Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Wednesday, November 23, 1864

We started at 7 a. m. and marched twelve miles, when we bivouacked for the night. It is reported that a force of two thousand rebels is in our front beyond the Oconee river, and that there has been some skirmishing. We crossed the Savannah railroad here at Station No. 15. This station was burned last July by General Stoneman in his raid toward Macon, Georgia. The country is very heavily timbered, mostly pitch pine, but there are some very nice plantations. The negroes have all been run off to keep them from falling into the hands of our army. We are now on three-fifths rations and are foraging for meat.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 231

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, November 24, 1864

We lay in camp all day. The rebels are still in our front, and there is some cannonading off on our left where the Fourteenth and Twentieth Corps are on the move and destroying property. The Seventeenth Corps burned all the railroad property from Gordon down to the Oconee river. The first brigade of our division destroyed the railroad for some miles in this locality. The Iowa Brigade went out on the railroad this morning and worked for two hours. There was some skirmishing in our front and to our right. Our division supply train is lying at Station No. 15, the Fifteenth Iowa acting as train guard. We received orders to march in the morning at 5 o'clock.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 231

William Barton Rogers to Henry Darwin Rogers, May 17, 1860

Boston, May 17,1860.

My Dear Henry,  . . . On Friday I made my address to the Natural History Society on their thirtieth anniversary, and according to all accounts was more than usually successful. As I did not prepare in writing, I have, of course, nothing permanent to show for it. But I suppose the chief object was attained, and I am content.

I have been making some further experiments on photographing the electrical light, and on binocular vision, the details of which I will send you in my next, with the request, perhaps, that you would present them at the Oxford meeting. I have obtained a very beautiful photographic impression of the stratified discharge, thus showing the absence of actinic as well as luminous rays in the dark interspaces. . . .

Mr. Alger has lately shown me a letter of yours to Herbert Spencer in regard to the publication of the latter's works in this country. He and Mr. Silsbee, of Salem, are interesting themselves in getting subscribers, as I most certainly shall do. Some of Spencer's reviews, which I have read, struck me as very remarkable productions. After a time I am sure that his writings will be in great request with the more liberal thinkers here.

The Constitutional-Union party, at their late convention in Baltimore, nominated Bell, of Tennessee, for President, and Everett for Vice-President. Hillard was one of the chief speakers, and won a shower of bouquets from the ladies. As no opinions were expressed, or principles announced, in regard to any of the stirring questions of the day, of course all went smoothly and pleasantly.

I was saddened to hear yesterday that Theodore Parker has been rapidly going down, and that he is not expected to be able to leave Florence. Desor has been with him, and perhaps is still his companion. But probably you know more of his condition and purposes than we do. . . .

Your affectionate brother,

William.

SOURCE: Emma Savage Rogers & William T. Sedgwick, Life and Letters of William Barton Rogers, Volume 2, p. 33-4

Edward William Hooper, November 11, 1863

Beaufort, S. C, November 11th, 1863.

The cotton crop has done very fairly this year. The entire crop, from the private as well as Government plantations, will be about double that of last year, or even more than double. The government will have this year about one hundred thousand pounds of ginned cotton. The first frost came last night, and that will cut off a good deal of cotton that would have ripened in the next fortnight if there had been no frost. The money paid out to the people for their labor on this cotton is very considerable, and makes the industrious ones very well to do.

E. W. Hooper.

SOURCE: New-England Educational Commission for Freedmen, Extracts from Letters of Teachers and Superintendents of the New-England Educational Commission for Freedmen, Fourth Series, January 1, 1864, p. 7

Edward Everett Hale to Charles Hale, April 1, 1861

I want to congratulate you specially on the dignity, spirit, decorum, and wisdom of the paper since the war began. I think it really deserves all praise.

In the way of war poetry, print again Holmes's verses of the President's Fast. We had them the day after. The burthen

“God bless them when our Northern pine

Shall meet their Southern palm.”

runs in my head all the time. Indeed the whole thing fills me with unutterable sadness. But if we come out of it a nation it is worth something.

SOURCE: Edward Everett Hale Jr., The Life and Letters of Edward Everett Hale, Volume 1, p. 326-7

Edward Everett Hale to George Abbott, approximately April 1, 1861

Your letter, shows that you had there no idea of the way the whole North is backing up this movement. I have no idea that in 1775 there was such unanimity. There was not, of course, a thousandth part of the power.

SOURCE: Edward Everett Hale Jr., The Life and Letters of Edward Everett Hale, Volume 1, p. 327

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, November 9, 1861

Headquarters 2nd Brigade,

Hilton Head, Nov. 9TH, 1861.

My dear Mother:

It is a long, long time since I have heard from home — nearly three weeks I think since we have been blessed with news by mail, and all this time I am wondering how you are all faring in New-York. Well, when a mail bag does come, may it be crowded with all sorts of good news. Now we have good news to report, for we are now enjoying ourselves in the pleasant climate of South Carolina.

