Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 21, 1862

Miriam and mother are going to Baton Rouge in a few hours, to see if anything can be saved from the general wreck. From the reports of the removal of the Penitentiary machinery, State Library, Washington Statue, etc., we presume that that part of the town yet standing is to be burnt like the rest. I think, though, that mother has delayed too long. However, I dreamed last night that we had saved a great deal, in trunks; and my dreams sometimes come true. Waking with that impression, I was surprised, a few hours after, to hear mother's sudden determination. But I also dreamed I was about to marry a Federal officer! That was in consequence of having answered the question, whether I would do so, with an emphatic “Yes! if I loved him,” which will probably ruin my reputation as a patriot in this parish. Bah! I am no bigot! — or fool either. . . .

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 184

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Tuesday, December 20, 1864

Goudy and windy this morning. Heavy cannonading with some skirmishing was kept up all day. Our batteries silenced the rebels' batteries at every point. Four companies from our regiment went out last night to reinforce the details on building fortifications. The walls of the forts are to be twenty feet thick. We have a miserable camping ground right on the edge of the swamp, but we cleaned up a camp and at 4 o'clock this afternoon had company inspection. We have very poor water to use, having to get it from the swamp. But we are now drawing full rations, for which we are very thankful. All is quiet in the rear.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 239

Monday, October 5, 2015

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 12, 1862

Gen. Winder moved the passport office up to the corner of Ninth and Broad Streets.

The office at the corner of Ninth and Broad Streets was a filthy one; it was inhabited — for they slept there — by his rowdy clerks. And when I stepped to the hydrant for a glass of water, the tumbler repulsed me by the smell of whisky. There was no towel to wipe my hands with, and in the long basement room underneath, were a thousand garments of dead soldiers, taken from the hospitals and the battle-field, and exhaling a most disagreeable, if not deleterious, odor.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 114

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: January 7, 1865

Sherman is at Hardieville and Hood in Tennessee, the last of his men not gone, as Louis Wigfall so cheerfully prophesied.

Serena went for a half-hour to-day to the dentist. Her teeth are of the whitest and most regular, simply perfection. She fancied it was better to have a dentist look in her mouth before returning to the mountains. For that look she paid three hundred and fifty dollars in Confederate money. “Why, has this money any value at all?” she asked. Little enough in all truth, sad to say.

Brewster was here and stayed till midnight. Said he must see General Chesnut. He had business with him. His “me and General Hood” is no longer comic. He described Sherman's march of destruction and desolation. “Sherman leaves a track fifty miles wide, upon which there is no living thing to be seen,” said Brewster before he departed.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 340-1

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: Wednesday [August 19, 1863]

We are all pursuing the even tenor of our way, as if there were no war. An order from General Lee is in to-day's paper, exhorting officers and soldiers to a strict observance of fast-day, which is on Friday. In the mean time the enemy is storming Charleston with unprecedented fury. It is an object of peculiar vengeance. Sumter has literally fallen, but it has not yielded; its battered walls bid defiance to the whole power of the North.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 237

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: August 26, 1863

A week ago I was called to Camp Jackson to nurse –––, who has been very sick there. The hospital is very extensive, and in beautiful order. It is under the supervision of Surgeon Hancock, whose whole soul seems engaged in making it an attractive home to the sick and wounded. The beautiful shade-trees and bold spring are delightful to the convalescents during this warm weather. Fast-day was observed there with great solemnity. I heard a Methodist chaplain preach to several hundred soldiers, and I never saw a more attentive congregation.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 237

Letter from a South Carolina Mother to Charlotte Cross Wigfall, December 15, 1863

Dec. 15th, 1863.

