Francis Lieber to Senator Charles Sumner, February 2, 1864

New York, February 2,1864.

. . . You ask me what is my view about introducing the system of competitive examinations. I reply that it is most desirable, and at the same time, doubtless, in our country, most difficult. But is it not one of those cases in which the mere breaking the ice is of importance? There are many things in which it is practically very important not to make an attempt without certain success; there are others in which it is important to pronounce the thought and form the first speck of generative life, even though non-success at the time is certain, — cases in which the public mind must be familiarized with the idea; cases which I would call battering-ram cases, — trying again and again, — like the Reform question in England, like Christianity in history. Is not the Civil-Service Examination such a question? The life of every active man furnishes many instances of this kind. There is now a plan of mine probably to be realized in Columbia College, for which I have written, spoken, worried, for five years. Yet my general rule in life is to ask for nothing but what I am pretty sure to get. . . .

SOURCE: Thomas Sergeant Perry, Editor, The Life and Letters of Francis Lieber, p. 339

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: November 8, 1861

There are many applications for passports to leave the country. I have declared my purpose to sign no more for the Secretary without his official order. But he is signing them himself, as I find out by the parties desiring the usual passports from me to leave the city. They, like guilty men, dislike to exhibit their permits to leave the country at the depots. And the Northern press bears testimony of the fact that the spies in our midst are still at work, and from this I apprehend the worst consequences. Why did Mr. Benjamin send the order for every man to be arrested who applied for permission to leave the country? Was it merely to deceive me, knowing that I had some influence with certain leading journals? I am told he says, “no one leaves the country now.”

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 91

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 12, 1864

John Chesnut had a basket of champagne carried to my house, oysters, partridges, and other good things, for a supper after the reception. He is going back to the army to-morrow.

James Chesnut arrived on Wednesday. He has been giving Buck his opinion of one of her performances last night. She was here, and the General's carriage drove up, bringing some of our girls. They told her he could not come up and he begged she would go down there for a moment. She flew down, and stood ten minutes in that snow, Cy holding the carriage-door open. “But, Colonel Chesnut, there was no harm. I was not there ten minutes. I could not get in the carriage because I did not mean to stay one minute. He did not hold my hands — that is, not half the time — Oh, you saw! — well, he did kiss my hands. Where is the harm of that?” All men worship Buck. How can they help it, she is so lovely.

Lawrence has gone back ignominiously to South Carolina. At breakfast already in some inscrutable way he had become intoxicated; he was told to move a chair, and he raised it high over his head, smashing Mrs. Grundy's chandelier. My husband said: “Mary, do tell Lawrence to go home; I am too angry to speak to him.” So Lawrence went without another word. He will soon be back, and when he comes will say, '”Shoo! I knew Mars Jeems could not do without me.” And indeed he can not.

Buck, reading my journal, opened her beautiful eyes in amazement and said: “So little do people know themselves! See what you say of me!” I replied: “The girls heard him say to you, ‘Oh, you are so childish and so sweet!’ Now, Buck, you know you are not childish. You have an abundance of strong common sense. Don't let men adore you so — if you can help it. You are so unhappy about men who care for you, when they are killed.”

Isabella says that war leads to love-making. She says these soldiers do more courting here in a day than they would do at home, without a war, in ten years.

In the pauses of conversation, we hear, “She is the noblest woman God ever made!” “Goodness!” exclaimed Isabella. “Which one?” The amount of courting we hear in these small rooms. Men have to go to the front, and they say their say desperately. I am beginning to know all about it. The girls tell me. And I overhear — I can not help it. But this style is unique, is it not? “Since I saw you — last year — standing by the turnpike gate, you know — my battle-cry has been: ‘God, my country, and you!’” So many are lame. Major Venable says: “It is not ‘the devil on two sticks,’ now; the farce is ‘Cupid on Crutches.’”

