that one, the others are of no importance. That one is a sheer fabrication. Of all in it that you attribute to him he had done nothing. But in the other references, your responsibility is only for your opinions of what he confesses he had done.

It is true that Mr. Smith did at the close of his long letter to Mr. Thomas on other subjects, (dated 27th August,) assert the probability of servile insurrections, and the possibility of their success, as reasons why the people should, at the ballot-box, put an end to slavery. But, pray, what responsible connection is there between this and the “Central Association,” or the sad occurrence at Harper's Ferry? The like thing he did in scores of meetings, in his tour through this State in 1858; and never was he more full and faithful at this point than in his speech on the Nebraska Bill. (See pages 200, etc., of the volume of his Congressional Speeches.) In fact, it is for more than a quarter of a century that he has been continually testifying that unless the American people hasten to put away slavery peacefully, it will go out in blood. His only regret in respect to such testimony is, that it has not availed to persuade, or, if you prefer, to frighten the people, both of the North and the South, into his own deep and abiding belief that slavery will die a violent death unless speedily put to a peaceful one. As to Harper's Ferry, Mr. Smith is not aware that he had seen or heard the name of that village, or thought of itself or its name, for years immediately preceding the scene of violence there last October.

Mr. Smith readily admits that his letter to John Brown in your "Manifesto" does not exaggerate his love and admiration of the man, whom, during the many years of his intimate relations with him, both in business and friendship, he was accustomed to regard as unsurpassed, for truthfulness, disinterestedness, and a noble and sublime spirit. No wonder that, regarding him in this light, Mr. Smith did, from the time Capt. Brown started for Kansas, in the spring of 1855, put money into his hand whenever he opened it for money. No wonder, that during the last four years of Capt. Brown's life, Mr. Smith sent very many bank-drafts to him, and to names which the Captain furnished. Whether his call was for fifty dollars or for two hundred and fifty, was all the same. It was never refused. I scarcely need add that no one feels deeper sorrow than does Mr. Smith, that his precious, nay idolized friend, was led into the mistake of shedding blood in his last attempt to help slaves get free. Indeed, it was that mistake which completed the prostration of the miserable health of Mr. Smith's body and brain. What little strength the most obstinate dyspepsia, following up typhoid fever and dropsy, had left him, was swept away by the horrible news from Virginia. You put your own assumed and entirely unauthorized interpretation upon Mr. Smith's use of the words “Kansas work.” What he meant by these words is what Capt. Brown, in his public meeting, held in this village a few weeks before the date of Mr. Smith's letter, described as his latest “Kansas work,” — namely, the removing of slaves without violence to a land where they can be free.

To return to your letter: I hardly need say that it is unsatisfactory to Mr. Smith. It evidently was not intended to be satisfactory to him. It adds studied insults to the cruel and immeasurable wrongs you had previously done him. You had done what you could to blacken his reputation; and now, when arraigned for it, the whole extent of your concession is, that he shall have the privilege of wiping off the blacking if he can. It is as if you had called your innocent fellow-man a cut-throat, and then, wiping your mouth, had told him that you would retract the bad name, if only he would consent to degrade himself so far as to deny that the bad name fits him. In the depths of your malice — a malice unmitigated, as your own letter shows, by the least semblance, and scarcely by the least pretense, of a particle of evidence to justify your accusation — you did him all the injury you could; and now, when called on to repair it, you send him a letter which but deepens it. I need not characterize that letter. It characterizes itself. There is not a right-minded man, North or South, but would pronounce your treatment of Mr. Smith to be base, infamous, and wicked to the last degree — and this, too, according to your own presentation of the case in your own letter. Let your Committee think of their deliberate and enormous crime against Mr. Smith, and then sleep over it if they can. When he was within forty-eight hours of death, in the judgment of the physicians into whose hands he then passed; and when he knew not one person from another; and when his family were too much afflicted to read the newspapers — that Committee was busy, with Satanic industry and Satanic venom, in circulating over the whole land a falsehood of their own coinage, that could not have failed to fill with the hatred and loathing of him ten thousand hearts, both North and South, that had before loved and honored him.

