Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 16, 1865

LINCOLNTON, N. C., February 16, 1865.

A change has come o'er the spirit of my dream. Dear old quire of yellow, coarse, Confederate home-made paper, here you are again. An age of anxiety and suffering has passed over my head since last I wrote and wept over your forlorn pages.

My ideas of those last days are confused. The Martins left Columbia the Friday before I did, and Mammy, the negro woman, who had nursed them, refused to go with them. That daunted me. Then Mrs. McCord, who was to send her girls with me, changed her mind. She sent them up-stairs in her house and actually took away the staircase; that was her plan.

Then I met Mr. Christopher Hampton; arranging to take off his sisters. They were flitting, but were to go only as far as Yorkville. He said it was time to move on. Sherman was at Orangeburg, barely a day's journey from Columbia, and had left a track as bare and blackened as a fire leaves on the prairies.

So my time had come, too. My husband urged me to go home. He said Camden would be safe enough. They had no spite against that old town, as they have against Charleston and Columbia. Molly, weeping and wailing, came in while we were at table. Wiping her red-hot face with the cook's grimy apron, she said I ought to go among our own black people on the plantation; they would take care of me better than any one else. So I agreed to go to Mulberry or the Hermitage plantation, and sent Lawrence down with a wagon-load of my valuables.

Then a Miss Patterson called — a refugee from Tennessee. She had been in a country overrun by Yankee invaders, and she described so graphically all the horrors to be endured by those subjected to fire and sword, rapine and plunder, that I was fairly scared, and determined to come here. This is a thoroughly out-of-all-routes place. And yet I can go to Charlotte, am half-way to Kate at Flat Rock, and there is no Federal army between me and Richmond.

As soon as my mind was finally made up, we telegraphed to Lawrence, who had barely got to Camden in the wagon when the telegram was handed to him; so he took the train and came back. Mr. Chesnut sent him with us to take care of the party.

We thought that if the negroes were ever so loyal to us, they could not protect me from an army bent upon sweeping us from the face of the earth, and if they tried to do so so much the worse would it be for the poor things with their Yankee friends. I then left them to shift for themselves, as they are accustomed to do, and I took the same liberty. My husband does not care a fig for the property question, and never did. Perhaps, if he had ever known poverty, it would be different. He talked beautifully about it, as he always does about everything. I have told him often that, if at heaven's gate St. Peter would listen to him a while, and let him tell his own story, he would get in, and the angels might give him a crown extra.

Now he says he has only one care — that I should be safe, and not so harassed with dread; and then there is his blind old father. “A man,” said he, “can always die like a patriot and a gentleman, with no fuss, and take it coolly. It is hard not to envy those who are out of all this, their difficulties ended — those who have met death gloriously on the battle-field, their doubts all solved. One can but do his best, and leave the result to a higher power.”

After New Orleans, those vain, passionate, impatient little Creoles were forever committing suicide, driven to it by despair and “Beast” Butler. As we read these things, Mrs. Davis said: “If they want to die, why not first kill ‘Beast’ Butler, rid the world of their foe and be saved the trouble of murdering themselves?” That practical way of removing their intolerable burden did not occur to them. I repeated this suggestive anecdote to our corps of generals without troops, here in this house, as they spread out their maps on my table where lay this quire of paper from which I write. Every man Jack of them had a safe plan to stop Sherman, if ––

Even Beauregard and Lee were expected, but Grant had double-teamed on Lee. Lee could not save his own — how could he come to save us? Read the list of the dead in those last battles around Richmond and Petersburg¹ if you want to break your heart.

I took French leave of Columbia — slipped away without a word to anybody. Isaac Hayne and Mr. Chesnut came down to the Charlotte depot with me. Ellen, my maid, left her husband and only child, but she was willing to come, and, indeed, was very cheerful in her way of looking at it.

“I wan’ travel ‘roun’ wid Missis some time — stid uh Molly goin’ all de time.”

A woman, fifty years old at least, and uglier than she was old, sharply rebuked my husband for standing at the ear window for a last few words with me. She said rudely: '”Stand aside, sir! I want air!” With his hat off, and his grand air, my husband bowed politely, and said: “In one moment, madam; I have something important to say to my wife.”

She talked aloud and introduced herself to every man, claiming his protection. She had never traveled alone before in all her life. Old age and ugliness are protective in some cases. She was ardently patriotic for a while. Then she was joined by her friend, a man as crazy as herself to get out of this. From their talk I gleaned she had been for years in the Treasury Department. They were about to cross the lines. The whole idea was to get away from the trouble to come down here. They were Yankees, but were they not spies?

