Congressman Horace Mann to Reverend Cyrus Pierce, February 13, 1852

WASHINGTON, D.C., Feb. 13, 1852.

C. PIERCE, Esq.

MY DEAR SIR,—We heard from you authentically through our common friends, from whom we had a very pleasant visit; but directly we have not heard from you at all. We should be pleased to be remembered in your thoughts, and now and then to have an hour of your time; but the claims of old friendship perhaps belong to that class of imperfect obligations which cannot be enforced against the will of the party. Let me assure you, however, that you have no truer friends, no warmer admirers, than Mrs. M—— and R——, to say nothing of the gentleman who first knew you when your fame was insular, and who adhered to you through all seasons and at all times, until it became continental, ay, co-extensive with civilization.

To say that the political aspect of things here is not the worst possible, is about all the praise you can give it. A politician does not sneeze without reference to the next Presidency. All things are carried to that tribunal for decision. The greatest interests and the worst passions are assayed for this end, and their value determined accordingly. The next canvass will doubtless be the most corrupt and corrupting one ever witnessed in this country. It is the general opinion here that there is but one Whig who can by any possibility be elected,—Gen. Scott. The Democrats will triumph over every one else, whoever their candidate may be,—perhaps over him, should he be nominated. I believe Gen. Scott to be a very honorable, high-minded man,—a man of rare talents and attainments. On the other hand, I believe the man whom the people universally call "Old Sam Houston," alias "Old San Jacinto," to be a man of incomparably more character, honesty, and resolution than any other of the Democratic candidates.

Unwell as I am here,—for we made a very respectable hospital here for the last twelve weeks,—I am going to try a little rustication at the North.

I hope to attend the great Temperance Banquet at New York on Wednesday evening next. I am also engaged to deliver a temperance lecture in the same city on Tuesday evening. Indeed, I am to speak four successive evenings, from Tuesday to Friday inclusive; hoping by that means to improve my digestion. After that, I have some idea of going up to see brother May at Syracuse, and congratulate him for the hundredth time that he was not hung in Massachusetts with that dreadful malefactor who included three capital crimes in one act. I think I have told you that story, and have seen you laugh at the predicament in which your brother May might have been placed. It is sometimes very strange how serious people will laugh at serious things. I wish you could meet me at New York or Syracuse, or elsewhere on the way, and let me look again upon that good old horologue whose machinery keeps such excellent time, however much the case may have been battered.

You must see Kossuth, at any expense of ribs or toes; for he will warm your heart. Many of his admirers think him perfect. His enemies will probably succeed in finding foibles enough in his character to prove him human.

Your sincere friend,

HORACE MANN.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, pp. 357-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 7, 1863

It was with a bounding heart, brimful of gratitude to God, that I stepped on board the Dakota and bade farewell to Haines Bluff on the second day of August. We have three hundred sick and wounded on this boat and are short of help. Quite a number who started as nurses are sick. Four men died the first night. We ran the boat ashore, dug a grave large enough for all, and laid them in it, side by side. Our Chaplain read the burial service, and we hastened on board to repeat the ceremony, the next morning, for some one else. It seems hard—even cruel—but it is the most solemn burial service I ever witnessed. Nine have died since we started, and one threw himself overboard in the frenzy of delirium and was drowned. We kill a beef every evening. Two nights in succession the best part of a hindquarter has been stolen. The boat hands were questioned, and a huge Irishman acknowledged the theft. He was court martialed and sentenced to be "banked." The boat was stopped opposite a wilderness. No human habitation was in sight. He was forced to pack his bundle, take to the woods and run his chance with hunger and the Rebels.

As we were running leisurely along, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon of yesterday, my curiosity was aroused by our boat running suddenly against the shore and sticking there. All hands were called, and, with the aid of soldiers, she was soon shoved off, and on we went again. A Sergeant asked the Mate why we landed there. His reply was, "Something wrong in the wheel house." One of our boys asked a darkey the same question. "Well, boss, I 'specs dey see a rabbit ober dere, an' t'ink dey kotch 'im." Soon after, as two comrades and myself were sitting in the bow enjoying the cool breeze, my attention was attracted by the glassy stillness of the water in front of us. Pointing to the right, I said, "Yonder is the safe place to sail." The words had scarcely left my mouth when we felt a sudden shock, the bow of the boat was lifted about two feet, a full head of steam was turned on, which carried us over the obstruction. We had "struck a snag." Soon after, we anchored for the night, as the pilot was "too sick" to run the boat.

The sick from our regiment are doing well. I never saw wounded men do so nicely. Of five who came as nurses, four are on the sick list. As for myself, I have not been so well in years.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 74-5

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 11, 1863

Louisville, Ky. Again in Louisville—eleven hundred miles nearer home than one week ago and yet how far. Still, it is joy to feel I am comparatively near. We reached Cairo on the evening of the seventh, took on fresh supplies, and left next day at noon for Cincinnati, which place we expect to reach some time tomorrow. We are now—3 p. m. taking on coal, and will start in a few minutes.

The Ohio is very low-in places not more than three feet deep. We have brought up against sand bars and been forced to back off perhaps fifty times since leaving Cairo. From this place to Cincinnati, I am told, there are no obstructions. The most difficult part of our way was from New Albany to Louisville. We were six hours in making three miles last night. It was nothing but "Back 'er and try again" for about a mile, and then we had a canal with three locks to pass through.

We have had no deaths since the seventh, and our sick and wounded boys are doing nicely. These fresh northern breezes are more exhilerating than wine, and the hope that they may be sent to their homes to recruit their health is more healing than medicine.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 75-6

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 12, 1863

Cincinnati, Ohio. We arrived here at 9:30 this morning. My day's work is, at last, completed, at 9 p. m. This has been a busy day. In fact, I have not been idle or had much rest, by day or night, since July fourth, and yet I am fresh and vigorous as in days of old. The sick and wounded all removed the worst cases to the General Hospital in this city, the convalescents to Camp Denison, eighteen miles out, while a few return to their regiments.

The Seventeenth passed through here today, and is now in camp near Covington, on the opposite bank of the river.

I expect to join them in the morning, and look for a handful of letters.

People call the weather here very hot, but it is not Mississippi heat, and I enjoy it. The mornings and evenings are delightfully cool, while there it is constant, relentless heat both day and night. Here a coat is comfortable in the morning—there one needs no cover day or night.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 76-7

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 16, 1863

Camp near Hickman's Bridge, Ky. I did not join the regiment as soon as I expected, owing to the negligence of the Medical Director, whose duty it was to furnish me transportation. As I had no money, I was forced to await his pleasure. The regiment took cars for this place the day they crossed over, so I was left in Cincinnati until Friday evening to live as best I might. I crossed the river on Friday, and next morning took cars for Nicholasville, fourteen miles beyond Lexington, and one hundred fifteen miles from Cincinnati. I was just in time to get two months' pay. I should have drawn for two months more, but there was a mistake in the pay rolls, which cannot be corrected until next muster. The Paymaster says he is going to pay us again next month, and the next time muster us out of the service.

We have a very pleasant camp, in a shady grove, and an abundance of pure, sparkling water, which I appreciate now as I never did before.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 77

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 20, 1863

Camp Parks, Ky. I received a letter from a friend in Michigan last evening, saying: "If you were in Michigan, or could see the situation from the standpoint of the North, you would be less hopeful of the speedy termination of the war." If by "speedy" is meant a single campaign, as was promised us one year ago, I do not now believe in it, but nothing but the most signal failure can change my faith in the ultimate success of our cause.

We have steadily gained ground from the first. The series of reverses that attended our arms the first year of the war has forced our government to accept the inevitable, seemingly against its will. I do not forget the violent opposition to the Emancipation and Confiscation Acts, passed by Congress in December, 1861, by Northern men of undoubted loyalty, nor the President's timid recommendations in his inaugural address to that Congress. I remember well that reverses and disasters attended all our efforts until the government was compelled, as by an overruling Providence, to free the slaves of rebels, which includes them all; and that from the moment these measures became the fixed policy of the government, reverses ceased. It is not the issue of a battle or campaign that gives me hope, but the successes that have attended our arms all through the month of July were attended by such peculiar circumstances as to force upon me the conviction, "There IS a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will."