General Breckinridge's voice broke in: “They are my cousins. So I determined to kiss them good-by. Good-by nowadays is the very devil; it means forever, in all probability, you know; all the odds against us. So I advanced to the charge soberly, discreetly, and in the fear of the Lord. The girls stood in a row — four of the very prettiest I ever saw.” Sam, with his eyes glued to the floor, cried: “You were afraid — you backed out.” “But I did nothing of the kind. I kissed every one of them honestly, heartily.”

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 287-9

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: December 14, 1862

Firing in the direction of Fredericksburg renewed this morning, but at irregular intervals. Telegraph wires are cut. No news except from passengers in the trains. The cars are not allowed to go to the town, but stop at a point some miles below. They report that every thing goes on well for us, of which we were sure, from the receding sound of the cannon. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me praise His holy name! How can we be thankful enough for such men as General Lee, General Jackson, and our glorious army, rank and file!

Nine o'Clock at Night. — A sad, sad train passed down a short time ago, bearing the bodies of Generals Cobb, of Georgia, and Maxcy Gregg, of South Carolina. Two noble spirits have thus passed away from us. Peace to their honoured remains! The gentlemen report many wounded on the train, but not very severely. I fear it has been another bloody Sabbath. The host of wounded will pass to-morrow; we must be up early to prepare to administer to their comfort. The sound of cannon this evening was much more distant, and not constant enough for a regular fight. We are victorious again! Will they now go from our shores forever? We dread to hear of the casualties. Who may not be among the wounded to-morrow?

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 175-6

From a Friend in Providence, Rhode Island to Charlotte Cross Wigfall, May 13, 1861

May 13th, 1861.

. . . We are always delighted to hear from you — and indeed your letters and Louis's are the only comfort we have in this Yankee land surrounded by people who have no sympathy with us, and who only open their lips to revile the South and utter blood-thirsty threats. This morning an amiable lady wished she had Jeff Davis in front of a big cannon. This feminine wish was uttered in the cars when L. and F. were going in to Boston. We have now sufficient proof of how much stronger hate is than love of country. Where was the patriotism of Massachusetts when the country was at war with the English in 1812? I lived then at the South, and was ashamed of my countrymen who refused to assist in the war. Massachusetts, which was the leading state of New England, refused to let her militia leave the state and when the U. S. troops were withdrawn, to fight in other places, applied to the Federal Government to know whether the expenses of their own militia, who were summoned to defend their own State, would be reimbursed by the Government. When our capitol at Washington was burned with the President's House and Treasury buildings, and other public buildings, why did they not go to meet the British? On the contrary, they rejoiced at the English victories, and put every obstacle they could in the way of the government. Now they are subscribing millions, and urging every man to go and fight their own countrymen. It is not patriotism; it is hatred to the South and woe is me, that I must live here among such people. God grant you success. It is a righteous war and all the bloodshed will be upon the souls of those who brought it on.

. . . I think, however, that you at the South are wrong to undervalue the courage and resources of the Northern States. They are no doubt less accustomed to the use of firearms — there are very few who know how to ride, and they are less fiery in their impulses. They are less disposed to fight, but they are not cowardly where their interests are concerned; and will fight for their money. Where their property is at stake they will not hesitate to risk their lives, and at present there is no lack of money. The women are all roused, and are urging their relatives on; while some of the young ladies are exceedingly anxious to imitate Florence Nightingale, and distinguish themselves in the Army. The boys are parading about with red shirts and guns; and their wise mothers are admiring their military ardor.

