Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 13, 1864

My husband is writing out some resolutions for the Congress. He is very busy, too, trying to get some poor fellows reprieved. He says they are good soldiers but got into a scrape. Buck came in. She had on her last winter's English hat, with the pheasant's wing. Just then Hood entered most unexpectedly. Said the blunt soldier to the girl: “You look mighty pretty in that hat; you wore it at the turnpike gate, where I surrendered at first sight.” She nodded and smiled, and flew down the steps after Mr. Chesnut, looking back to say that she meant to walk with him as far as the Executive Office.

The General walked to the window and watched until the last flutter of her garment was gone. He said: “The President was finding fault with some of his officers in command, and I said: ‘Mr. President, why don't you come and lead us yourself; I would follow you to the death.’” '”Actually, if you stay here in Richmond much longer you will grow to be a courtier. And you came a rough Texan.'”

Mrs. Davis and General McQueen came. He tells me Muscoe Garnett is dead. Then the best and the cleverest Virginian I know is gone. He was the most scholarly man they had, and his character was higher than his requirements.

To-day a terrible onslaught was made upon the President for nepotism. Burton Harrison's and John Taylor Wood's letters denying the charge that the President's cotton was unburned, or that he left it to be bought by the Yankees, have enraged the opposition. How much these people in the President's family have to bear! I have never felt so indignant.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 289-90

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: December 15, 1862

An exciting day. Trains have been constantly passing with the wounded for the Richmond hospitals. Every lady, every child, every servant in the village, has been engaged preparing and carrying food to the wounded as the cars stopped at the depot — coffee, tea, soup, milk, and every thing we could obtain. With eager eyes and beating hearts we watched for those most dear to us. Sometimes they were so slightly injured as to sit at the windows and answer our questions, which they were eager to do. They exult in the victory. I saw several poor fellows shot through the mouth—they only wanted milk; it was soothing and cooling to their lacerated flesh. One, whom I did not see, had both eyes shot out. But I cannot write of the horrors of this day. Nothing but an undying effort to administer to their comfort could have kept us up. The Bishop was with us all day, and the few gentlemen who remained in the village. When our gentlemen came home at five o'clock they joined us, and were enabled to do what we could not — walk through each car, giving comfort as they went. The gratitude of those who were able to express it was so touching! They said that the ladies were at every depot with refreshments. As the cars would move off, those who were able would shout their blessings on the ladies of Virginia: “We will fight, we will protect the ladies of Virginia.” Ah, poor fellows, what can the ladies of Virginia ever do to compensate them for all they have done and suffered for us? As a train approached late this evening, we saw comparatively very few sitting up. It was immediately surmised that it contained the desperately wounded — perhaps many of the dead. With eager eyes we watched, and before it stopped I saw Surgeon J. P. Smith (my connection) spring from the platform, and come towards me; my heart stood still. “What is it, Doctor? Tell me at once.” "Your nephews, Major B. and Captain C., are both on the train, dangerously wounded.” “Mortally?” “We hope not. You will not be allowed to enter the car; come to Richmond to-morrow morning; B. will be there for you to nurse. I shall carry W. C. on the morning cars to his mother at the University. We will do our best for both.” In a moment he was gone. Of course I shall go down in the early cars, and devote my life to B. until his parents arrive. I am writing now because I can't sleep, and must be occupied. The cars passed on, and we filled our pitchers, bowls and baskets, to be ready for others. We cannot yield to private feelings now; they may surge up and rush through our hearts until they almost burst them, but they must not overwhelm us. We must do our duty to our country, and it can't be done by nursing our own sorrows.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 176-7

Charlotte Cross Wigfall to Louise Wigfall, May 23, 1861

May 23rd, 1861.

. . . Congress has adjourned to meet in Richmond on the 20th July. The President has begged your father to act on his staff. . . .

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 54

Charlotte Cross Wigfall to Louise Wigfall, May 30, 1861

richmond, May 30th.

After a terribly fatiguing journey we arrived here safely yesterday morning. We left Montgomery on Sunday night, at 8 o'clock, and travelled night and day, until yesterday morning.

