Benjamin F. Butler to Blanche Butler, Sunday October 8, 1860

LoweLL, Oct. 8, 1860

MY DAUGHTER: I had not intended writing you, until you had been two months away, but the weakness of your mother's eyes prevents her from writing, and so you have a note from “father.”

That you should be ambitious to excel, and obtain the rewards of merit, gives me much pleasure; but you must not be disheartened because your numerous studies will not permit you to compete successfully with those that have fewer. Success in school life is one thing and to be desired, giving much pleasure to us all; but remember, my brave, good girl, that success in life is the object to be obtained, and your progress at school is gratifying only as it gives assurance that you are endeavoring to prepare yourself for the future. Go on, there, as you have begun. Limit your exertions only by the necessities of your health. Remember how proudly I think of you, and how much of our happiness is bound up in your welfare. Beside, my dear, you are almost the only New England girl, and the only Massachusetts girl in your large school, representing nearly all other sections of the country. A Yankee girl, a Massachusetts girl, and “my Blanche” will not be outstripped by any competition because duties are a little hard — studies a little perplexing — hours of recreation a little restrained, or because it would be a little more pleasant to run over the fields in the bright Autumn.

You must not give up Latin if it is possible to go on with it, in due regard to your health. Why, I look forward to the pleasure I shall have in reviewing my own old studies with you in the coming vacations. A graver reason, however, is that your labor in the Latin will render lighter your toil in other languages, whether French, Spanish, or Italian.

There, “Buntie,” I find that while I had intended only a word of encouragement, I have almost given you a lecture. Still you know there is no harsh word in it from “father,” who has had occasion to speak so few of them to his good child.

Nothing has changed since you left, and nothing is missed at home save yourself. “Bennie” gets his usual share of unlucky tumbles, but picks himself up again with the same good humor as ever. Paul has taken one from him just now, and cut a fine little gash in his forehead, but that is healing up cleverly after having let out, as I tell him, some of his bad blood. Both go to school under the charge of our neighbor, Mrs. Chase's niece.

We have not heard from Grandmother¹ or Andrew² for two mails, but I will see that you hear as soon as there is anything of interest.

Goodbye, Blanche, I never knew how much you added to my comfort and happiness at home till you were away, and you may be assured that yours is not the only sacrifice of pleasure in doing that which has been thought best for your future welfare by

FATHER

_______________

¹ General Butler's mother, Mrs. Charlotte Ellison Butler.

² General Butler's brother, Andrew Jackson Butler, then in California

SOURCE: Jessie Ames Marshall, Editor, Private and Official Correspondence of Gen. Benjamin F. Butler During the Period of the Civil War, Volume 1: April 1860 – June 1862, p. 2-3

Major-General John A. Dix to Colonel Edward Davis Townsend, July 24, 1861

Head-quarters, Deportment of Maryland.

Fort McHenry, July 24,1861.

Colonel E. D. Townsend,

Assistant Adjutant-general, Head-quarters of the Army:

Colonel, — I annex a list of the regiments whose term of service is about to expire, and of those which are mustered for three years. General Banks persuaded the Sixth Massachusetts to remain till the 2d of August. I have been to the encampment of the Twenty-second Pennsylvania, whose term expired yesterday, and the men consent to continue in service a week longer. The Thirteenth New York resolved unanimously this morning to go home to-morrow. I have just returned from their camp, and by the most urgent remonstrances and by strong appeals have induced them to stay another week. By the 2d of August there will not be one of the eight first-named regiments in the annexed list left. I shall have only the three last regiments on the list remaining. I must urge the immediate re-enforcement of the troops under my command. There ought to be ten thousand men here and at Annapolis. I would not venture to respond for the quietude of the Department with a smaller number. The late reverse at Manassas has brought out manifestations of a most hostile and vindictive feeling in Annapolis as well as in Baltimore.

Major-general Banks, on the evening of my arrival here, asked, at my suggestion, for four hundred cavalry. They would, for the special service required, be equal to a full regiment of infantry. I hope they may be furnished without delay. It is understood that a regiment of cavalry leaves New York to-morrow. Can I have a detachment of three or four companies from this regiment, with a field-officer? I will see to the immediate protection of the bridges in all directions.