I have passed many anxious months lately, in this siege of Charleston. My only child and son was at Fort Sumter, a First Lieutenant in the 1st Regular Artillery Regiment. He passed through the first attack in April safely — though occupying a post of danger, but, on the 17th of August, in the attack upon Sumter from the enemy's land batteries, on Morris Island, my poor boy was wounded by a fragment of a 200-pound parrott shell: he was slightly cut in the back of the head and wounded in two places in the shoulder; and picked up insensible. I went to him as soon as the news reached us of his being wounded, but was but two days in Charleston, when we were roused from our slumbers, at two hours past midnight, by the enemy shelling the town filled with sleeping, helpless women and children. The next day I left with my wounded boy to return to my quiet home in Georgia. He was with me but ten days, when he returned to Charleston, though he had not then recovered the use of his right hand and arm, which had been, from the severe contusions on the shoulder, entirely paralyzed. He had been in command of his company, at Sumter, since the first of the attack, his captain being absent on sick leave, so that he was anxious to return to duty and has been ever since, for the last three months, at a battery on James Island, near Fort Johnson, where I am again anxious about him. He is a devoted son, and the trial to me of having the boy so constantly exposed to danger is almost more than I can bear. ... I had hoped you were spared the anxiety of having an only son in the service, so young as he is, I can truly feel for you, but then he is not your only child. You have daughters at home to cheer and comfort you. I never wished until this cruel war that my son had been a daughter, but we must believe it is ordered for the best. I was made very happy last week by my son's return to us on a short leave — he makes everything bright and joyous for me and I miss him sadly when away. If we had only had a navy to fight for us, as the army has done, this war would have ended in a few months, I imagine; and now, who can see the end of it? With the coming spring instead of peace and joy, when the earth is all beautiful and smiling, we are told to prepare for another fierce attack of our cruel foe and more carnage and blood and slaughter await us. My heart sickens at the thought. I heard from Aunt N. from New York, December 6th. She seems very miserable about us all, and wishes I were in New York to share some of the many comforts they enjoy. Much as I once liked New York, I never desire to see it again and would rather starve and die here than live and grow fat under Lincoln! They have no idea, even our Southern friends there, of the feelings aroused in our hearts by this war. I am busy getting John ready to return to his post on James Island. As it breaks my heart to think of the poor boy being on picket all night in the rain and having only dry hominy and cold water for breakfast, I am scouring the country to buy syrup and eggs and a few comforts to keep him from starving.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 162-5

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 20, 1862

Last evening, after hard labor at pulling molasses candy, needing some relaxation after our severe exertions, we determined to have some fun, though the sun was just setting in clouds as watery as New Orleans milk, and promised an early twilight. All day it had been drizzling, but that was nothing; so flying hoofs. Once more at Mr. Elder's, we pitched them out without ceremony, and drove home as fast as possible, trying to fancy what punishment we would receive for being out so late. Anna Badger, Miriam, and I setoff, through the mud, to get up the little cart to ride in, followed by cries from the elder ladies of “Girls! Soap is a dollar and a half a bar! Starch a dollar a pound! Take up those skirts!” We had all started stiff and clean, and it did seem a pity to let them drag; so up they went — you can imagine how high when I tell you my answer to Anna's question as to whether hers were in danger of touching the mud, was, “Not unless you sit down.” The only animal we could discover that was not employed was a poor old pony, most appropriately called “Tom Thumb,” and him we seized instantly, together with a man to harness him. We accompanied him from the stable to the quarter where the cart was, through mud and water, urging him on with shouts and cries, and laughing until we could laugh no longer, at the appearance of each. The cart had been hauling wood, but that was nothing to us. In we tumbled, and with a driver as diminutive as the horse, started off for Mr. Elder's, where we picked up all the children to be found, and went on. All told, we were twelve, drawn by that poor horse, who seemed at each step about to undergo the ham process, and leave us his hind quarters, while he escaped with the fore ones and harness. I dare say we never enjoyed a carriage as much, though each was holding a muddy child. Riding was very fine; but soon came the question, “How shall we turn?” — which was not so easily solved, for neither horse nor boy understood it in the least. Every effort to describe a circle brought us the length of the cart farther up the road, and we promised fair to reach Bayou Sara before morning, at that rate. At last, after fruitless efforts to dodge under the harness and escape, pony came to a standstill, and could not be induced to move. The children took advantage of the pause to tumble out, but we sat still. Bogged, and it was very dark already! Wouldn't we get it when we got home! Anna groaned, “Uncle Albert!” Miriam laughed, “the General!” I sighed, “Mrs. Carter!” We knew what we deserved; and darker and darker it grew, and pony still inflexible! At last we beheld a buggy on a road near by and in answer to Morgan's shouts of “Uncle! Uncle! come turn our cart!” a gentleman jumped out and in an instant performed the Herculean task. Pony found motion so agreeable that it was with the greatest difficulty we prevailed on him to stop while we fished seven children out of the mud, as they pursued his flying hoofs. Once more at Mr. Elder's, we pitched them out without ceremony, and drove home as fast as possible, trying to fancy what punishment we would receive for being out so late.