Here I am broken-hearted and an exile. And in such a place! We have bare floors, and for a feather-bed, pine table, and two chairs I pay $30 a day. Such sheets! But fortunately I have some of my own. At the door, before I was well out of the back, the woman of the house packed Lawrence back, neck and heels: she would not have him at any price. She treated him as Mr. F. 's aunt did Clenman in Little Dorrit. She said his clothes were too fine for a nigger. “His aim, indeed.” Poor Lawrence was humble and silent. He said at last, “Miss Mary, send me back to Mars Jeems.” I began to look for a pencil to write a note to my husband, but in the flurry could not find one. “Here is one,” said Lawrence, producing one with a gold case. “Go away,” she shouted, “I want no niggers here with gold pencils and airs.'” So Lawrence fled before the storm, but not before he had begged me to go back. He said, “if Mars Jeems knew how you was treated he'd never be willing for you to stay here.”

The Martins had seen my, to them, well-known traveling case as the hack trotted up Main Street, and they arrived at this juncture out of breath. We embraced and wept. I kept my room.

The Fants are refugees here, too; they are Virginians, and have been in exile since the second battle of Manassas. Poor things; they seem to have been everywhere, and seen and suffered everything. They even tried to go back to their own house, but found one chimney only standing alone; even that had been taken possession of by a Yankee, who had written his name upon it.

The day I left home I had packed a box of flour, sugar, rice, and coffee, but my husband would not let me bring it. He said I was coming to a land of plenty — unexplored North Carolina, where the foot of the Yankee marauder was unknown, and in Columbia they would need food. Now I have written for that box and many other things to be sent me by Lawrence, or I shall starve.

The Middletons have come. How joyously I sprang to my feet to greet them. Mrs. Ben Rutledge described the hubbub in Columbia. Everybody was flying in every direction like a flock of swallows. She heard the enemy's guns booming in the distance. The train no longer runs from Charlotte to Columbia. Miss Middleton possesses her soul in peace. She is as cool, clever, rational, and entertaining as ever, and we talked for hours. Mrs. Reed was in a state of despair. I can well understand that sinking of mind and body during the first days as the abject misery of it all closes in upon you. I remember my suicidal tendencies when I first came here.

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¹ Battles at Hatcher's Run, in Virginia, had been fought on February 5, 6, and 7, 1865.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 344-8

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: September 26, 1863

Spent this morning seeking information about our plan of living in the country. Nothing satisfactory.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 239

Francis H. Wigfall: July 31, 1864

Atlanta, July 31st, 1864.

. . . You doubtless have heard before this reaches you of the removal of General Johnston, and the placing of Gen. Hood in command of the Army. The dispatch was received the night of the seventeenth, and Genl. Johnston's farewell address bore that date. The three corps commanders next day telegraphed to Richmond requesting that the order should be revoked, but it was refused. This is what I understood and I think it is true. Genl. Hood accordingly assumed command that day, the 18th. Gen. Johnston went into Atlanta that morning and left for Macon next day. I rode into town in the evening to say good-bye and saw Mrs. Johnston and himself. No one could ever have told from his countenance or manner that anything unusual had occurred. Indeed he seemed in rather better spirits than usual though it must have been at the cost of much exertion. An universal gloom seemed cast over the army, for they were entirely devoted to him. Gen. Hood, however, has all the qualities to attach men to him, and it was not a comparison between the two, but love for, and confidence in, Gen. Johnston which caused the feeling I have before alluded to. Gen. Hood, as you will see, assumed command under circumstances of no ordinary difficulty. He has applied himself, however, heart and soul to the task and I sincerely trust will bring us out of the campaign with benefit to the country and honor to himself. The Administration, of course, is compelled to support him both with moral and material aid, and that assistance which was asked for by General Johnston unsuccessfully will no doubt be afforded now. A portion if not all of Gen. Roddy's command is now on the way, if it did not reach here to-night. If Gen. Forrest is thrown on the road in their rear everything will be as we want it. Time will tell us all. On the 20th, Stewart and Hardee advanced on the enemy in their front and drove them a short distance before them capturing some prisoners and one or two stands of colors. On the 22nd, Gen. Hardee's corps which had been moved the night before to a position on their flank, attacked and drove the enemy from their vidette line, their skirmish line and two main lines of works, and held them, capturing some twelve hundred prisoners, eight guns, and thirteen stands of colors. Gen. Wheeler with his cavalry drove a brigade of infantry from their works and through Decatur which is seven miles from town on the Augusta R. R., capturing some two or three hundred prisoners and one gun. A portion of Cheatham's corps, (Gen. Hood's old corps) drove the enemy from the first main line of works in their front, but were forced to retire, bringing off however three or four hundred prisoners, five stands of colors and six pieces of Artillery.