I am, very respectfully, yours,

John A. Dix, Major-general commanding.

 SOURCE: Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John Adams Dix, Volume 2, p. 25

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Thursday February 27, 1862

Clear, cold, windy. On steamer Glen-wood passed up to Camp Piatt. Left Gallipolis about 9 A. M., reached Charleston 7 P. M., Camp Piatt at 10 P. M.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 201

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Friday February 28, 1862

Fayetteville, Virginia. — Reached here after a hard ride of forty miles from Camp Piatt. Found the Twenty-third men pleased to see me; felt like getting home. Had been absent four weeks, less one day, on furlough. Road from Camp Piatt a good part of the way very good; but from the ferry to Fayetteville execrable. The weather moderate, windy, threatening a storm.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 201

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 1, 1862

It is certain that the City of Nashville has been evacuated, and will, of course, be occupied by the enemy. Gen. Johnston, with the remnant of his army, has fallen down to Murfreesborough, and as that is not a point of military importance, will in turn be abandoned, and the enemy will drop out of the State into Alabama or Mississippi.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 112-3

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: December 5, 1864

Miss Olivia Middleton and Mr. Frederick Blake are to be married. We Confederates have invented the sit-up-all-night for the wedding night; Isabella calls it the wake, not the wedding, of the parties married. The ceremony will be performed early in the evening; the whole company will then sit up until five o'clock, at which hour the bridal couple take the train for Combahee. Hope Sherman will not be so inconsiderate as to cut short the honeymoon.

In tripped Brewster, with his hat on his head, both hands extended, and his greeting, “Well, here we are!” He was travel-stained, disheveled, grimy with dirt. The prophet would have to send him many times to bathe in Jordan before he could be pronounced clean.

Hood will not turn and pursue Sherman. Thomas is at his heels with forty thousand men, and can have as many more as he wants for the asking. Between Thomas and Sherman Hood would be crushed. So he was pushing — I do not remember where or what. I know there was no comfort in anything he said.

Serena's account of money spent: Paper and envelopes, $12.00; tickets to concert, $10.00; tooth-brush, $10.00; total, $32.00.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 338

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: July 28, 1863

The girls are in Richmond, staying at Dr. Garnett's. They went in to attend a tournament to be given to-day by General Jenkins's Brigade, stationed near Richmond; but this morning the brigade was ordered to go South, and great was the disappointment of the young people. They cannot feel as we do during these gloomy times, but are always ready to catch the “passing pleasure as it flies,” forgetting that, in the best times,

“Pleasures are like poppies spread:

You seize the flower, the bloom is shed.”

And how much more uncertain are they now, when we literally cannot tell what a day may bring forth, and none of us know, when we arise in the morning, that we may not hear before noonday that we have been shorn of all that makes life dear!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 233-4

General Joseph E. Johnston to Louis T. Wigfall, November 12, 1863

meridian, Nov. 12th, 1863.

My dear Wigfall,

I received your letter of the 2nd yesterday and tried in vain to find the person who brought it. It was left with Col. B. S. Ewell A. A. G. by a contractor on his way to the Trans-Mississippi Country.  . . . I congratulate you with all my heart upon Halsey's narrow escape. To have a horse killed under one puts a tall feather in his cap. (I hope, however, it was not the sorrel mare.) Even at present prices¹ I'd freely give a good horse to the same fate. I have been having a very quiet time since July. Almost a peace establishment so we have gone to house keeping. I say we, for Mrs. Johnston joined me two weeks ago. I think Fanny would be delighted to see the style with which her namesake trots up to the door when she sees her mistress in it. Her mistress enjoys it greatly. I am at last making a report.

Very truly yours,

J. E. Johnston.

¹ Horses were worth at this time about $3,000.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 155

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 11, 1862

At Randallson's Landing, August 11th.

