Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: June 27, 1863 – 3. p.m.

3 O'clock P.m. — Three proclamations have just been issued! One (a joint one) from the President and the Governor, calling upon everybody to organize themselves into companies, battalions, and regiments, when they will be armed. They say “no time is to be lost, the danger is great.” The Mayor, in his document, warns the people in time to avoid the fate of New Orleans. He says the enemy is advancing on the city, and may assail it before Monday morning. This is Saturday. The third proclamation is by E. B. Robinson, one of my printers, twenty years ago, at Washington. He calls upon all natives of Maryland and the District of Columbia to report to him, and he will lead them against the enemy, and redeem them from the imputation of skulking or disloyalty cast upon poor refugees by the flint-hearted Shylocks of Richmond, who have extorted all their money from them.

Besides these inflammatory documents, the militia colonels have out notices for all men under forty-five years of age to meet in Broad Street to-morrow, Sunday.

I learn, however, that there are some 25,000 or 30,000 of the enemy at Yorktown; but if we can get together 12,000 fighting men, in the next twenty-four hours, to man the fortifications, there will not be much use for the militia and the clerks of the departments, more than as an internal police force. But I am not quite sure we can get that number.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 361-2

1st Lieutenant Charles Wright Wills: May 3, 1862

Headquarters 7th Illinois Cavalry Camp,

on Hamburg and Corinth Road,

May 3, 1862.

I arrived here yesterday in safety. Stayed in Peoria the Monday night that I started, and was in Cairo at 9 p. m. Wednesday. Woke up Thursday morning on a boat at Paducah and devoted the day to admiring the Tennessee river. Stopped long enough at Fort Henry to get a good view of its well pummeled walls, and not-much-to-brag-of defences. The line of ditching without the works was the best I have ever seen, but the parapet, excepting that of the Fort proper, wasn't to be compared to our works at Bird's Point, which are the most inferior of ours that I have seen. The Tennessee runs through a perfect wilderness. There is not a landing on the river up to this point (Hamburg) that can begin with Copperas Creek, and indeed, although I watched closely, I did not see more than three or four points, that of themselves, showed they were boat landings, and those only by the grass being worn off the bank; and I did not see a warehouse on either bank unless, maybe, one at Savannah, where there are also, say four fine dwellings. At no other point did I see more than three houses, and very rarely, even one. Having heard so much of the richness of Middle Tennessee I cannot help talking so long of what ought to be, to it, what the Illinois river would be to us were we without railroads. I reached Hamburg yesterday afternoon (Friday) and started for my regiment, which I learned was five miles out on the Corinth way. I walked out as fast as I could, and reached there to hear that the army had moved on and were probably two miles ahead and yet going. I laid down and slept a couple of hours, borrowed a horse, and after six miles riding found them going into camp. Monstrous hilly country, this, and save a very few clearings, all heavily timbered. Pope's army has been reinforced considerably since we arrived here. Think he has, say 30 odd thousand men. I think the ball opened just before I commenced this letter. For two days past we have had one batallion out about four miles beyond our present camp holding an important position. They have been within gunshot of the enemy all the time, but so protected that although they skirmished a good deal, but one of ours was wounded. In one little charge our boys made out they killed four and wounded a number of Rebels that they felt of Pope's infantry came up to-day in force and relieved them. Paine's division was advanced and when not more than 40 yards beyond the post our cavalry held, were opened on first by musketry and immediately afterwards by artillery. There was very heavy firing for an half hour, but it has ceased since I commenced this page. Haven't heard the result. We have orders to move forward to-morrow morning, but although we are so close to the enemy's position, (not more than three miles) (Infantry, of course, I mean) don't think our side will commence the attack before Monday morning, when we will see — sure — if they don't run.

Supper. — Some of our boys have just come in with a lot of overcoats, trinkets, etc., spoils of the afternoon skirmish. They were all Illinois regiments that were engaged. A sergeant has just showed me an overcoat that he stripped off a dead secesh, who with eleven others was lying in one pile. He captured a captain who, after he had thrown down his sword, offered to give him a fist fight. The artillery firing was mostly from Rebel guns at Farmington at a regiment of our boys building a bridge. The Northern Mississippi line runs through our camp. We cannot be far form Iuka Springs, although no one that I've seen ever heard of the place. Report has just come that Mitchell has been driven out of Huntsville, and another that Yorktown and 45,000 prisoners are ours. Don't believe either. Shall write you from Corinth if have luck.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 84-6

1st Lieutenant Charles Wright Wills: April 16, 1862

On Steamer Henry Clay, off New Madrid, Mo.,

April 16, 1862.