I would not advise you of the South to trust too much in the idea that the Northerners will not fight; for I believe they will, and their numbers are overwhelming. You know an army of ants can kill a wounded horse. It is a mistake, too, for you to suppose that it is only the lower orders, who are enlisted. I have heard of a good many of the most respectable young men, who have enlisted for three years. I suppose there are a good many counter jumpers and Irish among them; but still there are many very decent persons who have gone to the wars. I hear that with Gov. Sprague no less persons than W. G. and M. J. have gone. Are you not alarmed? Think of M. Pray keep out of his way! I wonder what his Quaker progenitors would say, could they look out of their graves? He has not an ancestor, on either side, for as far back as they can be traced, who was not a broad brimmed Quaker. Little F. has had some skirmishes with the girls on Politics; but there has been no bloodshed; and the last I heard of it is, they said “anyhow” she was “a smart little thing and talks very well.” L. does not walk out alone: she always goes into Boston with F. or me. By the way — I hear it said they have got enough cotton at the North to supply their factories for a year? Can it be true? If so, I think there has been a great mistake somewhere. The only thing that will bring these people to their senses is to stop the importation. I was surprised to see the other day that a cargo of rice from Savannah was stopped, and the vessel was allowed to sail with a load of cotton!

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 51-4

Diary of Sarah Morgan: May 17, 1862

One of these days, when peace is restored and we are quietly settled in our allotted corners of this wide world without any particularly exciting event to alarm us; and with the knowledge of what is now the future, and will then be the dead past; seeing that all has been for the best for us in the end; that all has come right in spite of us, we will wonder how we could ever have been foolish enough to await each hour in such breathless anxiety. We will ask ourselves if it was really true that nightly, as we lay down to sleep, we did not dare plan for the morning, feeling that we might be homeless and beggars before the dawn. How unreal it will then seem! We will say it was our wild imagination, perhaps. But how bitterly, horribly true it is now!

Four days ago the Yankees left us, to attack Vicksburg, leaving their flag flying in the Garrison without a man to guard it, and with the understanding that the town would be held responsible for it. It was intended for a trap; and it succeeded. For night before last, it was pulled down and torn to pieces.

Now, unless Will will have the kindness to sink a dozen of their ships up there, — I hear he has command of the lower batteries, — they will be back in a few days, and will execute their threat of shelling the town. If they do, what will become of us? All we expect in the way of earthly property is as yet mere paper, which will be so much trash if the South is ruined, as it consists of debts due father by many planters for professional services rendered, who, of course, will be ruined, too, so all money is gone. That is nothing, we will not be ashamed to earn our bread, so let it go.

But this house is at least a shelter from the weather, all sentiment apart. And our servants, too; how could they manage without us? The Yankees, on the river, and a band of guerrillas in the woods, are equally anxious to precipitate a fight. Between the two fires, what chance for us? It would take only a little while to burn the city over our heads. They say the women and children must be removed, these guerrillas. Where, please? Charlie says we must go to Greenwell. And have this house pillaged? For Butler has decreed that no unoccupied house shall be respected. If we stay through the battle, if the Federals are victorious, we will suffer. For the officers here were reported to have said, “If the people here did not treat them decently, they would know what it was when Billy Wilson's crew arrived. They would give them a lesson!” That select crowd is now in New Orleans. Heaven help us when they reach here! It is in these small cities that the greatest outrages are perpetrated. What are we to do?

A new proclamation from Butler has just come. It seems that the ladies have an ugly way of gathering their skirts when the Federals pass, to avoid any possible contact. Some even turn up their noses. Unladylike, to say the least. But it is, maybe, owing to the odor they have, which is said to be unbearable even at this early season of the year. Butler says, whereas the so-called ladies of New Orleans insult his men and officers, he gives one and all permission to insult any or all who so treat them, then and there, with the assurance that the women will not receive the slightest protection from the Government, and that the men will all be justified. I did not have time to read it, but repeat it as it was told to me by mother, who is in utter despair at the brutality of the thing. These men our brothers? Not mine! Let us hope for the honor of their nation that Butler is not counted among the gentlemen of the land. And so, if any man should fancy he cared to kiss me, he could do so under the pretext that I had pulled my dress from under his feet! That will justify them! And if we decline their visits, they can insult us under the plea of a prior affront. Oh! Gibbes! George! Jimmy! never did we need your protection as sorely as now. And not to know even whether you are alive! When Charlie joins the army, we will be defenseless, indeed. Come to my bosom, O my discarded carving-knife, laid aside under the impression that these men were gentlemen. We will be close friends once more. And if you must have a sheath, perhaps I may find one for you in the heart of the first man who attempts to Butlerize me. I never dreamed of kissing any man save my father and brothers. And why any one should care to kiss any one else, I fail to understand. And I do not propose to learn to make exceptions.