The President was everywhere most rapturously received.  . . . I was all packed to start for Texas, when your father found that the President was so unwilling for him to go back at that time, that he determined to accept the position of Aide and at least act in that capacity until the opening of Congress, which will be on the 20th July. So here we are. These Virginians seem likely to overwhelm your father with their attentions and kill him with kindness — for yesterday he had to make no less than four speeches.

The whole country as we came through was like a military camp. The cars crowded with troops, and all as jubilant as if they were going to a frolic, instead of to fight. The President is to take the field; but I don't know the exact programme, and if I did it would not be safe to write it — for there is no telling who may read our letters now-a-days. Your father of course will go with him. It seems strange to me that I don't feel more frightened.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 54-5

Diary of Sarah Morgan: May 21, 1862

I have had such a search for shoes this week that I am disgusted with shopping. I am triumphant now, for after traversing the town in every direction and finding nothing, I finally discovered a pair of boots just made for a little negro to go fishing with, and only an inch and a half too long for me, besides being unbendable; but I seized them with avidity, and the little negro would have been outbid if I had not soon after discovered a pair more seemly, if not more serviceable, which I took without further difficulty. Behold my tender feet cased in crocodile skin, patent-leather tipped, low-quarter boy's shoes, No. 2! “What a fall was there, my country,” from my pretty English glove-kid, to sabots made of some animal closely connected with the hippopotamus! A dernier ressort, vraiment! for my choice was that, or cooling my feet on the burning pavement au naturel; I who have such a terror of any one seeing my naked foot! And this is thanks to war and blockade! Not a decent shoe in the whole community! N'importe! “Better days are coming, we'll all” — have shoes — after a while — perhaps! Why did not Mark Tapley leave me a song calculated to keep the spirits up, under depressing circumstances? I need one very much, and have nothing more suggestive than the old Methodist hymn, “Better days are coming, we'll all go right,” which I shout so constantly, as our prospects darken, that it begins to sound stale.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 36-7

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, September 24, 1864

This morning found us lying at Acworth, Georgia, having arrived at about 11 o'clock in the night. There is an engine off the track about a mile east of town, and they are at work repairing the track and trying to get the engine back on. Eleven trains are waiting here, six going North and five South. We left Acworth at 2 p. m. and arrived at Big Shanty, where we again had to lie until night, waiting for the railroad to be repaired. The rebels tore up the tracks to the west of Kenesaw mountain, this afternoon. They had a small battery with them and threw some shells at the trains, but with the exception of hitting three or four cars, did no damage.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 217

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw Lowell, September 12, 1864

Ripon, Sept. 12, 1864.

I'm expecting to start a new colour for the Brigade this afternoon. The old one, — red, white, and blue, with cross sabres in the white, — is entirely worn out. I shall run up, for the present, a white triangle with dark blue border, and cross sabres in the middle, — this is furnished by Government; but in a week or so I expect from Baltimore a new one of the old pattern. My colour for the old Brigade (3d) was the L Company, Second Massachusetts guidon, red and white silk, with a wreath and a star with L in the centre, — very ambitious forsooth, but the prettiest colour in the army. The others are all of bunting, except General Sheridan's, and perhaps others I have not seen. You’ll wonder at me, being willing to carry anything so “gaudy,” but my well-known modesty enabled me to do it.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 346

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Dr. Joseph T. Webb, January 6, 1862

Fayetteville, Virginia, January 6, 1862.

Dear Joe: — I yesterday received yours of the 26th; at the same time the Commercial of the first — six days later. Am glad to know you are doing so well at home. . . .

We go up to Raleigh tomorrow. A considerable march in the winter, if the mud thaws, as now seems likely. There is no difficulty in teams reaching [there] with goods and stores, but footing it, is, to say the least, disagreeable. Don't buy a new chest for me or anybody now. In the spring will be time enough.

It is possible you will start for here before this reaches Cincinnati; if not, come on, unless you hear by telegraph, without delay, if the condition of the family will allow. Love to all the dear ones — "wee" one and all.

Yours,

R.

Dr. J. T. Webb.

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

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