I finished my last in a great hurry, helped strike and load our tents and equipage and started for the levee, confident that we would be off for Memphis, Orleans and intermediate landings, before the world would gain 12 hours at farthest in age. That day over 30 steamers arrived, received their loads of soldiers and departed, all down stream, preceded by six or eight gunboats and 16 mortarboats. Word came at nightfall that there were not enough boats for all and the cavalry would have to wait the morrow and more transports. We lay on the river banks that night, and the next day alt the cavalry got off except our brigade of two regiments. Another night on the banks without tents, managed to get transportation for two battalions, one from each regiment. They started down yesterday at about 10 a. m. and more boats coming we loaded two more battalions, but at 9 p. m. a dispatch boat came up with orders for us to stop loading and await further orders. The same boat turned back all the cavalry of our brigade that had started and landed them at Tiptonsville; we are at 6 this p. m. lying around loose on the bank here awaiting orders. That boat brought up word that our fleet was at Fort Pillow, and the Rebels were going to make a stand there, but that nothing had occurred when she left but some gunboats skirmishing. What the devil we are going to do is more than three men like me can guess. It's awful confounded dull here. Nothing even half interesting. Saw a cuss, trying to drown himself yesterday, and saw a fellow's leg taken off last night. These are better than no show at all, but still there's not much fun about either case. I'm bored considerably by some of my Canton friends wanting me to help them get their niggers out of camp. Now, I don't care a damn for the darkies, and know that they are better off with their masters 50 times over than with us, but of course you know I couldn't help to send a runaway nigger back. I'm blamed if I could. I honestly believe that this army has taken 500 niggers away with them. Many men have lost from 15 to 30 each. The owners were pretty well contented while the army stayed here, for all the generals assured them that when we left the negroes would not be allowed to go with us, and they could easily get them back; but they have found out that was a “gull” and they are some bitter on us now. There will be two Indiana regiments left here to guard the country from Island 10 to Tiptonsville, and if you don't hear of some fun from this quarter after the army all leaves but them, I'm mistaken. They'll have their hands full if not fuller. We have not been paid yet but probably will be this week. I tell you I can spend money faster here than anywhere I ever was in my life, but of course I don't do it. Am trying to save up for rainy weather, and the time, if it should come, when I'll have only one leg to go on or one arm to work with. That Pittsburg battle was one awful affair, but it don't hurt us any. Grant will whip them the next time completely. Poor John Wallace is gone. He was a much better boy than he had credit for being. We all liked him in the old mess very much. Ike Simonson, of same company, I notice was wounded. He was also in my mess; was from Farmington. There are no rumors in camp to-day. Yesterday it was reported and believed that the Monitor had sunk the Merrimac, that Yorktown was taken, and that another big fight had taken place at Corinth and we held the town. That was very bully but it lacks confirmation. Think it will for sometime yet, but Pope says we'll come out all right through all three of those trials. It's just what's wanted to nip this rebellion up root and all. That's a rather dubious victory up to date, that Pittsburg affair, but guess it's all right.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 82-4

Diary of John Hay: September 9, 1863

Dined with Wise.  Met Hooker, Butterfield and Fox. Hooker was in fine flow. Before dinner we talked about Halleck and his connection with Hooker’s resignation. He says he was forced to ask to be relieved by repeated acts which proved that he was not to be allowed to manage his army as he thought best, but that it was to be manoeuvred from Washington. He instanced Maryland Heights, whose garrison he was forbidden to touch, yet which was ordered to be evacuated by the very mail which brought his (H 's) relief. And other such many.”

At dinner he spoke of our army. He says: “It was the finest on the planet. He would like to see it fighting with foreigners. It gave him an electric feeling to be with it. It was far superior to the Southern army in everything but one. It had more valor, more strength, more endurance, more spirit; the rebels are only superior in vigor of attack. The reason of this is that, in the first place our army came down here capable of everything but ignorant of everything. It fell into evil hands — the hands of a baby, who knew something of drill, little of organisation, and nothing of the morale of the army. It was fashioned by the congenial spirit of this man into a mass of languid inertness destitute of either dash or cohesion. The Prince de Joinville, by far the finest mind I have ever met with in the army, was struck by this singular, and as he said, inexplicable contrast between the character of American soldiers as integers and in mass. The one active, independent, alert, enterprising; the other indolent, easy, wasteful and slothful. It is not in the least singular. You find a ready explanation in the character of its original General. Stoneman is an instance of the cankerous influence of that staff. I sent him out to destroy the bridges behind Lee . He rode 150 miles and came back without seeing the bridges he should have destroyed. He took with him 4,000 men; he returned with 4,500. His purposeless ride had all the result of a defeat. He claimed to have brought in an enormous train of negroes and other cattle. He brought 30 contrabands and not a man or a mule. He is a brave, good man, but he is spoiled by McClellan.