The fruits of the victory were fifteen guns, eighteen colors and between eighteen and nineteen hundred prisoners. There was another fight on the 28th in which three Divisions were engaged. They drove the enemy into slight works which they had erected, but did not take the works. The attack was made to prevent the enemy's gaining possession of a road. Major Preston, son of Gen. John S. Preston, was killed in the fight of the 20th by a cannon shot. He was universally regretted. Gen. Stevens of South Carolina was mortally wounded in the same fight and has since died. On the 22nd, Gen. W. H. T. Walker was killed and Gen. Gist and Gen. Smith, commanding Granbury's Texas brigade, wounded. On the 28th Gen. Stewart, Gen. Loring, and Gen. Johnson, who received his appointment as Brig. Gen. on the march to the fight, were wounded. Gen. Ector was wounded during an artillery duel — and has lost his leg. Col. Young, whom you remember to have seen at Charlottesville, is now commanding the brigade. Gen. Mackall, Gen. Johnston's Chief of Staff, has been relieved at his own request, and Genl. Shoep, formerly Chief of Artillery of the Army, is now Gen. Hood's Chief of Staff. Col. Beckham is Chief of Artillery of the Army and will I suppose be made Brigadier. I am messing at present with Gen. Hood, am living in a house, and have a room all to myself. I write very frequently to L., generally every two or three days. The last letter I received was dated the 24th. Mrs. Johnston had obtained a large house in a very pleasant part of the town and would move into it in a few days. L. and F. will be with her there and L. says she thinks she will spend a very pleasant summer comparatively ' when these awful battles are over.'

Genl. Stephen D. Lee has taken command of Gen. Hood's old corps. He told me he had heard you were on your way across the river and I suppose by this time you are safely in Louisiana. The Yankee cavalry has been very actively at work on the railroads in Georgia and Alabama for the last week or two. A force which had cut the road between here and Macon, only tearing up a mile and a half, were pursued by our Cavalry and when they reached the West Point R. R. came upon some of Roddy's forces on the cars, were held in check until some of the pursuers came up, and from all accounts it seems that the only ones of them who will get back to their lines will be the fugitives who can make their way through the woods. Remember me to all the servants.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 181-5

Diary of Sarah Morgan: September 3, 1862

Political news it would be absurd to record; for our information is more than limited, being frequently represented by a blank. Of the thirteen battles that Gibbes has fought in, I know the names of four only: Bull Run, Stonebridge, Port Republic, and Cedar Run. Think of all I have yet to hear! To-day comes the news of another grand affair, the defeat of McClellan, Pope, and Burnside combined. If I dared believe it! But accounts are too meagre as yet. Both Gibbes and George were in it, if there was a fight, and perhaps Jimmy, too. Well! I must wait in patience. We have lost so much already that God will surely spare those three to us. Oh! if they come again, if we can meet once more, what will the troubles of the last six months signify? If I dared hope that next summer would bring us Peace! I always prophesy it just six months off; but do I believe it?

Indeed, I don't know what will become of us if it is delayed much longer. If we could only get home, it would be another thing; but boarding, how long will mother's two hundred and fifty last? And that is all the money she has. As to the claims, amounting to a small fortune, she might as well burn them. They will never be paid. But if we get home, what will we do for bedding? The Yankees did not leave us a single comfort, and only two old bars and a pair of ragged sheets, which articles are not to be replaced at any price in the Confederacy, so we must go without. How glad I am that we gave all our blankets to our soldiers last summer! So much saved from the Yankees!

Poor Lavinia! She fancies us comfortably settled at home; I dare say she spends all her time in picturing to herself what we may be doing, and recalling each piece of furniture the rooms contained. Wonder if she would not be shocked if the real scene were suddenly revealed to her, and she should see the desolated house and see us fugitives in a strange town. Wonder how the cry of “Where are those three damned Secesh women?” would have struck her, had she heard the strange oaths and seen the eager search which followed? I dare say it would have frightened her more than it did me when I was told of it. William Waller says it is God's mercy that we had escaped already, for we certainly would have suffered. I hardly think we could have been harmed, though, and shall always regret that we did not return immediately after the battle. It took them from that day to the evacuation to finish the work; and I rather think that our presence would have protected the house.

