Diary of William Howard Russell: March 30, 1861

Descended into the barber's shop off the hall of the hotel; all the operators, men of color, mostly mulattoes, or yellow lads, good-looking, dressed in clean white jackets and aprons, were smart, quick, and attentive. Some seven or eight shaving chairs were occupied by gentlemen intent on early morning calls. Shaving is carried in all its accessories to a high degree of publicity, if not of perfection, in America; and as the poorest, or as I may call them without offence, the lowest orders in England have their easy shaving for a penny, so the highest, if there be any in America, submit themselves in public to the inexpensive operations of the negro barber. It must be admitted that the chairs are easy and well-arranged, the fingers nimble, sure, and light; but the affectation of French names, and the corruption of foreign languages, in which the hairdressers and barbers delight, are exceedingly amusing. On my way down a small street near the Capitol, I observed in a shop window, “Rowland's make easier paste,” which I attribute to an imperfect view of the etymology of the great “Macassar;” on another occasion I was asked to try Somebody's “Curious Elison,” which I am afraid was an attempt to adapt to a shaving paste, an address not at all suited to profane uses. It appears that the trade of barber is almost the birthright of the free negro or colored man in the United States. There is a striking exemplification of natural equality in the use of brushes, and the senator flops down in the seat, and has his noble nose seized by the same fingers which the moment before were occupied by the person and chin of an unmistakable rowdy.

In the midst of the divine calm produced by hard hand rubbing of my head, I was aroused by a stout gentleman who sat in a chair directly opposite. Through the door which opened into the hall of the hotel, one could see the great crowd passing to and fro, thronging the passage as though it had been the entrance to the Forum, or the “Salle de pas perdus.” I had observed my friend's eye gazing fixedly through the opening on the outer world. Suddenly, with his face half-covered with lather, and a bib tucked under his chin, he got up from his seat exclaiming, “Senator! Senator! hallo!” and made a dive into the passage — whether he received a stern rebuke, or became aware of his impropriety, I know not, but in an instant he came back again, and submitted quietly, till the work of the barber was completed.

The great employment of four fifths of the people at Willard's at present seems to be to hunt senators and congressmen through the lobbies. Every man is heavy with documents — those which he cannot carry in his pockets and hat, occupy his hands, or are thrust under his arms. In the hall are advertisements announcing that certificates, and letters of testimonial, and such documents, are printed with expedition and neatness. From paper collars, and cards of address to carriages, and new suits of clothes, and long hotel bills, nothing is left untried or uninvigorated. The whole city is placarded with announcements of facilities for assaulting the powers that be, among which must not be forgotten the claims of the “excelsior card-writer,” at Willard's, who prepares names, addresses, styles, and titles, in superior penmanship. The men who have got places, having been elected by the people, must submit to the people, who think they have established a claim on them by their favors. The majority confer power, but they seem to forget that it is only the minority who can enjoy the first fruits of success. It is as if the whole constituency of Marylebone insisted on getting some office under the Crown the moment a member was returned to Parliament. There are men at Willard's who have come literally thousands of miles to seek for places which can only be theirs for four years, and who with true American facility have abandoned the calling and pursuits of a lifetime for this doubtful canvass; and I was told of one gentleman, who having been informed that he could not get a judgeship, condescended to seek a place in the Post-Office, and finally applied to Mr. Chase to be appointed keeper of a “lighthouse,” he was not particular where. In the forenoon I drove to the Washington Navy Yard, in company with Lieutenant Nelson and two friends. It is about two miles outside the city, situated on a fork of land projecting between a creek and the Potomac River, which is here three quarters of a mile broad. If the French had a Navy Yard at Paris it could scarcely be contended that English, Russians, or Austrians would not have been justified in destroying it in case they got possession of the city by force of arms, after a pitched battle fought outside its gates. I confess I would not give much for Deptford and Woolwich if an American fleet succeeded in forcing its way up the Thames; but our American cousins, — a little more than kin and less than kind, who speak with pride of Paul Jones and of their exploits on the Lakes, — affect to regard the burning of the Washington Navy Yard by us, in the last war, as an unpardonable outrage on the law of nations, and an atrocious exercise of power. For all the good it did, for my own part, I think it were as well had it never happened, but no juris-consult will for a moment deny that it was a legitimate, even if extreme, exercise of a belligerent right in the case of an enemy who did not seek terms from the conqueror; and who, after battle lost, fled and abandoned the property of their state, which might be useful to them in war, to the power of the victor. Notwithstanding all the unreasonableness of the American people in reference to their relations with foreign powers, it is deplorable such scenes should ever have been enacted between members of the human family so closely allied by all that shall make them of the same household.

The Navy Yard is surrounded by high brick walls; in the gateway stood two sentries in dark blue tunics, yellow facings, with eagle buttons, brightly polished arms, and white Berlin gloves, wearing a cap something like a French kepi, all very clean and creditable. Inside are some few trophies of guns taken from us at Yorktown, and from the Mexicans in the land of Cortez. The interior inclosure is surrounded by red brick houses, and stores and magazines, picked out with white stone; and two or three green glass-plots, fenced in by pillars and chains and bordered by trees, give an air of agreeable freshness to the place. Close to the river are the workshops: of course there is smoke and noise of steam and machinery. In a modest office, surrounded by books, papers, drawings, and models, as well as by shell and shot and racks of arms of different descriptions, we found Capt. Dahlgren, the acting superintendent of the yard, and the inventor of the famous gun which bears his name, and is the favorite armament of the American navy. By our own sailors they are irreverently termed “soda-water bottles,” owing to their shape. Capt. Dahlgren contends that guns capable of throwing the heaviest shot may be constructed of cast-iron, carefully prepared and moulded so that the greatest thickness of metal may be placed at the points of resistance, at the base of the gun, the muzzle and forward portions being of very moderate thickness.

All inventors, or even adapters of systems, must be earnest self-reliant persons, full of confidence, and, above all, impressive, or they will make little way in the conservative, status-quo-loving world. Captain Dahlgren has certainly most of these characteristics, but he has to fight with his navy department, with the army, with boards and with commissioners, — in fact, with all sorts of obstructors. When I was going over the yard, he deplored the parsimony of the department, which refused to yield to his urgent entreaties for additional furnaces to cast guns.

No large guns are cast at Washington. The foundries are only capable of turning out brass field-pieces and boat-guns. Capt. Dahlgren obligingly got one of the latter out to practise for us — a 12-pounder howitzer, which can be carried in a boat, run on land on its carriage, which is provided with wheels, and is so light that the gun can be drawn readily about by the crew. He made some good practice with shrapnel at a target 1200 yards distant, firing so rapidly as to keep three shells in the air at the same time. Compared with our establishments, this dockyard is a mere toy, and but few hands are employed in it. One steam sloop, the “Pawnee,” was under the shears, nearly ready for sea: the frame of another was under the building-shed. There are no facilities for making iron ships, or putting on plate-armor here. Everything was shown to us with the utmost frankness. The fuse of the Dahlgren shell is constructed on the vis inertӕ principle, and is not unlike that of the Armstrong.

On returning to the hotel, I found a magnificent bouquet of flowers, with a card attached to them, with Mrs. Lincoln's compliments, and another card announcing that she had a “reception” at three o'clock. It was rather late before I could get to the White House, and there were only two or three ladies in the drawing-room when I arrived. I was informed afterwards that the attendance was very scanty. The Washington ladies have not yet made up their minds that Mrs. Lincoln is the fashion. They miss their Southern friends, and constantly draw comparisons between them and the vulgar Yankee women and men who are now in power. I do not know enough to say whether the affectation of superiority be justified; but assuredly if New York be Yankee, there is nothing in which it does not far surpass this preposterous capital. The impression of homeliness produced by Mrs. Lincoln on first sight, is not diminished by closer acquaintance. Few women not to the manner born there are, whose heads would not be disordered, and circulation disturbed, by a rapid transition, almost instantaneous, from a condition of obscurity in a country town to be mistress of the White House. Her smiles and her frowns become a matter of consequence to the whole American world. As the wife of the country lawyer, or even of the congressman, her movements were of no consequence. The journals of Springfield would not have wasted a line upon them. Now, if she but drive down Pennsylvania Avenue, the electric wire thrills the news to every hamlet in the Union which has a newspaper; and fortunate is the correspondent who, in a special despatch, can give authentic particulars of her destination and of her dress. The lady is surrounded by flatterers and intriguers, seeking for influence or such places as she can give. As Selden says, “Those who wish to set a house on fire begin with the thatch.”