I don't mean those ladies were, but that I am at present. I’ll account for it after I have disposed of the stampede. Imagine no interruption, and continue — in the carriage urging Uncle Will to hurry on, and I had hardly time to thrust my sack under their feet before they were off. Lilly and Miss Walters were already in the buggy, leaving Ginnie and me to follow on horseback. I ran up after my riding-skirt, which I was surprised to find behind a trunk, and rolled up in it was my running-bag, with all my treasures! I was very much provoked at my carelessness; indeed, I cannot imagine how it got there, for it was the first thing I thought of. When I got back, there was no one to be seen except Ginnie and two negroes who held our horses, and who disappeared the instant we were mounted; with the exception of two women who were running to the woods, we were the only ones on the lot, until Mr. Watson galloped up to urge us on. Again I had to notice this peculiarity about women — that the married ones are invariably the first to fly, in time of danger, and always leave the young ones to take care of themselves. Here were our three matrons, prophesying that the house would be burnt, the Yankees upon us, and all murdered in ten minutes, flying down the Guerrilla Lane, and leaving us to encounter the horrors they foretold, alone.

It was a splendid gallop in the bright moonlight, over the fields, only it was made uncomfortable by the jerking of my running-bag, until I happily thought of turning it before. A hard ride of four miles in about twenty minutes brought us to the house of the man who so kindly offered his hospitality. It was a little hut, about as large as our parlor, and already crowded to overflowing, as he was entertaining three families from Baton Rouge. Can't imagine where he put them, either. But it seems to me the poorer the man, and the smaller the house, the greater the hospitality you meet with. There were so many of us that there was not room on the balcony to turn. The man wanted to prepare supper, but we declined, as Phillie had sent back for ours which we had missed. I saw another instance of the pleasure the vulgar take in the horrible. A Mr. Hill, speaking of Dr. Nolan, told Phillie “he had no doubt he had been sent to New Orleans on the Whiteman, that carried General Williams's body; and that every soul had gone down on her.” Fortunately, just then the overseer brought a letter from him saying he had gone on another boat, or the man's relish of the distressing might have been gratified.

It was so crowded there that we soon suggested going a short distance beyond, to Mr. Lobdell's, and staying there for the night, as all strenuously objected to our returning home, as there was danger from prowling Yankees. So we mounted again, and after a short ride we reached the house, where all were evidently asleep. But necessity knows no rules; and the driver soon aroused an old gentleman who came out and invited us in. A middle-aged lady met us, and made us perfectly at home by leaving us to take care of ourselves; most people would have thought it indifference; but I knew it was manque de savoir faire, merely, and preferred doing as I pleased. If she had been officious, I would have been embarrassed. So we walked in the moonlight, Ginnie and I, while the rest sat in the shade, and all discussed the fun of the evening, those who had been most alarmed laughing loudest. The old gentleman insisted that we girls had been the cause of it all; that our white bodies (I wore a Russian shirt) and black skirts could easily have caused us to be mistaken for men. That, at all events, three or four people on horseback would be a sufficient pretext for firing a shell or two. “In short, young ladies,” he said, “there is no doubt in my mind that you were mistaken for guerrillas, and that they only wanted to give you time to reach the woods where they heard they have a camp, before shooting at you. In short, take my advice and never mount a horse again when there is a Yankee in sight.” We were highly gratified at being mistaken for them, and pretended to believe it was true. I hardly think he was right, though; it is too preposterous.

Pourtant, Sunday morning the Yankees told a negro they did not mean to touch the house, but were shooting at some guerrillas at a camp just beyond. We know the last guerrilla left the parish five days ago.

Our host insisted on giving us supper, though Phillie represented that ours was on the road; and by eleven o'clock, tired alike of moonlight and fasting, we gladly accepted, and rapidly made the preserves and batter-cakes fly. Ours was a garret room, well finished, abounding in odd closets and corners, with curious dormer windows that were reached by long little corridors. I should have slept well; but I lay awake all night. Mother and I occupied a narrow single bed, with a bar of the thickest, heaviest material imaginable. Suffocation awaited me inside, gnats and mosquitoes outside. In order to be strictly impartial, I lay awake to divide my time equally between the two attractions, and think I succeeded pretty well. So I spent the night on the extreme edge of the bed, never turning over, but fanning mother constantly. I was not sorry when daybreak appeared, but dressed and ascended the observatory to get a breath of air.