Our servants they kindly made free, and told them they must follow them (the officers). Margret was boasting the other day of her answer, “I don't want to be any free-er than I is now — I'll stay with my mistress,” when Tiche shrewdly remarked, “Pshaw! Don't you know that if I had gone, you'd have followed me?” The conduct of all our servants is beyond praise. Five thousand negroes followed their Yankee brothers from the town and neighborhood; but ours remained. During the fight, or flight, rather, a fleeing officer stopped to throw a musket in Charles Barker's hands, and bade him fight for his liberty. Charles drew himself up, saying, “I am only a slave, but I am a Secesh nigger, and won't fight in such a d----- crew!” Exit Yankee, continuing his flight down to the riverside.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 210-2

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Friday, December 30, 1864

The Twentieth Army Corps was reviewed by General Sherman at 9 a. m. They came out with their flying colors and brass bands, making a big showing. But when there's a fight on hand they are not as forward as they might be; it suits them better to garrison a place after it has been taken. We have company drill once a day, and the substitutes have to drill twice a day when in camp. The Thirteenth and Sixteenth Iowa and the Thirty-second Illinois, moved their camps this afternoon to make room for the fortifications planned. Sherman has ordered Savannah to be strongly fortified. Heavy guns will be mounted so that no enemy can get close enough to do any harm with the ordinary field guns. The engineers went to work today laying out the places where the forts are to be built.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 242

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: September 25, 1863

There has been a great battle in the West, at Chickamauga, in Tennessee, between Bragg and Rosecranz. We are gloriously victorious! The last telegram from General Bragg tells of 7,000 prisoners, thirty-five pieces of cannon, and 15,000 small-arms, taken by our men. The fight is not over, though they have been fighting three days. Longstreet and his corps of veterans are there to reinforce them. A battle is daily expected on the Rapidan; and, to use Lincoln's expression, they are still "pegging away" at Charleston.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 239

Louise Wigfall to Charlotte Cross Wigfall, July 11, 1864

macon, July 11th, 1864.

. . . You see by the heading of my letter that already we have been forced to leave Atlanta — not that it has fallen, but Mrs. Johnston received a letter from the General in which he advised her to send us off at once — to remain until the fate of the city was decided either one way or the other. Col. Brewster and Brother (who came from camp near Atlanta for a conference) agreed with her in thinking it best for us to go — as the machinery, government stores, and wounded from the hospitals were being removed, and there was no telling how soon it might be exceedingly difficult if not impossible to get away. Mrs. Johnston will remain till the last moment practicable, and then, in case of a rush to the cars, she has her carriage in which she can come. The plan is now, if Atlanta falls, for her to come immediately to Macon, and try to get a house. Col. Ewell (of Gen. Johnston's staff) is obliged to have an office in the rear of the Army, and this will be as convenient a place as he can procure. If she fails in getting the house or rooms here, she will try to be accommodated at some little village on the way between here and Atlanta; and I rather think she would prefer this arrangement as it would bring her nearer the army. If au contraire Atlanta should not fall, we will return to her as soon as that fact is decided; and the same will be done as soon as she gets settled in her new quarters, (wherever they may be) if obliged to move. In the meantime we are with Mrs. Clay.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 178-9

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Monday, September 1, 1862

I woke up this morning and, to my great surprise, find that summer has already passed away, and that we have already entered the first month of fall. Where has the summer gone to? Since the taking of Fort Jackson, the days have gone by like a dream. I had hardly realized spring, when now I find it is autumn. I am content to let the time fly, though, as every day brings us nearer Peace — or something else.