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 50-4

John Lothrop Motley to Mary Benjamin Motley, July 11, 1861

Nahant, July 11, 1861.

My Dearest Mary: I write you this line only to tell you of a most dreadful and heartrending calamity which has thrown this community into mourning. Mrs. Longfellow was burned to death the day before yesterday. She was making seals for the amusement of her younger children in her house at Cambridge, when the upper part of her thin muslin dress caught fire, and in an instant she was all in flames. Longfellow was in the next room. Hearing the shrieks of the children, he flew to her assistance, and seizing a rug, held it around her, and although she broke away from him, attempting to run from the danger, — as persons in such cases seem invariably to do, — he succeeded at last in extinguishing the fire, but not until she was fatally injured. She lingered through the night, attended by several physicians, and expired yesterday forenoon about half-past ten, July 10. I understand that, through the influence of ether, her sufferings were not very intense after the immediate catastrophe, and that she was unconscious for a good while before she died. Longfellow was severely burned in the hands, but not dangerously; but he, too, has been kept under the effects of ether, and is spoken of as in almost a raving condition.

I have not had the heart to make any inquiries, but think that on Saturday I will try to see Mrs. Appleton. It is not more than five or six days since I was calling upon Mr. Appleton, who has so long been dying by inches, and who will look less like death than he does now when he shall have breathed his last. F— was there, and greeted me most affectionately, making the kindest inquiries after you; she never looked more beautiful, or seemed happier, and Longfellow was, as he always is, genial and kind and gentle. I should have stayed with them probably during commencement week at Cambridge, and was looking forward with great pleasure to being with them for a little while. There is something almost too terrible to reflect upon in this utterly trivial way in which this noble, magnificent woman has been put to a hideous death. When you hear of a shipwreck, or a stroke of lightning, or even a railway accident, the mind does not shrink appalled from the contemplation of the tragedy so utterly as it now does, from finding all this misery resulting from such an almost invisible cause — a drop of sealing-wax on a muslin dress. Deaths in battle are telegraphed to us hourly, and hosts of our young men are marching forth to mortal combat day by day, but these are in the natural course of events. Fate, acting on its large scale, has decreed that a great war shall rage, and we are prepared for tragedies, and we know that those who fall have been discharging the highest of duties. But what compensation or consolation is there for such a calamity as this?

I was with Holmes at the Parker House when the news was brought to us. We had gone to see the Greenes (William), with whom we were speaking in the hall. Holmes wanted a commission in Greene's regiment for his son Wendell in case he finds Lee's list completed. We both burst into tears, and did nothing more that morning about military matters; Holmes is, however, going out to see Lee to-morrow morning at his camp at Readville, and will doubtless obtain a lieutenancy under him for his son. Wendell is a very fine fellow, graduating this commencement, but he can't be kept in college any longer. He will get his degree, and is one of the first scholars in his class, but, like nearly all the young men, he has been drilling for months long in one of the various preparatory home battalions, and is quite competent for the post he wishes; but there are so many applicants for these commissions that even such a conspicuous youth as he is not sure of getting one immediately.

God bless you, dearest Mary, and my dear children. In great haste,

Affectionately yours,

J. L. M.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 172-4

Dr. Henry W. Bellows to John M. Forbes, December 19, 1861

New York, December 19, 1861.

My Dear Mr. Forbes, — Mr. Olmsted sends on his letter for approval, and it finds me flat on my back, which accounts for this delay. Since Dr. Van Buren sent on the memorial for signatures, things have taken on a much more active state of quarrel between the Sanitary Commission and the Medical Bureau. General McClellan sent for me and asked me to draw a bill for the reorganization of the Medical Bureau, which I did. He carefully considered and wholly approved the bill, and personally went with me to the President to ask his support; to the Secretary of War (not at home), to the Assistant Secretary of War (much the wiser man), who heartily approved. By their advice, the bill was brought forward in the Senate by Senator Wilson a week ago. Several of the leading senators warmly approve it. The bill strikes at all the senility and incompetency in the bureau and would put about eight first-class men, selected by the President out of the whole Medical Staff, into the control and management of affairs. It would lay on the shelf, on full pay, all the venerable do-nothings and senile obstructives that now vex the health and embarass the safety of our troops.  . . . The Medical Staff (that is, all but the Medical Bureau and the twenty men in right line of succession) must feel the bill to be a great boon to them, as it opens eight prizes for merit and competency, in their stupid seniority system, where folly at seventy was put in absolute control of no-matter-what-amount-of skill, knowledge, reputation, and fitness at forty! I told the President, who enjoys a joke, that the bureau system at Washington, in which one venerable noncompos succeeded another through successive ages, reminded me of the man who, on receiving a barrel of apples, eat every day only those on the point of spoiling, and so at the end of his experiment found that he had devoured a whole barrel of rotten apples. If there were any radical difficulties about obtaining signatures to our letter, they will all disappear when our report to the Secretary of War comes out, which will be in your hands in about a week.

We are very much delighted with your financial report, which will be louder still when we feel the silver bullets or golden balls pouring into our nearly exhausted exchequer.

Commend me to our active and disinterested friends, Mr. Ward, Mr. Norton, and the all-alive gentlemen of your monetary circle.

Yours gratefully and truly,

Henry W. Bellows.

[Enclosure: Frederick Law Olmsted to John M. Forbes, December 16, 1861]

SOURCE: Sarah Forbes Hughes, Letters and Recollections of John Murray Forbes, Volume 1, p. 267-8

Charles Eliot Norton to George William Curtis, September 23, 1862

Shady Hill, 23 September, 1862.^l

My Dearest George: — God be praised! I can hardly see to write, — for when I think of this great act of Freedom, and all it implies, my heart and my eyes overflow with the deepest, most serious gladness.

I rejoice with you. Let us rejoice together, and with all the lovers of liberty, and with all the enslaved and oppressed everywhere.

I think to-day that this world is glorified by the spirit of Christ. How beautiful it is to be able to read the sacred words under this new bight.

“He hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord.”

The war is paid for.

Dearest George, I was very glad to see that your brother was safe, and to hear of his gallantry in the late actions.²

Love and congratulations from us all to all of you.

Ever yours

C. E. N.

¹ The day after Lincoln read the Emancipation Proclamation to his Cabinet.

² At Antietam, where Lieutenant J. B. Curtis's regiment was cut to pieces and driven back, he seized the colours, and shouted, “I go back no further! What is left of the Fourth Rhode Island, form here!” For the rest of the day he fought as a private in an adjoining command. See Cary's Curtis. p. 161 n.

SOURCE: Sara Norton and  M. A. DeWolfe Howe, Letters of Charles Eliot Norton, Volume 1, p. 256-7

George William Curtis to Charles Eliot Norton, Monday, September 5, 1864

East Greenwich, Monday, 5th September, 1864.

My Dear Charles, — Burnside is staying with me here at the house of my cousin, Mr. Goddard. Yesterday we sat upon the rocks, and he told me the whole story of the mine and of the Army of the Potomac. It is intensely interesting and perfectly clear. He is the noblest, most magnanimous man I ever saw, and I shall tell you the tale with immense satisfaction some day. On Saturday morning, when the news of Sherman's success came, he was the most unaffectedly delighted man I ever saw. His exultation wound up by his seizing his wife and kissing her.

SOURCE: Edward Cary, George William Curtis, p. 182

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, August 22, 1861

Marched eight miles to Buckeyston, over hard roads on account of the heavy rains. Camped for the night here. I have now arrived up to date, and must stop, as we start soon. I shall send some money home at the very first place I can get hold of Adams Express. I have had but one mail for several days, so I've no doubt there are several letters for me somewhere.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 19

Major Wilder Dwight: Sunday, July 28, 1861

Head-quarters, Harper's Ferry, Sunday, July 28, 1861.