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 80-1

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 22, 1863

I had comforted myself with the reflection that when we returned to Kentucky, where communications were uninterrupted by guerillas, and were only separated by twenty-four hours of time, I might be permitted to correspond with my family without such harrowing delays, for I would not have my darling in doubt as to my situation or whereabouts for one single day, knowing, as I do, the uncertainty of suspense is worse than the reality. But 'tis said, "The darkest hour is just before the dawn," and, even as I write, my mind filled with dark thoughts, a ray of light from my Northern home flashes across my vision. The whole current of my thought is changed, and thankfulness takes the place of my repining. Thankfulness that it is as well with my beloved ones as it is. Oh, that I could remove every burden, and make their pathway smooth and flowery. I find most of our trials are imaginary, but none the less real for being SO. For instance, my beloved wife's imagination pictures me on my weary way back to old Virginia's blood-stained fields, subject to every hardship, exposed to every danger, and her suffering could be no greater if it were so. On the contrary, I am still in Kentucky, in a pleasant, shady grove, enjoying a season of welcome quiet and repose, soft bread to eat, plenty of pure, cold water to drink. What more could mortals crave. The newspapers were right, as far as they went, about our being ordered to the Potomac. We did receive such orders, but General Burnside telegraphed the War Department the Ninth Corps had marched, during the year, an average of twenty miles a day; that it had just returned from an exhausting campaign in Mississippi; that the men were worn down by fatigue and sickness, and were unfit for active service, and asked that they be allowed to remain here for a season. His request was granted. One year has passed since I left my pleasant home to serve my country a year big with the fate of millions yet unborn—a year the most eventful in our history; perhaps in the world's history.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 81-2

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 24, 1863

We have nearly the same regulations here as at Newport News, everything being regulated by bugle call. Of course, we drill; it would be hard to imagine a military camp without drill; but it would make a horse laugh to see us do it. We fall in line, march to the parade ground and halt under the shade of a big tree. A Sergeant puts us through the manual of arms about five minutes; then stack arms and rest. The remainder of the time is spent in lounging on the grass until the bugle sounds recall.

We are under marching orders again; that is, we are ordered to be ready, an order altogether superfluous, for we are always ready. The general impression among the officers is, this division is to be broken up and scattered over the State, a regiment in a place. Our old brigade commander, General Poe, is here. He is now Chief Engineer in the regular service. He is working, I am told, to get our brigade attached to the engineer corps. I hope he will not succeed, as I do not fancy that branch of the service. If he does succeed, I think I will resign. There has been much talk of mounting this brigade and sending us to fight guerillas. That would suit me to a fraction. Give me a "bounding steed" and a "God speed you" from my "lady love," and never did "armed knight" grasp spear and shield with greater enthusiasm and devotion than I would experience as I hastened to the field of bloody strife. But I do not believe Burnside will send us from the State at present. He has already sent away most of the troops in this vicinity, and is sending the rest fast as he can mount them, and probably we will take their places.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 82-3

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 25, 1863

We are still in camp, where each day is like the preceding one. The same routine of "duty" is gone through with, which, to me, is exceedingly tiresome. Give me the variations; something new and startling every day. For this reason I prefer active service. Those who love fun, and have a natural penchant for mischief, have abundant opportunity to indulge. I have never heard Billy Dunham complain of ennui. So long as guards are to be "run," melons to be "cooned," peach orchards to be "raided" or a peddler to be harried, tormented and robbed, Billy is in his native element. Peddling to soldiers is not the most agreeable business in the world, especially if said soldiers happen to be, as is often the case, on mischief bent. I have seen a crowd of soldiers gather around an unsuspecting victim, a few shrewd, witty fellows attract his attention, while others pass out to their accomplices melons, peaches, tomatoes and vegetables, and when the poor fellow discovers the "game" and gathers up his "ropes" to drive away, the harness fall to the ground in a dozen pieces, the unguided mule walks off amazed, the cart performs a somersault and the poor peddler picks himself up and gazes on the wreck in silent grief. At sight of his helpless misery the wretches seemingly relent; with indignant tones they swear vengeance on the "man who did it;" help him to gather up his "wares" while he secures his mule. This is soon done, for his "stock" has grown small and "beautifully less." He smothers his rage from prudential motives, throws the "toggle" on his mule and prepares to depart. Alas, the millennium has not yet come. His cart wheels, refusing to perform their accustomed revolutions, start off in opposite directions, while the air is rent by the screams and derisive yells of his tormenters. When once begun, the amusement continues until the stock is exhausted. Speaking of Billy, he has become reconciled to his fate, and takes to soldiering like a duck to water.

Lieutenant Chris. Rath has received a Captain's commission, and has been assigned to Company I. He has well earned his commission by his bravery and efficiency.

There was a sudden change of weather last night. The day had been hot and sultry. Toward night we had a light shower, preceded by a hurricane which cleared the atmosphere of heat most effectually. It is now uncomfortable sitting in my tent with my coat on. Uncle Sam seems inclined to make up to us, in some measure, for past neglect. We have soft bread and other rations more than we can use. Today we were surprised by an issue of tea and sugar, more than we can use. We sell our surplus at twenty-five cents a pound. The Brigade Surgeon has put a stop to drilling except as punishment. No signs of a move are in sight. My health is good. It is years since I was in possession of such buoyant, vigorous health.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 83-4

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 27, 1863

Nicholasville, Ky. We are again enjoying the quiet of camp life. Our miniature tents are pitched in regular order, streets are policed and brigade guards posted to keep our unruly boys within bounds.

Colonel Luce, five line officers and twenty privates have gone home on furlough—others to Cincinnati on leave of absence. Everything indicates a period of rest. Our boys are trying to make up for their privations "down below." Nearly every tent presents the appearance of a market for the sale of fruit or vegetables.

Potatoes, peaches, apples, cabbages, onions, watermelons and green corn are piled in heaps or lie around loose throughout the camp. Then we have artists, too. Two Daguerian cars are running full blast, where the boys get indifferent pictures at one dollar each. I saw a great curiosity today—a relic of bygone ages. About a mile from camp there is a shop where the old-fashioned spinning wheel is manufactured on quite an extensive scale, and they find a ready sale. This is a fair index to the progress of the people. Their manners, forms of speech and customs all point to past ages. They are very loyal and very friendly when sober, but when filled with corn whiskey, hypocrisy and self-interest take a back seat, and they speak their real sentiments with a frankness and fluency that is not at all flattering to us "Yanks." From what I have seen, I conclude all Kentuckians drink whiskey. There are distilleries in every little town, where the "genuine article" is turned out. I called at a farm house one day for a drink of water. The good woman was catechising her son—a lad of ten or twelve years about ten cents she had given him with which to buy some little notion at the store. She gave me a drink of water, then, turning to the young hopeful, angrily inquired, "But where's that ten cents I gave you?" "I guv five cents to Bill." "Where's the other five?" "Bought my dram with it." The explanation appeared satisfactory.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 78-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 28, 1863

Camp Dick Robinson, Ky. Again we are on the move en route to Crab Orchard, thirty miles from our late camp, where a military post is to be established. I understand there is to be a line of posts from Lexington to Cumberland Gap. Report says these posts are to be held by the Ninth Corps. I hope not. I much prefer active service, with its toil and exposure, to a life of comparative ease in camp. While there is work to be done, and God gives me strength, I want to be doing. When I can be of no more service, then I would go home.

But I see no preparations for field service. We have no artillery or ambulances, which is proof conclusive. I was disappointed in Camp Dick Robinson. I had read so much of it, I expected to find a military station, or fortifications of some kind. Instead, I find a beautiful grove of oak and black walnut trees. It is noted as being the first camping ground occupied by loyal troops in Kentucky. General Nelson, its founder, who was shot last fall by General Davis, is buried here.