We have been many days on shipboard, 1700 of us all together, on board the good ship “Vanderbilt” which bravely rode the storm, while other good ships foundered in the sea. But the storm abated, and the winds went down, and we were lying off the coast of South Carolina. Then we thought that a death struggle was about to commence, for were we not to lock arms, and wrestle, with traitors at the very headquarters of rebellion? We lay off Beaufort Harbor some sixty hours in idleness, waiting for the ball to open. That navy though is a slow affair, and we abused it mightily, being impatient to decide the fate of the expedition. Our naval commanders — Commodore Dupont and Secretary of Navy Welles — received most unflattering notices. Why would they not begin? Finally the old concern got a working — the “Wabash” led off, and was followed by a whole fleet of minor vessels. They sailed into line, and soon were sharply engaged with the forts protecting the entrance to the Harbor. For four hours shot were poured thickly into the defenses of the besieged, and nearly as long a time the besiegers sent destruction among our ships. But the terrible explosions of our shell, the steady broadsides poured from the Frigate “Wabash,” and the sure-aimed missiles sent from the little gunboats that would run up close to the shore, ensuring thus accuracy of aim — all these things were terrible in their effect upon the foe. At last a white flag floated from the parapet of their fortification, and quickly a white flag was despatched from the “Wabash” to the shore. Hip, Hip, Hurrah! We see — ay —  we rub our eyes — is it really true? We see the American banner once more floating on the soil of South Carolina. All this time we were looking on, silent spectators of the scene. But now the harbor rings with the shouts of applause, with which we greeted the great naval victory. We forgot for a moment how slow Secretary Welles is, and how dreadfully slow are all the operations of the Navy. And now we vile Yankee hordes are overrunning the pleasant islands about Beaufort, rioting upon sweet potatoes and Southern sunshine. Hilton Head is a sandy island but beautiful with palmetto leaves, cotton fields, magnolia and orange groves, and plantations of sugar cane. Here lived the Pinckneys, the Draytons, and other high-blooded Hidalgos, whose effervescing exuberance of gentlemanly spirit have done so much to cause our present troubles. Alas! Yankee hordes, ruthless invaders — the vile Hessians — infest their splendid plantations. One poor fellow was taken prisoner; afterward we learned there was in our hospital a brother of his, dying from disease, a young man who was too ill to retreat when his comrades fled precipitately. The brother first mentioned ventured to request that they two might remain together. To his surprise the request was willingly granted, and they seemed to feel that we had shown them a great kindness. The effects left by the South Carolinians in their flight show that there were many young men of wealth among them, who, feeling obliged probably, to do their duty as soldiers, selected the neighborhood of Beaufort, which is a kind of Southern Saratoga. But if the flower of South Carolina youth, it is to be regretted that the flower never paid more attention to the spelling-book. A letter written them from a friend exhorts them to remember that they are “of gentilmanly blud.” As a sort of memento I send you enclosed a “poem,” the brilliancy of which will make it pay for the perusal. I saw William Ely yesterday. It is long since I've seen him before, and he has changed so that I did not recognize him until he gave me his name. If I had time I would write pages more, but I am full of business now. Oh a thousand times love and oceans of kisses for sisters and little ones, with less demonstrative but very warm regards for all friends.

I remain Affec'y.,

Will.

Can't stop to correct what I've written so excuse mistakes.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 95-8

Colonel William F. Bartlett to Harriett Plummer Bartlett, March 9, 1863

Orders to move at once, with two days' cooked and five uncooked rations. No baggage or tents; sixty rounds of ammunition per man. I don't know where we are going, I suppose Port Hudson.

Love to all. Good-by.

W.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 71

Diary of Gideon Welles: Thursday, October 2, 1862

Admiral Du Pont arrived to-day; looks hale and hearty. He is a skillful and accomplished officer. Has a fine address, is a courtier with perhaps too much finesse and management, resorts too much to extraneous and subordinate influences to accomplish what he might easily attain directly, and, like many naval officers, is given to cliques, — personal, naval clanship. This evil I have striven to break up, and, with the assistance of Secession, which took off some of the worst cases, have thus far been pretty successful, but there are symptoms of it in the South Atlantic Squadron, though I hope it is not serious. It is well that the officers should not only respect but have an attachment to their commanders, but not with injustice to others, nor at the expense of true patriotism and the service. But all that I have yet seen is, if not exactly what is wished, excusable. Certainly, while he continues to do his duty so well, I shall pass minor errors and sustain Du Pont. He gives me interesting details of incidents connected with the blockade, of the entrance to Stono, and affairs at James Island, where Benham committed a characteristic offense in one direction and Hunter a mistake in another.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 1: 1861 – March 30, 1864, p. 160

Diary of Salmon P. Chase: Sunday, October 5, 1862

At home to favor foot. Much better in the afternoon, and rode over to Insane Asylum to see Hooker. Was glad to find him much improved. He said we had plenty of good officers, and that all the courage, ability and genius we needed could be found among our Volunteer Colonels. He then said that an aide of McClellan's had been down to see him with an inquiry as to how soon he would be able to take the field, and expressing his confidence with hints of important command of army moving from Washington. He expressed the belief that no decisive victory would be achieved so long as McClellan had command.