Below me, I beheld four wagons loaded with the young Mrs. Lobdell's baggage. The Yankees had visited them in the evening, swept off everything they could lay their hands on, and with a sick child she was obliged to leave her house in the night and fly to her father-in-law. I wondered at their allowing her four wagons of trunks and bundles; it was very kind. If I were a Federal, I think it would kill me to hear the whisper of “Hide the silver” wherever I came. Their having frequently relieved families of such trifles, along with negroes, teams, etc., has put others on their guard now. As I sat in the parlor in the early morning, Mrs. Walters en blouse volante and all échevelée, came in to tell me of Mr. Lobdell's misfortunes. “They took his negroes [right hand up]; his teams [left hand up]; his preserves [both hands clutching her hair]; they swept off everything, except four old women who could not walk! they told him if he didn't come report himself, they'd come fetch him in three days! They beggared him!” [Both eyes rolling like a ship in a storm.] I could not help laughing. Mr. Bird sat on the gallery, and had been served in the same way, with the addition of a pair of handcuffs for a little while. It was not a laughing matter; but the old lady made it comical by her gestures.

When we suggested returning, there was another difficulty. All said it was madness; that the Yankees would sack the house and burn it over our heads; we would be insulted, etc. I said no one yet had ever said an impudent thing to me, and Yankees certainly would not attempt it; but the old gentleman told me I did not know what I was talking about; so I hushed, but determined to return. Ginnie and I sat an hour on horseback waiting for the others to settle what they would do; and after having half-roasted ourselves in the sun, they finally agreed to go, too, and we set off in a gallop which we never broke until we reached the house, which to our great delight we found standing, and not infested with Yankees.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 165-70

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Monday, December 12, 1864

Our regiment was withdrawn from the rifle pits, the rebels having left during the night, and with our entire corps we moved about five miles to the right. Our division stacked arms until 3 p. m. when we fell in and marched two miles farther and again stacked arms. We now had to move over a two-mile causeway from ten to thirty feet high, but the rebels having planted batteries within range of the road, we waited to move after dark. Our teams were all sent around about fifteen miles. We ran the blockade under cover of the night, the rebels opening their batteries on us, without doing any damage. We went into camp about 8 o'clock.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 236-7

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 24, 1862

Gen. Sydney Johnston has evacuated Bowling Green with his ten or twelve thousand men! Where is his mighty army now? It never did exist!

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 111

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 25, 1862

And Nashville must fall — although no one seems to anticipate such calamity. We must run the career of disasters allotted us, and await the turning of the tide.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 111

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 26, 1862

Congress, in secret session, has authorized the declaration of martial law in this city, and at some few other places. This might be well under other circumstances; but it will not be well if the old general in command should be clothed with powers which he has no qualifications to wield advantageously. The facile old man will do anything the Secretary advises.

Our army is to fall back from Manassas! The Rappahannock is not to be our line of defense. Of course the enemy will soon strike at Richmond from some direction. I have given great offense to some of our people by saying the policy of permitting men to go North at will, will bring the enemy to the gates of the city in ninety days. Several have told me that the prediction has been marked in the Secretary's tablets, and that I am marked for destruction if it be not verified. I reply that I would rather be destroyed than that it should be fulfilled.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 111-2

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 27, 1862

Columbus is to be evacuated. Beauregard sees that it is untenable with Forts Henry and Donelson in possession of the enemy. He will not be caught in such a trap as that. But he is erecting a battery at Island No. 10 that will give the Yankees trouble. I hope it may stay the catalogue of disasters.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 112

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 28, 1862

These calamities may be a wholesome chastening for us. We shall now go to work and raise troops enough to defend the country. Congress will certainly pass the Conscription Act recommended by the President.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 112

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: December 3, 1864

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

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

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: July 23, 1863

Spent the day at the hospital. Mr. ––– has just received a post chaplaincy from Government, and is assigned to the Officers' Hospital on Tenth Street. For this we are very thankful, as the performance of the duties of the ministerial office is in all respects congenial to his taste and feeling. I pray that God may give him health and strength for the office!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 233

Francis H. Wigfall, October 19, 1863

camp At Buckland.