Still no word from the boys. We hear that Norfolk has been evacuated; but no details. George was there. Gibbes is wherever Johnston is, presumably on the Rappahannock; but it is more than six weeks since we have heard from either of them, and all communication is cut off.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 33-6

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Friday, September 23, 1864

I helped to move the field hospital into town this morning. Most of the wounded able to go, have been sent home on thirty-day furloughs, and some of the sick will also go soon. There is no news from Grant's army. I received a letter this morning from Miss G–––. I received my knapsack and equipments and bidding good-by, left for Atlanta, Georgia. There was a squad of one hundred and seventy-five of us and we started at noon, going as far as Kingston, where we lay awaiting a train from the North. We left Kingston soon after dark.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 216

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Sunday, January 5, 1862

Fayetteville, Virginia. — Ground frozen, moderately cold. A slight swelling of the left gland of the throat — the first symptom of influenza since I came to war. Generally with the first cold weather in November and frequently again in the latter part of the winter, I have a week's pretty severe influenza. I think I shall escape it this year, notwithstanding this slight symptom. Orders issued for a march to Raleigh early Tuesday morning — Twenty-third and Thirtieth to go, with intention to push farther if possible. But I suspect the weather and roads forbid. In the evening rain and sleet.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 178-9

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Monday, January 6, 1862

Snow on the ground. Rainy and blustering — turning into a big fall of snow soon after noon.  . . . A big snow-storm — wind whistling in its wintriest way. Not so severe as the northwest storms of the lake shore, but respectable.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 179

Francis Lieber to Judge Thayer, February 1, 1864

New York, February 1, 1864.

. . . Did you observe that the “Intelligeneer” quotes a passage of my “Civil Liberty,” where I speak of the unmanly state of things when a people loses the energy of enduring an opposition. I spoke of France, and had at the same time South Carolina, where I was then living, in my mind. A portion of the passage renders the substance of a long and grave conversation I had with the lamented Petigru. South Carolina suffered no opposition on any important subject. “I go with my State” was the stereotyped phrase, no matter whether that State went for treason or not. It was one of the most anxious endeavors of Mr. Calhoun to prevent any issue whatever that might lead to the formation of two opposing bodies in South Carolina. I have had many conversations on that subject with Mr. Preston. And now, to apply my remarks to those who are in favor of Rebels! If we were at war with England, would I call traitors who should do their best to aid the enemy, a party, and claim for them all the consideration due to a loyal opposition? Would any one do it? And this Rebellion is ten times worse than a foreign foe.

SOURCE: Thomas Sergeant Perry, Editor, The Life and Letters of Francis Lieber, p. 338-9

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: November 6, 1861

All accounts from the North indicate that great preparations are being made to crush us on the coast this winter. I see no corresponding preparations on our side.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 91

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: November 7, 1861

We hear of the resignation of Gen. Scott, as Commander-in-Chief of the U. S. forces.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 91

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 9, 1864

This party for Johnny was the very nicest I have ever had, and I mean it to be my last. I sent word to the Carys to bring their own men. They came alone, saying, “they did not care for men.” “That means a raid on ours,” growled Isabella. Mr. Lamar was devoted to Constance Cary. He is a free lance; so that created no heart-burning.

Afterward, when the whole thing was over, and a success, the lights put out, etc., here trooped in the four girls, who stayed all night with me. In dressing-gowns they stirred up a hot fire, relit the gas, and went in for their supper; réchauffé was the word, oysters, hot coffee, etc. They kept it up till daylight.

Of course, we slept very late. As they came in to breakfast, I remarked, “The church-bells have been going on like mad. I take it as a rebuke to our breaking the Sabbath. You know Sunday began at twelve o'clock last night.” “It sounds to me like fire-bells,” somebody said.