“After the battle of Malvern and after the battle of Fair Oaks we could have marched into Richmond without serious resistance, yet the constitutional apathy of this man prevented.”

Says Butterfield: — “On the night of the battle of Malvern I saw the red lights of Meyer's signal officer, blazing near me, and I went to him to gain information. He told me he had just received a despatch from Gen'l McClellan asking where was Gen'l F. J. Porter, he wanted news. I volunteered a despatch: — ‘We have won a glorious victory, and if we push on and seize our advantage, Richmond is ours.’ The day of Gaines' Mills, I had taken my position when Porter ordered me out of it into a hollow where I was compelled to assume a strictly defensive position. I once or twice terribly repulsed the enemy, but my orders peremptorily forbade pursuit. I had to keep up the spirits of the men by starting the rumor that McClellan was in Richmond. I am sure I thought he would be there that day. In the night, going to Gen'l McClellan's head-quarters, he asked me what about our Corps. I told him that with a few strong divisions we could attack and drive the enemy. He said he hadn't a man for us.”

[Fox] said that the night before the evacuation of Yorktown he staid in McClellan's tent. McC. said he expected to bag 78,000 of them. “You won't bag one,” replied Tucker. And he didn't.

Hooker says:— “Marcy sometimes sent important orders which McClellan never saw. On one occasion when I had advanced my pickets very near Richmond I received an order through Heintzelman, — “Let Gen^l Hooker return from his brilliant reconnoissance. We cannot afford to lose his division.” I did not see how my division could be lost, as in that country there was no cutting me off. I started back, however, and soon met McClellan himself who asked me what it meant, my withdrawal. I showed him his own order. He said he had never seen it, and I ordered my men back. I returned over the swamp, and held my position for weeks afterwards.”

Hooker and Butterfield both agree as to the terrible defeat the rebels suffered at Malvern and the inefficiency which suffered them to escape without injury. They say there was a Corps, fresh and unharmed, which might have pursued the rebels and entered Richmond in triumph (Franklin’s).

. . . . Hooker drank very little, not more than the rest, who were all abstemious, yet what little he drank made his cheek hot and red, and his eye brighter. I can easily understand how the stories of his drunkenness have grown, if so little affects him as I have seen. He was looking very well to-night. A tall and statuesque form— grand fighting head and grizzled russet hair— red-florid cheeks and bright blue eye, forming a fine contrast with Butterfield, who sat opposite. A small, stout, compact man, with a closely chiselled Greek face and heavy black moustaches, like Eugene Beauharnais. Both very handsome and very different. . . .

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 95-9; For the whole diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 84-6.

John Hay to John G. Nicolay, April 9, 1862

Executive Mansion,

Washington, April 9, 1862.

Glorious news comes borne on every wind but the South Wind. While Pope is crossing the turbid and broad torrent of the Mississippi in the blaze of the enemy's fire, and Grant is fighting the overwhelming legions of Beauregard at Pittsburg, the little Napoleon sits trembling before the handful of men at Yorktown afraid either to fight or run. Stanton feels devilish about it. He would like to remove him if he thought it would do.

Things go on here about as usual. There is no fun at all.  . . . I am getting along pretty well. I only work about twenty hours a day. I do all of your work and half of my own now you are away. Don't hurry yourself. We are getting on very well. I talk a little French too now. I have taken a great notion to the Gerolts. I went to see them the other day. The children were less scared than usual, and they and Madame la Baronne talked long and earnestly of the state of your hygiene, and said “it was good intentions you for to go to the West for small time.”

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 57-8; Tyler Dennett, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, p. 40-41 in which to full letter appears.

John Hay to John G. Nicolay, April 3, 1862

Thursday morning.

McC. is in danger, not in front but in rear. The President is making up his mind to give him a peremptory order to march. It is disgraceful to think how the little squad at Yorktown keeps him at bay.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 56; Tyler Dennett, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, p. 39.

Major Wilder Dwight, April 29, 1862

camp Near Harrisonburg, April 29, 1862.

I believe I wrote you a short letter since our arrival here. Written in a northeast storm, perhaps it had a little of the gloom of the sky that overhung it. Let me try what brighter skies may inspire. Sunday morning last broke; yes! broke, and the spell — of weather which had held us so long yielded at last. The snows which we found on the field vanished.