I have borne the march well today. My feet were somewhat tired, and what wonder? Two hundred twenty pounds the weight of myself and load is quite a load to carry ten miles over a macadamized road in half a day.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 85-6

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 30, 1863

Crab Orchard, Ky. We arrived at 10 a. m., making ten miles from Lancaster this morning. Crab Orchard is a lovely town of about one thousand inhabitants. We are encamped about one mile south of the village, in a lovely spot, shut in on all sides by high hills and forests. To the south, far in the distance, the Cumberland Mountains raise their blue peaks as landmarks to guide us on our course when next we move.

From what I see and hear of the surrounding country, the boys will have to depend on their rations for food.

Soldiers are strange beings. No sooner were our knapsacks unslung than every man of us went to work as though his very life depended on present exertions. We staked out streets, gathered stakes and poles with which to erect our tents, and now, at 3 p. m., behold! a city has arisen, like a mushroom, from the ground. Everything is done as though it were to be permanent, when no man knows how long we may remain or how soon we may move on.

Part of our route from Camp Parks lay through a country made historic by the chivalric deeds of Daniel Boone. We passed his old log fort, and the high bluff from which he hurled an Indian and dashed him in pieces on the rocks below. At the foot of the bluff is the cave in which he secreted himself when hard pressed by savages. His name is chiseled in the rock above the entrance. The place is now being strongly fortified.

We had a lively skirmish in Company G this morning. About a week ago the Brigade Surgeon ordered quinine and whiskey to be issued to every man in the brigade, twice daily. During our march the quinine had been omitted, but whiskey was dealt out freely.

Solon Crandall—the boy who picked the peaches while under fire at South Mountain—is naturally pugnacious, and whiskey makes him more so. This morning, while under the influence of his "ration," he undertook the difficult task of "running" Company G.

Captain Tyler, hearing the "racket," emerged from his tent and inquired the cause. At this Solon, being a firm believer in "non-intervention," waxed wroth. In reply he told the Captain, "It's none of your business. Understand, I am running this company, and if you don't go back to your tent and mind your own business, I'll have you arrested and sent to the bull pen. At this the Captain "closed" with his rival in a rough-and-tumble fight, in which the Captain, supported by a Sergeant, gained the day.

I have the most comfortable quarters now I have ever had. Our tent is composed of five pieces of canvas, each piece the size of our small tents—two for the top, or roof, the eaves three feet from the ground. The sides and ends are made to open one at a time or all at once, according to the weather. Three of us tent together, and we have plenty of room. We have bunks made of boards, raised two feet from the ground. This, with plenty of straw, makes a voluptuous bed. I received a letter from home last evening, dated August 13th. Oh, these vexatious postal delays; they are the bane of my life. I wonder if postmasters are human beings, with live hearts inside their jackets, beating in sympathetic unison with other hearts. I wonder did they ever watch and wait, day after day, until hope was well-nigh dead, conscious that love had sped its message and was anxiously awaiting a return. A letter from home! What thrilling emotions of pleasure; what unfathomable depths of joy it brings the recipient. It is not altogether the words, be they many or few, but the remembrances they call forth; the recognition of the well-known handwriting; old associations and past scenes are brought forth from the storehouse of the memory and held up to view. The joy of meeting—the agony of parting—all are lived over again.

We are having brigade inspection today, which is suggestive of a move, but our artillery has not turned up yet, and we will not take the field without it.

The health of our men has improved wonderfully since we reached Kentucky. A more rugged, hearty set of men I never saw than the few who are left. But, as I look around upon the noble fellows, now drawn up in line for inspection, a feeling of sadness steals over me. One short year ago nine hundred ninety-eight as brave, true men as ever shouldered gun marched forth to battle in their country's cause. Of all that noble band, only two hundred in line today. Where are the absent ones? Some, it is true, are home on furlough, but not all. They have left a bloody track from South Mountain's gory height through Antietam, Fredericksburg and Vicksburg to Jackson, Mississippi.

Oh, how I miss familiar faces!

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 86-89

Senator Charles Sumner to Henry Wilson, April 29, 1852

I notice the attack on me in the 'Liberator.' If need be, I shall show backbone in resisting the pressure even of friends. Had I uttered a word for Drayton and Sayres in the Senate, I should have dealt a blow at them which they well understood. At present nothing can be done for them in the Senate. I have presented their case to the President, and am sanguine in believing that they will be pardoned. But of this not a word at present.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 278

Samuel Gridley Howe to Senator Charles Sumner, 1852

God bless you for your truly noble and courageous course! Follow it up to the end, however, without caring for blessing or cursing. Such things do my very heart good, and make me love you, if possible, more than ever.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 278

Wendell Phillips to Senator Charles Sumner, 1852

I congratulate you most sincerely on the happy issue or your efforts for Drayton and Sayres. You have earned your honors.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 278

Senator Charles Sumner to John Bigelow, February 3, 1852

I am won very much by Houston's conversation.¹ With him the antislavery interest would stand better than with any man who seems now among possibilities. He is really against slavery, and has no prejudice against Free Soilers. In other respects he is candid, liberal, and honorable. I have been astonished to find myself so much of his inclining.

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¹ General Samuel Houston, senator from Texas, was mentioned at the time among the Democratic candidates for the Presidency.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 278

Senator Charles Sumner to Theodore Parker, February 6, 1852

I have yours of 25th of January proposing to me to write an article on Judge Story in the Westminster Review. As a filial service I should be glad to do this; but how can I? I rarely go to bed before one or two o'clock, and then I leave work undone which ought to be done.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 278

Senator Charles Sumner to John Bigelow, February 8, 1852

Pardon me if I say frankly you have done injustice to Story.¹ I admire him as a jurist, but with a discrimination between his titles to regard for his judgments and his books. The former I have always thought unique in variety, learning, point, usefulness, and amount. I love his memory, but I cannot sympathize with much of his politics. Even you will find much to praise in the accumulated expression of his Northern sentiments against doughfaces and the aggressions of the slave-power. I have known many judges and jurists, but I have never known one so completely imbued with jurisprudence as Story.

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¹ Mr. Bigelow had in a review of Judge Story's "Life and Letters," in the New York "Evening Post," Jan. 29 and Feb. 4, 1852, disparaged the judge's character as a jurist and author.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, pp. 278-9

Senator Charles Sumner to John Bigelow, March 2, 1852

Congress and all the world have a vacation to-day to quaff fresh air, sunshine, and champagne on board the 'Baltic.'¹ I voted for the adjournment, but did not care to put myself in the great man-trap set especially for members of Congress. I see nothing certain in the Presidential horizon. In all my meditations I revert with new regret to the attempted reconciliation in '49 in your State. Without that we should now control the free States.

I read carefully and enjoyed much Mr. Bryant's address.² It was a truthful, simple, and delicate composition, and, much as I value sculpture and Greenough, I cannot but add will be a more durable monument to Cooper than any other. Webster's historical article was crude and trite enough.

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¹ Of the Collins line of steamships, whose owners were then seeking a subsidy.