How shockingly I write! Will I ever again have a desk or a table to write on? At present, my seat is a mattress, and my knee my desk; and that is about the only one I have had since the 2d of August. This is the dreariest day I have seen for some time. Outside, it has been raining since daybreak, and inside, no one feels especially bright or cheerful. I sometimes wish mother would carry out her threat and brave the occasional shellings at Baton Rouge. I would dare anything, to be at home again. I know that the Yankees have left us little besides the bare house; but I would be grateful for the mere shelter of the roof. I often fancy how we will miss little articles that we thought necessary to our comfort before, when we return. . . . And the shoes I paid five dollars for, and wore a single time? I am wishing I had them now that I am almost barefooted, and cannot find a pair in the whole country. . . . Would it not be curious, if one of these days while traveling in the North (if I ever travel again), I should find some well-loved object figuring in a strange house as a “trophy of the battle of Baton Rouge”? I should have to seek for them in some very low house, perhaps; respectable people had very little to do with such disgraceful work, I fancy. Suppose I should see father's cigar-stand, for instance, or Miriam's little statues? I wonder if the people would have the conscience to offer to return them? A young lady, passing by one of the pillaged houses, expressed her surprise at seeing an armoir full of women's and children's clothes being emptied, and the contents tied up in sheets. “What can you do with such things?” she asked a soldier who seemed more zealous than the rest. “Ain't I got a wife and four children in the North?” was the answer. So we, who have hardly clothes enough for our own use, are stripped to supply Northerners!

One would think that I had no theme save the wreck of our house, if they read this. But I take it all out in here. I believe I must be made of wood, or some other tough material, not to feel it more. I sometimes ask myself if it is because I did not care for home, that I take it so quietly now. But I know that is not it. I was wild about it before I knew what had happened; since I learned all, few are the words that have escaped my lips concerning it. Perhaps it is because I have the satisfaction of knowing what all women crave for — the Worst. Indeed it is a consolation in such days as these when truth concerning either side is difficult to discover. The certainty of anything, fortune or misfortune, is comfort to me. I really feel sorry for the others who suffered; but it does not strike me that sympathy is necessary in our case.

Mrs. Flynn came to Lilly's room, when she heard of it, well prepared for sympathy, with a large handkerchief and a profusion of tears, when she was horrified to find both her and Miriam laughing over the latter's description of some comical scene that met her sight in one of the rooms. Seems to me that tears on all occasions come in as the fortieth article, to the articles of belief of some people.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 207-10

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, December 29, 1864

The weather continues pleasant but cool. The glorious old Seventeenth Army Corps was reviewed at 9 a. m. by Major-General Sherman. The corps performed nicely and looked fine considering the campaign through which they have gone, and also considering the fact that they have not yet drawn new clothing. We formed our lines in the streets down in the city and the general rode along the lines to inspect them. We then marched along Front Street, where the general was stationed to review us. General Foster was also present as we passed in review. We got back into camp at 2 o'clock, having had a fine day for the review. Things are very quiet and there is no news of any importance. Small boats come up the river every day to bring rations and other army stores.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 242

A Letter from Charlottesville: May 9, 1864

Charlottesville, May 9th.

. . . Charlottesville is in a whirl of excitement and the ladies go in crowds to the depot to assist the wounded, who come in train after train. We are all going this afternoon laden with ice-water, buttermilk, etc., to see what we can do. Dr. C. is going with us and I hope we will do some good. It was urged by Mr. Meade in church yesterday that the ladies should render their assistance, as upwards of four or five thousand are expected this afternoon.

There is nothing new this morning. Everything is very favorable and yesterday evening there was a rumor that Grant, being defeated, was entrenching, and Lee, also; the latter to send troops to Richmond, which is threatened on the south side and has only 14,000 at present. Beauregard in command. It is also said that Pickett had driven the enemy back below Petersburg. There are thousands of rumors and we are satisfied with knowing we have been victorious thus far. Gen. Longstreet passed through here yesterday, painfully, but not seriously, wounded in the shoulder.

I told you in my last the package had come safely and I will be very careful of it. The prices for mending shoes are so exorbitant that I expect I had better wait and have them mended in the country.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 176-7

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 30, 1862

Still no prospect of a lodging; so here we remain. I never before lived in a house without a balcony, and have only now found out how inconvenient it is. The whole establishment consists of two rooms on each side of a passage as wide as the front door; and as it has a very low ceiling, with no opening, and no shade near, it is decidedly the warmest spot I ever inhabited. We all sleep on the floor and keep our clothes in our trunks — except Lilly, who has an armoir without doors. Knives and forks for dinner to-day, though the table still consists of a single plank. The house really has a suffocating effect on me, there is such a close look about it. The front is fully a foot below the level of the street, while quite a flight of steps leads from the back door to the yard. In fact, the whole town consists of abrupt little mounds. It is rather a pretty place; but Heaven save me from the misery of living in it! Miriam is crazy to remain — even advocates that dirty, bare, shutterless boarding-house where we passed the first night, from what attraction I cannot imagine. I am just as anxious to get into the country. I would hate the dull round of this little place; I prefer solitude where I can do as I please without being observed. Here we are as well known by people we never before heard of as though we were fellow-citizens.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 206-7