In the midst of our morning inspection an order came to march at once on a reconnoissance towards Jackson's position in the Swift Run Gap on the Blue Ridge. We got off at about eleven o'clock, with the Twenty-seventh Indiana Regiment. It was our duty to support the cavalry and artillery under General Hatch. We went out on the “mud pike” to Magaugheysville, or rather toward that euphonious town. Such a road! We toiled out eleven miles. The cavalry pushed beyond Magaugheysville and had a brisk little skirmish, in which we took two prisoners and lost one. The Rebels have the bridge that crosses the Shenandoah full of brush and combustibles, ready to burn when we press them. It is reported that Jackson is reinforced by a brigade or more, and that he will make a stand in the gap. If this is so, perhaps we may get a little fight out of him. But I am still of the persuasion which I have always held. Our problem in this valley has always been, the movement and subsistence of our army. The enemy has always been a secondary consideration, though he has kept up a vigorous resistance.

In the ripeness of time we must cross the ridge and find ourselves close on the flank of that army that resists McClellan at Yorktown. This is certainly the right way.

What politics or jealousy or a divided command may confuse us into blundering, I cannot say.

We have reduced our baggage, and I send home a trunk. The hard pan is what we come down to, and miss only the opportunity to drive twice our force of Rebels from any position they may take.

I rejoice in the capture of New Orleans, and believe that the 1st of June will show the Rebellion crushed and bleeding.

Yesterday I was busy all day on outpost duty. On Sunday our regiment marched twenty-two miles between eleven o'clock and sunset: good work. We have met one misfortune since our arrival here. A corporal of Company H, who was a capital man, and a good soldier, marched into our present camp with the regiment, was taken sick the next day of typhus fever, and died within forty-eight hours. This morning he was buried, and I could not help thinking how little of the soldier's reward he would receive, yet how much he deserves.

We are all well, and hoping to move on toward Richmond.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 242-3

Major Wilder Dwight, April 26, 1862

camp Near Harrisonburg, April 26, 1862, Saturday.

Rain! rain! rain! March! march! march! What a life! We marched fifteen miles yesterday, in mud and rain, to this point, and got into camp at night in reasonable comfort, but almost without rations, and now we are busy with the miserable interrogatory of what to eat?

Such is our experience. Colonel Andrews is again on detached duty, and, for the past few days, I have been in command. It is impossible to exaggerate the difficulty of taking care of a regiment when the whole Quartermaster and Commissary Departments of the army corps are in such hopeless confusion and debility.

No other army corps has the obstacles to contend against of this kind that we have. At Yorktown they have the sea, and the Western rivers bear supplies as well as gunboats. Here our wagons cannot bring supplies enough to last until they return from a second trip. We shall be driven to forage from the country; and I do not see any system adopted wise enough and prompt enough for that effort. But there is no use in croaking; we shall get out of the woods somehow, I suppose.

Among other short supplies, we are wholly without newspapers since a week ago. What is the news? I hope McClellan is silencing his opponents by silencing the enemy's batteries. That's his best answer.

Well, the first year of my military service expires this week. It has been a busy one. I am willing to enter on another, but I wish I could see the beginning of the end more clearly than I can. We didn't think the Southern Confederacy had a year's life in it a year ago. They have illustrated the power of able and unscrupulous leaders, and we have furnished some hints, at least, of the weakness of feeble and scrupulous leaders. I am in such a trite and moralizing frame of mind that I will spare you any further prosing.

We may go on to Staunton, and we may cross the gap to Gordonsville. We can't stay here much longer, and I hope my next letter may give you some guess at our future.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 240-1

Major Wilder Dwight, April 20, 1862

bivouac Near New Market, Virginia,

Raining from the East. Easter Sunday, April 20, 1862.

Looking back, it seems an age since we dwelt peacefully in the wooded camp near Edinburg. It was Wednesday night that our marching orders came. On Thursday morning at a quarter before two we had reveillé, and marched before light, under a pale moon, toward Mount Jackson.

Shields's division had gone on in advance. The day was a glowing one, and the valley spread itself out before us like a garden in its fresh green.

After a short halt at Mount Jackson, which is a town, and filled with evidences of Rebel occupation, such as large hospitals, one of them unfinished, we were ordered to march round to “turn the enemy's left.”