²  On J. Fenimore Cooper, Feb. 25, 1852, at a meeting of which Mr. Webster was chairman, called to raise funds for a monument to the novelist. Sumner's reply to the invitation to attend the meeting is printed in his Works, vol. iii. p. 43.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 279

Senator Charles Sumner to John Bigelow, March 26, 1853

The post of assistant secretary of state was offered to my brother; but I write, not for any public correction of your paper, but merely for your private information. More than ten days ago Mr. Marcy communicated to me personally his desire to have my brother in the place, his sense of his fitness beyond that of any other person in the country, and also the extent to which he was plagued by applications from persons who would make the office only a clerkship. My brother was absent from Washington at the time. At the request of Mr. Marcy I sent for him; and on his arrival, at Mr. Marcy's request, he reported himself at the state department, was most cordially welcomed, was assured that not only the secretary but the President desired him to be assistant secretary, that his knowledge of European affairs was needed, that it was the intention to raise the salary of the office and to make it a desirable position. At three different stages of a protracted interview the matter was thus pressed upon my brother. But in the course of the interview Mr. Marcy expressed a desire for some confession on the subject of slavery by which my brother should be distinguished from me, some acceptance of the Baltimore platform, - all of which he peremptorily declined to do, in a manner that made Mr. Marcy say to me afterwards that he had behaved in an honorable manner.' After my brother had fully declared his determination, and his abnegation of all desire for office, of which I do not speak in detail, the Secretary still expressed a desire for his services. Subsequently my brother addressed him a brief note absolutely declining, and in another note recommended the appointment of Dudley Mann. This affair has got into the newspapers, but by no suggestion of mine or of my brother.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, pp. 279-80

Diary of Private William S. White, June 1, 1862

We cannot as yet procure the full particulars regarding the battle of "Seven Pines" fought yesterday and to-day. As well as I can learn the plan was this: the Yankees had crossed a large force on the south-side of the Chickahominy, and on the night of the 30th of May, we had a most terrific storm. Our Commander, General Jos. E. Johnston, concluding that the bridges were all washed away, and the river past fording, concluded to attack the Yankees on the south-side and crush them out before they could be reinforced. On account of the tardiness of General Huger the plan was not fully successful, though we surprised the enemy, capturing a large number of prisoners with several pieces of artillery. Our camp was on the main road leading to Seven Pines, but 'twas difficult to handle artillery and we received no orders to move. What a heart-rending scene it is to witness the wounded brought in from a terrible battle field. The people of Richmond turned out en masse to render aid to our wounded soldiers. Many a wounded soldier-boy from the sunny South will never cease to remember the fair form of the "city belle" as she soothed his aching brow or bound up his wounded limb. Too often do we hear our Southern allies cursing the people of Richmond as a set of speculators thriving on our misfortunes, but now many of them have been convinced that "in the hour of pain and anguish," Richmond can and will do all within her power to aid those who are seeking to uphold our cause.

'Tis undoubtedly true that Richmond has changed greatly since the war began, for it has, I am sorry to say, become the headquarters of all of the "fancy men" of the South—gentlemen of the Hebrew persuasion have made it their rendezvous to sell blockade goods, and countless numbers of Yankee spies, though outwardly swearing allegiance to our government, hold strong foothold in our city. Gambling hells, furnished with tinseled splendor are at every corner, to catch the unwary, and relieve them of their superabundant "Confederates."

Still there is enough of the old metal left, purified and refined, to make Richmond to me the sweetest, dearest spot on earth. General Johnston being wounded, General Robert E. Lee now commands our army.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, pp. 116-7

Diary of Private William S. White, June 15, 1862

Day after day have we been anxiously awaiting an engagement; our leaders seem to be afraid of risking a battle, and our men are worn down with continued anxiety. Hundreds and thousands of our men are sick from want of proper food, and there seems to be but little chance for improvement. Was taken quite sick myself to-day, and with my Captain's permission, I went into the city to remain until I got well. Went to Mr. William S. Donnan's, where, for several days, I was quite ill. Had I remained in camp, I doubt very much if I ever would have recovered, but being well nursed, I soon managed to improve.

To Mr. D. and his family, I will always feel deeply grateful for their many and kind attentions.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 117

Diary of Private William S. White, June 24, 1862

Having some information that a great battle was imminent, I concluded to return to camp to-day, though I was far from being well.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 117

Diary of Private William S. White, June 27, 1862

BATTLE OF ELLERSON'S MILL, JUNE 27TH, 1862.

For several days we have been on the qui vive for a fight, and at last it has come. Day before yesterday my company was transferred from Huger's division, to which it was temporarily attached, to the First Regiment Virginia Artillery, commanded by Colonel John Thompson Brown, and we now belong to Longstreet's division. We had just gotten our tents pitched, picket rope stretched, etc., when we were ordered to report to Brigadier-General Featherstone, commanding a splendid brigade of Mississippians. We reached this brigade on the evening of the 25th, pitched our tents and camped for the night. At 10 o'clock we were ordered to rise at 2 A. M., prepare three days' rations, allowing each man one blanket, and report to General Longstreet near the toll-house on the Mechanicsville Turnpike. According to instructions we arose next morning at 2 o'clock, but as we had no rations had to start without them. We remained on the turnpike all day awaiting orders to move. A. P. Hill's division, having crossed the Chickahominy near the Virginia Central Railroad, flanked the enemy and charged upon them at Mechanicsville, driving them across Beaver Dam Creek to Ellerson's Mill. Our division (Longstreet's), with D. H. Hill's, then moved directly up the Mechanicsville Turnpike and formed a junction with A. P. Hill at the village of Mechanicsville, five and a half miles from Richmond. The fighting for the night was over, but sleep was impossible, for well we knew the coming morrow would be a day fraught with heavy interests to the South. Jackson, we also knew, was on his way to join us, and was moving around to strike the enemy's right flank, taking it en reverse. About 12 o'clock at night my brigade (Featherstone's) was ordered to the front to relieve General Ripley's, and my company ordered to remain in the road at the blacksmith's shop, awaiting "further orders."

The dawn of the 27th of June was announced by a shell from a Yankee battery, and pretty soon they made the turnpike a very hot place.

Featherstone and Willcox, supported by R. A. Pryor, were already engaged. Our battery was then ordered to take position where we could shell the enemy. To accomplish this we had to move about a mile across an open field and in point blank range of the Yankee batteries. Gallantly did our boys dash across the field and in the very face of the enemy; loudly screamed the shot and shell; but on we pushed until we reached our position directly in front of the Catlin House. Our guns were speedily "unlimbered," and soon the clear, ringing report of the little howitzers bespoke the earnestness of the affair we were engaged in.

Our Parrot gun and howitzer No. 2 were stationed to the rear of the Catlin House, whilst the third and fourth (my gun) were directly in front.

The enemy's artillery soon ceased, for it was very evident that having been struck such a heavy blow on this, their extreme right flank, by Hill on the preceding day, that McClellan was drawing in his lines, and we were now fighting only a heavy rear guard commanded by Fitz John Porter.

Nevertheless their sharp-shooters were swarming like bees on the opposite hills, across the Beaver Dam, and they made it uncomfortably warm where we were strange to say none of my company were hurt.

Pryor's, Wilcox's and Featherstone's brigades were fighting heavily on our right and their loss was quite severe, the enemy being strongly posted.

Our artillery was composed of the "Maryland Artillery," "Donaldsonville (Louisiana) Artillery, "Thomas Artillery" and the "Third Company Richmond Howitzers." Our guns were worked with coolness and precision. The Yankee skirmishers, being posted in rifle-pits, and many of them securely stationed up tall pine trees, had many advantages over our men, we fighting in the open field all the time. For several hours did we pour a galling fire into the enemy and they replied with great spirit. About 8 A. M. our batteries were ordered to "cease firing," and "Gregg's brigade," A. P. Hill's division, charged the works in our front, meeting with but little opposition, as the enemy rapidly retired before them. The remainder of A. P. Hill's division was moving against the enemy's right flank, hoping to get in the rear of Fitz. John Porter and capture his entire force, but he, seeing Hill's intention, rapidly decamped.

An incident, proving the money loving nature of the genuine Yankee, occurred at this place, and I cannot refrain from relating it. One of our boys, in conversation with one of the wounded prisoners who had both eyes shot entirely out, remarked to him that "his wound must be very painful?"

The Yankee replied: "I don't mind the pain so much, sir, but I wouldn't have both of my eyes shot out for twenty-five dollars!" Umph! What a people-eyes twelve and a half dollars each.