Soon the Infant dashed in, done up in soldier's clothes: “The Yankees are upon us!” said he. “Don't you hear the alarm-bells? They have been ringing day and night!” Alex Haskell came; he and Johnny went off to report to Custis Lee and to be enrolled among his “locals,” who are always detailed for the defense of the city. But this time the attack on Richmond has proved a false alarm.

A new trouble at the President's house: their trusty man, Robert, broken out with the smallpox.

We went to the Webb ball, and such a pleasant time we had. After a while the P. M. G. (Pet Major-General) took his seat in the comfortable chair next to mine, and declared his determination to hold that position. Mr. Hunter and Mr. Benjamin essayed to dislodge him. Mrs. Stanard said: “Take him in the flirtation room; there he will soon be captured and led away,” but I did not know where that room was situated. Besides, my bold Texan made a most unexpected sally: “I will not go, and I will prevent her from going with any of you.” Supper was near at hand, and Mr. Mallory said: “Ask him if the varioloid is not at his house. I know it is.” I started as if I were shot, and I took Mr. Clay's arm and went in to supper, leaving the P. M. G. to the girls. Venison and everything nice.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 286-7

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: December 13, 1862

Our hearts are full of apprehension! A battle is going on at or near Fredericksburg. The Federal army passed over the river on their pontoons night before last. They attempted to throw the bridges over it at three places; from two of these they were driven back with much slaughter; at the third they crossed. Our army was too small to guard all points. The firing is very heavy and incessant. We hear it with terrible distinctness from our portico. God of mercy, be with our people, and drive back the invaders! I ask not for their destruction; but that they may be driven to their own homes, never more to put foot on our soil; that we may enjoy the sweets of peace and security once more. Our dear boys — now as ever — I commit them into Thy hands.

Night. — Passengers report heavy skirmishing before they left Fredericksburg this morning, but cannonading tells us of bloody work since. A few wounded men were carried by to-night. We went to the depot to see if there were any particular friends among them, but found none.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 174-5

Charlotte Cross Wigfall to Louise Wigfall, April 26, 1861

montgomery, April 26.

The people here are all in fine spirits, and the streets are so lively and every one looks so happy, that you can scarcely realize the cause of the excitement. No one doubts our success.  . . . I suppose the chief fighting will be in Maryland and Virginia.  . . . This is a beautiful town and much larger than I expected to see it. There are a great many gardens, and as beautiful flowers as I ever saw anywhere. Several bouquets of the most superb flowers were presented to your father the night he spoke here and, of course, I had the benefit of them. The streets are very wide, and five of them unite, and diverge on the square opposite us. Something like Washington.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 49-50

Charlotte Cross Wigfall to Louise Wigfall, April 29, 1861

29th: I have been this morning to witness the opening of Congress, and hear the President's message. It was an admirable one, worthy of his reputation. It gives such a fair and lucid statement of matters, as they now stand, that I am sure it will do good abroad, if not at home.  . . .  This afternoon I went with Mrs. Chesnut to call on Mrs. Davis. I am going tomorrow to her reception.  . . . You allude to reports given in the Northern papers of the Fort Sumter affair. It is only what might have been expected of them, that they would garble and misrepresent the truth; but I must confess that Major Anderson's silence, and the disingenuous bulletin he sent to Cameron have surprised me. He takes care not to tell the whole truth, and any one to read his statement would suppose he had only come out on those conditions, whereas, he surrendered unconditionally — the U. S. Flag was lowered without salute while your father was in the fort. This was seen, not only by your father, but by the thousands who were on the watch, and it was only owing to General Beauregard's generosity (misplaced, it seems, now) that he was allowed to raise it again, and to salute it on coming out of the Fort, and take it with him.  . . . And this conduct too, after the kind and generous treatment he met with from the Carolinians. Judge Ochiltree is here and tells me Tom is a private in a company that Capt. Bass has raised in Marshall.  . . . The drums are beating here all the time, and it really makes me heartsick when I think about it all.