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Wednesday, December 28, 1864

It was cloudy with some rain, though it cleared off in the afternoon and turned quite cool. Things are very quiet in camp, and our duty is light; we do not have even picket duty, as the cavalry are doing that on the outskirts. Nearly all the citizens inside of our lines have taken the oath, swearing that they will not aid the Southern Confederacy. All of them express the view that the war will come to a close soon. We hope their view will prove true.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 241-2

Louise Wigfall: May 3, 1864

I find this item, May 3rd, 1864: “It is very uncomfortable at Mrs. ––––, as they allowance each person to butter, etc. Things are in a dreadful state. Have you tried to get your shoes mended? I am completely unshod, as my boot gave way entirely yesterday in my walk with F.”

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 176

Diary of Sarah Morgan: August 29, 1862

Clinton, La.

Noah's duck has found another resting-place! Yesterday I was interrupted while writing, to pack up for another move, it being impossible to find a boarding-house in the neighborhood. We heard of some about here, and Charlie had engaged a house for his family, where the servants were already set tied, so I hurried off to my task. No easy one, either, considering the heat and length of time allowed. This time I ate dinner as I packed, again. About four, finding Miriam did not come to Mr. Elder's as she promised, I started over to General Carter's with her clothes, and found her just getting into the buggy to ride over, as I arrived warm, tired, hardly able to stand. After taking her over, the General sent the buggy back for Mrs. Carter and myself, and soon we were all assembled waiting for the cars. At last, determining to wait for them near the track, we started off again, General Carter driving me in his buggy. I love General Carter. Again, after so many kind invitations, he told me he was sorry we would not remain with him; if we were content, he would be only too happy to have us with him; and spoke so kindly that I felt as though I had a Yankee ball in my throat. I was disposed to be melancholy anyway; I could not say many words without choking. I was going from the kindest of friends to a country where I had none at all; so could not feel very gay. As we reached the track, the cars came shrieking along. There was a pause, a scuffle, during which the General placed me and my bird in a seat, while Lilly, Charlie, Miriam, mother, five children, and two servants, with all the baggage, were thrown aboard some way, when with a shriek and a jerk we were off again, without a chance of saying goodbye, even.

I enjoyed that ride. It had but one fault; and that was, that it came to an end. I would have wished it to spin along until the war was over, or we in a settled home. But it ended at last, to Jimmy's great relief, for he was too frightened to move even, and only ventured a timid chirp if the car stopped, as if to ask, “Is it over?” Nothing occurred of any interest except once a little boy sent us slightly off the track, by meddling with the brakes.

Landed at sunset, it is hard to fancy a more forlorn crew, while waiting at the depot to get the baggage off before coming to the house. We burst out laughing as we looked at each lengthened face. Such a procession through the straggling village has hardly been seen before. How we laughed at our forlorn plight as we trudged through the hilly streets,— they have no pavements here, — looking like emigrants from the Ould Counthry, as we have watched them in New Orleans!

At the house we found Tiche laid up. The loaded wagon, with its baggage, four mules, three grown servants, and four children, was precipitated from a bridge twenty-five feet high, by the breaking of the before-mentioned causeway, and landed with the whole concern in deep water below. Wonderful to relate, not a life was lost! The mattress on which the negroes remained seated floated them off into shallow water. The only one hurt was Tiche, who had her leg severely sprained. The baggage was afterwards fished out, rather wet. In the mud next morning (it happened late at night), Dophy found a tiny fancy bottle that she had secreted from the Yankees; a present from Clemmy Luzenberg, it was, and one of two things left in my curiosity shop by the Yankees.

After seeing everything in, we started off for the hotel, where we arrived after dark, rather tired, I think. Not a comfortable house, either, unless you call a bare, unfurnished, dirty room without shutter or anything else, comfortable; particularly when you are to sleep on the floor with four children and three grown people, and a servant. After breakfast we came here until we can find a place to settle in, which Mr. Marsden has promised to attend to for us. It is rather rough housekeeping yet, but Lilly has not yet got settled. Our dinner was rather primitive. There was a knife and fork to carve the meat, and then it was finished with spoons. I sat on the floor with my plate, and a piece of cornbread (flour not to be bought at any price) and ate with my fingers — a new experience. I found that water can be drunk out of a cup!