This Catlin House was built by my grandfather, and sadly sweet is the recollection to me that for three hours, to-day, I fought within a few short yards of my father's grave. Yes! here where we fought to-day is the very spot where he was born, more than a half century ago, and hard by is the grave where he now lies buried. Oh! who can wonder that my arm was strengthened, and my heart nerved for the conflict. The balls flew thick and fast around me, but I heeded them not, and thought only of the sacred dead, whose grave had been desecrated and his slumbers disturbed by the foeman's shout and the wild, loud, crash of battle!

BATTLE OF GAINES'S MILL, FRIDAY, JUNE 27TH, 1862.

The Federals were driven back through Austin's, Sydnor's, Hogan's and Gaines's farms, slightly skirmishing as they rapidly retreated before our successful forces. They made a final stand about a mile from Dr. Gaines's residence. Pryor's brigade was in the advance, and was acting as skirmishers—the Donaldsonville Artillery was attached to this brigade. The remainder of Longstreet's division was stationed in a thick wood near Dr. Gaines's house, and was evidently waiting for the music of Jackson's guns. We knew Jackson was close at hand, for this morning, on following up the enemy from Ellerson's Mill, we took the wrong road at Meadow Farm (William Sydnor's,) and crossed over into Oakley Hill (Edward Sydnor's) where we ran into Jackson's men, and skirmished with them some time before we found them out. The enemy soon found out our position in this wood and commenced shelling us at a terrific rate. Their guns were well aimed for their shots skim'd above and around us in no very pleasant manner. Being somewhat worried by the delay and wanting to see what was going on, I rode out to the front where Pryor's men were skirmishing; seeing a deserted camp about a half mile off, I rode over to it, hoping to get something for my horse to eat, and just as I was securing a very plump looking bag of oats, a body of our cavalry dashed in at the other end of the camp, and the first thing I knew, one of them was about to shoot me for a Yankee—remembering I had on a Yankee jacket, I cried out lustily, that I was a Confederate soldier, whereupon they rode swiftly on, leaving me to carry off my booty.

Shortly after 3 P. M. the welcome sound of Jackson's guns is heard on our left, and our entire line advances in splendid style, our infantry moving across an open field, subjected to a terrific fire poured into them by the enemy, who were strongly entrenched in earthworks commandingly situated. My company took position on the east side of Dr. Gaines's house and immediately opened fire upon the enemy. Three of our guns, it will be remembered, were twelve-pound Dahlgren navy howitzers, fitted only for very close work, and I presume the chief good we did was to make a noise and draw the fire of the enemy. Our rifled Parrot gun, however, did good service, and was effectually manned during the remainder of the day.

The enemy opened a heavy fire upon us both from the north and south sides of the Chickahominy. We were also under a galling fire from their infantry directly in our front.

Longstreet's division, on our left, charged across the open field in gallant style and up the hill they went as if they meant to stay. Three times were they driven back, but they rapidly reformed and finally drove the Yankees from their almost impregnable position, slaying them by thousands. The shot and shell from the Yankee batteries would strike in our battery and ricochet farther than our guns would carry. Our little howitzers now being unable to reach the enemy, Colonel John Thompson Brown, Longstreet's chief of artillery, ordered us into a ravine, where we were in a great measure protected. During the engagement our battery was subjected to an enfilading fire from the south side of the Chickahominy, and how we escaped without loss is a mystery to me. Finally darkness brought an end to the bloody scene; the enemy had been completely whipped out of their works. We captured a great number of prisoners, including the Eleventh Pennsylvania Reserve entire; also, some twenty-five or thirty pieces of artillery. We passed through many Yankee camps, and our men obtained a number of articles they were sadly in need of. The enemy, however, destroyed vast quantities of commissary stores and all their camp equipage. The people of Hanover were perfectly overjoyed to see us once more, and as many an old acquaintance and kinsman grasped me warmly by the hand I could but silently offer up my thanks to the Omnipotent for our success. The Yankees have been more lenient to this portion of Virginia than has been their custom, but the parlor walls of some of our Hanover houses bear ample testimony to their obscenity and meanness. Their letters, which we find scattered all over the fields, are also filled with obscene thoughts and vituperations of us of the South. One thing especially I notice in the letters the Yankee soldiers receive from their homes, in nine cases out of ten: the people at home write piteous appeals for money and complain bitterly of the hard times, whilst our soldiers write home, invariably, for money. Many of the Yankee soldiers enter the army because it insures a comfortable support, and they can, if at all provident, put by something every month.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, pp. 117-22

Diary of Private William S. White, June 28, 1862

Our battery moved back last night about one mile and camped on Hogan's farm. This morning when we awoke we found a party of eight hundred Yankee prisoners at Hogan's house. Amongst them were several surgeons, and they actually refused to attend to their own wounded, but insisted, as surgeons were non-combatants, that they should be sent to Richmond and immediately returned to the North.

A great number of wounded Yankees have been brought in by our men, and are receiving all proper attention. We moved forward to Gaines's house, where we remained all day, but near us there was no more fighting.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 122

Diary of Private William S. White, June 29, 1862

Longstreet's and A. P. Hill's divisions crossed to the south side of the Chickahominy to-day, and have moved eastward down the Darbytown Road. These divisions have not been engaged to-day.

This afternoon I was sent back to Featherstone's Brigade Headquarters, near the city, for a farther supply of rations, as ours were left on the north side of the Chickahominy.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 122

Diary of Private William S. White, June 30, 1862

BATTLE OF WILLIS'S CHURCH, OR FRAYSER'S FARM, MONDAY, JUNE 30TH, 1862.

I was in the saddle from a little after sunrise yesterday morning until daybreak this morning, and then, after taking a nap of an hour, had to move on to find my company. McClellan, having been so terribly punished on his right flank by the fierce onslaughts of Lee and Jackson, has now concentrated his forces on this (the south) side of the Chickahominy, and is making his way to his gun-boats on the James River. We are following him up as rapidly as possible. Our two divisions moved a few miles farther down the Darbytown Road, when our advanced guard captured a Yankee picket, who reported their men to be but a short distance in advance.

Longstreet quickly disposed his troops, and advanced to meet the enemy; my battery was posted in an open field, but we could see no enemy, as a heavy wood was between us.

The enemy soon rained a storm of shot and shell upon us, and we returned the fire with vigor, but as soon as our infantry charged beyond us, as at Gaines's Mill, we were compelled to cease firing," our guns being of such short range.

Nevertheless, we were compelled to receive their fire, and, being unable to return it, it made our situation anything but pleasant. Nothing is more demoralizing to troops than to be subjected to a heavy fire from an unseen foe and to remain perfectly inactive. The wood completely shut us out from sight, yet shielded us but little from the shot and shell.

Here a member of my company (Edward F. Cullen) was struck upon the forehead by a piece of shell; we thought at first he was seriously wounded, but we were mistaken. I also made a very narrow escape, for a two ounce ball from a Belgian rifle passed through my gunner's-bag, which was, as is customary during an engagement, thrown over my shoulder. I had in this bag about 500 friction primers, each and every one a little miniature cannon of itself, filled with rifle and a poisonous fulminating powder, the explosion of one of which would have caused the explosion of the whole. The ball passed through three thick pleats of leather, breaking the fourth and last pleat. Had it not have been for this leather bag, I would have received this ball just below my heart. The fighting was still going on in our front at a terrific rate. Again and again our men charged the enemies' works, but were as often driven back. At one time Featherstone's brigade had to reform a few yards to the right of our battery, and could only muster 250 men. One more grand effort—a dashing charge and our men have carried the entrenchments. Kemper's men are holding their position without ammunition; Featherstone's brigade has melted away from 1,200 to 200; still our brave troops hold their position, and have captured many a piece of artillery. Night comes on, but still the fight continues—volley after volley of musketry pours its stream of death into our ranks, but our men cannot be driven back, and McClellan has to keep moving on. Our field of observation is so extremely limited, we can learn but little of the general plan of the battle or of the specific results. The wounded stragglers all pass through our battery and tell the same old tale of being "cut up," "badly whipped," etc., so that for a long time we were really in doubt whether we or the Yankees had been successful. The enemy fought bravely and contested the ground inch by inch. Our General, Featherstone, has been badly wounded. We have captured many prisoners and a number of pieces of artillery; also, a Brigadier-General by the name of McCall.