Our path was a rough one, through a river, over rocks, and through deep mud, on, on, on. We heard occasional cannonading over toward the centre, where Shields's force remained drawn up in line of battle, to await our tedious circuit. The day was long and hot; the artillery labored over the almost impassable road. I went on in advance, with some pioneers to aid a little by removing obstacles. As we passed through the little village of Forrestville, a party of young girls sang Dixie to us. I bought a loaf of bread there of a woman, and paid her five cents in silver. “It’s too much,” said she. “No,” said I. “It’s more money than I've seen for a year,” said she. On we go. We have got round the enemy's position. It is dark; too late to ford the North Fork of the Shenandoah to rejoin the rest of the army, who have now entered New Market, which Ashby even has left. Tired and foot-sore, we lay down to sleep in the woods. Marching for eighteen hours, and such marching! the bivouac, in the warm, pleasant night is a luxury. The next morning we start again, and ford the Shenandoah, and get on to the turnpike at New Market which we had left at Mount Jackson. The Shenandoah is swift, and up to one's middle. Fording is an exciting, amusing, long task. It is finished at last, and the brigade, led by our regiment, moves through the town of New Market to the saucy strains of Yankee Doodle. We move two miles beyond the town, and bivouac on a hillside. Our tents and baggage are all sixteen miles back, at Edinburg.

It is late Friday evening before we get bivouacked. Many of the men are barefoot and without rations. Saturday morning it begins early to rain, and ever since we have been dripping under this easterly storm. Luckily, Mrs. Williamson, whose husband is with the “other army,” and who has a fine farm and a roomy, old-fashioned, ante-Revolution-built house, surrounded by generous barns and outbuildings, swarming with negroes of every shade and size, — luckily, Mrs. Williamson and her six little boys and her aged uncle need our protection; and, in return, she gives us a shelter for our meals, and so alleviates the adversity which had reduced our commissariat to starvation. Mr. Williamson is a major in the Rebel army. His wife is true to him and to Virginia. The eldest boy, of fifteen years, is a stubborn little traitor. Mrs. Williamson invited us all to tea on the first night of our arrival. She spread a most bounteous meal for us, but hardly sweetened it by the bitterness with which she snarled at our invasion. The general statement that these people are traitors, and deserve all the horrors of civil war, is easy; but the individual case, as it comes up under your eye, showing the helpless family in their dismay at our approach, can hardly fail to excite sympathy. When we came into New Market on Friday, we met General Banks in high spirits. He complimented our march, and said the Secretary of War had telegraphed thanks to us, &c., &c., that when our movement was perceived, the rear of Jackson's force fled hastily, &c. My own opinion is, and was from the beginning, that the movement was all nonsense, and pretty expensive silliness for us.

Jackson was ready to run, and began to do so as soon as we began to move. But perhaps we hastened him a little. Here we are, eighty miles from our supplies, all our wagons on the road, our tents and baggage behind, our rations precarious, and following a mirage into the desert. Well, the Secretary of War is much obliged to us “for the brilliant and successful operations of this day.” So we ought to be happy, and to conclude that glory looks very different to those who see it close to. Our news now is, that Jackson is hurrying to Richmond as fast as possible. We are probably Pattersonized, as General Shields calls it, and shall be too late for any decisive part in what is now expected as the great battle of Yorktown. Still I do not regard it as impossible that the wheel may so turn as to give us a little conspicuousness in the next movements. It is our misfortune not to be in a condition of outfit, transportation, and supply to enable us to do much. We are working, too, on a frightfully long line of operations. Still hope.

Aha! the clouds begin to break. I wish you a pleasant Easter Sunday. One thing at least we may hope for, that before another Easter day we may be at home again; for this Rebellion will die rapidly when we hit its vitals. They have not been hit yet, however.

I wish you could look at our regiment under rude shelters of rails and straw, and dripping in this cold storm. Our shoes and clothing came up yesterday, and this morning we are giving them out. So we are not wholly helpless yet.

The first night that we bivouacked here a charge was made on our New York battery. A desperate cow swept in upon it, and actually knocked down and trampled on two men before it could be shot. It was a gallant charge! You need have no anxiety about us. We are safe enough. Our future is uncertain, and we are wet.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 234-7

Major Wilder Dwight to Elizabeth White Dwight, April 13, 1862

camp Near Edinburg, Virginia, April 13, 1862.

My Dear Mother, — We have been stirred by the news from Grant's and Buell's armies since I wrote, and even more, perhaps, by the attitude of McClellan's forces near Yorktown. This letter can hardly have a rapid flight enough to reach you as soon as decisive news from the Army of the Potomac. I hope large results; yet, in doing so, I must shut my eyes to everything around me, torpid as it is with the paralysis of — incapacity, shall I say? or mischance? To-day we obey the order of the War Department, and give thanks for our victories. The regiment will shortly be formed for that purpose. The time is a fitting one. It is the anniversary of that sombre Sunday of the dishonored flag which brought us the news of the fall of Sumter. It is also a fit time for McClellan's coup de grace. I received yesterday your copy of Howard's letter from Pea Ridge. Its clear description of what he saw and heard and did there is very interesting. After all, I was wiser for him than for myself, and urged him to go to the field where victory has come to be almost monotonous.