Before starting on this visit, John A. Stevens, Jr., called wishing me to see Col. Hamilton about Texas;¹ and I asked him to bring him to dinner. Accordingly both came. Secretary Stanton also, by accident, and Mr. Montgomery, by Katie's invitation. After dinner, Col. Hamilton spoke fully of Texas — described his escape and hiding in the woods — said that many hundred loyal Texans were now concealed in Texas as refugees — declared that the War was a war of the oligarchy upon the people — that Slavery was the basis of the oligarchy, but that the perpetuation of slavery was not more their object, than the despotic power of the class over the mass. I entered fully into his feelings; and promised to go with him to the President's tomorrow.

After he went, Gov. Morton came in and spoke very earnestly of the condition of matters in Indiana. Apprehends State defeat on the 14th, and loss of all the Congressional Districts except Julian's, Colfax's, and perhaps Shank's. Wants Indiana Regiments in the State furloughed so that they can vote. Thinks Buell utterly unfit for command of the great army under him — is slow, opposed to the Proclamation, and has bad influence every way. Wishes me to go with him to President's about the regiments, which I promised to do tomorrow.

______________

¹ Andrew Jackson Hamilton, 1815-1875. G. S. Denison gives an account of him in his letter of September 19, 1862, p. 314.

SOURCE: Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1902, Vol. 2, p. 100-1

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, November 20, 1864

It is still raining and the roads have become so muddy that it is impossible for the artillery to keep up with the infantry. There are some well-improved plantations along the way which have had good crops this season and we find plenty of sweet potatoes and fresh pork. We are on short rations now and therefore have to forage a great deal. We also find enough forage for the horses and mules in the command.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 230

Count Adam Gurowski to James S. Pike, August 31, 1860

Morrisania, August 31, 1860.

My Dear, Dear Yankee: I got your letter. How can you be so tender-hearted and take seriously my silly abusing you? It was only to tease. Know it once for all, that you are among the few whom I never doubt. I hope ardently, too, that you will succeed for your brother.

Good-by, good-by.

Gurowski.

If you make speeches, put me in as Sumner did; will be a capital advertisement. I begin to be Yankee.

Gur.

SOURCE: James Shepherd Pike, First Blows of the Civil War: The Ten Years of Preliminary Conflict in the United States from 1850 to 1860, p. 524

Senator Jefferson Davis to Governor Francis W. Pickens, January 13, 1861

washington, D. C,

January 13, 1861.

Governor F. W. Pickens,

My dear sir: A serious and sudden attack of neuralgia has prevented me from fulfilling my promise to communicate more fully by mail than could safely be done by telegraph. I need hardly say to you that a request for a conference on questions of defense had to me the force of a command; it, however, found me under a proposition from the Governor of Mississippi, to send me as a commissioner to Virginia, and another to employ me in the organization of the State militia. But more than all, I was endeavoring to secure the defeat of the nomination of a foreign collector for the port of Charleston, and at that time it was deemed possible that in the Senate we could arrest all hostile legislation such as might be designed either for the immediate or future coercion of the South. It now appears that we shall lack one or two votes to effect the legislative object just mentioned, and it was decided last evening, in a conference which I was not able to attend, that the Senators of the seceded States should promptly withdraw upon the telegraphic information already received. I am still confined to my bed, but hope soon to be up again, and, at as early a day as practicable, to see you. I cannot place any confidence in the adherence of the administration to a fixed line of policy. The general tendency is to hostile measures, and against these it is needful for you to prepare. I take it for granted that the time allowed to the garrison of Fort Sumter has been diligently employed by yourselves, so that before you could be driven out of your earthworks you will be able to capture the fort which commands them. I have not sufficiently learned your policy in relation to the garrison at Fort Sumter, to understand whether the expectation is to compel them to capitulate for want of supplies, or whether it is only to prevent the transmission of reports and the receipt of orders. To shut them up with a view to starve them into submission would create a sympathetic action much greater than any which could be obtained on the present issue. I doubt very much the loyalty of the garrison, and it has occurred to me that if they could receive no reinforcements—and I suppose you sufficiently command the entrance to the harbor to prevent it — that there could be no danger of the freest intercouse between the garrison and the city. We have to-day news of the approach of a mixed commission from Fort Sumter and Charleston, but nothing further than the bare fact. We are probably soon to be involved in that fiercest of human strifes, a civil war. The temper of the Black Republicans is not to give us our rights in the Union, or allow us to go peaceably out of it. If we had no other cause, this would be enough to justify secession, at whatever hazard. When I am better I will write again, if I do not soon see you.

Very sincerely yours,

Jefferson Davis.*

­­­­_______________

* From original letter.

SOURCE: Samuel Wylie Crawford, The Genesis of the Civil War: The Story of Sumter, 1860-1861, p. 265-6

Diary of William Howard Russell: April 23, 1861

A lovely morning grew into a hot day. After breakfast, I sat in the shade watching the vagaries of some little tortoises, or terrapins, in a vessel of water close at hand, or trying to follow the bee-like flight of the hummingbirds. Ah me! one wee brownie, with a purple head and red facings, managed to dash into a small grape or flower conservatory close at hand, and, innocent of the ways of the glassy wall, he or she — I am much puzzled as to the genders of humming-birds, and Mr. Gould, with his wonderful mastery of Greek prefixes and Latin terminations, has not aided me much — dashed up and down from pane to pane, seeking to perforate each with its bill, and carrying death and destruction among the big spiders and their cobweb-castles which for the time barred the way.