We spent the night on the field, and, for the season, it was bitterly cold.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, pp. 122-4

Daniel S. Dickinson to Mr. Rogers, December 25, 1856

BINGHAMTON, December 25, 1856.

MY DEAR ROGERS—Myself and family send to you and to Mrs. Rogers the kindly salutations and wishes of the season, under a deep sense of friendly obligations: and we all join the little boys in transmitting their joyous acknowledgments for your kind remembrance and substantial present. Please drop a line, as early as convenient to you, when you will return, so that I may arrange to be at home.

I am glad you are going to Wheatland, for it is as well due to our friends and to our organization as to Mr. Buchanan himself, that he should be fully, frankly, and temperately posted in our affairs. So far as I have a right to be heard in the premises, it is my desire that the explanation be of a general character, and placed entirely on public grounds. I would under no circumstances have my name pressed upon Mr. Buchanan as one of his cabinet advisers. Nor would I consent to sit as one, unless it was given under circumstances where I was sought, rather than seeking the place, and where the public desired my services. For your own private information, I will assure you that I have no expectation of a cabinet appointment. I have no knowledge nor information on the subject, but intuition teaches me, as I wrote you some time since, and the views then expressed have received confirmation by subsequent reflection. I am by no means sure that it will not be better for those of our friends who desire places, if Mr. Buchanan should pass by the State rather than that he should give me a cabinet appointment. In case of my appointment, if he should deny any further appointment to our wing, it would leave me in an awkward and unpleasant position. But if I am not appointed, he may feel an inclination to look more carefully after my friends. I am proud to note, however, that so far as I have been mentioned, it has generally been for Secretary of State, and no one has placed me below Treasury. The leading papers in Maine, Iowa, &c., &c., have been out pretty strong, but there is much intrigue going on by the jobbers for the places, with a view to the Treasury spoils, and also to 1860.

I do not intend to be pharisaical in profession, but I am, as years increase, more anxious to fill my present sphere of usefulness than to enlarge it:—to execute the mission before me, and train up the little boys that Providence has left to look to me for protection, and to cherish and console, so far as domestic care and quiet can accomplish it, one who is dearer to me still, and bound by more tender ties, and is yet as dependent upon me as a child. These, with others, are individual reasons why change is not desirable except for strong inducements.

Sincerely yours,

D. S. DICKINSON.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, pp. 499-500

Daniel S. Dickinson to Mr. W. S. Brown, January 24, 1857

BINGHAMTON, January 24, 1857.

MY DEAR SIR—My best acknowledgments are tendered you for numerous favors conveyed with a generous partiality and friendly devotion. I can only assure you of a high, profound, and sincere appreciation.

I have full confidence in Mr. Buchanan's wisdom, and feel sure he will give us a judicious administration; what will be his "personnel," I have no means of knowing. He is urged, from both interested and factious sources, to go by this State, because of our divisions. It may be wise to pass the State or may not be; but no such question as divisions should control him.

We have some factious men, though since the main body went off, less than one would suppose for the encouragement they have received: but so far as our rank and file are concerned, whether upon men or measures, we have less division than has Virginia, New Hampshire, Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, or Pennsylvania.

Repeating my thanks for your kind courtesy—I am,

Yours sincerely,

D. S. DICKINSON.

W. S. BROWN, Esq.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, p. 500

Judge I. T. Bosworth to Daniel S. Dickinson, March 9, 1857

BINGHAMTON, March 1, 1857.

MY DEAR JUDGE—Your favor of the 27th came duly to hand, and, as the merchants say, "contents noted." I penned you my "incomprehensible" note while in the tedious attendance upon rather a beggarly circuit. It is said that when a pun or witticism needs explanation to give it point, it is a sorry manifestation, and I do not see why what our old and departed friend Judge S. was wont to call a "sarcasm" does not fall within the same category. However, at the hazard of coming within the rule, I will translate my Greek.

My eye, at the moment of writing, fell upon the movements of the Corruption Committee at Washington, and seeing that the Hon. ——— was to be expelled, reminded me of how much I had enjoyed, some twenty-three years ago, laughing at you for turning the same individual out of your law office for stealing a large pane of glass out of the door of E——'s newly fitted up house over the Chenango Bridge, to supply one that he had broken out of the door of your office; and to complete the joke he got a light too large by three inches one way and one the other. The fun I had at the time over it all came back to me, and hence my revival of it to you thus obscurely;—not thinking that the brick and mortar, excitement and turmoil, and judicial care of the city, had shut you out from keeping track of individuals, as we do in the country.

*          *          *          *          *

Yes, my dear Judge, I might wear out life as you do. I have enjoyed some rather gratifying triumphs in my day, both political and professional; but never anything has so much drawn out my anxiety and solicitude in advance, has so much mortified and vexed me when adverse, nor afforded me the same satisfaction in success, as the matter to which you allude.

I still like professional pursuits better than official life. If I had money to spend profusely, I could enjoy myself in rural occupations; but eternal, like internal improvement, is too expensive a luxury for a poor man.

I like excitement, and as I also want income, it would work well if we did not have so much mere litigation over subjects where the parties cannot pay very large fees, and, if able, no counsel could have the face to charge them. These cases, as you know, are fought out with a pertinacity almost unknown in the city, or if known, would command a thousand dollars to our one hundred. If you do not engage in them, others will, and hey block up the courts and delay other business at home, and prevent you from going abroad to attend to business of more importance if you have it. The present system is far less pleasant for the country than the former. There is, or rather would be enough good business to engage me constantly if it were not impeded by this profitless litigation, and much time is wasted in this, in working or in waiting, to the prevention of more important business. If I was within four or five hours ride of the city, instead of nine or ten, I would open an office there.

Mrs. Dickinson and daughters join me in regards to yourself and Mrs. Bosworth and family

Sincerely yours,

D. S. DICKINSON.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, pp. 500-2

Daniel S. Dickinson to Henry S. Randall, April 14, 1857

BINGHAMTON, April 14, 1857.

MY DEAR SIR—I should be more prompt in my correspondence, but it is just now so heavy that if I had as much clerical force as Byron intimates the recording angel exhausted about the time of the "crowning carnage—Waterloo," I should still be as much in arrear as was the head of that overworked "black bureau."

I should have come and seen you when at Cortland, but I learned you were ill; and I supposed, too, that you were so deeply buried in your studies that all you would desire of your fellow-men would be that they might, as Diogenes said, "get away from between you and the sun."

The administration seems to be getting on well, but, I am sorry to learn, is hunted to death by office-seekers. It is absolutely discreditable to have an administration so beset that it can do nothing because of office-seeking in a country so full of undeveloped elements as ours; but so it is.

I am pretty deeply busied, if not buried, professionally. I would like a little more relaxation than I find, for I would like to review the poets, from Tasso and Chaucer to Peter Beebe and Polly Gould; but n'importe.

Mrs. Dickinson joins me in regards to yourself and family; and especially I desire kind remembrances to your daughter, who honored me with a note.

Sincerely yours,

D. S. DICKINSON.

Hon. H. S. RANDALL.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, p. 503

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 1, 1863

PLYMOUTH.