Our life here since I wrote is full of emptiness. Picket duty and occasional shelling. Now and then I go down and let the enemy's pickets fire at me, just by way of keeping up the illusion of war. One of our pickets the other day got hit, but the miss is the rule. Out of this nettle safety we will pluck the flower danger one of these days, but not yet. . . . .

Since I laid down my pen our service has taken place. I watched the faces of the men, and missed the light which gladdens them whenever they are called to action. Veterans in everything but conflict, it only quickens their impatience to hear of other achievements.

We shall stay here some days longer, I think. Subsistence, clothing, transportation, all limp and halt and stagger.

We are the most timid and scrupulous invaders in all history. It must be delicious to the finer feelings of some people to watch our velvet-footed advance. It keeps me in a state of chronic contempt.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 232-3

Colonel William F. Bartlett to Colonel Francis W. Palfrey, June 19, 1863

Baton Rouge, June 19, 1863.

. . . . You needn't let them know, if you can avoid it, that the wound in my wrist-joint is worse than I knew of at first. If I had been told just how bad the wound was that afternoon on the field, I would have made the surgeon take off the hand without a second thought. The surgeon assured me so positively that I could save the hand, that I didn't think to ask, “At how great a risk, in how long a time?” I want the surgeons to take it off now, and let me get well, instead of running the risk of inflammation, and losing it above the elbow, or worse. The surgeons say, wait. . . . .

As to the assault, Frank, it was a very nasty fight. If Mr. Banks had been, as you and I had, at Howard's Bridge and Yorktown, he would have seen what sort of things rebel fortifications were. He had never seen any of any account (nor Augur either, but he was much opposed to storming the works). I had told myself quietly, long before we had the order to storm, just what sort of a place there would be to pass over after we cleared the woods, and just about what we should catch while we were scrambling over these obstacles. I was sorry to find with how much truth I had told myself that yarn. You know, Frank, just what it was. After you got to the edge of the woods, you could see the breastworks, two or three hundred yards distant. While waiting in the edge of the woods, we were beyond reach of their musketry, but the grape was profuse. The intervening ground was, as you have seen it, covered with trees ingeniously felled and cut up, so that they afforded no shelter, but were great obstacles. It was pretty hard getting through and over it on horseback. The rest you know. It was hard to keep a line where men had to pick their way and scramble over these things. I halted them two or three times for a few seconds, just to get a formation on the colors, which were carried beautifully. . . . . We lost pretty heavily, seventy-five out of two hundred and twenty odd. Eleven officers out of eighteen killed or wounded I am glad to hear Holmes is doing well. Give my love to him. Tell him we “tie on the number of wounds; we shall both have to try it again to see who gets the rubber.” . . . .

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 88-90

Diary of Colonel William F. Bartlett: Saturday, March 14, 1863

Got the order at midnight to start at three A. M. It made a wild picture in the dark morning, the camp fires blazing high, surrounded by dark forms. A little piece of the old moon just rising in the east. We bade good-by to the camp, marched through the town, and about daylight struck the Bayou Sara road towards Port Hudson. We knew then for the first time in which direction we were going.

It was very pleasant marching in the cool of the morning through the heavy woods. The road was perfectly straight, and we could see it narrowing until the trees on each side seemed to meet, miles ahead. About nine A. M. we reached the river, Bayou Montesino. Two bridges crossed it, a pontoon and a plank. At this time, General Banks passed through the lines to the front. All was silence. I could not help thinking of the time, nearly a year ago, when we were marching in the same way, on a road very similar, towards Yorktown, when McClellan passed along through the army, and for miles and miles the cheers were deafening. We halted at the bridge some time for the wagons to get over. At noon we halted near a farm-house, fourteen miles from Port Hudson. The men made sad work with the poultry and stock. This army will be demoralized, if this pillaging is allowed to go on. My regiment think it hard that I won't let them go in and plunder when every body else is doing it. These marauders not only steal poultry and other live meat, but in some cases even go into the houses, and take the food off the table, steal jewelry, and other valuables. I believe in “living on the enemy's country,” but the beef and other food should be taken by the proper officers and issued to the troops as it is required, not slaughtered recklessly and left untouched to waste. Besides, it is the moral effect on troops, if they are allowed to steal and kill, each one for himself. They soon become lawless and ungovernable, — an armed mob.