There is so much of drag and so little of incident in my present life that a letter seems hardly worth while. The sunlight, as it breaks the fog this Sunday morning, discloses some of our batteries on the hills commanding our somewhat defenceless position. On Friday General Banks ordered all the wagons to be sent across the river, and all stores of every kind to be removed from our temporary storehouses. We have been in bivouac ever since, sleeping on hay, and indulging in every variety of soldierly discomfort. General Banks is unwilling to signalize his first military service by ordering a retreat; yet, unless we are promptly reinforced, there is no other way. I feel very sorry to desert the Union-loving men of this country. Our army never should retreat, because no sooner do loyal men under its protection avow themselves, than they are marked for the first prey by the rebels which our retreat allows. O for a strong will and a large energy and patience, till every preparation is made! Then we can walk to the Gulf and wipe out these villains. Yesterday we had scouting-parties out, and as our spies came in at night, they reported the enemy's pickets near our lines, and a movement of a large body making in our direction. So at eleven o'clock I took through the drowsy camp, rousing sleeping piles of humanity and blankets, an order for their action, in case of alarm during the night. No such alarm came. Yesterday the Massachusetts Twelfth, Colonel Webster, arrived on the other side of the river, and is now in camp there; so we are stronger by one regiment. I do not know how long we shall stay here, but suppose that either our wagons will come back or we shall join them soon. Indeed, a mere nominal holding of Harper's Ferry like the present one does not seem to indicate great strength. I am right in my conjecture. At this moment an order comes in from the commanding general directing the passage of the troops across the river to-day, and indicating the order of march. The order concluded, however, with the direction: “The Second Massachusetts Regiment will remain as a garrison to this place. The colonel of this regiment will so establish his pickets as to give him timely warning of the enemy's approach. For this object, twenty men of the cavalry and one non-commissioned officer will be left with the garrison of the place.” So we are to have the honor to be the first to occupy and the last to quit the sacred soil of Harper's Ferry. Well, we marched into Virginia full of hope and fight and purpose. We dinned the Star Spangled Banner into the unwilling ears of the startled villagers. We had doleful marches but delightful measures. “Grim-visaged war” had her front smoothed of its wrinkles, to be sure, but we thought to meet the front of fearful adversaries.

Now, however, instead of all this ecstasy of advance, we are employed in the anxious endeavor to retreat as little as possible. No matter, the fulness of time will bring only one result, and we can wait for it. Military glory, however, will not turn out to be so cheap an article as some of our holiday soldiers thought it. The price of it is rising everyday Doubleday's battery just went by with the long rifled cannon which throws a ball five miles, and now the air is full of the dust and music of the New York Twelfth, which is also on the march. They will soon leave us alone in our glory. We shall occupy the lower part of the town, near the ford, and shall only hold the place till some stronger force comes to claim it. This duty will exact a lively vigilance, but it is free from danger, I think, and my own strong belief is, that, with our cannon frowning from the hills, the Rebels will not think it worth while to claim the town, especially as it is utterly worthless for any military purpose.

I think of you all enjoying a quiet Sunday morning at home, and should like to join you for a time; but I am getting, in the presence of these outrages, to desire only the results of war. Cavalry and artillery, — we must have these before we can be completely effective.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 58-60

Cyrus Adams to his Brother, August 24, 1856

Lawrence, Kansas, Aug. 24, 1856.

Dear Brother, — You probably learn of the state of affairs here in Kansas as well as I can describe them. We live under a republican form of government, so called, — a form of government which allows its people to be murdered every day, and lifts no hand for their protection; and so we are all of us liable to be murdered any day. Every little while we are set upon by bands of ruffians acting under the officers of the General Government; towns are sacked and burned, men murdered, and property destroyed. Until lately the Free-State folks have not offered much resistance to these outrages. It was known that bands of these ruffians encamped in the vicinity, where they carried on their trade of horse-stealing and robbery; and murdered a man with whom I was well acquainted: he was riding by near one of these camps, and was shot dead by some of the guard. His name was Major Hoyt, of Deerfield, Mass. Another man was shot near the same place. A few days ago a brother-in-law of Mr. Nute, whom you saw in Concord, came into the Territory. He intended to stop in Leavenworth. He brought his wife, and left her with Mr. Nute until he could go back and put up a house. When returning, and within two miles of Leavenworth, he was shot, and, horrible to relate, was scalped in the Indian fashion. A man — or a beast — took his scalp and carried it about the streets of Leavenworth on a long pole, saying that he “went out to get a damned Abolition scalp, and got one.” Another man went to Kansas City for a load of lumber; he was shot and scalped in the same way. So you may judge of the folks we have to deal with. If they catch a man alone they show no mercy.

SOURCE: Franklin B. Sanborn, The Life and Letters of John Brown, p. 327-8

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, May 15, 1864

We had regimental inspection this morning at 10 o'clock. Two regiments came out from Clifton as reinforcements for ours. We turned over all our tents, except one for every five men, and this evening received orders to be ready to march in the morning at 5 o'clock for Waynesburg, Tennessee. Jason Sparks arrived this evening from Iowa to join our company. He is well and happy.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 188

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, June 10, 1863

You know I believe Heaven is here, everywhere, if we could only see God, and that, as a future state, it is not to be much dwelt upon, only enough to make one content with death as a change not infinitely different from sleep, — that prayer is not an asking, but a thanking mood, — that this world and all that is in it being created for the glory of God (and for what other end can such a fearful and wonderful "nature" be designed ?), we especially ought to glorify him by being thankful and seeing his glory everywhere. Just how we are to show our thankfulness is a more searching question; I think not by depreciating this world to exalt another, perhaps by “bene vivere,” perhaps by “loving well both man and bird and beast,” — probably by one person in one way, by another in another.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 255-6

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, June 10, 1863

Camp Brightwood, June 10, 1863.

The way in which men are put into action the first time is so important, at any rate in cavalry, — I am very anxious my fellows should be started right, and not checked up just where they should be spurring.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 256

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, June 14, 1863

Camp Brightwood, June [14th?], 1863.

I don't believe we are going to have marching orders, after all. For twenty-four hours we have been all ready to move at a moment's notice. I want marching orders very much, but am afraid I shall be kept here. I wish you could see how my Battalion will turn out tomorrow morning; not an extra gew-gaw, nothing for ornament. If they want ornamental troops around Washington, they’ll let me go, — indeed, I have dropped some things which have generally been counted necessaries; two of my companies go without any blankets but those under their saddles. That is pretty well for recruits.

If we use it rightfully, I think the Pennsylvania movement an excellent thing for the cause, — but that is if. What effect will it have on the opposition? For the moment, of course, all differences will be dropped, — but afterwards will not the Administration be the weaker for it, unless the if be avoided? You would not suppose I had thought much about it, from the loose and simple way in which I write, but I have: only, so much depends now on the skill of Hooker and Halleck (Eheu!) and on the nerve of Lincoln and Stanton, — depends, that is, on individuals, — that it is impossible to foresee events even for a day.¹

_______________

¹ The invasion of the North was beginning, by way of the Shenandoah Valley, and Hooker, intent on guarding Washington, had not yet started in pursuit. Mosby, with his guerrilla band, had crossed the Potomac into Maryland on the night of the 10th and 11th, and Lowell was telegraphed: “Go where you please in pursuit of Mosby!” and promptly set out; but unfortunately before the message came Mosby had made his raid, re-crossed to Virginia and scattered his band.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 257-8, 424

Diary of Major Rutherford B. Hayes: October 31, 1861

Tompkins Farm. — Smoky, foggy, and Indian-summery in the morning; clear, warm, and beautiful in the afternoon. I rode up to the regiment at Camp Ewing, gave some directions as to making out the new muster-rolls. Saw several of the officers sick with the camp fever.