Sunday, and another move at last. We left the barracks about seven o'clock this morning, marched through the town and aboard the "Northerner," by far the most commodious steamer we have been on since we came out. There are awful stories of her having been condemned, and, as a last resort, sold to government for transporting troops. There is plenty of room however; so, as we cannot help it, we content ourselves, and hunt around for our stateroom. Our party was lucky enough to get one, seven of us occupying it; and after a good dinner we turned in, as we had seen all there was to be seen on the river before, and did not know how soon we would be called upon to lose sleep. We steamed at a good rate down the Neuse, and at dark were still at sea. We are having a good time so far; not overcrowded, the vessel clean, and plenty of good stuff to eat, as we had just received boxes by the "Fry," chartered by our friends at home. There was a box for every man, and in some cases two, so our knapsacks and haversacks are filled with home-made eatables, instead of government meat and bread. We have our band with us, so many expect some good times. The band takes two good fellows from "E,”—Park and Ramsay; and all the consolation we get for the loss is an extra onion now and then, and perhaps a little less noise in the barracks from Ned.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, pp. 35-6

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 2, 1863

Passed Roanoke on our right, about eight o'clock this morning; sea smooth and weather pleasant. Had a good breakfast of dried beef and water. We entered Roanoke river for the second trip on it about noon, and after about four hours' pleasant sail we were alongside the wharf at Plymouth. Since we were here in November the town has become sadly demoralized. The rebels entered it one fine day and drove what troops were there into the Custom House, and then set fire to the place, destroying the larger part. It is decided not to disembark the regiment till to-morrow. The cooks are ashore somewhere, and are making our coffee, while we are lounging round on deck and through the vessel, having a free and easy time, or located in some cosey nook writing up.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 36

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 3, 1863

Last night was a holiday time. We had dancing on the vessel, and "the band played." This morning was ushered in with a slight change. The ground was covered with snow, and everything had a decidedly Northern outlook, some of the companies came ashore to-day, and are quartered in a granary owned by one J. C. Johnston. We were somewhat crowded on the vessel, but would gladly sacrifice the room for the heat, as it is very cold here. Our company is in the second story, and most all are in their blankets trying to keep warm, as there is no chance to have fires in the building. Athough the town is provost guarded, most anyone can roam round by dodging the officers and sentries. About all our rations, so far, have been obtained away from company quarters, many preferring a change. We find quite a number of natives here; one, for instance, John Fenno, a unionist, was drafted into the rebel service, deserted, ran to our lines, and joined the native cavalry regiment (Buffaloes), and consequently is in a bad predicament. He will have to fight to the death; for if he is taken the rebels will hang him. He is now with his family; but when the town is deserted by the troops, he is liable, with the rest, to another raid such as they had a few weeks ago.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 36

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 4, 1863

We are having an easy time so far, excepting for the cold weather. We have no guard or drill as yet; a part of the 27th M. V. do provost duty. There are rumors of a regimental guard, around our quarters; so all who could cleared out early and stayed all day. A party of us visited the courthouse, prison, and graveyard. All but the last, with a church close by, show marks of being used as targets. After picking ivy from the graveyard wall, to send home, we started out of town on a private scout. About a mile's walk brought us to a picket; who thought our visit farther had better be indefinitely postponed; so, after a pleasant chat with them, whom we found to be natives, deserters from the rebel army, and, of course, unionists, we took the "right about" and tramped towards camp arriving just in time for inspection and dress parade at half-past four P.M.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 36

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 5, 1863

Had a ball in our old granary last night. Some who were to go on guard to-day turned in early, and all we know of it is, that those who went had a good time.

Our regiment is to help the 27th in their guard-duty. Our guard-house is a grocery store, close to the granary, and the duty is very light. It rained about all day, and the snow is consequently gone, leaving the roads in a fearfully bad condition.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, pp. 36-7

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 7, 1863

HAM FAT.

Freedom of the town for to-day, and all over town we went; had a dug-out race, and about all who were in it got a ducking. Our party went up the shore of the river some distance. We saw the ways where a ram had been started, but was destroyed to keep our gunboats from taking her. We then branched off into the woods and finally found a picket-post, where we got some good cider and had a chat, arriving home just in time to get our guns and "fall in."

It seemed our right wing was "on a march." Quartermaster Bush said we were going for wood, but we could not understand why it took four or five companies to escort an equal number of wagons a few miles from town, unless there was a large force of the enemy about; and if there was, why had we heard nothing from them for five days? Our orders were "light marching order," nothing but guns and ammunition; but most of "E" took haversacks and dippers, and were glad we did. We started about two o'clock this afternoon, and after marching about two miles we struck an "obstacle." The road was completely barricaded by large trees felled across it; and as cutting would delay us the rest of the day, we turned into the woods and went through a swamp, and soon found ourselves in the road again, marching towards "Long Acre." We left "B" and "C" at the junction of two roads, near a blacksmith shop. We soon left the wagons also, they probably stopping for the wood which was piled up by the roadside. We still kept "marching on," and by dark we were tired as well as hungry. There was worse for us in store, however. The boys ahead began to scatter and growl, and soon we were in the water. It was icy-cold and waist deep. Some tried the runway on the side, but it was slippery with ice. One of the boys made fruitless attempts to keep both feet on the rail. His efforts on that parallel bar were edifying; but being the youngest member of "E" (sweet seventeen), he will have more time than the rest of us to improve. After much struggling, down he went, gun and all. The water was three feet deep; and after fishing up his rifle he concluded to wade with us the rest of the way. We know "a thing of beauty is a joy forever." He was not in a beautiful or joyous mood then, but will probably be a JOY forever.

The ford seemed to us about a mile long. It was probably only a quarter, if that; but it came to an end at last, and we footed the rest of the way on dry land; varying the monotony by private details for forage at every house we came to; striving to get ahead of the officers in their attempts to save the cider from us.

Between ten and eleven o'clock P.M. we halted, and were informed that the "object, &c., was accomplished," "about faced," which brought "E" to the front, and started for home. Twelve of our men went ahead as advance guard, under command of Lieut. Newell, and another twelve of us as support. A short distance behind came the column. We were on the same road, and knew we had the same ford to recross, and suffered torments until it was over with, and we fairly out of its sight. We foraged right and left; hardly a man of us without two or three old hens, dipper full of honey, and a few with a ham or two. The advance and support had the most and fattest pickings of course. We rejoined the other companies, "B" last, at the blacksmith shop; and about five o'clock A M. came in sight of the picket and saw Plymouth.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, pp. 37-8

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 8, 1863

Then Lieut. Newell told us to "go," and we went, as well as we could, for quarters. Arriving at the granary, and having left our chickens at a negro shanty to be cooked, we turned in, all booted and muddy, and slept through everything till nearly noon. When we started up for breakfast it was a comical sight. Nearly all had turned in their wet clothes, and of course were about as wet when they got up, and very stiff. We found our chickens and ate them. While eating, the 27th guard called us, saying the regiment was under orders and we were to leave immediately. The way those chickens disappeared made those darkies laugh. We went back happy, as we knew when once on board the steamer we could sleep for a while and get rested; for after being on an all-night march of twenty-five miles at least, we were tired out, and felt we would be safer from another trip, for a day or two, than if on shore. We were all on board by half-past four o'clock, and soon after dropped down stream, leaving Plymouth and the 27th in all their glory. The boys who had bunks coming up are forbidden that pleasure now, so a dozen of us congregated together on the deck, outside the cabin, with shelter tents tacked up as roofs ; and we think we are having a better time than those inside, and no "sour grapes" in the mess either.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 38

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 9, 1863

We managed to get clear of the Roanoke river some time in the night, but ran aground in the Sound at noon, thinking we were opposite Roanoke, but did not reach there till nearly night, when the officers went on shore, while the steamer took on coal. The steamer which came out to us here was the "Halifax," recognized by many as the boat which was formerly on Charles river at home as a pleasure boat. She brought rumors of defeat at New Berne, and that we could not get up the river, so were going to Charleston, or Fort Munroe and the Potomac. But we kept on in the direction of Brant Isle and New Berne' just the same.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 38

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 10, 1863

We have had nothing of interest to-day, except a very pleasant sail up the river, once in a while shooting at ducks; but the officers soon stopped that fun. We arrived at New Berne about four o'clock in the afternoon, crossed the long bridge, marched through the city, and are once more in our old barracks.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 38

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 11, 1863

Drill, drill, all day, for a change. Our band has received the new pieces from Boston, and is now expected to shine. Among our many visitors from home is ex-Sergeant Wheelwright who came out on the schooner "Fry." He went on the Plymouth or "Ham Fat" tramp, and took to foraging naturally. He stole a mule the first thing, but had to give it up to an officer. Next we saw him on a horse, which he managed to keep. He does not take kindly to quinine or hard-tack; he likes the colonel's fare better. It is a mere matter of taste, though! There is not much doing, except drilling and trying each day to be the cleanest company, as then we get off guard for twenty-four hours, the greatest inducement that could be offered us. We have succeeded in being both the dirtiest and cleanest. At the first inspection we thought we were clean, but a mouldy milk-can condemned us, and we had to furnish double guard, but since then have carried off the honors once or twice.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 39

Lewis E. Harvie to Senator Robert M. T. Hunter, June 16, 1856

RICHMOND, [VA.], June 16th, 1856.