Mr. Smith is not unmindful that you were moved to defame him by party rather than personal objects; and he confesses that he has no sympathy with the Republican party. He will not greatly deplore the advantages you may gain over it. But he must protest against your gaining them at his expense — especially at so great expense as having the most atrocious and injurious falsehoods told of himself. Mr. Smith is an Abolitionist, and not, as you would have it believed, a Republican. The odium of his principles belongs all to himself; and it is not right that the Republican party should suffer at all from it. But although Mr. Smith is an Abolitionist, he has friends and relatives both at the North and South. Moreover, he thinks quite as highly of Southern as of Northern character. I add, that although he has purchased the freedom of many slaves, and not a few of them within two or three hours’ drive of Harper's Ferry, and that although he is a very willing contributor to “Underground Railroads,” he would nevertheless not have any slave seek his freedom at the expense of killing his master. He has always said that he would rather remain a slave for life than get his liberty by bloodshed.

Respectfully yours,

Chas. D. Miller.

SOURCE: Gerrit Smith, Gerrit Smith and the Vigilant Association of the City of New-York, p. 7-11

Congressman James A. Garfield to Corydon E. Fuller, November 24, 1864

Hiram, November 25, 1864.

My Dear Corydon: — Yours of the 13th came duly to hand. I am glad to inform you that Crete is now convalescent. She has had a terrible run of typhoid fever, which for some days seriously threatened her life, and which left her exceedingly weak and reduced; but she is now on her feet again and rapidly gaining strength.

I rejoice with you in the great victory, but greatly regret that your county is not redeemed from the dominion of the enemy. I think, however, that Fulton county can confidently say that if she has not won her first victory she has suffered her last defeat. After I left you I finished my appointments in Colfax's district, and then went to Ohio. My work grew heavier as the campaign drew on to its close, and I made eighteen speeches in the last two weeks preceding the Presidential election, and traveled nearly four thousand miles. I was thoroughly exhausted when the end came, but I am now quite well again, and hope to enter upon my winter's work in good health.

I start for Washington next week. I do not think Crete will be able to go before the holidays, when I intend to take her with me.

In regard to your own matters, I need not assure you how ready and willing I am to do all in my power to-aid you. I will see Colfax as soon as I get to Washington and consult with him on the best way to secure a place for you. If a place can be got by us two, it shall be.

Write me soon.

Ever truly yours,

James.

SOURCE: Corydon Eustathius Fuller, Reminiscences of James A. Garfield: With Notes Preliminary and Collateral, p. 368-9

Diary of Charles H. Lynch: January 6, 1863

Last night, while on guard duty, I was taken suddenly ill. Had to be relieved from duty. Placed in an old barn, used for a field hospital, with a leaky old roof, the rain coming down on me. Colonel, I was informed, came to the barn, saw my condition, ordered me carried to a general hospital known as Stuart's Mansion, afterward named the Jarvis Hospital, at the west end of Baltimore. At the hospital I was examined by a surgeon who pronounced my illness typhoid fever and the pleurisy. I was placed in Ward 4. I was very ill. My side was cupped for the pleurisy. Received good care from the nurses, one woman and four men, two by day and night. My comrades of Company C called on me quite often until the company was ordered to Fort Marshall at the east end of Baltimore, about five miles from the Hospital. In good quarters. All were very sorry I could not be with them. While in the hospital the officers of the company called on me. I also received a call from our good Governor Buckingham. Promised friends at home that he would call on me, see that I was having good care. His home was in Norwich.

I told the Governor that I had no fault to find and for him to tell the folks at home that I was receiving good care. Also received calls from Mrs. Henry Bingham, the wife of a comrade of our company and an old friend at home. Comrade Bingham was very ill in the same hospital with me. On the wall, at the head of our beds, was a card with our name, company, and regiment. The loyal people of Baltimore often visited the hospital, furnishing entertainment for the patients in songs and recitations. Was very much enjoyed and appreciated as the time dragged slowly along.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 14

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Barnett Smith, April 9, 1863

Headquarters Second Brigade, Second Div.,

Fifteenth Army Corps,

“Young's Point,” La., April 9, 1863.

My Dear Bessie:

How is the little baby brother? I think of him a good deal, and how anxious you all must have been for his recovery. I have had something to worry me here too in my other great family. I have a good many children to look after here, and many of them get sick and some of them die. Perhaps mother will recollect a letter she received from my aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Seeds, a letter, I think, she did not answer, but which was written just after the battle of Chickasas Bluffs to apprise her of my safety. The writer was a brave, gallant young man of singular beauty and fine address, a graduate of Delaware College, who had enlisted in my old Zouave regiment as a private and from principle, for his father was rich. A long time I sought promotion for him, and at last succeeded, and when I had obtained his commission, I placed him on my staff to have him near my person. He rode well and boldly, with a firm seat and a light hand and in both battles staid by my side, never leaving me but to take an order. At Arkansas Post he was so dashing and conspicuous as to bring cheers from both armies. Well, when we debarked at “Young's Point” I was harassed with much responsibility, and far in front had to fight the enemy, and the elements, and the great Mississippi River, and for two days and two nights hardly dismounted save to change horses. I forgot or was careless to think that my aides were not iron, or steel, or capable of my own endurance, and instead of changing them as I changed my horses, let them stay with me, and the third day they sickened, and poor Frank never got well. He pined and weakened day by day — wouldn't give up, game to the very last — and I nursed him as best I could in his tent, but it was very cold and wet, raining almost every day. His disease was typhoid, not much pain, but wasting fever, and the poor fellow would come out with his overcoat and sit shivering by the camp fire between the showers; couldn't drink whiskey, or smoke tobacco, our only luxuries; couldn't eat, and would lie awake all night, and listen to the shells hissing over us (for we were close to the canal and within range of it, and in those early days of the siege they harassed us) and look up at me with his great eyes glistening with fever. I had no comfort for him, only a word of cheer, but I didn't think he would die, and so at last when we thought he was a little better, and he had been sick four long weeks, I had him carried down to the boat on a stretcher, placed on what they call a hospital boat — that is, a steamer with the whole cabin fixtures taken out, no state rooms, but in their place, long lines of cots, and some boats carry a thousand. There I disposed him as comfortably as I could and took leave, he weeping, for he was tenderly attached to me, and I gave him letters to you all, told him to go to the house and you would nurse him and when he got well to come back, and we would ride together again in battle, saw that he had some money and left him, and to-day they write me he is dead. He only got as far as Memphis; relapse, hospital, and — “he has fought his last battle.”  Only twenty-five, tall, finely formed, beautiful bright chestnut hair, red chestnut, frank open countenance, the soul of honor; and so they drop away from me, and all my best men, all I love most, are shot down or die.

Did I write you about the flowers and the birds, the sweetest, most eloquent birds you ever heard, and the prince of all of them, the mocking bird, sings all the day and of a verity all the night long. You couldn't hear the mocking bird in perfection anywhere but here, and wild; I ought not to say wild, either, for the pert, game little rascal is as tame as a chicken; he’ll just hop out of your way, and that's all — but what a flood of song he pours forth! There's one fellow who has built his nest not far off upon the topmost limb of a fig tree, a little way from my tent, and there he has whistled since before reveille this morning everything that any bird ever whistled before him, making the welkin ring with his melody. He has to help the thrush and the red bird and the black bird and the rice bird; but altogether. They have a royal time of it while the figs are ripening and the roses bloom; the delicate sweet roses, we used to cultivate with so much care, pout their lips and ask for kisses in March, and keep on blooming on great bushes till December. All the monthlies, the Giant, Marie Antoinette, Souvenirs, beautiful white roses, such as you rarely see, and all, almost without cultivation, perfume the air, with woodbine and every variety of honeysuckle all out now. The weather is perfectly delicious, neither too warm nor too cold, just right for a blanket or two at night, a dashing gallop in the morning, a cool walk on the parade at eventide; moonlight such as you never dreamed of, and oh, such sunsets! I used to think they could get up a pretty fair performance of this kind at Mac-o-cheek, when I was young and romantic, and before you were thought of, but a sunset on the Mississippi is beyond compare; and to stand by the broad river side at night, when its surface is glassy and still, and by the clear moonlight see the reflection in the water, is worth several days' journey. This sunny South is very sweet; its clime almost genial. No one can wonder they love it, and my theory of the war now is just to go on and take it. I approve of colonizing as we go, open the crevasse and let the Northern hordes flood through, and like the waters of the great river spread over the plain not to return again to the parent rills, but to fertilize and fructify the earth.

I have been quiescent and still for eight or ten days, a good while for me, and am disciplining and drilling my soldiers in a beautiful and most convenient camp. Upon so spacious a plain I can pitch the tents of my whole brigade in the rear of a continuous color line, when all the regiments are out on dress parade. I assure you it is a pleasant sight these pleasant evenings. In the intervals of drill, the men play ball, the whole plain is carefully polished and smooth as a floor. How long we shall enjoy our pleasant rest nobody knows. I suppose we must look out for the gallinippers next month. We had already one or two little tastes of their quality.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 285-8

Major-General Thomas J. Jackson to Mary Anna Morrison Jackson, October 21, 1861

CENTREVILLE, Oct. 21st.