The humming-bird had as the Yankees say, a bad time of it, for its efforts to escape were incessant, and our host said tenderly, through his mustaches, “Pooty little thing, don't frighten it!” as if he was quite sure of getting off to Saxony by the next steamer. Encumbered by cobwebs and exhausted, now and then our little friend toppled down among the green shrubs, and lay panting like a living nugget of ore. Again he, she, or it took wing and resumed that mad career; but at last on some happy turn the bright head saw an opening through the door, and out wings, body, and legs dashed, and sought shelter in a creeper, where the little flutterer lay, all but dead, so inanimate, indeed, that I could have taken the lovely thing and put it in the hollow of my hand. What would poets of Greece and Rome have said of the hummingbird? What would Hafiz, or Waller, or Spenser have sung, had they but seen that offspring of the sun and flowers?

Later in the day, when the sun was a little less fierce, we walked out from the belt of trees round the house on the plantation itself. At this time of year there is nothing to recommend to the eye the great breadth of flat fields, surrounded by small canals, which look like the bottoms of dried-up ponds, for the green rice has barely succeeded in forcing its way above the level of the rich dark earth. The river bounds the estate, and when it rises after the rains, its waters, loaded with loam and fertilizing mud, are let in upon the lands through the small canals, which are provided with sluices and banks and floodgates to control and regulate the supply.

The negroes had but little to occupy them now. The children of both sexes, scantily clad, were fishing in the canals and stagnant waters, pulling out horrible-looking little catfish. They were so shy that they generally fled at our approach. The men and women were apathetic, neither seeking nor shunning us, and I found that their master knew nothing about them. It is only the servants engaged in household duties who are at all on familiar terms with their masters.

The bailiff or steward was not to be seen. One big slouching negro, who seemed to be a gangsman or something of the kind, followed us in our walk, and answered any questions we put to him very readily. It was a picture to see his face when one of our party, on returning to the house, gave him a larger sum of money than he had probably ever possessed before in a lump. “What will he do with it?” Buy sweet things, — sugar, tobacco, a penknife, and such things. “They have few luxuries, and all their wants are provided for.” Took a cursory glance at the negro quarters, which are not very enticing or cleanly. They are surrounded by high palings, and the entourage is alive with their poultry.

Very much I doubt whether Mr. Mitchell is satisfied the Southerners are right in their present course, but he and Mr. Petigru are lawyers, and do not take a popular view of the question. After dinner the conversation again turned on the resources and power of the South, and on the determination of the people never to go back into the Union. Then cropped out again the expression of regret for the rebellion of 1776, and the desire that if it came to the worst, England would receive back her erring children, or give them a prince under whom they could secure a monarchical form of government. There is no doubt about the earnestness with which these things are said.

As the “Nina” starts down the river on her return voyage from Georgetown to-night, and Charleston harbor may be blockaded at any time, thus compelling us to make a long detour by land, I resolve to leave by her, in spite of many invitations and pressure from neighboring planters. At midnight our carriage came round, and we started in a lovely moonlight to Georgetown, crossing the ferry after some delay, in consequence of the profound sleep of the boatmen in their cabins. One of them said to me, “Mus’n’t go too near de edge ob de boat, massa.” “Why not?” “Becas if massa fall ober, he not come up agin likely, — a bad ribber for drowned, massa.” He informed me it was full of alligators, which are always on the look-out for the planters’ and negroes’ dogs, and are hated and hunted accordingly.

The “Nina” was blowing the signal for departure, the only sound we heard all through the night, as we drove through the deserted streets of Georgetown, and soon after three o'clock, A. M., we were on board and in our berths.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 132-4

John L. Motley to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., February 16, 1862

Legation of the United States of America, Vienna,

February 26, 1862.

My Dear Holmes: You are the most generous and delightful of correspondents and friends. I have two long and most interesting letters of yours to acknowledge, the first of 7th January, the second of 3d February. They are exactly the kind of letters which I most value. I want running commentaries on men and events produced on such a mind as yours by the rapidly developing history of our country at its most momentous crisis. I take great pleasure in reading your prophecies, and intend to be just as free in hazarding my own, for, as you so well say, our mortal life is but a string of guesses at the future, and no one but an idiot would be discouraged at finding himself sometimes far out in his calculations. If I find you signally right in any of your predictions, be sure that I will congratulate and applaud. If you make mistakes, you shall never hear of them again, and I promise to forget them. Let me ask the same indulgence from you in return. This is what makes letter-writing a comfort and journalism dangerous. For this reason, especially as I am now in an official position, I have the greatest horror lest any of my crudities should get into print. I have also to acknowledge the receipt of a few lines to Wendell. They gave me very great pleasure. I am delighted to hear of his entire recovery, and I suppose you do not object, so much as he does, to his being detained for a time from camp by recruiting service. I shall watch his career with deep interest. Just now we are intensely anxious about the Burnside expedition, of which, as you know, my nephew Lewis Stackpole is one. He is almost like my son. I feel very proud of his fine intellectual and manly qualities, and although it is a sore trial to his mother to part with him, yet I am sure that she would in future days have regretted his enrolment in the “stay-at-home rangers.”