Poor "Bony" Seaman, it is said, will die. What a goodhearted boy he was! His red glowing face, readiness to oblige, to work — poor fellow! He was working his way up. Starting as private, then commissary sergeant, then sergeant-major, and already recommended and perhaps appointed second-lieutenant. I shall never forget his looks at the battle of Carnifax. We were drawn up in line of battle waiting for orders to go down into the woods to the attack. The First Brigade had already gone in and the firing of cannon and musketry was fast and furious. "Bony" rode ahead to see, and after an absence of twenty minutes came galloping back, his face radiant with joyous excitement and his eyes sparkling. He rode up to Colonel Scammon and myself calling out: “I've been under fire, the bullets were whistling all about me, and I wasn't scared at all!” He looked like my Birtie when he is very happy and reminded me of him. His dress was peculiar too — a warm-us and a felt grey hat like mine. Good boy, noble, true, must he die?

Captain Drake and Captain McIlrath had a quarrel last night. Captain Drake had been drinking (not enough to hurt). Captain McIlrath, putting his face close to Captain Drake's mouth to smell his breath, said: “Where did you get your whiskey?” And so it went, the plucky Captain Drake striking the giant McIlrath, but no fight followed. McIlrath as captain of company A was first in line of promotion for major and Captain Drake had been just recommended for the place. This fact had nothing to do with it, merely a coincidence.

Returned to camp in the evening; rode part way with Colonel McCook, open and minatory against Rosecrans. At eight P. M. a dispatch from Adjutant-General Buckingham announced my promotion to lieutenant-colonel vice Matthews, and J. M. Courtly [Comly] as major. The latter is I fear an error. He is a stranger to the regiment. It will make a fuss, and perhaps ought to. Captain Drake is a brave, generous old fellow, excitable and furious, but when the heat is off sound to the core, with the instincts of a gentleman strong in him.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 133-4

Brigadier-General John A. Rawlins to Mary Emeline Hurlburt Rawlins, April 13, 1864

Culpepper C. H., Va., April 13, 1864.

. . . What I wrote yesterday of my confirmation is perhaps true, but the declared reasons, from a subsequent conversation with General Wilson, I am satisfied are not the correct ones . . . The investigation will affect only the officer named as the subject of it. They have passed over the confirmation of other staff appointments for the present, simply to enable them to get through the investigation of this case in quiet . . . I see nothing wrong in this at all. As I wrote, however, it is more on your account than my own that I should feel badly.

The General will be back from Annapolis to-morrow. This will finish up his visits to points of rendezvous for the troops, until he has tried with Lee the merits of their respective armies. You see, I have no doubt, much in the newspapers as to the plan of coming campaigns. For these of course we care little, but you know my opinion of General William F. Smith, who has altogether a different plan from that of the General, and feels very badly that Grant don't fall into his views . . . We have not communicated his plans to either General Wilson or General Smith. Of one thing the country can be assured, the General does not mean to scatter his army and have it whipped in detail. No such calamity as this will happen to us, I am certain. If I have ever been of signal service to General Grant, it has been in my constant, firm advocacy of massing large forces against small ones, in other words, of always having the advantage of numbers on our side. Such is the General's notion of battles. . . .

SOURCE: James H. Wilson, The Life of John A. Rawlins, p. 415-6

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, November 12, 1864

November 12, 1864

We have the usual play of rumor about cabinets — everybody seems inclined to heave out Stanton: some to heave him up to the Supreme Court — some to heave him down to unknown depths of nothingness. Many would fain fancy Ben Butler in the chair of War, where he would be certain to make things spin either for good or for bad. How he will get on, across the James, I know not. He lost a strong man in Ord, wounded; and in Birney, dead, also: Birney was one who had many enemies, but, in my belief, we had few officers who could command 10,000 men as well as he. He was a pale, Puritanical figure, with a demeanor of unmovable coldness; only he would smile politely when you spoke to him. He was spare in person, with a thin face, light-blue eye, and sandy hair. As a General he took very good care of his Staff and saw they got due promotion. He was a man, too, who looked out for his own interests sharply and knew the mainsprings of military advancement. His unpopularity among some persons arose partly from his promotion, which, however, he deserved; and partly from his cold covert manner. I always felt safe when he had the division; it was always well put in and safely handled. The longer I am in the army, the more I see that great bodies of men take their whole tone from a few leaders, or even from one. I climbed on a horse and took a ride to visit Captain Sleeper, whose camp I easily recognized by its neat appearance. He always has things in a trig state about him. His own domicile was a small log cabin, with a neat brick chimney, very smooth-looking, but made in truth of only odd bits of brick, picked up at random and carefully fitted by a skilful Yank. The chimney-piece was of black walnut, made indeed from the leaf of an old table, discovered in the neighborhood. As to his tongs, a private, of prospective views, picked them up sometime last summer, and had carried them, ever since, in waggon! For arras he had artillery horse-blankets. The Sleeper is now more content, having his battery full, new sergeants appointed, and a prospect of officers. His only grief is that with three years' service and many battles he is only a captain. You see Massachusetts has not her batteries in a regiment and can't have field officers. So Sleeper's only hope is a brevet.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 266-7

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: June 29, 1861

I cannot support my family here, on the salary I receive from the government; and so they leave me in a few days to accept the tendered hospitality of Dr. Custis, of Newbern, N. C, my wife's cousin.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 56

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: June 30, 1861

My family engaged packing trunks. They leave immediately.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 56

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 7, 1862

Mrs. Middleton was dolorous indeed. General Lee had warned the planters about Combahee, etc., that they must take care of themselves now; he could not do it. Confederate soldiers had committed some outrages on the plantations and officers had punished them promptly. She poured contempt upon Yancey's letter to Lord Russell.¹ It was the letter of a shopkeeper, not in the style of a statesman at all.

We called to see Mary McDuffie.² She asked Mary Preston what Doctor Boykin had said of her husband as we came along in the train. She heard it was something very complimentary. Mary P. tried to remember, and to repeat it all, to the joy of the other Mary, who liked to hear nice things about her husband.

Mary was amazed to hear of the list of applicants for promotion. One delicate-minded person accompanied his demand for advancement by a request for a written description of the Manassas battle; he had heard Colonel Chesnut give such a brilliant account of it in Governor Cobb's room.

The Merrimac³ business has come like a gleam of lightning illumining a dark scene. Our sky is black and lowering.

The Judge saw his little daughter at my window and he came up. He was very smooth and kind. It was really a delightful visit; not a disagreeable word was spoken. He abused no one whatever, for he never once spoke of any one but himself, and himself he praised without stint. He did not look at me once, though he spoke very kindly to me.

_______________

¹ Lord Russell was Foreign Secretary under the Palmerston administration of 1859 to 1865.

² Mary McDuffie was the second wife of Wade Hampton.

³ The Merrimac was formerly a 40-gun screw frigate of the United States Navy. In April, 1861, when the Norfolk Navy-yard was abandoned by the United States she was sunk. Her hull was afterward raised by the Confederates and she was reconstructed on new plans, and renamed the Virginia. On March 2, 1862, she destroyed the Congress, a sailing-ship of 50 guns, and the Cumberland, a sailing-ship of 30 guns, at Newport News. On March 7th she attacked the Minnesota, but was met by the Monitor and defeated in a memorable engagement. Many features of modern battle-ships have been derived from the Merrimac and Monitor.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 136-7

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: Saturday Night, March 15, 1862

Spent to-day at the hospital. Heard of the shelling of Newbern, N. C., and of its fall. My heart sickens at every acquisition of the Federals. No further news from Arkansas. Yesterday evening I went to see the body of our dear Bishop; cut a piece of his hair; kissed his forehead, and took my last look at that revered face.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 102

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: August 23, 1862

Willy Preston has been in a battle (Cedar Run), and we hear behaved with remarkable gallantry — rallied a disorganized regiment, or rather parts of many companies, and with a lieutenant led them to the charge.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 146

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, May 14, 1864

The weather is quite warm and pleasant. A large fleet of transports arrived at Clifton this morning, loaded with troops and supplies, the wagons and teams of the Seventeenth Corps being on board. We also received a large mail.