For several days your esposo has been here, and has an extra nice room, the parlor of a Mr. Grigsby, who has promised that he will also let me have another room for my chamber, and then I can use the parlor for my office. He has very kindly offered me the use of his library. The walls of his parlor are hung with pictures and paintings, including large portraits on opposite sides, I suppose of the esposo and esposa. The carpet has been removed, but an abundance of seats have been left, two settees among them. Mr. Grigsby is apparently a man of much character, and I am very much pleased with him. His wife is delicate, and two of his sons have typhoid fever, but are past the critical stage of the disease. He has not yet consented to my staff moving into the house, probably for fear of disturbing the sick. Colonel Jones has resigned and gone home, and Mr. Marshall went with him. They are both nice gentlemen.

SOURCE: Mary Anna Jackson, Life and Letters of General Thomas J. Jackson (Stonewall Jackson), p. 195-6

Baltimore, May 19 [1862].

The steamer Vanderbilt reached here this a. m. with about 500 sick soldiers from Yorktown.  They are mostly typhoid and bilious fever cases, with a few wounded. – All were distributed among the various hospitals here.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Wednesday Morning, May 21, 1862, p. 2

Death Of A Citizen Soldier

It is with regret we announce the death of Newton Austin Haldeman, of this city, Sergeant of Co. C, 2d regiment.  He died of typhoid fever at Jefferson Barracks hospital, on Thursday last, 15th inst., aged 24 years.  Mr. Haldeman was an occasional correspondent of this paper and his letters were copied throughout the country.  A lengthy one furnished us after the battle at Fort Donelson, was pronounced by some of our cotemporaries, the best description published of that battle.  He was an excellent young man, a kind brother, and a dutiful son.  His remains were interred for the present at Jefferson Barracks.  His brother is in the army at the East, and as no word has been received from him for sometime his parents fear that he too is no longer among the living.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Wednesday Morning, May 21, 1862, p. 1

Brigadier General Montgomery C. Meigs to Abraham Lincoln, Friday, January 10, 1862

If General McClellan has typhoid fever, that is an affair of six weeks at least; he will not be able sooner to command. In the mean-time, if the enemy in our front is as strong as he believes, they may attack on any day, and I think you should see some of those upon whom in such case, or in case any forward movement becomes necessary, the control must fall. Send for them to meet you soon and consult with them; perhaps you may select the responsible commander for such an event.

SOURCE: "General M. C. Meigs on the Conduct of the Civil War," The American Historical Review, Volume 26, p. 292

Diary of Edward Bates, December 31, 1861 – Second Entry

Since last date the weather has been and is remarkably fine. Mr. Eads⁶⁷ has been here, bringing his wife, Miss Genevieve and little Mattie — He has returned, by way of N.[ew] Y.[ork] to St Louis (leaving Genevieve with us, untill [sic] his return again in a few weeks)[.] He was sadly disappointed about gitting [sic] money, and went away in no good humor with Q.[uarter] M.[aster] G[eneral] Meigs.⁶⁸ I hope it will be all right soon.

I think he has made a very favorable impression upon the Navy Dept, especially with Mr. Fox,⁶⁹ asst. Sect: He will probably contract for the building of 4 of the 20 iron ships ordered for the Navy, at $500,000 a piece — perhaps a little more.⁷⁰

Mr. Gibson⁷¹ shewed me to day a letter from Gov Gamble⁷² in very low spirits — Genl Halleck⁷³ rules out the malitia [sic]. The goods sent from here—those clothes and blanketts [sic] —expressly for Gambles malitia [sic] are taken and transfer[r]ed to other troops, this is too bad.

< [Note.] Jany 3 Mr. Gibson read me another letter from Gov Gamble in much better spirits. He thinks, in the main that Halleck is doing very well[.>]

Genl McClellan and his chief of staff, Genl Marcey [sic], are both very sick — Said to be typhoid fever — and this is making much difficulty.

The Genl: it seems, is very reticent. Nobody knows his plans. The Sec of war and the President himself are kept in ignorance of the actual condition of the army and the intended movements of the General — if indeed they intend to move at all — In fact the whole administration is lamentably deficient in the lack of unity and coaction[.] There is no quarrell [sic] among us, but an absalute [sic] want of community of intelligence, purpose and action.

In truth, it is not an administration but the separate and disjointed action of seven independent officers, each one ignorant of what his colle[a]gues are doing.

To day in council, Mr. Chase stated the condition of things in sorrowful plainness; and then, as usual, we had a “bald, disjointed chat” about it, coming to no conclusion.

It seemed as if all military operations were to stop, just because Genl McClellan is sick! Some proposed that there should be a council of war composed of Maj: Genls, in order that somebody besides the Genl in chief, may know something about the army; and be able to take command in case Genl McC[lellan] should die or continue sick.