Miriam suggested, as the most horrible one, being sent to bed supperless; Anna's terror was the General's displeasure; I suggested being deprived of rides in future; when all agreed that mine was the most severe yet. So as we drove around the circle, those two set up what was meant for a hearty laugh to show “they were not afraid,” which, however, sounded rather shaky to me. I don't think any of us felt like facing the elders; Miriam suggested anticipating our fate by retiring voluntarily to bed; Anna thought we had best run up and change our shoes, anyway; but at last, with her dare-devil laugh, Miriam sauntered into the room, where they all were, followed by us, and thrusting her wet feet into the fire that was kindled to drive away the damp (followed also by us), commenced a laughable account of our fun — in which we, of course, followed, too. If I had fancied we were to escape scot free, we would most surely have got a scolding. It is almost an inducement to hope always for the — worst! The General did not mention the hour! did not prohibit future rides!

While we were yet toasting, a negro came in with what seemed a bank-note, and asked his master to see how much it was, as one of the women had sold some of her watermelons to the three soldiers of the morning, who had given that to her for a dollar. The General opened it. It was a pass! So vanish all faith in human nature! They looked so honest! I could never have believed it of them! But it looked so much like the “shinplasters” we are forced to use, that no wonder they made the mistake. To discover who had played so mean a trick on the poor old woman, the General asked me if I could decipher the name. I threw myself on my knees by the hearth, and by the flickering light read “S. Kimes. By order of C! H!! Luzenberg! !! Provost Marshal! !!! Onolona, Miss.,” with a gasp of astonishment that raised a burst of laughter against me. Thought he was taken prisoner long ago! At all events, I didn't know he had turned banker, or that his valuable autograph was worth a dollar!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 180-4

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, December 18, 1864

This morning, as yesterday, there was a very heavy fog, continuing till about 9 o'clock. We drew one day's rations of hardtack, having been without bread of any kind for six days, during which time rice was almost our sole diet. Our company was partially reorganized today by promotions. Lieutenant Spencer was promoted to captain, J. A. White to second lieutenant, and I was made fifth sergeant. J. Tomlinson is to be made first lieutenant, but the promotion was not made today because his commission had not yet arrived.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 238

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Monday, December 19, 1864

Weather pleasant. Reveille sounded at 1 a. m. and at 2 o'clock our brigade started for the rifle pits in front of Savannah. The first brigade was left at the bridge to guard the landing and to unload the boats. A little before daylight, unnoticed by the rebels, we passed over the same causeway that we went down on, and after marching about nine miles we formed a line of battle and sent out skirmishers. We soon drove the rebels across the swamp. They used grape and canister on us, but did little harm. At all the points where they have the roads blockaded, we have planted sixty-four-pounders, which keep their guns silent. There is some heavy cannonading and brisk skirmishing all along the lines.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 238-9

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, November 22, 1862

Camp Near Sharpsburgh,
November 22, 1862.

Yesterday, I received the great box of clothing which has been the matter of so much interest with us all for the last few weeks. It was in perfect condition and everything was most satisfactory.

All my men are now well provided against the cold, and are as comfortable as they can ever expect to be while they are soldiers.

I forget as to who you told me was the knitter of that pair of patriotic stockings for Sergeant Lundy; she would have felt nattered if she could have seen the expression of thanks on his handsome face as I gave them to him. Hogan also received his pair, pleased at the distinction.
I cannot say for certain that some of the men with slim shanks and long feet didn't, in some cases, receive the stockings designed for thick ankles and chubby feet; but generally, the written instructions were followed out to the letter.

I have tried to write a note of thanks, but it is a very poor expression of them. You know that speech-making and that sort of thing were never in my line, but such as the note is, I enclose it with this epistle and you can circulate it among those of my friends who may be most interested in it.* I believe that the greatest share of the thanks belongs to you, and you must so take it.
_______________

* The note was as follows: — [Click Here].

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 106-7

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, November 22, 1862

Camp Near Sharpsbubgh,
November 22, 1862.