That put me in mind to acknowledge the receipt of “Songs in Many Keys.” It lies on our drawing-room table, and is constantly in our hands. I cannot tell you how much pleasure I derived from it. Many of the newer pieces I already know by heart, and admire them as much as you know I have always done their predecessors. The “Ballad” is in a new vein for you, and is, I think, most successful. If I might venture to mention the separate poems by name which most please me, I should certainly begin with “Iris, her Book,” “Under the Violets,” “The Voiceless,” which are full of tenderness and music. Then the clarion ring of the verses for the centennial celebration of Burns has an immense charm for me, and so the trumpet tones of “The Voice of the Loyal North”; but I should go on a long time if I tried to express my honest and hearty admiration for the volume as fully as it deserves. I thank you most sincerely for it, and I assure you that you increase in fullness and power and artistic finish without losing any of your youthful freshness of imagination. I am glad that the emperor had the sense to appreciate your “Vive la France.” I agree with him that it is plein d'inspiration and exceedingly happy. I admire it the more because for the moment it communicated to me the illusion under the spell of which you wrote it. For of course France hates us as much as England does, and Louis Napoleon is capable of playing us a trick at any moment.

I am obliged to reason like a cosmopolite. The English have a right to hate America if they instinctively feel that the existence of a great, powerful, prosperous, democratic republic is a standing menace to the tenure of their own privileges. I think the instinct false, however, to a certain extent. Physical, historical, and geographical conditions make our democratic commonwealth a possibility, while they are nearly all wanting in England. I do not think the power or glory or prosperity of the English monarchy any menace to our institutions. I think it an unlucky and unreasoning perverseness which has led the English aristocracy to fear our advance in national importance. I do not mean that, on the whole, the government has behaved ill to us. Especially international dealings with us have been courteous and conciliatory. I like personally English ways, English character, Englishmen and Englishwomen. It is a great empire in arts and arms, and their hospitalities are very pleasant. Nevertheless, I love my own country never so much as at this moment. Never did I feel so strong a faith in her destiny as now. Of John Bright we have already spoken, and of the daily and noble battle waged for us by the “Daily News” (which I hope you read); and now how must we all rejoice at the magnificent essay in “Fraser's Magazine” by the acknowledged chief of English thinkers, John Stuart Mill!

It is awful to reflect that the crisis of our fate is so rapidly approaching. The ides of March will be upon us before this letter reaches you. We have got to squash the rebellion soon, or be squashed forever as a nation — aut fer, aut feri. I do not pretend to judge military plans or the capacity of generals; but, as you suggest, perhaps I can take a more just view of the whole picture of this eventful struggle at this great distance than do those absolutely acting and suffering in the scene. Nor can I resist the desire to prophesy any more than you do, knowing that I may prove utterly mistaken. I say, then, our great danger comes from foreign interference. What will prevent that? Our utterly defeating the Confederates in some great and conclusive battle, or our possession of the cotton ports and opening them to European trade, or a most unequivocal policy of slave-emancipation. Any one of these three conditions would stave off recognition by foreign powers until we had ourselves abandoned the attempt to reduce the South to obedience.

The last measure is to my mind the most important. The South has, by going to war with the United States government, thrust into our hands against our will the invincible weapon which constitutional reasons have hitherto forbidden us to employ. At the same time, it has given us the power to remedy a great wrong to four millions of the human race, in which we have hitherto been obliged to acquiesce. We are threatened with national annihilation, and defied to use the only means of national preservation. The question is distinctly proposed to us, Shall slavery die, or the great Republic? It is most astounding to me that there can be two opinions in the free States as to the answer. If we do fall, we deserve our fate. At the beginning of the contest, constitutional scruples might be respectable. But now we are fighting to subjugate the South, that is, slavery. We are fighting for the Union. Who wishes to destroy the Union? The slaveholders. Nobody else. Are we to spend $1,200,000,000 and raise 600,000 soldiers in order to protect slavery?

It really does seem to me too simple for argument. I am anxiously waiting for the coming Columbus who will set this egg of ours on end by smashing in the slavery end. We shall be rolling about in every direction until that is done. I do not know that it is to be done by proclamation—rather, perhaps, by facts. Well, I console myself by thinking that the people, the American people at least, is about as wise collectively as less numerous collections of individuals, and that the people has really decreed emancipation and is only puzzling how to carry it into effect. After all, it seems to be a law of Providence that progress should be by a spiral movement, so that when we seem most tortuous we may perhaps be going ahead. I am firm in the faith that slavery is now wriggling itself to death. With slavery in its primitive vigor I should think the restored Union neither possible nor desirable. Do not understand me as not taking fully into account all the strategical considerations against premature governmental utterances on this great subject.

But are there any trustworthy friends of the Union among the slaveholders? Should we lose many Kentuckians and Virginians who are now with us if we boldly confiscated the slaves of all rebels? And a confiscation of property which has legs and so confiscates itself at command is not only a legal, but would prove a very practical, measure in time of war. In brief, the time is fast approaching, I think, when “Thorough” should be written on all our banners. Slavery will never accept a subordinate position. The great Republic and slavery cannot both survive. We have been defied to mortal combat, and yet we hesitate to strike. These are my poor thoughts on this great subject. Perhaps you will think them crude.