My regiment shall not pillage in this way, if every other regiment in this army does.

These people will be likely to favor the advance of a federal army, if their houses are to be ransacked, furniture broken, etc., by a mob of soldiers, every time a brigade passes their door. Banks must publish some severe order to stop this thing, or I wouldn't give much for his army in a month's time.

(Since writing the above a week ago, an order has been issued to remedy this evil. It is not severe enough yet.)

We marched a few miles farther and went into bivouac, in a large open field, and pitched the shelter tents.

I had been in the saddle since three in the morning, twelve hours, but it made me laugh to myself, at hearing other mounted officers complain of “being all tired out,” etc. I found a good place for the horses in a barn near by, and then lay down on the grass and fell asleep, waiting for the wagon with my tent and food to come up. Got the tent pitched about sundown. Some hay made a luxurious bed, into which I crawled as soon as I had attended to everything, which was near nine P. M. Grover's advance is within four or five miles of the enemy's works; Emory's between us and Grover. I went to sleep the moment I touched the ground. Was awakened at eleven by heavy cannonading at the front, towards the river. It was the gunboats. We slept after this with one eye open, hearing the terrific roar of artillery.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 73-5

Major-General John A. Dix to A. R. Admiral Samuel P. Lee, July 7, 1863

Confidential.

Head-quarters, Department of Virginia, Seventh Army Corps,

White House, Va., July 7,1863.

A. R. Admiral S. P. Lee,

Commanding North Atlantic Blockading Squadron:

Admiral, — I have just received your confidential letter of the 6th instant. I have been under orders for several days to send to Washington all my force, except such as is absolutely necessary to defend Yorktown, Fort Monroe, and the new line of intrenchments near Norfolk. I have sent off three regiments to-day, and am only waiting for transports to send more. General Getty returned this morning. He could not destroy the Fredericksburg Railroad bridge over the South Anna, but he destroyed some six miles of the track between the bridge and Richmond, and the depot at Ashland. General Lee's communications with Richmond are cut off by the two railroads running north from that city, so that the valley of the Shenandoah can only be reached by way of Dansville, Lynchburg, and Charlottesville.

Unless I have other orders I shall move from this place to-morrow morning with my whole force. It pains me to do so, but I cannot remain long, if authorized, without re-enforcements, as the term of seventeen of my regiments is about expiring — several of them as early as next week. I mentioned in an unofficial letter last week that I wished to see you. I intended to propose to you a joint attack on Fort Powhattan, but it is now too late, as I am to be reduced so low in my numbers as to be able merely to hold a few prominent points.

If I evacuate this position to-morrow your gun-boats will be disposable for any purpose you may have in view, as I shall withdraw the troops from West Point also.

I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

John A. Dix, Major-general

SOURCE: Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John Adams Dix, Volume 2, p. 67-8

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: May 3, 1862

I fear there is something in the rumor that Norfolk and Portsmouth and Yorktown and the Peninsula will be given up. The Secretaries of War and Navy are going down to Norfolk.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 123

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: April 28, 1862

We have rumors of an important cabinet meeting, wherein it was resolved to advise or command Gen. Johnston to evacuate Yorktown and retire toward Richmond! Also that Norfolk is to be given up! I don't believe it; Lee's name is not mentioned.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 121

Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Wednesday, April 15, 1863

I slept well last night in spite of the tics and fleas, and we started at 5.30 P.M. After passing a dead rattlesnake eight feet long, we reached water at 7 A.M.

At 9 A.M. we espied the cavalcade of General Magruder passing us by a parallel track about half a mile distant. McCarthy and I jumped out of the carriage, and I ran across the prairie to cut him off, which I just succeeded in doing by borrowing the spare horse of the last man in the train.

I galloped up to the front, and found the General riding with a lady who was introduced to me as Mrs. –––, an undeniably pretty woman, wife to an officer on Magruder's staff, and she is naturally the object of intense attention to all the good-looking officers who accompany the General through this desert.

General Magruder, who commands in Texas, is a fine soldierlike man, of about fifty-five, with broad shoulders, a florid complexion, and bright eyes. He wears his whiskers and mustaches in the English fashion, and he was dressed in the Confederate grey uniform. He was kind enough to beg that I would turn back and accompany him in his tour through Texas. He had heard of my arrival, and was fully determined I should do this. He asked after several officers of my regiment whom he had known when he was on the Canadian frontier. He is a Virginian, a great talker, and has always been a great ally of English officers.