News came that General Grant had defeated the rebels in a two days' battle before Richmond, though he lost about twenty thousand in killed and wounded. The news is almost too good to believe. All is quiet here in the West. We are still herding cattle, but think we shall soon be relieved.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 187-8

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: July 14, 1864

We have to turn out at daylight. Soon after rations, again in line and marching. We are getting very ragged. Many are barefooted. Clothes will wear out in this rough life. Pushing along. Marched over Bolivar Heights, down through Harper's Ferry, over the Potomac River on the railroad bridge, into Maryland, taking the river road along the canal through Sandy Hook, camping near Knoxville. A mail received. Very tired tonight. It is thought we have marched about fifteen miles. Detailed for picket.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 98

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: March 20, 1862

Found the books in use, so busied myself in writing to Fannie Henderson.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 9

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, November 11, 1864

November 11, 1864

The McClellan procession might have spared their tapers, as he has gone up, poor Mac, a victim to his friends! His has been a career manqué, and a hard time he has had, and low he has fallen. The men who stood, as green soldiers, with him in front of Yorktown, where are they? Many thousands lie in the barren land of the Peninsula and the valley of Virginia; thousands more in the highlands of Maryland and Pennsylvania and in the valley of the Shenandoah. Many are mustered out — their time expired — or sick, or crippled. The small remnant are sifted, like fine gold, through this army, non-commissioned officers, or even full officers. What an experience it is for an infantry soldier! To have carried a musket, blanket, and haversack to the Peninsula, and to the gates of Richmond, then back again to the second Bull Run; up to Antietam in Maryland; down again to Fredericksburg; after the enemy again to the Rappahannock; and at last, the great campaign, like all others concentrated in six months, from the Rapid Ann to Petersburg! All this alone on foot, in three long years, at all seasons and all hours, in every kind of weather, carrying always a heavy load, and expecting to fight at any moment; seeing so many men shot in each fight — the great regiment dwindling to a battalion — the battalion to a company — the company to a platoon. Then the new men coming down; they shot off also. Till at last the infantry-man, who left Boston thinking he was going straight to Richmond, via Washington, sits down before Petersburg and patiently makes his daily pot of coffee, a callous old soldier, who has seen too many horrors to mind either good or bad. It is a limited view of a great war, but, for that very reason, full of detail and interest.

Of course we might have known that this pack of political “commissioners” could not get down here without a shindy of some sort. The point they brought up was fraudulent votes. A long-haired personage, fat and vulgar-looking, one of that class that invariably have objectionable finger-nails, came puffing over to General Meade's tent, with all the air of a boy who had discovered a mare's nest. He introduced himself as a Mr. Somebody from Philadelphia, and proceeded to gasp out that a gentleman had been told by an officer, that he had heard from somebody else that a Democratic Commissioner had been distributing votes, professedly Republican, but with names misspelled so as to be worthless. “I don't see any proof,” said the laconic Meade. “Give me proof, and I'll arrest him.” And off puffed Mr. Somebody to get proof, evidently thinking the Commanding General must be a Copperhead not to jump at the chance of arresting a Democrat. The result was that a Staff officer was sent, and investigation held, and telegraphs dispatched here and there, while the Somebody puffed about, like a porpoise in shallow water! Finally, four or five people were arrested to answer charges. This seemed to please Stanton mightily, who telegraphed to put 'em in close arrest; and, next morning, lo! a lieutenant-colonel sent, with a guard of infantry, by a special boat from Washington, to conduct these malefactors to the capital — very much like personages, convicted of high treason, being conveyed to the Tower. Were I a lieutenant-colonel, I should feel cheap to be ordered to convey a parcel of scrubby politicians under arrest! But that is the work that Washington soldiers may expect to spend their lives in. General Meade, I fancy, looked with high contempt on the two factions. “That Somebody only does it,” he said, “to appear efficient and get an office.  As to X, he said he thought it a trying thing for a gentleman to be under close arrest; and I wanted to tell him it wasn't so disgraceful as to have been drunk every night, which was his case!” That's the last I have heard of the culprits, who, with their accusers, have all cleared out, like a flock of crows, and we are once again left to our well-loved ragamuffins, in dirty blouses and spotted sky-blue trousers.

The day was further marked by an émeute in the culinary department. I would have you to know that we have had a nigger boy, to wait on table, an extraordinary youth, of muscular proportions and of an aspect between a drill sergeant, an undertaker and a clergyman — solemn, military and mildly religious. It would, however, appear, that beneath this serious and very black exterior worked a turbulent soul. The diminutive Monsieur Mercier, our chef, had repeatedly informed me that “le petit” (the unbleached brother is about a head taller than Mercier) was extremely indolent and had a marked antipathy to washing dishes — an observation which interested me little, as my observation went to show that the washing of dishes by camp-followers tended rather to dirty than to cleanse the platter, and that the manifest destiny of the plate military was to grow dirtier and dirtier, till it at last got broken. However, Anderson was reproved for not washing his crockery, and replied with rude words. On being reproved again, he proposed to smite Mercier, remarking, he “would as soon knock down a white man as a nigger.”

At this juncture the majestic Biddle interfered and endeavored to awe the crowd; but the crowd would not be awed, so Biddle put Anderson at the pleasant occupation of walking post with a log on his shoulder. Upon being liberated from this penalty, he charged upon Mercier, giving him the dire alternative of “Pay me mer wages, or I'll smash yer crockery!” This being disorderly, I allowed him to cool his passions till next morning in the guardhouse, when he was paid off.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 262-5

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: June 28, 1861

We have a flaming comet in the sky. It comes unannounced, and takes a northwestern course. I dreamed last night that I saw a great black ball moving in the heavens, and it obscured the moon. The stars were in motion, visibly, and for a time afforded the only light. Then a brilliant halo illuminated the zenith like the quick-shooting irradiations of the aurora boroalis. And men ran in different directions, uttering cries of agony. These cries, I remember distinctly, came from men. As I gazed upon the fading and dissolving moon, I thought of the war brought upon us, and the end of the United States Government. My family were near, all of them, and none seemed alarmed or distressed. I experienced no perturbation; but I awoke. I felt curious to prolong the vision, but sleep had fled. I was gratified, however, to be conscious of the fact that in this illusory view of the end of all things sublunary, I endured no pangs of remorse or misgivings of the new existence it seemed we were about to enter upon.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 56

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 5, 1862

Mary Preston went back to Mulberry with me from Columbia. She found a man there tall enough to take her in to dinner —Tom Boykin, who is six feet four, the same height as her father. Tom was very handsome in his uniform, and Mary prepared for a nice time, but he looked as if he would so much rather she did not talk to him, and he set her such a good example, saying never a word.

Old Colonel Chesnut came for us. When the train stopped, Quashie, shiny black, was seen on his box, as glossy and perfect in his way as his blooded bays, but the old Colonel would stop and pick up the dirtiest little negro I ever saw who was crying by the roadside. This ragged little black urchin was made to climb up and sit beside Quash. It spoilt the symmetry of the turn-out, but it was a character touch, and the old gentleman knows no law but his own will. He had a biscuit in his pocket which he gave this sniffling little negro, who proved to be his man Scip's son.

I was ill at Mulberry and never left my room. Doctor Boykin came, more military than medical. Colonel Chesnut brought him up, also Teams, who said he was down in the mouth. Our men were not fighting as they should. We had only pluck and luck, and a dogged spirit of fighting, to offset their weight in men and munitions of war. I wish I could remember Teams's words; this is only his idea. His language was quaint and striking — no grammar, but no end of sense and good feeling. Old Colonel Chesnut, catching a word, began his litany, saying, “Numbers will tell,” “Napoleon, you know,” etc., etc.

At Mulberry the war has been ever afar off, but threats to take the silver came very near indeed — silver that we had before the Revolution, silver that Mrs. Chesnut brought from Philadelphia. Jack Cantey and Doctor Boykin came back on the train with us. Wade Hampton is the hero.

Sweet May Dacre. Lord Byron and Disraeli make their rosebuds Catholic; May Dacre is another Aurora Raby. I like Disraeli because I find so many clever things in him. I like the sparkle and the glitter. Carlyle does not hold up his hands in holy horror of us because of African slavery. Lord Lyons¹ has gone against us. Lord Derby and Louis Napoleon are silent in our hour of direst need. People call me Cassandra, for I cry that outside hope is quenched. From the outside no help indeed cometh to this beleaguered land.