I was much struck with what you quote from Mr. Conway, that if emancipation was proclaimed on the Upper Mississippi it would be known to the negroes of Louisiana in advance of the telegraph. And if once the blacks had leave to run, how many whites would have to stay at home to guard their dissolving property?

You have had enough of my maunderings. But before I conclude them, may I ask you to give all our kindest regards to Lowell, and to express our admiration for the “Yankee Idyl”? I am afraid of using too extravagant language if I say all I think about it. Was there ever anything more stinging, more concentrated, more vigorous, more just? He has condensed into those few pages the essence of a hundred diplomatic papers and historical disquisitions and Fourth of July orations. I have very pleasant relations with all the “J. B.'s”¹ here. They are all friendly and well disposed to the North. I speak of the embassy, which, with the ambassador and ambassadress, numbers eight or ten souls, some of them very intellectual ones.

Shall I say anything of Austria? What can I say that would interest you? That is the reason why I hate to write. All my thoughts are in America. Do you care to know about the Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian (if L. N.² has his way)? He is next brother to the emperor; but although I have had the honor of private audience of many archdukes here, this one is a resident of Triest. He is about thirty; has an adventurous disposition, some imagination, a turn for poetry; has voyaged a good deal about the world in the Austrian ship of war, for in one respect he much resembles that unfortunate but anonymous ancestor of his, the King of Bohemia, with the seven castles, who, according to Corporal Trim, had such a passion for navigation and sea affairs, “with never a seaport in all his dominions.” But now the present King of Bohemia has got the sway of Triest, and Ferdinand Maximilian has been resident there, and is Lord High Admiral and chief of the Marine Department. He has been much in Spain and also in South America. I have read some travels — “Reise Skizzen” — of his, printed, not published. They are not without talent, and he ever and anon relieves his prose jog-trot by breaking into a canter of poetry. He adores bullfights, rather regrets the Inquisition, and considers the Duke of Alva everything noble and chivalrous and the most abused of men. It would do your heart good to hear his invocations to that deeply injured shade, his denunciations of the ignorant and vulgar Protestants who have defamed him. “Du armer Alva! weil du dem Willen deines Herren unerschütterlich treu warst, weil die fest bestimmten Grundsätze der Regierung,” etc., etc., etc. You can imagine the rest. (N. B. Let me observe that the D. R. was not published until long after the “Reise Skizzen” were written.)

Dear me, I wish I could get back to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries! If once we had the “rebels licked, Jeff Davis hanged, and all,” I might shunt myself back to my old rails. But alas! the events of the nineteenth century are too engrossing. If Lowell cares to read this letter, will you allow me to make it over to him jointly, as Captain Cuttle says? I wished to write to him, but I am afraid only you would tolerate my writing so much when I have nothing to say. If he would ever send me a line I should be infinitely obliged, and would quickly respond. We read “The Washers of the Shroud” with fervent admiration. Always remember me most sincerely to the club, one and all. It touches me nearly when you assure me that I am not forgotten by them. To-morrow is Saturday, and last of the month.³ We are going to dine with our Spanish colleague.⁴ But the first bumper of the don's champagne I shall drain to the health of the Parker House friends. Mary and Lily join me in kindest regards to you and all yours; and I am, as always,

Sincerely your friend,

J. L. M.

_______________

¹ Cf. “Jonathan to John,” in “The Biglow Papers.”

² Louis Napoleon.

³ The club dinner took place on that day.

⁴ M. de la Torre Ayllon.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 239-46

John M. Forbes to William Curtis Noyes, July 28, 1862

Boston, July 28,1862.

My Dear Sir, — Hardly a day passes that I do not see some article which ought to be republished in each of the loyal States: Evarts's letter, your New York resolutions, one day, something from the “Evening Post” or “Tribune,” another, something better from the rebels, proclaiming themselves “aristocrats and masters bound to rule us.”

It seems to me that we need a publishing committee with headquarters in New York, and a member at each principal point. When anything good comes out, it can always be copied without cost, and a quantity of slips struck off at insignificant expense. These should be sent with the indorsement of a member of the committee to each important newspaper. The chief cost would be in postage, and this might fairly be obviated to a large extent by calling upon members of Congress for franks for an object of such public interest. If you approve of the idea, perhaps you will talk with Mr. Bryant and other leading men, and act. I shall be away all summer, but I suggest for Boston James B. Thayer, a lawyer, brother of W. S. Thayer, formerly connected with the “Evening Post,” now consul-general to Egypt. Party and personal interests ought to be carefully kept out of it, and the vigorous prosecution of the war made its chief object. Such an article as I inclose would just now be of great value in raising recruits, and opening the eyes of the people to the real nature of the contest, aristocracy vs. popular government, and slave labor vs. free labor. It is pretty clear that your leaders are “marching on” in New York, and it is now mainly important to enlighten the working classes.

If they could see where the real support of the war lies, it is my belief that they would force the administration and the generals to fire into the enemy's powder magazine, and then we should soon come down to Mr. Seward's sixty days' duration of the war! Please return me the inclosed cutting, which I mean to make worth several recruits, and oblige,

Yours truly,

J. M. Forbes.

SOURCE: Sarah Forbes Hughes, Letters and Recollections of John Murray Forbes, Volume 1, p. 324-5

John Brown to his Family, March 12, 1857

Springfield, Mass., March 12, 1857.