I don't think though that the military enthusiasm can be very high at the North as I see they are offering $20 additional pay to volunteers a month. That fact speaks volumes. I suppose it is to be accounted for in the anxiety to get rid of the mob population who might be troublesome at home.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 50-1

Diary of Sarah Morgan: May 14, 1862

I am beginning to believe that we are even of more importance in Baton Rouge than we thought we were. It is laughable to hear the things a certain set of people, who know they can't visit us, say about the whole family.  . . . When father was alive, they dared not talk about us aloud, beyond calling us the “Proud Morgans” and the “Aristocracy of Baton Rouge” . . . But now father is gone, the people imagine we are public property, to be criticized, vilified, and abused to their hearts' content

And now, because they find absurdities don't succeed, they try improbabilities. So yesterday the town was in a ferment because it was reported the Federal officers had called on the Miss Morgans, and all the gentlemen were anxious to hear how they had been received. One had the grace to say, “If they did, they received the best lesson there that they could get in town; those young ladies would meet them with the true Southern spirit.” The rest did not know; they would like to find out.

I suppose the story originated from the fact that we were unwilling to blackguard — yes, that is the word — the Federal officers here, and would not agree with many of our friends in saying they were liars, thieves, murderers, scoundrels, the scum of the earth, etc. Such epithets are unworthy of ladies, I say, and do harm, rather than advance our cause. Let them be what they will, it shall not make me less the lady; I say it is unworthy of anything except low newspaper war, such abuse, and I will not join in.

I have a brother-in-law in the Federal army whom I love and respect as much as any one in the world, and shall not readily agree that his being a Northerner would give him an irresistible desire to pick my pockets, and take from him all power of telling the truth. No! There are few men I admire more than Major Drum, and I honor him for his independence in doing what he believes right. Let us have liberty of speech and action in our land, I say, but not gross abuse and calumny. Shall I acknowledge that the people we so recently called our brothers are unworthy of consideration, and are liars, cowards, dogs? Not I! If they conquer us, I acknowledge them as a superior race; I will not say that we were conquered by cowards, for where would that place us? It will take a brave people to gain us, and that the Northerners undoubtedly are. I would scorn to have an inferior foe; I fight only my equals. These women may acknowledge that cowards have won battles in which their brothers were engaged, but I, I will ever say mine fought against brave men, and won the day. Which is most honorable?

I was never a Secessionist, for I quietly adopted father's views on political subjects without meddling with them. But even father went over with his State, and when so many outrages were committed by the fanatical leaders of the North, though he regretted the Union, said, “Fight to the death for our liberty.” I say so, too. I want to fight until we win the cause so many have died for. I don't believe in Secession, but I do in Liberty. I want the South to conquer, dictate its own terms, and go back to the Union, for I believe that, apart, inevitable ruin awaits both. It is a rope of sand, this Confederacy, founded on the doctrine of Secession, and will not last many years — not five. The North Cannot subdue us. We are too determined to be free. They have no right to confiscate our property to pay debts they themselves have incurred. Death as a nation, rather than Union on such terms. We will have our rights secured on so firm a basis that it can never be shaken. If by power of overwhelming numbers they conquer us, it will be a barren victory over a desolate land. We, the natives of this loved soil, will be beggars in a foreign land; we will not submit to despotism under the garb of Liberty. The North will find herself burdened with an unparalleled debt, with nothing to show for it except deserted towns, burning homes, a standing army which will govern with no small caprice, and an impoverished land. If that be treason, make the best of it!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 30-3

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, September 22, 1864

It is still raining, which makes the third day's rain. My ward was broken up today and the sick boys were transferred to Ward D in hospital number 4. We worked all afternoon making the ward ready for the wounded from the field hospital. I tried to get permission to return to my regiment today, but the doctor would not let me go. But all who are able, if not needed here, are to be sent to the front tomorrow.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 216

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: November 5, 1861

To my amazement, a man came to me to-day for a passport to Norfolk, saying he had one from the Secretary to pass by flag of truce to Fortress Monroe, etc. He wished me to give him one to show at the cars, not desiring to exhibit the other, as it might subject him to annoying looks and remarks.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 91

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 5, 1864

When Lawrence handed me my husband's money (six hundred dollars it was) I said: “Now I am pretty sure you do not mean to go to the Yankees, for with that pile of money in your hands you must have known there was your chance.” He grinned, but said nothing.