He insisted that M'Carthy and I should turn and dine with him, promising to provide us with horses to catch up Mr. Sargent.

After we had agreed to do this, I had a long and agreeable conversation with the General, who spoke of the Puritans with intense disgust, and of the first importation of them as “that pestiferous crew of the Mayflower;” but he is by no means rancorous against individual Yankees. He spoke very favourably of M'Clellan, whom he knew to be a gentleman, clever, and personally brave, though he might lack moral courage to face responsibility. Magruder had commanded the Confederate troops at Yorktown which opposed M'Clellan's advance. He told me the different dodges he had resorted to, to blind and deceive the latter as to his (Magruder's) strength; and he spoke of the intense relief and amusement with which he had at length seen M'Clellan with his magnified army begin to break ground before miserable earthworks, defended only by 8000 men. Hooker was in his regiment, and was “essentially a mean man and a liar.” Of Lee and Longstreet he spoke in terms of the highest admiration.

Magruder was an artilleryman, and has been a good deal in Europe; and having been much stationed on the Canadian frontier, he became acquainted with many British officers, particularly those in the 7th Hussars and Guards.

He had gained much credit from his recent successes at Galveston and Sabine Pass, in which he had the temerity to attack heavily-armed vessels of war with wretched river steamers manned by Texan cavalrymen.

His principal reason for visiting Brownsville was to settle about the cotton trade. He had issued an edict that half the value of cotton exported must be imported in goods for the benefit of the country (government stores). The President had condemned this order as illegal and despotic.

The officers on Magruder's Staff are a very goodlooking, gentlemanlike set of men. Their names are — Major Pendleton, Major Wray, Captain De Ponté, Captain Alston, Captain Turner, Lieutenant-Colonel M'Neil, Captain Dwyer, Dr Benien, Lieutenant Stanard, Lieutenant Yancey, and Major Magruder. The latter is nephew to the General, and is a particularly good-looking young fellow. They all live with their chief on an extremely agreeable footing, and form a very pleasant society. At dinner I was put in the post of honour, which is always fought for with much acrimony — viz., the right of Mrs. ——. After dinner we had numerous songs. Both the General and his nephew sang; so also did Captain Alston, whose corpulent frame, however, was too much for the feeble camp-stool, which caused his sudden disappearance in the midst of a song with a loud crash. Captain Dwyer played the fiddle very well, and an aged and slightly-elevated militia general brewed the punch and made several "elegant" speeches. The latter was a rough-faced old hero, and gloried in the name of M'Guffin. On these festive occasions General Magruder wears a red woollen cap, and fills the president's chair with great aptitude.

It was 11.30 before I could tear myself away from this agreeable party; but at length I effected my exit amidst a profusion of kind expressions, and laden with heaps of letters of introduction.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three months in the southern states: April-June, 1863, p. 29-33

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: April 4, 1862

The enemy are shelling our camp at Yorktown. I can hear the reports of the guns, of a damp evening. We are sending back defiance with our guns.

The President has not taken any notice of my communication. Mr. Benjamin is too powerful to be affected by such proofs of such small matters.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 118

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 15, 1862

For several days troops have been pouring through the city, marching down the Peninsula. The enemy are making demonstrations against Yorktown.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 115

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 4, 1862

We shall have stirring times here. Our troops are to be marched through Richmond immediately, for the defense of Yorktown — the same town surrendered by Lord Cornwallis to Washington. But its fall or its successful defense now will signify nothing.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 113

Brigadier-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, May 8, 1862

Camp Head Of York River,

May 8, 1862.

My dear sister:

I wrote you a line yesterday as I was about embarking at Yorktown to go up the river to land at some suitable place, and from there pursue the enemy. Upon our arrival here, the enemy attempted to dislodge us, but we had landed too many troops for them. The skirmish was quite lively for two hours, but as they were concealed, we could not estimate their numbers. They are now in full retreat, and we are hotly pursuing them. Our loss is thirty-nine killed and eighty-five wounded. Our losses at Williamsburg have been highly exaggerated — six hundred and fifty will cover all, killed, wounded, and missing. For this we have much to show: a large number of cannon of the largest and most approved pattern, immense quantities of ammunition, and some two thousand prisoners. Most of their camp equipage was captured, and the rest burned to prevent it from falling into our hands. Our troops are inspirited and ready for anything. We shall follow them closely, but there will be some delay in bringing up supplies. Our ambulances are now taking the wounded to Ship Point, to embark them for Old Point.

Yours forever,

J. S.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 45-6