Dear Wife And Children All, — I have just got a letter from John. All middling well, March 2, but Johnny, who has the ague by turns. I now enclose another from Owen. I sent you some papers last week. Have just been speaking for three nights at Canton, Conn., and at Collinsville, a village of that town. At the two places they gave me eighty dollars. Canton is where both father and mother were raised. They have agreed to send to my family at North Elba grandfather John Brown's old granite monument, about eighty years old, to be faced and inscribed in memory of our poor Frederick, who sleeps in Kansas.1 I prize it very highly, and the family all will, I think. I want to see you all very much, but cannot tell when I can go back yet. Hope to get something from you here soon. Direct as before. May God bless you all!

Your affectionate husband and father.

_______________

1 This note from a friend in Connecticut shows how soon the gravestone was removed to North Elba: [Click Here].

SOURCE: Franklin B. Sanborn, The Life and Letters of John Brown, p. 375

Horatio N. Rust to John Brown, April 17, 1857

Collinsville, April 17, 1857.

Captain J. Brown.

Dear Sir, — Your favor of the 16th is just at hand. The pistols I shall send tomorrow morning. I received the package for S. Brown, and delivered it . The expense on the parcel was one dollar fifty, but I am very willing to pay that myself Your friends have sent the old stone to your place. Hoping to see you soon, I remain

Yours respectfully.

H. N. Rust.

SOURCE: Franklin B. Sanborn, The Life and Letters of John Brown, p. 375

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, September 21, 1862

Maryland Heights, September 21, 1862.

To go back a little; last Sunday, we marched through Frederick, almost the last corps of McClellan's army. We marched to the sound of the cannon to Middletown Heights, reaching the latter place about half-past one Monday morning, after the battle had been fought and won by our men. We lay down on the ground and slept till daylight.

Monday we marched to within about five miles of Sharpsburgh. Tuesday we united our corps to the main army. A battle was expected that day, but nothing took place beyond a little shelling. We were aroused that night at ten o'clock and marched to our position on line, reaching it between one and two A. M. We were just behind Hooker's division. There was continual picket firing throughout the night.

I awoke at daylight with the full conviction that we were going to fight a battle that day. The first thing to do, of course, was to eat a good breakfast, which I fortunately had with me. I had scarcely finished before the cannonading began, followed quickly by heavy musketry volleys. We got under arms at once and our corps marched forward. We halted just before reaching the field, while our gallant general, Mansfield, gave the orders for our disposition. He was a splendid old veteran; fine white hair and beard. He had commanded us for three days only, but we all felt his good influence. The poor man received his mortal wound before we had been under fire five minutes.

Our brigade moved up into an apple orchard; we had the right. The Third Wisconsin was engaged first, receiving a tremendous fire; we were quite well protected. Captain Mudge was slightly wounded, and about a half a dozen men. Our regiment was now called upon to support the Third Wisconsin. We formed a line almost at right angles with theirs, and poured a heavy cross-fire on the rebels, who were in a cornfield not a hundred yards off; this continued about ten minutes, when the rebel line broke, turned and ran. Our brigade now advanced with a tremendous cheer; the whole field before us was literally covered with dead and dying; we took a number of prisoners from the rebels and the battle flag of the Eleventh Mississippi. We advanced in line for several hundred yards, then halted; our part of the work had been done for the present.

It was sad, now, to look around and see the shattered battalions that were left in the places of the comparatively full regiments we had seen an hour before. The Third Wisconsin had lost more than half its numbers, and almost all its officers; it was very much the same with the Forty-sixth Pennsylvania. Our loss had been very small, though I think our fire was altogether the most effective of any regiment. Colonel Dwight caught up our rebel flag and rode by our line, waving it triumphantly; every cap went off and a cheer went up that you must almost have heard at Jamaica Plain. It was one of our poor Lieutenant-Colonel's last gallant acts, and I don't believe many who saw him will ever forget it.

All of a sudden, Sumner's whole corps came up behind us; we gave them a cheer as they passed by. They were in three lines and looked splendidly. They advanced into a wood and were met by an awful fire; they returned it gallantly, but were unequal to their task and were obliged to give way to the right a little, leaving the woods to the enemy. All this time we were lying down flat under a heavy fire of solid shot and shell, which tore the ground up around us, but as usual did no harm.

Now came our turn again; Gordon's brigade was ordered to attack the woods on the right. We crossed a high rail fence into a lane¹ and ensconced ourselves behind the fence on the other side within fifty yards of the woods; we had on our right and left two new regiments. We had hardly taken our position when the rebel line came out of the woods, so near you could distinguish the features of the men. We gave them a volley which sent them back in quick time under cover of a natural breastwork they had there; then, without any cause, the new regiments bolted, officers [Sept. 22, 1862, The first sheet was written on picket: I was suddenly relieved and am now in camp in Pleasant Valley] and men, and we were left alone. We stood it for about ten minutes, losing a third of our men and several officers, when the order was reluctantly given to fall back. This we did in good order (though it was hard work getting over that high fence in our rear, with much appearance of dignity), for about a hundred yards, when the regiment was halted; then ranks closed up and again made ready for attack or defence.