_______________

¹ Richard, Lord Lyons, British minister to the United States from 1858 to 1865.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 134-6

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: March 14, 1862

Our beloved Bishop Meade is dead! His spirit returned to the God who gave, redeemed, and sanctified it, this morning about seven o'clock. The Church in Virginia mourns in sackcloth for her great earthly head. We knew that he must die, but this morning, when we had assembled for early prayers, it was announced to us from the pulpit, a thrill of anguish pervaded the congregation, which was evident from the death-like stillness. A hymn was read, but who could then sing? A subdued effort was at last made, and the services proceeded. Like bereaved children we mingled our prayers and tears, and on receiving the benediction, we went silently out, as in the pressure of some great public calamity, and some bitter, heartfelt sorrow. Thus, just one week after the solemn public services in which he had been engaged, it pleased Almighty God to remove him from his work on earth to his rest in heaven. During his last illness, though often suffering intensely, he never forgot his interest in public affairs. The blessed Bible was first read to him, each morning, and then the news of the day. He had an eye for every thing; every movement of Government, every march of the troops, the aspect of Europe, and the Northern States, every thing civil and military, and all that belonged to God's Church upon earth — dying as he had lived, true to Virginia, true to the South, true to the Church, and true to the Lord his God.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 101-2

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: August 2, 1862

What straits war reduces us to! I carried a lb. or so of sugar and coffee to Sister Agnes lest she should not have any, and she gave me a great treasure — a pound of soda! When it can be had, it is $1.25 per lb.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 146

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Friday, May 13, 1864

I went out as corporal of the picket this evening at 5 o'clock. There was in all a detail of one hundred and twelve sent out from the two regiments, besides the commissioned and non-commissioned officers. The guards are stationed from one to two miles from camp, where the cattle are corralled.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 187

Jackson’s Staff Officers.

Of those who served on the staff of General Jackson in the several staff departments and at various times, four fell in battle: Capt. James Keith Boswell, engineer officer, Fauquier County, fell at Chancellorsville; Col. Edward Willis, 12th Georgia Infantry, Savannah, Ga., fell at Cold Harbor; Lieut. Col. A. S. Pendleton, A. A. G., Lexington, Va., fell at Fisher’s Hill; Col. Stapleton Crutchfield, chief of artillery of the Virginia Military Institute, fell on retreat from Petersburg.

At the beginning of the war, when Jackson went to Harper’s Ferry, there came to his aid from the V. M. I. Col. J. T. L. Preston, Prof. James Massie, Col. Alfred Jackson, Col. Stapleton Crutchfield.

To these were added Maj. John Harman, chief quartermaster; Maj. W. Hawkes, chief commissary; Dr. Hunter McGuire, medical director; Capt. George Junkin, A. D. C.; Maj. Jed. Hotchkiss, topographical engineer.

And the following came from time to time: Major Bier, ordnance; Capt. J. M. Garnett, ordnance; Col. William Allan; Colonel Snead, assistant inspector general; Maj. H. K. Douglas, inspector general; Capt. W. Wilbourne, chief of signal officers; Maj. D. B. Bridgforth, provost marshal; Maj. R. L. Dabney, A. A. S.; Lieut. Col. C. J. Falkner, A. A. S.; Capt. J. P. Smith, A. D. C., now the sole surviving member of the staff.

SOURCE: Confederate Veteran, Volume 28, No. 2, February 1920, p. 48

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, June 7, 1863

Camp Brightwood, June 7, 1863.

Don't suppose I approve of McClellan's present position; nor do I wish to see the Administration forced to take him back; but I should feel very thankful if he were now at the head of affairs and were out of the hands of the men who are now duping him. I am afraid it may yet be necessary to call on McClellan, when the Government cannot do it with much dignity; I hope not, however. I consider him more patriotic and more respectable than the men who are now managing the Army of the Potomac. Will you pardon this? you know I must tell you what I think, and you know I am very fond of McClellan: that Copperhead meeting did expose him to the worst imputations, —  but I know him to be a good and true patriot.¹

_______________

¹ Colonel Lowell's opinion of McClellan as man, citizen, and soldier, should carry some weight, as coming from a man of high standards and “in friendship stern,” who had been closely associated with McClellan in times of his severest trial, by the enemy before him and the Administration behind him. As to politics, and his becoming a candidate in opposition to Lincoln, evidently Lowell felt that McClellan had made a great mistake, but, like many another honest soldier in the field before and since, was innocently the victim of a party whose designs he did not fathom. It should be remembered too, that, rightly or wrongly, McClellan evidently felt that interference by a civilian Administration had thwarted and clogged his movements and plans in carrying on the war, which, of course, was, at the time, the one great issue for the country. Lowell also often felt that the President's course with regard to matters relating to army discipline and the conduct of the war was halting or unwise, yet, as matters stood, he considered it all-important that he be reelected and McClellan defeated. Mrs. Lowell wrote of her husband, that he “cared very much for General McClellan, and had a great respect for him as a man and a patriot. He always defended him against attacks. I remember his saying that the trouble with him as a general was, that he had a very high ideal of excellence for his army and felt painfully every deficiency, never realizing that the enemy was in much worse plight than he himself, but fancying them to be in perfect condition in every particular, and so was anxious not to come to close quarters until he could bring his army to a state of perfection too.”

Major Henry L. Higginson has done me the kindness to send me this little wayside memory, as it were, of the Antietam campaign, much to the purpose.

November 5, 1906.

“In September, 1862, our regiment (First Massachusetts Cavalry) had just been brought from the South. The senior officers were away, and I was in command of such part of it as was together — one battalion having been left at the South. As we went through Washington, coming from Alexandria, I went into Headquarters to see if I could find Charles Lowell; and he was there, and in very good spirits, because General McClellan had just been put into command again; for the army had had a terrible lot of beating under Pope, was much disorganized by these reverses, and was just going through Maryland in such order as the soldiers came in.

“I didn't see Charles again until one day during the same week, when we stopped for our nooning. The country was covered with soldiers in every direction, — in the roads, and fields, and everywhere else, — and they were all marching northerly. Noticing a lot of good tents near by, I asked what they were, and was told it was Headquarters; so I went up and found Charles there. He and I lay on the grass during an idle half hour, and he told me about General McClellan. He had been on his staff some time, after having served with his regiment on the Peninsula, and he had pretty distinct ideas about the man on whom so much depended. He said to me, ‘He is a great strategist, and the men have much faith in him. He makes his plans admirably, makes all his preparations so as to be ready for any emergency, just as the Duke of Wellington did, and unlike the Duke of Wellington, when he comes to strike, he doesn't strike in a determined fashion; that is, he prepares very well and then doesn't do the best thing — strike hard.’ Now, of course, that conversation was confidential and couldn't have been repeated at the time, nor was it; but look at the two battles! In a day or two we fought at South Mountain, and I lay on the extreme outpost the night before the fight. I saw the troops come by, — these demoralized troops, full of the devil, laughing and talking, — and saw them go up South Mountain on all sides and pitch the enemy out quickly and without hesitation. It was a beautiful field to see and the fight was beautifully done, but the Johnnies never had a chance. We were in greater force, and the attack was made at various points. It was a very gallant action. That was Sunday morning, and the fight continued through the day.

“If General McClellan had pushed right on with the army on all sides, both there and at Crampton's Gap, and everywhere else, he would have beaten the Southern army more readily at the next fight. We could have gone on that night, for we did no fighting at all, and there was cavalry enough and plenty of infantry that also could have gone on. Monday we crossed the mountain and rode along until we came to Sharpsburg and the Antietam Creek. There lay Lee's men in excellent position, and there they remained until we fought them. The army was up that night, and McClellan came by somewhere about six o'clock, and was cheered all along the line as he rode to the front. It was Tuesday afternoon before we did anything, and Wednesday came the great fight. If you will read McClellan's diary, you will see that he fought at one point, then fought at another, and then at another. He told Burnside to move at either eight or half-past eight. Charley took the order to Burnside. Burnside moved at twelve. If McClellan had been a little ugly, he would have dropped Burnside right out, at nine o'clock, and somebody would have made the attack at once that was made at twelve. If this had been done, striking hard on the left, it would have cut off Lee from Shepherd's Ford, and he would have had no other retreat. If McClellan had struck on the left and on the right at the same time, it would have been very confusing to General Lee, and it would have cut off the reenforcements that came in that day.