I have received to-day the long-looked-for box of clothing which you have so kindly made and sent to my company.

I have felt very thankful to you all since I first heard of the interest which has been shown to serve myself and my men, but I never appreciated the extent of the gratitude that I owed you till I saw the amount of labor and pains that must have been bestowed to produce such a quantity of most excellent and comfortable clothing. I had my company formed and marched to my tent, where I read your note, and then I commenced the distribution of the shirts and stockings; I first gave each man in the company one of each of these articles, and then to every sergeant and returned prisoner, or any one else who had seen especially hard service, another one, making as fair a division as I could. The written instructions found with some of the stockings were very entertaining and proved very useful in the distribution.

I believe that my men felt truly grateful to you for your kind present, and though a soldier shows very little emotion, whatever may occur, yet when they thanked me, I knew that they meant what they said. It must be some comfort to every man to know that while he is suffering hardships and dangers, he has kind friends at home who are thinking of him and administering to his comfort and happiness. You may be sure that it is a strong motive for us to do our duty bravely, knowing all this, and feeling that we have your best wishes.

Once more I thank you, each and all, most heartily, and hope that at no very distant day, I may do so in person.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 107-8

Major Wilder Dwight: Sunday Evening, November 3, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, Sunday Evening,
November 3, 1861.

If you had waked night before last in our camp, you would have thought yourself in a storm at sea, with a very heavy northeaster blowing. By the rattle, and creak, and strain, and whistle of the canvas and gale, you would have believed that the good ship was scudding before the blast. If you had shivered outside to attempt to secure your fluttering tent, you might, by a slight effort of the imagination, have thought yourself overboard. When the morning broke, after a sleepless and dreamy night, expectant of disaster, you would have seen, here and there, a tent prostrate, and the wind and rain, for you could see them both, wildly making merry over the storm-driven camp. As the Colonel stepped out of his tent at reveillé, a big branch from an overhanging tree came crashing down upon it, and broke the pole, and drove into the tent he had just stepped from. “There's luck,” said I, putting out my own head at the instant. We went out, and found half a dozen of the limping officers' tents flat upon the ground in shapeless masses. Captain Cary said, with an attempt at mirth, “I woke up about three o'clock with a confused idea that something was wrong, and found my face covered with wet canvas, and my tent-pole across my breast. I crawled out into the rain, and ran for shelter.' By the chill and exposure of the night, I found myself a little under the weather, and I found the weather a good deal over me. I was indisposed for breakfast, and the Doctor said, with a meaning chuckle, “Sea-sick, I guess.” I got my tent secured with ropes and strong pins, and, after considering the best way to be least uncomfortable, determined to go to bed and feel better by and by. What a day it was! The storm howled and roared, and seemed to tear the tent away from its moorings. I had every alternation of fear and hope, but, to my surprise, weathered the gale. The Sergeant-Major, who is an old soldier and a professional croaker, and whose rueful phiz always appears shining with grim pleasure amid disaster, who says, with a military salute, “Can't get nothing done, sir, not as it ought to be, sir,”  — the Sergeant-Major appeared at my tent with his gloom all on. “Tent is blown down, sir; pins don't seem to do no good, sir; my things is all wet, sir. Never see no storm, sir, equal to this in Mexico, sir.” “Well, Sergeant, it 'll be pleasanter to-morrow,” is all the satisfaction he gets. The day blew itself away, and, as we had hoped, the sun and wind went down together. This morning a clear sky and bright sunshine brought their gladness with them, and our Sunday morning inspection was a proof that “each tomorrow finds us better than to-day.” The men came out bright and shining and clean, except an occasional unfottunato whose clothes were drying. “Got wet yesterday, sir,” was a valid excuse, though not a frequent one. The day was a proof, however, that winter-quarters in this latitude will have to be our resource before many weeks. Tell Mr. that I put my feet in a pair of his stockings, and thought of him with the warmest affection. Sich is life, and, more particularly, camp life. To-day we receive the news of Scott's retirement, which has been rumored of late. I did not think that the day would come when the country would welcome his loss. But I think every one is relieved by his retirement. Now McClellan assumes an undivided responsibility, and if he has courage to defy the politicians, he may yet win the laurel which is growing for the successful general of this righteous but blunder-blasted war. What a fame is in store for that coming man. Talk of hero-worship. The past cannot furnish a parallel for the idolatry which will bow down before the man who restores the prestige and rekindles the associations of our dear old flag. You ask in your last letter if my heart does not sink. Sink? It swims like a duck when I think of the future which some of our eyes shall see; and will not they swim, too, with intense delight, when the sight dawns upon them? For myself, even now, I cannot look upon the flag which we brought away from Boston without a glow and heart-bump, which I take to be only faint symptoms of the emotion that is to come. I augur well from McClellan's new power, and I feel sure that things will go better for it. One will, one plan, one execution. As to the immediate results, I have no opinion. Upon this line of operations I do not look for anything decisive this winter. Yet it is not impossible that the season may favor us sufficiently to allow activity here this month.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 135-7