MY DEAR HUNTER: On my way back from Cincinnati I called to see you in Washington. I had much to say to you not only of the past but the future. I have thought much since we met last and now that I can look back calmly at all that has occurred I write the result of my reflections not without the hope that you may be somewhat influenced by them. You have heard and know how utterly Bright and Douglas disappointed our expectations and how false and hollow were their professions. That they were fair as long as it was their interest and false as soon as that bond was broken. And you must have come to the conclusion that the Presidency is not to be won simply by combinations and arrangements with men and that least of all are men seeking high place influenced by gratitude. It is only necessary to look to Wise to come to that conclusion. Even with the help of friends, such as few men have had, the battle has been lost. I am now coming to the object of my letter which is to urge upon you to adopt a different line of policy altogether from what you have heretofore pursued and which to some extent I know to be somewhat foreign to your tastes and nature. I want you my dear friend, to discard altogether, if possible, all thought of the Presidency from your mind, at all events so far as to be uninfluenced by it in your future course in the Senate. I want you to put yourself at the head of the South and where you ought to stand and strike hard and heavy and frequent blows and that at once.

The South has no leader and sadly wants one. It is a post that has been waiting your acceptance since Mr Calhoun's death. It is your duty to fill it and your interest too. Men say you are too timid, overcautious, that you wish nothing and thus it is that you have lost friends, power and influence. You must launch out into the sea of strife, your safety requiring it, your hope of renown depends on it, your own interest and that of the country demands it, and your 'ability to pay the just debts that you owe to Messrs. Wise, Bright, and Douglas and Co. is dependent on it. Leave the dull routine of your former Senatorial life, wean yourself from your Committee and throw yourself into the patriotick current and be as you ought to be the champion of the South in the Senate of the U[nited] States and you will have the power to control and make presidents. You can earn more true glory in the Senate, you can be more useful to the country, and wield a more powerful influence over the destinies of your race than in the Presidential chair. In addition to this I am confident that the course I recommend is the only one to lead to the Presidency. That must be won by you if at all, unsought. I have written to you more freely than any one else will, my dear friend, because perhaps I have been more enlisted in what has concerned you and your promotion. I know I write however, what all your true friends feel and while these are my decided convictions and therefore communicated, at the same time they are the opinions of all your friends with whom I have conversed and have been for years. Of such men as Seddon and Mr Old, whom you know I think the wisest, as he is the fairest, man that I have ever known. In order to take the position you are entitled to and ought to occupy you ought to launch out and strike so as to make your position, your own peculiar property and give us a Hunter platform to stand on, in order to keep down the huckstering traders who have so foully betrayed you at home and abroad. Write to me upon the receipt of this and let us hereafter keep up a more uninterrupted correspondence. I will only add that your friends in Cincinnati did all that could be done and like me look to the Senate for a justification of their confidence.

SOURCE: Charles Henry Ambler, Editor, Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1916, in Two Volumes, Vol. II, Correspondence of Robert M. T. Hunter (1826-1876), pp. 199-8

James Alfred Pearce* to Senator Robert M. T. Hunter, October 17, 1856

CHESTERTOWN, [MD.], October 17, 1856.

MY DEAR SIR: I fear that I shall not be successful in the money affair. There is a shyness about all investments not promising immediate returns and profits. Indeed money is scarce in proof of which I may mention that one of the wealthy men in Balt[imore] is taking deposits on call at 5 percentium. One great difficulty is that the mortgage for the proposed loan is not preferred but comes in for paper with so much more. I will make one more trial and if that do not succeed will abandon any further effort.

I cannot give much hope of our political matters. There will be gains for B[uchana]n in some of our counties but the old Whigs generally swallow with a blind faith the resolves of the convention, Donaldson and all. They are besides confident that Filmore will be elected if not by the people at least by the H[ouse of] R[epresentatives] in which they say democrats and republicans will prefer him each to the other. The success of the former ticket in Penn[sylvani]a encourages them, they say that the Fremont men there will fall into Filmore's support being satisfied of their inability to elect a ticket of their own and consequently will nominate none. They say the proposed plan of "Thad" [Thaddeus] Stevens will not prevail but will be scented by the Filmore men and that the Black republicans will surrender at discretion to them, as they have to the K[now] Nothings. I have made several speeches and shall make two more but I do not think that I can accomplish much except to alienate old friends and make my social as well as political relations anything but pleasant. The Whigs here are talking strongly of Virg[ini]a as likely to go for Filmore.

The Florida election gives them encourage[men]t in the South and the Mayors election in Balt[imore] gives them exulting confidence of success in this State. Shortsighted they seem to me and blind to their own interests. What think you of all these calculations which I have mentioned? We do not know the condition of things at the West. Ohio is of course fanatical in the extreme and Indiana seems doubtful. Can you give us any hopes in that quarter. The most we can hope for with confidence is that the election will go to the H[ouse] R[epresentatives] and what then? There's the rub. It is a fortunate thing that the democrats have carried so many members of Congress in P[ennsylvani]a and the legislature and that some gains have also been made in Ohio. This will enable us to hold the moody heads in check in Congress until perhaps the delusion may abate.

I read with pleasure y[ou]r speech at Poughkeepsie. They called on me to report one of mine made in Worcester C[ount]y, [Md.], but I cannot remember a two hours speech made without notes and tho' I might write a speech it w[oul]d not be the speech. This state would I believe submit quietly to the repeal of the Kansas act and only growl a little at the essential modification of the fugitive slave law. If I were a young man I should sell my property here and look for a new home among a more southern people. The labouring men of our City sustain the Know Nothings because they wish to banish the competition of foreign labourers, So I am told.

Pray let me hear from you if you are not overwhelmed with correspondence as I suppose you are.

_______________

* A Representative in Congress from Maryland, 1835-1839 and 1840-1843; in the United States Senate from 1843 to 1862.

SOURCE: Charles Henry Ambler, Editor, Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1916, in Two Volumes, Vol. II, Correspondence of Robert M. T. Hunter (1826-1876), pp. 198-9

W. Grandin to Senator Robert M. T. Hunter, October 18, 1856

NEW YORK, [N. Y.], October 18, 1856.

MY DEAR SIR: The glorious results of the elections of the 14th Inst in Pennsylvania, Indiana and even Ohio have made the calling and election of B[uchanan] and B[reckinridge] by the people next month "a fixed fact!"

Permit me to offer my hearty congratulations to one who will have contributed in such large measure to such "consummation devoutly to be wished"; not only by a long and brilliant career as a Statesman, but particularly by his masterly and profound exposition of national, democratic truths in this State. I sent you a copy of the Daily News (with which I am now connected) commenting upon this effort at Poughkeepsie.

Such has been the inspiriting effect upon the people of New York that truly I should not be surprised to find them following the example of P[ennsylvani]a and Indiana. The Herald in its leader gives up the contest!

SOURCE: Charles Henry Ambler, Editor, Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1916, in Two Volumes, Vol. II, Correspondence of Robert M. T. Hunter (1826-1876), pp. 199-200