“I am not accurate, of course, in my statements about details, but the general story is this: that, having made excellent preparations, and having an army that was fighting well, he didn't strike as hard as he could — and it was just what Charley had said. His strategy was excellent, but his movements were slow, and when the decisive moment came, he hesitated. You should remember, by the way, that General McClellan had Lee's order to his subordinates in his own hands on Saturday night. You may remember that General D. H. Hill lost his orders; one of our men found them and took them to General McClellan, and he read them Saturday night, which of course was an immense advantage to us.

“Charles's opinion about McClellan was of course confidential, then. Now it is a matter of history; but there was the judgment of a very keen, clear-sighted man, who had great powers of analysis, and who had a very high opinion of his commanding officer, and who was entirely loyal to him.”

Lowell, then, though quite aware of General McClellan's limitations, respected his character, and, withal, his important services to the country in creating and training an efficient army, —  services which are too often ignored. It is well to recall the facts: an engineer officer — with short but creditable experience in the war with Mexico, then employed as teacher at West Point and as explorer on the Plains and in the Mountains, who had had indeed an opportunity at British headquarters in the Crimea to watch an ill-conducted war, and then returned to command of a cavalry squadron in peace at home, then resigned and became for four years a railroad manager — found himself, at the age of thirty-six, commander of a vast but unskilled and untrained army, in a fierce and determined struggle for the existence of a nation. General F. A. Palfrey, a military critic who admits McClellan's failure as a great commander, yet says, “ Under him ‘the uprising of a great people’ became a powerful military engine. His forces were never worsted, or decisively beaten by the enemy. They never came in contact with the enemy without inflicting a heavy loss upon him. He never knocked his head against a wall, as Burnside did at Fredericksburg; never drew back his hand when victory was within his grasp, as Hooker did at Chancellorsville; he never spilt blood vainly by a parallel attack upon gallantly defended works, as Grant did at Cold Harbour. He took too good care of his army. His general management of the move from the lines before Richmond to the James was wise and successful, though, if he had been a fighter instead of a planner, . . . the movement might have been, as it ought to have been, attended with vastly greater proportionate loss to the Confederates, and perhaps have been concluded by a crushing defeat at Malvern Hill.”

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 255, 419-24

Diary of Major Rutherford B. Hayes: October 30, 1861

Tompkins Farm.— [I] walked with Captain Gaines two and one-half or three miles down to Gauley Bridge. Called on Major William H. Johnston and Swan, paymaster and clerk for our regiment [for] Cracraft, quartermaster sergeant, who wanted Dr. McCurdy's pay. To get it, drew my own and sent him two hundred and sixty dollars and blank power-of-attorney to me to draw his pay. The doctor is sick and wants to go home. Our regiment suffers severely with camp fever. About one hundred and twenty absent, mostly sick, and as many more prescribed for here. This out of nine hundred and fifty. Severe marches, ill-timed, in rain, etc., etc., is one great cause. Then, most of our men have been used to comfortable homes, and this exposed life on these mountains is too much for them.

Well, we dined at a Virginia landlady's, good coffee, good biscuit; in short, a good homelike dinner. Walked immediately back.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 132

Brigadier-General John A. Rawlins to Mary Emeline Hurlburt Rawlins, April 13, 1864

Culpepper C. H., Va., April 13, 1864.

. . . I have not been well to-day, owing to the large doses of medicine I have taken for my cough . . .  The quantity of opium has affected my whole system inasmuch as to produce a sensation of numbness and drowsiness and given me a bad headache. I have slept the whole day as it were, and feel considerably better now, but am most miserable. I have seen the doctor and he directs me to diminish the dose.

General Wilson is here. He has been assigned to the command of a cavalry division in the Army of the Potomac. I hope it may secure his confirmation. As for my own, I have little hope. The Senate is holding it over until the papers of another staff officer, General Ingalls, are examined. If his are all right, mine may possibly go through. If not, his will be passed over ostensibly because of his being a staff officer, but really because his accounts are wrong, and mine will meet the same fate.

This is a beautiful story, that the Senate of the United States will make the confirmation of any officer depend upon the character of another. It is all idle talk. I will not be confirmed simply because there are such officers as Kilby Smith for whom places must be kept. He has been confirmed of course. I did not seek my appointment nor have I asked any living man to try to influence my confirmation. All who know me are aware of my devotion to my country. The only poignant grief that pierces my heart is the effect a failure of my confirmation may have upon your mind. If I go out of the service it is to strike hands with poverty and wrestle with existence. . . .

SOURCE: James H. Wilson, The Life of John A. Rawlins, p. 414-5

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, November 10, 1864

Headquarters Army Of Potomac

November 10, 1864

They have been singularly niggardly to us about election returns; but we have reliable intelligence to-night that Lincoln is re-elected, the coarse, honest, good-natured, tolerably able man! It is very well as it is; for the certainty of pushing this war to its righteous end must now swallow up all other considerations. I am still more content that there has been a powerful opposition to him, even from respectable men, an opposition strong enough to carry several states. This will caution him, or better, his party, to proceed cautiously and to make no fanatical experiments, such as we too often have seen, but to proceed firmly, and according to rule and law. Lincoln has some men of ability about him — pre-eminent, Mr. Seward, whom the ultras have thrown over, but whom I think the strong man of the cabinet. Mr. Fessenden is said to be a very superior person, and his face is certainly a bright one, very. There is another important advantage in keeping on as we are: the machine is in running order and it is always a drawback to change midst a season of public trial. And again we have done with Lincoln what the Rebels have successfully done with their generals, let him learn from his own misfortunes and mistakes; not a bad school for a sensible man. So you see, I am inclined to make the best of what I deem is the best, albeit not very good. . . .

Have you read an article from Fraser, in Littel’s, called “Concord Transcendentalists.” It is a singular production, rather entertaining some of it, and interspersed with the weakest, sweetened warm milk and water. The place where it says that Theodore Parker hid two slaves in his study, and nightly sat writing at the door of it, with several pistols and the gun that had belonged to his grandfather, would be a funny passage at any time, but, written so gravely in these war days, it is quite irresistible! If you see any number, in future, containing the tale of Tony Butler,¹ you might send it to me, though it is no great matter. I have read a number or two, the last chapter being in this very number where the Transcends flourish. Which reminds me of what a West Point professor said, according to the solemn Duane. He was hearing a recitation in philosophy, and would fain illustrate how the body might slowly change, yet the individual remain the same. “Now,” said he, “if I have a knife and lose a blade and get it replaced, it is still the same knife.” “Well,” said a stupid-looking cadet, “and suppose you lose the other blades, one after another, and get them replaced, is it the same knife?” “Certainly,” replied the Professor. “And suppose the handle should get rather ricketty and you replaced that?” “Yes, it would be the same knife.” “Well, now,” cried the stupid one, suddenly brightening up amazingly, “suppose you took the old handle, and found the old blades, and put 'em all together, what would you call that, hey?” Poor Major Duane! he can't do much but talk and tell stories, for he is quite miserably yet and is not fit for duty, though he is improving. . . .

Last night, with a mild south wind, we had a singular example of the stopping of sound. Our batteries near the plank road, some three miles off, may usually be heard with perfect distinctness; not only the guns, but the explosion of the shells; and the replies of the Rebels also. At night we can see the shells going over, by the burning fuse, that looks like a flying spark. The deception is very singular in the dark, for, though the shell may be passing at the rate of 1200 feet a second, in the distance the fuse seems to go slowly and in a stately curve. This is because 1200 feet looks very small, three miles away, and the eye gets an idea of rapidity by the space travelled over in a given time. Well, last night, they opened a somewhat brisk discharge of mortar shells from both sides; but though we could see them go through the sky and burst below, not the faintest sound reached the ear! At other times these same guns will sound quite close to us. I could cite many such contrasts.