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Major Wilder Dwight: Monday Evening, November 4, 1861

Monday Evening.

I did not finish my letter last night, as there was no mail out. This will go to-morrow. It takes no news, except that Colonel Andrews seems quite to have settled into a fever. The fever is by no means severe, but it may drag slowly along. There is nothing dangerous in his condition, only to be abed is not pleasant, and to be weak is miserable. I have got him very pleasantly fixed, and he has the best care that we can give him.  . . . . We have had drills today, and the usual incidents of camp life. Our family is having a little measles, but is otherwise well. We have fine, clear weather again, and a bright, hopeful new moon.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 137-8

Brigadier-General Benjamin F. Butler to Blanche Butler, March 25, 1861

LoweLL, March 25, '61

MY GOOD LITTLE BLANCHE: I was glad that your visit to Washington on the occasion of the Inauguration gave you so much pleasure. The apples too were very carefully put up that you might feel that father had not forgotten you. Your letters, neatly written, generally well composed, and correct in language please me much. The only drawback I have is your persistent quarrel with the Latin. You say that it will do you no good hereafter. You will allow, I know, that I am the better judge upon that point; and I assure you if I did not believe that in after life you would thank me for insisting upon your further pursuit of the language I would yield to your wish. Not to enter into a labored argument to prove its usefulness, will you remember that the Latin is the foundation of at least five of the modern languages most in use, as a part of our own language and a most powerful auxilliary to our own – that you may see how much we are in debt to it I have checked the words (thus) derived in whole or part from it. You will find your path so strewn with Latin flowers while you acquire the Spanish or the Italian that you will remember with pleasure the pain of Sister Augustine's teachings. I am much obliged to you for your “cards.” If you could fully appreciate a father's pride in the well doing of a darling child a new incentive would be added to the conscientious discharge of your duty which you now I believe most fully do.

Do not permit idle gossip of idle people to annoy you. While you do as well as you now do you can have no cause to fear anything however malicious. You see, I have written you precisely as if you were a “big girl” instead of a very little one, but you know I have always treated you more like a woman than a child, and have appealed to your good sense and judgment rather than to the childish motives of hope of reward or fear of chiding. I look forward with almost as much pleasure as you can do to our excursion which we shall have together in our vacation.

FATHER

SOURCE: Jessie Ames Marshall, Editor, Private and Official Correspondence of Gen. Benjamin F. Butler During the Period of the Civil War, Volume 1: April 1860 – June 1862, p. 14

Major-General John A. Dix to the Honorable Francis P. Blair,

Fort McHenry, August 31, 1861.

My Dear Sir, — I have received the letter of the Postmaster of Baltimore, with your endorsement, in regard to the Exchange and other Secessionist presses in that city.

I presume you are not aware that an order for the suppression of these papers was made out in one of the Departments at Washington, and, in consequence of strong remonstrances from Union men in Baltimore, was not issued. Under these circumstances it would not be proper for me to act without the authority of the Government. Any action by me without such authority would be improper for another reason that probably does not occur to you. The command of General McClellan has been extended over the State of Maryland. I am his subordinate, and have corresponded with him on the subject. I cannot, therefore, act without his direction.

But, independently of this consideration, I think a measure of so much gravity as the suppression of a newspaper by military force should carry with it the whole weight of the influence and authority of the Government, especially when the publication is made almost under its eye.

There is no doubt that a majority of the Union men in Baltimore desire the suppression of all the opposition presses in the city; but there are many, and among them some of the most discreet, who think differently.