I differed, and told the President that he was commander in chief, and that it was not his privilege but his duty to command; and that implied the necessity to know the true condition of things.

That if I was in his place, I would know; and if things were not done to my liking, I would order them otherwise. That I believed he could get along easier and much better by the free use of his power, than by this injurious deference to his subordinates [.]

I said, the Sec of War is but the Adjutant Genl. and the Sec of the Navy the Admiral of the commander in chief, and through them, he ought to know all that is necessary to be known about the army and Navy. And I urged upon him (as often heretofore) the propriety of detailing at least two active and skillful officers to act as his aid[e]s, to write and carry his orders, collect his information, keep his military books and papers, and do his bidding generally in military affairs.

But I fear that I spoke in vain. The Prest. is an excellent man, and, in the main wise; but he lacks will and purpose, and, I greatly fear he, has not the power to command.

__________

⁶⁷ Supra, Jan. 28, 1860, note 38.

⁶⁸ Montgomery C. Meigs : West Point graduate of 1836 ; officer in the Artillery and Engineering Corps ever since; commander of the expedition to Fort Pickens which had saved that fort; quartermaster-general with the rank of brigadier-general, 1861-1882.

⁶⁹ Supra, March 9, 1861, note 40.

⁷⁰ He did actually contract for seven armor-plated gunboats of 600 tons each to be finished in sixty-five days. He and Mr. Bates had suggested these gunboats for the Mississippi, and, before the War ended, he had built fourteen armored gunboats, seven “tin-clad” transports, and four heavy mortar boats, and had added several new ordnance Inventions of his own to them.

⁷¹ Supra, April 27, 1859, note 27.

⁷² Supra, July 23, 1859, note 39.

⁷³ Supra, Nov. 13, 1861, note 37.

SOURCE: Howard K. Beale, Editor, The Diary of Edward Bates, published in The Annual Report Of The American Historical Association For The Year 1930 Volume 4, p. 219-20

Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, Thursday, February 20, 1862

This has been a bright pleasant day, quite a rarity for a month past. There is no particular news in the papers. I have been down onto the Av^e this evening. Called upon Mr Daws M.C. who is sick at his rooms co[rne]^r of 8^th & Av^e, bought some maps and two Flags in view of the Celebration of the 22^nd. I must make arrangements tomorrow to illuminate on Saturday night. We hear tonight with much sorrow that our little friend Willie Lincoln died at 5 p.m. He had been sick for near three weeks with Typhoid fever. “Bud” has been to see him or to enquire about him almost every day. He and his Mother were there yesterday about noon. Willie was then thought to be better. He was an amiable good hearted boy, was here with our boys almost every day or our boys were there. We all got much attached to him & “Tad” his Brother. He had more judgment and foresight than any boy of his age that I have ever known, poor Willie we all lament.

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

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, January 5, 1862

CAMP PIERPONT, VA., January 5, 1862.

I fully expected before to-day we would have received the orders that we had hints about, but as yet nothing has been received. Possibly McClellan's sickness may have postponed them, for it is now pretty well known that he has been, if he is not now, quite sick, with all the symptoms of typhoid fever. His employing a Homoeopathic doctor has astonished all his friends, and very much shaken the opinion of many in his claimed extraordinary judgment.

The weather continues quite cold; we have had a little snow, but the ground is frozen hard and the roads in fine order. I have seen so much of war and its chances that I have learned to be satisfied with things as they are and to have no wishes. Were it not for this philosophy, a movement would be desirable, for I am satisfied this army is gaining nothing by inaction, and that volunteers, beyond a certain point, are not improvable. And as this war will never be terminated without fighting, I feel like one who has to undergo a severe operation, that the sooner it is over the better. An officer from town this evening says the report there is that McCall's Division is to join Burnside's expedition,¹ but I think this is a mere street rumor. They would not put an officer of McCall's years and service under so young a man as Burnside. I think, however, that if the Burnside destination is correctly guessed, viz., up the Potomac, that it is highly probable that simultaneous with his attack of the river batteries a movement of the whole of this army will be made on the Centreville lines, to prevent any detachment of their forces to reinforce the batteries and their guard. Should Burnside be successful and find a point where we could advance in their rear, then a large force will be sent in that direction, while the balance attack them in front. This is all surmise and is entre nous, but I have a notion it is McClellan's plan just now.

__________

¹ Brigadier-General Ambrose E. Burnside, commanding expedition to Roanoke Island, N. C.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 242