Oct. 19, 1863.

. . . We have had another fight to-day. We marched from between Gainesville and Bristow Station before day and passed that station and Catlett's and then up the Warrenton road which we left about half way between the two places, taking the road leading to Buckland four miles from Gainesville on the Warrenton and Alexandria Turnpike. We got in position about twelve hundred yards from Battery “M,” 2nd U. S. Artillery, six guns. We had two. We lost four wounded, Lt. Shanks and Lt. Johnston among the number, neither dangerously however. I shall get Lt. Shanks, who starts for Warrenton directly, to take this. I think that the Army is on the retreat and when we get back I will write a full account of our doings. . . .

On the 19th Hampton's Division was on the turnpike West of Gainesville and ours about midway between Gainesville and Bristow Station. Before daylight we marched to Bristow, then down to Catlett's and from there across the country by Auburn which lies about half way between Catlett's and Warrenton. At Auburn we left the Warrenton road and took that leading to Buckland which is four miles from Gainesville to the West. Meanwhile Stuart with Hampton's Division had been retiring before the Yankees along the turnpike before Warrenton. Then when the Yankees thought everything was getting along finely, the whole of Fitz Lee's Division came in on their flank and before night we had them back on their Infantry supports and some even of the latter on their way to Richmond. . . .

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 153-4

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Sunday, August 10, 1862

Is this really Sunday? Never felt less pious, or less seriously disposed! Listen to my story, and though I will, of course, fall far short of the actual terror that reigned, yet it will show it in a lukewarm light, that can at least recall the excitement to me.

To begin, then, last evening, about six o'clock, as we sat reading, sewing, and making lint in the parlor, we heard a tremendous shell whizzing past, which those who watched, said passed not five feet above the house. Of course, there was a slight stir among the unsophisticated; though we, who had passed through bombardments, sieges, and alarms of all kinds, coolly remarked, “a shell,” and kept quiet. (The latter class was not very numerous.) It was from one of the three Yankee boats that lay in the river close by (the Essex and two gunboats), which were sweeping teams, provisions, and negroes from all the plantations they stopped at from Baton Rouge up. The negroes, it is stated, are to be armed against us as in town, where all those who manned the cannon on Tuesday were, for the most part, killed; and served them right! Another shell was fired at a carriage containing Mrs. Durald and several children, under pretense of discovering if she was a guerrilla, doubtless. Fortunately, she was not hurt, however.

By the time the little émeute had subsided, determined to have a frolic, Miss Walters, Ginnie, and I got on our horses, and rode off down the Arkansas Lane, to have a gallop and a peep at the gunboats from the levee. But mother's entreaties prevented us from going that near, as she cried that it was well known they fired at every horse or vehicle they saw in the road, seeing a thousand guerrillas in every puff of dust, and we were sure to be killed, murdered, and all sorts of bloody deaths awaited us; so to satisfy her, we took the road about a mile from the river, in full view, however. We had not gone very far before we met a Mr. Watson, a plain farmer of the neighborhood, who begged us to go back. “You'll be fired on, ladies, sure! You don't know the danger! Take my advice and go home as quick as possible before they shell you! They shot buggies and carriages, and of course they won't mind horses with women! Please go home!” But Ginnie, who had taken a fancy to go on, acted as spokeswoman, and determined to go on in spite of his advice, so, nothing loath to follow her example, we thanked him, and rode on. Another met us; looked doubtful, said it was not so dangerous if the Yankees did not see the dust; but if they did, we would be pretty apt to see a shell soon after. Here was frolic! So we rode on some mile or two beyond, but failing to see anything startling, turned back again.