Now, too, it was sad to look at our thinned ranks; I found I had lost two men killed and five wounded; many of the companies had suffered more severely, but our greatest loss was Colonel Dwight. I saw his horse shot, and saw him dismount and try and hold his horse by the head, but the animal struggled so violently that he broke away; almost immediately afterward, Colonel Dwight received his death wound. He was within six feet of Colonel Andrews at the time, and as he was struck and sank to the ground, said, "That's done for me." As soon as our regiment halted, four men immediately volunteered to bring him in; this they succeeded in doing, though all the time under a heavy fire. He was carried to a farmer's house, but lived only about thirty-six hours. Lieutenant Mills, acting Adjutant, was badly shot through both legs; Crowninshield received a flesh wound in the leg. Captain Francis was shot through the hand and lost two fingers. Colonel Andrews' horse was shot through the shoulder. Captain Shaw was struck by a spent ball in the neck; Robeson was grazed in two places; I was struck by a spent ball in the temple, which laid me on my back for a moment and raised a pretty black and blue spot; I thought at first it was all up with me, but I soon got the better of that idea. We carried into action less than two hundred and forty men and lost about eighty killed and wounded.² During the rest of the battle, we were on different parts of the field supporting batteries. We lay down that night about ten o'clock, glad enough to get a little rest. The dead and dying were all around us and in our very midst.

At the first streak of daylight, I awoke; the first sight I saw was a squad of wounded rebels coming into our lines: you can't imagine such miserable looking objects as they were; their wounds undressed, and bleeding, and their clothes torn in tatters. I found that Bob Shaw and I had slept within fifty feet of a pile of fourteen dead rebels, and in every direction about us they were lying thick.

One of the most brilliant actions of the day was a charge of Smith's division; they passed our left and swept the rebels from their front like chaff. Our artillery was splendidly served and did great execution. Everywhere the rebels fought with desperation. Rebel prisoners stated that their army numbered over one hundred thousand, and that they expected to win the day and annihilate our army and have an open road to the North. Friday morning, we had been reinforced by at least thirty thousand men, and McClellan moved his whole army forward, but the rebels had gone, leaving dead and wounded on the field uncared for; the sight everywhere was dreadful, and one that I hope you may never see the like of; it cannot be imagined or described.

Our corps marched until two o'clock Saturday morning, over the roughest of roads and through the darkest of nights, reaching the summit of Maryland Heights ridge about ten miles from Sandy Hook; here we lay down till daylight, then marched along the ridge over rocks and stumps to Maryland Heights. Our old crowd had a nice dinner at Mrs. Buckles'; it was very pleasant. I was sent out upon our old camping ground with my company to do picket duty. Here I stayed until Sunday evening, when I was relieved and marched my company down a breakneck road to the regiment which was bivouacking in Pleasant Valley. 1 arrived about nine P. M., and lay down and slept under a blanket for the first time for a week. It was luxury enough, though there was nothing overhead but blue sky.

To-day we pitched camp and began our work with company books and papers, thinking at last we were going to rest; but to-night our hopes are dashed by an order saying, “Reveille at four o'clock; march at daylight.” I am now sitting up to finish this letter, because if we move as we have been moving, it is actually impossible to write.

_______________

¹ The Hagerstown turnpike, which is quite narrow at this place.

² Actual loss 18 killed and mortally wounded, 54 wounded. Total loss, 72.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 86-90

Major Wilder Dwight: October 16, 1861

pleasant Hill, October 16, 1861.

I always have an impulse to write when I get a letter, and as yours of last Friday gladdened me this evening, I am pen in hand again, though without a story. No! I have one, now I think of it. My maiden lady friend of the spinning-wheel and flower-garden came to see me to-day. She and her brother in their best. I gave them my hospitalities, showed them the camp, &c., and made them very content. They are full of patriotic ardor. Its form of expression is various. The good lady brought me to-day as a present, first, two quarts of milk; second, a pair of roast chickens; third, two loaves of bread; fourth, some preserved cherries; fifth, two apple-pies; sixth, an immense bouquet of roses and dahlias; seventh, a bottle of balsam for cuts and bruises, and “other wounds,” — whether of the heart or not the stanch maiden did not explain; eighth, some butter. I am persuaded that she brought me everything that occurred to her mind as possible.

The Colonel had quite a joke over my trophies; but I noticed he ate the pies, and liked the cherries. It is refreshing to see two honest country folk loving their flag with such naïve simplicity.

They wish “they could only do something,” and just now I seem to be the object of their baffled patriotism. There is no evading the constancy of their attachment; their love of country will express itself on me. The bouquet, which is half as tall as I am, fills my tent with its fragrance while I write, and it is of an obtrusive and ardent gayety, which seems almost out of season among the falling leaves of October.

Though I date this letter to-day, it was begun last night, and will progress slowly, I am afraid, amid the interruptions of this morning. One does not see exactly what has been accomplished by living a day in this camp; but he finds, as the hours pass, that something claims attention pretty much all the time.

I am just now going out to skirmish-drill with the bugle. It is a part of the military duty which I fully understand, and, accordingly, I like to perform it. I hope it won't be long before I can say the same of all parts. . . . .

Tell Lillie and Charlie P. that I am glad they are knitting for their country, and I should like to come over and take tea some evening.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 117-8