The city is now very quiet and under control, though my force is smaller than I asked. There is a good deal of impatience among some of the Union men; they wish to have something done. The feeling is very much like that which prevailed in Washington before the movement against Manassas. It would not be difficult to get up a political Bull Run disaster in this State. If the Government will give me the number of regiments I ask, and leave them with me when I have trained them to the special service they may have to perform, I will respond for the quietude of this city. Should the time for action come, I shall be ready. In the mean time preparation is going on. I am fortifying Federal Hill under a general plan of defence suggested by me and approved by General Scott. Two other works will be commenced the moment I can get an engineer from Washington.

On the Eastern Shore there should be prompt and decisive action. I have urged it repeatedly and earnestly during the last three weeks. Two well-disciplined regiments should march from Salisbury, the southern terminus of the Wilmington and Delaware Railroad, through Accomac and Northampton Counties, and break up the rebel camps before they ripen into formidable organizations, as they assuredly will if they are much longer undisturbed. No man is more strongly in favor of action than I am; but I want it in the right place. We are in more danger on the Eastern Shore than in any other part of the State.

I am, dear Sir, sincerely yours,
John A. Dix.

SOURCE:  Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John Adams Dix, Volume 2, p. 30-1

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Wednesday March 5, 1862

Fayetteville, Virginia. — Snow, raw weather. Rode with Dr. Joe four or five miles. The new horse doesn't seem to care for pistol firing. Open-air exercise agrees with me so well that I often feel as if an indoor life was unworthy of manhood; outdoor exercise for health I Read news of the 28th and [March] 1, Cincinnati. Rebel papers afford good reading these days.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 203

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 11, 1862

I have summed up the amounts of patriotic contributions received by the army in Virginia, and registered on my book, and they amount to $1,515,898.*

The people of the respective States contributed as follows:

North Carolina
$325,417
Alabama
317,600
Mississippi
272,670
Georgia
244,885
South Carolina
137,206
Texas
87,800
Louisiana
61,950
Virginia*
48,070
Tennessee
17,000
Florida
2,350
Arkansas
950
_______________

* Virginia undoubtedly contributed more than any other State, but they were not registered.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 113-4

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: December 27, 1864

Oh, why did we go to Camden? The very dismalest Christmas overtook us there. Miss Rhett went with us — a brilliant woman and very agreeable. '”The world, you know, is composed,” said she, “of men, women, and Rhetts” (see Lady Montagu). Now, we feel that if we are to lose our negroes, we would as soon see Sherman free them as the Confederate Government; freeing negroes is the last Confederate Government craze. We are a little too slow about it; that is all.

Sold fifteen bales of cotton and took a sad farewell look at Mulberry. It is a magnificent old country-seat, with old oaks, green lawns and all. So I took that last farewell of Mulberry, once so hated, now so beloved.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 340

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: August 10, 1863

Spent this morning in the house of mourning. Our neighbour Mrs. Stebbins has lost her eldest son. The disease was “that most fatal of Pandora's train,” consumption. He contracted it in the Western Army. His poor mother has watched the ebbing of his life for several months, and last night he died most suddenly. That young soldier related to me an anecdote, some weeks ago, with his short, oppressed breathing and broken sentences, which showed the horrors of this fratricidal war. He said that the day after a battle in Missouri, in the Fall of 1861, he, among others, was detailed to bury the dead. Some Yankee soldiers were on the field doing the same thing. As they turned over a dead man, he saw a Yankee stop, look intently, and then run to the spot with an exclamation of horror. In a moment he was on his knees by the body, in a paroxysm of grief. It was his brother. They were Missourians. The brother now dead had emigrated South some years before. He said that before the war communication had been kept up between them, and he had strongly suspected that he was in the army; he had consequently been in constant search of his brother. The Northern and Southern soldier then united in burying him, who was brother in arms of the one, and the mother's son of the other!

The Bishop and Mrs. J. returned home to-day from their long trip in the South-west. They travelled with great comfort, but barely escaped a raid at Wytheville. We welcomed them gladly. So many of our family party are wandering about, that our little cottage has become lonely.

Mr. C. has come out, and reports a furious bombardment of Sumter. This has been going on so long, that I begin to feel that it is indeed impregnable,

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 236-7