I rode forth with good Duke Humphrey, to see the dress-parade in the 9th Corps. That and the 5th, not being in the immediate presence of the enemy, have a good chance for drill. The 9th Corps, in particular, have gone into the evolutions to an alarming extent, an exercise which, like Wistar's balsam of wild cherry, can't do harm and may do good. Around General Parke's Headquarters there is a chronic beating of drums and fifing of fifes and playing of bands. We sat some time and watched the drilling; it was quite fun to see them double-quicking here, and marching there, and turning up in unexpected positions. At last the gallant Colonel McLaughlen, after many intricate manoeuvres, charged and took a sutler's tent, and the brigade was then marched to its quarters. As we returned, there was a nig brigade, having its dress parade in fine style. They looked extremely well and marched in good style. The band was a great feature. There was a man with the bass drum (the same I believe that so amused De Chanal) who felt a ruat-coelum-fiat-big-drum sentiment in his deepest heart! No man ever felt more that the success of great things lay in the whacking of that sheepskin with vigor and precision! Te-de-bung, de-de-bung, bung, bung! could be heard, far and near.  . . . The nigs are getting quite brisk at their evolutions. If their intellects don't work, the officers occasionally refresh them by applying the flats of their swords to their skins. There was a Swede here, who had passed General Casey's board for a negro commission. He was greatly enraged by a remark of the distinguished Casey, who asked him what Gustavus Adolphus did, meaning what great improvements he introduced in the art of war. To which the furriner replied: “He was commander-in-chief of the Swedish army.” “Oh, pooh!” said Casey, “that's nothing!” Which the Swede interpreted to mean that Gustavus was small potatoes, or that the Swedish army was so. Really, most foreign officers among us are but scapegraces from abroad. The other day the Belgian Minister Sanford sent a letter asking for promotion for private Guatineau, whose pa had rendered us great service by writing in the French press. The matter being referred to his commander, the reply was: “This man deserted to the enemy from the picket line.”

_______________

¹ By Charles James Lever, and then running in Blackwood's Magazine.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 259-62

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: June 27, 1861

We have, I think, some 40,000 pretty well armed men in Virginia, sent hither from other States. Virginia has — I know not how many; but she should have at least 40,000 in the field. This will enable us to cope with the Federal army of 70,000 volunteers, and the regular forces they may hurl against us. But so far as this department is aware, Virginia has not yet two regiments in the service for three years, or the war. And here the war will be sure to rage till the end!

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 55-6

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 25, 1862

They have taken at Nashville¹ more men than we had at Manassas; there was bad handling of troops, we poor women think, or this would not be. Mr. Venable added bitterly, “Giving up our soldiers to the enemy means giving up the cause. We can not replace them.” The up-country men were Union men generally, and the low-country seceders. The former growl; they never liked those aristocratic boroughs and parishes, they had themselves a good and prosperous country, a good constitution, and were satisfied. But they had to go — to leave all and fight for the others who brought on all the trouble, and who do not show too much disposition to fight for themselves.

That is the extreme up-country view. The extreme low-country says Jeff Davis is not enough out of the Union yet. His inaugural address reads as one of his speeches did four years ago in the United States Senate.

A letter in a morning paper accused Mr. Chesnut of staying too long in Charleston. The editor was asked for the writer's name. He gave it as Little Moses, the Governor's secretary. When Little Moses was spoken to, in a great trepidation he said that Mrs. Pickens wrote it, and got him to publish it; so it was dropped, for Little Moses is such an arrant liar no one can believe him. Besides, if that sort of thing amuses Mrs. Pickens, let her amuse herself.

_______________

¹ Nashville was evacuated by the Confederates under Albert Sidney Johnston, in February, 1862.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 134

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: March 13, 1862

Our hearts are overwhelmed to-day with our private grief. Our connection, Gen. James Mcintosh, has fallen in battle. It was at Pea Ridge, Arkansas, on the 7th, while making a dashing cavalry charge. He had made one in which he was entirely successful, but seeing the enemy reforming, he exclaimed, “We must charge again. My men, who will follow me?” He then dashed off, followed by his whole brigade. The charge succeeded, but the leader fell, shot through the heart. The soldiers returned, bearing his body! My dear J. and her little Bessie are in Louisiana. I groan in heart when I think of her. Oh that I were near her, or that she could come to us! These are the things which are so unbearable in this war. That noble young man, educated at West Point, was Captain in the army, and resigned when his native Georgia seceded. He soon rose to the rank of Brigadier, but has fallen amid the flush of victory, honoured, admired and beloved by men and officers. He has been buried at Fort Smith. The Lord have mercy upon his wife and child! I am thankful that he had no mother to add to the heart-broken mothers of this land. The gallant Texas Ranger, General Ben McCulloch, fell on the same day; he will be sadly missed by the country. In my selfishness I had almost forgotten him, though he doubtless has many to weep in heart-sickness for their loved and lost.

Bishop Meade is desperately ill to-day — his life despaired of.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 100-1

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: July 22, 1862

Yesterday, while we sat at dinner, who should step into the dining room but Frank Preston! Poor fellow! it was a piteous thing to see him with but one arm; but what a relief to see him again, and have him safe, when we were mourning him as perhaps ill and carried to Fort Delaware! He looks right well, though he had to endure the pain of a second amputation, which was done by the Federal surgeons, from whom he says he received skilful treatment and true kindness. They would not parole him, so a lady who lives outside the pickets, about eight or ten miles from Winchester, came in and took him to her house in her carriage, no one challenging them: there he remained two days; when two other sick prisoners, whom she had sent her carriage for in the same way, were seized and taken back. As soon as this was known to her, she sent Frank on in her own carriage, immediately, twenty miles (after night), lest he too should be sent for: and so he escaped. He was confined to bed several weeks with his wound. Two or three hours before Frank came, Willy P. started to join his company, the Liberty Hall Volunteers; so the brothers just missed each other.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 145-6

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, May 12, 1864

It is very foggy this morning and our camp is low and unhealthy. We had inspection this morning and then company drill for an hour. John White and I then took a walk, and going outside of the pickets, we climbed some very high bluffs and found some of the nicest springs that I have ever seen. The country is very rough and heavily timbered with chestnut and scrub oak. There are a few little clearings with log huts. Our teams went back to Clifton this morning for rations.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 187

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Anna Jackson Lowell, June 5, 1863

Camp Brightwood, June 5, 1863.

I do not see what you and Mr. Child find to be so hopeful about, — I see no evidence of yielding on their part, and no evidence of greater vigour on ours; we are again on the defensive as we were last August, — are again idle for want of troops, — and Lee will again be in Maryland without a doubt. I do not think this at all a hopeless state of things, but I see no prospect of any immediate end, which, I suppose, is what you are looking for.¹ The people are of a more resolute temper than at this time last year, but, on the other hand, party lines are drawing more distinctly, and I should not be surprised to see exhibitions of disloyalty in some of our Northern cities; these will be put down, and in the end the Government will be the stronger for them, but meanwhile may not military operation be embarrassed and perhaps postponed? Do you remember, Mother, how soon another Presidential canvass is coming round? I seriously fear that that, too, will be allowed to delay very vigorous operations, — and all this time the South is growing stronger. However, we may get Vicksburg, and may cripple Lee, if he comes into Maryland. I think we are altogether too apt to forget the general aspect of affairs and regard single events as of entire importance: this makes any predictions useless, — it would operate for us in case of success as it has hitherto operated against us: but so far from feeling hopeful, I am sometimes inclined to believe that we are going to see a change: that whereas we have had few victories, but have been on the whole successful, we are now going to gain victories and find them comparatively useless.

_______________

¹ Professor Francis J. Child, the accomplished and genial scholar, Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory, later of English, at Harvard College, and remembered by his admirable editing of English and Scottish Ballads, was an ardent and useful patriot. His spirited collection, War Songs for Freemen, set to stirring tunes, were sung in the college yard by youths, many of whom soon left their studies for the front.

This letter shows surprising foresight in Lowell. Lee's invasion began immediately afterward, was checked at Gettysburg, and Vicksburg fell before Grant; but within a week draft riots in Boston and New York, dangerous and bloody, broke out and were sternly suppressed. In spite of the defeats, the Rebel power was not broken. The Presidential election was a great victory, and England did not dare to aid the Confederates; yet the war dragged slowly until Grant's advance on Richmond began, in May. In spite of his siege of Richmond, Washington was again endangered in July, 1864, and Maryland and Pennsylvania threatened by Early even later.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 253-5