About two miles from here, we met Mr. Watson coming at full speed. The ladies, he said, had sent him after us in all haste; there was a report that the whole coast was to be shelled; a lady had passed, flying with her children; the carriage was ordered out; they were only waiting for us, to run, too. We did not believe a word of it, and were indignant at their credulity, as well as determined to persuade them to remain where they were, if possible. When told their plan was to run to the house formerly used as a guerrilla camp, we laughed heartily. Suppose the Yankees fired a shell into it to discover its inhabitants? The idea of choosing a spot so well known! And what fun in running to a miserable hole, when we might sleep comfortably here? I am afraid rebellion was in the air. Indeed, an impudent little negro, who threw open the gate for us, interrupted Ginnie in the midst of a tirade with a sly “Here's the beginning of a little fuss!”

We found them all crazy with fear. I did not say much; I was too provoked to trust myself to argue with so many frightened women. I only said I saw no necessity. Ginnie resisted; but finally succumbed. Mr. Watson, whom we had enlisted on our side also, said it was by no means necessary, but if we were determined, we might go to his house, about four miles away, and stay there. It was very small, but we were welcome. We had in the mean time thrown off our riding-skirts, and stood just in our plain dresses, though the others were freshly dressed for an exodus. Before the man left, the carriage came, though by that time we had drawn half the party on our side; we said we would take supper, and decide after, so he went off.

In a few moments a rocket went up from one of the boats, which attracted our attention. Five minutes after, we saw a flash directly before us. “See it? Lightning, I expect,” said Phillie. The others all agreed; but I kept quiet, knowing that some, at least, knew what it was as well as I, and determined not to give the alarm — for I was beginning to feel foolish. Before half a minute more came a tearing, hissing sound, a sky-rocket whose music I had heard before. Instantly I remembered my running-bag, and flew upstairs to get it, escaping just in time from the scene which followed on the gallery which was afterwards most humorously described to me. But I was out of hearing of the screams of each (and yet I must have heard them); neither saw Miss Walters tumble against the wall, nor mother turn over her chair, nor the general mélée that followed, in which Mrs. Walters, trying to scale the carriage, was pulled out by Uncle Will, who shouted to his plunging horses first, then to the other unreasoning creatures, “Woa, there! ’T ain't safe! Take to the fields! Take to the woods! Run to the sugar-house! Take to your heels!” in a frenzy of excitement.

I escaped all that, and was putting on my hoops and hastily catching up any article that presented itself to me in my speed, when the shell burst over the roof, and went rolling down on the gallery, according to the account of those then below. Two went far over the house, out of sight. All three were seen by Mr. Watson, who came galloping up in a few moments, crying, “Ladies, for God's sake, leave the house!” Then I heard mother calling, “Sarah! You will be killed! Leave your clothes and run!”— and a hundred ejaculations that came too fast for me to answer except by an occasional “Coming, if you will send me a candle!” Candle was the same as though I had demanded a hand-grenade, in mother's opinion, for she was sure it would be the signal for a bombardment of my exposed room; so I tossed down my bundles, swept combs and hairpins into my bosom (all points up), and ravished a candle from some one. How quickly I got on, then! I saved the most useless of articles with the greatest zeal, and probably left the most serviceable ones. One single dress did my running-bag contain — a white linen cambric with a tiny pink flower — the one I wore when I told Hal good-bye for the last time. The others I left.

When I got down with my knapsack, mother, Phillie, and Mrs. Walters were —

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 160-5

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Friday, December 9, 1864

It is cloudy with a strong northeast wind. We started early again this morning and after laying off ten miles went into bivouac. The Twenty-fifth New Jersey was on the skirmish line today, skirmishing commencing at 10 o'clock and continuing till dark. They lost four men killed and fifteen wounded. The First Division of our corps was in the front, and their quartermaster was killed by a ten-pound solid shot fired from a small cannon on a flat car which the rebels ran up and down the railroad. Our way today was through one continuous swamp, but we had a fine road, a high causeway which runs to Savannah. Our camp tonight lies within ten miles of Savannah.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 235-6