At the President's reception Hood had a perfect ovation. General Preston navigated him through the crowd, handling him as tenderly, on his crutches, as if he were the Princess of Wales's new-born baby that I read of to-day. It is bad for the head of an army to be so helpless. But old Blucher went to Waterloo in a carriage, wearing a bonnet on his head to shade his inflamed eyes—a heroic figure, truly; an old, red-eyed, bonneted woman, apparently, back in a landau. And yet, “Blucher to the rescue!”

Afterward at the Prestons', for we left the President's at an early hour. Major von Borcke was trying to teach them his way of pronouncing his own name, and reciting numerous travesties of it in this country, when Charles threw open the door, saying, “A gentleman has called for Major Bandbox.” The Prussian major acknowledged this to be the worst he had heard yet.

Off to the Ives's theatricals. I walked with General Breckinridge. Mrs. Clay's Mrs. Malaprop was beyond our wildest hopes. And she was in such bitter earnest when she pinched Conny Cary's (Lydia Languish's) shoulder and called her “an intricate little huzzy,” that Lydia showed she felt it, and next day the shoulder was black and blue. It was not that the actress had a grudge against Conny, but that she was intense.

Even the back of Mrs. Clay's head was eloquent as she walked away. “But,” said General Breckinridge, “watch Hood; he has not seen the play before and Bob Acres amazes him.” When he caught my eye, General Hood nodded to me and said, “I believe that fellow Acres is a coward.” “That's better than the play,” whispered Breckinridge, “but it is all good from Sir Anthony down to Fag.”

Between the acts Mrs. Clay sent us word to applaud. She wanted encouragement; the audience was too cold. General Breckinridge responded like a man. After that she was fired by thunders of applause, following his lead. Those mighty Kentuckians turned claqueurs, were a host in themselves. Constance Cary not only acted well, but looked perfectly beautiful.

During the farce Mrs. Clay came in with all her feathers, diamonds, and fallals, and took her seat by me. Said General Breckinridge, “What a splendid head of hair you have.” “And all my own,” said she. Afterward she said, they could not get false hair enough, so they put a pair of black satin boots on top of her head and piled hair over them.

We adjourned from Mrs. Ives's to Mrs. Ould's, where we had the usual excellent Richmond supper. We did not get home until three. It was a clear moonlight night — almost as light as day. As we walked along I said to General Breckinridge, “You have spent a jolly evening.” “I do not know,” he answered. “I have asked myself more than once to-night, ‘Are you the same man who stood gazing down on the faces of the dead on that awful battle-field? The soldiers lying there stare at you with their eyes wide open. Is this the same world? Here and there?’”

Last night, the great Kentucky contingent came in a body. Hood brought Buck in his carriage. She said she “did not like General Hood,” and spoke with a wild excitement in those soft blue eyes of hers — or, are they gray or brown? She then gave her reasons in the lowest voice, but loud and distinct enough for him to hear: “Why? He spoke so harshly to Cy, his body-servant, as we got out of the carriage. I saw how he hurt Cy's feelings, and I tried to soothe Cy's mortification.”

“You see, Cy nearly caused me to fall by his awkwardness, and I stormed at him,” said the General, vastly amused. “I hate a man who speaks roughly to those who dare not resent it,” said she. The General did own himself charmed with her sentiments, but seemed to think his wrong-doing all a good joke. He and Cy understand each other.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 284-6