Ouf! I am tired!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 203-6

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Tuesday, December 27, 1864

All is quiet. There is no news of any importance.¹ The Fourteenth Army Corps was reviewed at 9 a. m. by General Sherman. The troops looked fine. The Fourteenth is a good corps. I sent in my subscriptions today for three papers: the Missouri Democrat at $2.00 per year, the Theological Journal, $2.00, and Harper's Weekly, $4.00. I think I shall have enough reading matter now for 1865, if I succeed in getting all my papers.

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¹ While on our march through Georgia, all the men had a chance to see Sherman at close range, as he rode with the different corps, changing from one to another. As we approached Savannah, going in on the main road, which was rather narrow he was with our corps, the Seventeenth, which had most of the fighting to do. I noticed that when he wished to get ahead to the front of the corps, he never would crowd the infantry aside, but instead rode alongside himself, leaving the good road for them. I have seen him ride this way, his horse on an ordinary walk, with his staff officers riding in single file behind him. Some of the boys would ask him questions, or make some joking remarks as to where we were going, and the general would seldom reply, but would always have a pleasant smile in recognition of the question asked. He won the respect of the boys, and they all had confidence in him. — A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 241

Excerpt from Eliza McHatton Ripley’s “From Flag to Flag,”

Several days after the evacuation we ventured to enter the gates of our sweet little city, on errands of mercy, mingled with no little curiosity to see the condition in which it had been left by its unwelcome and turbulent visitors. The tall, broad-spreading shade-trees that lined the streets had been felled and thrown across all the leading thoroughfares, impeding travel so that our landau made many ineffectual attempts to thread its way. At last I descended and walked the dusty, littered, shadeless streets from square to square. Seeing the front door of the late Judge Morgan's house thrown wide open, and knowing that his widow and daughters, after asking protection for their property of the commanding general, had left before the battle, I entered. No words can tell the scene that those deserted rooms presented. The grand portraits, heirlooms of that aristocratic family, men of the Revolutionary period, high-bred dames of a long-past generation in short bodices, puffed sleeves, towering headdresses, and quaint golden chains — ancestors long since dead, not only valuable as likenesses that could not be duplicated, but acknowledged works of art — these portraits hung upon the walls, slashed by swords clear across from side to side, stabbed and mutilated in every brutal way! The contents of store-closets had been poured over the floors; molasses and vinegar, and everything that defaces and stains, had been smeared over walls and furniture. Up-stairs, armoires with mirror-doors had been smashed in with heavy axes or hammers, and the dainty dresses of the young ladies torn and crushed with studied, painstaking malignity, while china, toilet articles, and bits of glass that ornamented the rooms were thrown upon the beds and broken and ground into a mass of fragments; desks were wrenched open, and the contents scattered not only through the house, but out upon the streets, to be wafted in all directions; parts of their private letters as well as letters from the desks of other violated homes, and family records torn from numberless bibles, were found on the sidewalks of the town, and even on the public roads beyond town limits!

Judge Morgan's was the only vacated house I entered. It was enough: I was too heart-sick and indignant to seek another evidence of the lengths to which a conquering army can go in pitiless, unmeaning destruction, when nothing can result from such vandalism but hatred and revenge.

SOURCE: Eliza McHatton Ripley, From Flag to Flag: A Woman's Adventures and Experiences in the South During the War, in Mexico and in Cuba, p. 49-50

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Thursday, August 28, 1862

I am satisfied. I have seen my home again. Tuesday I was up at sunrise, and my few preparations were soon completed, and before any one was awake,

I walked over to Mr. Elder's, through mud and dew, to meet Charlie. Fortunate was it for me that I started so early; for I found him hastily eating his breakfast, and ready to leave. He was very much opposed to my going; and for some time I was afraid he would force me to remain; but at last he consented, — perhaps because I did not insist, — and with wet feet and without a particle of breakfast, I at length found myself in the buggy on the road home. The ride afforded me a series of surprises. Half the time I found myself halfway out of the little low-necked buggy when I thought I was safely in; and the other half, I was surprised to find myself really in when I thought I was wholly out. And so on, for mile after mile, over muddy roads, until we came to a most terrific cross-road, where we were obliged to pass, and which is best undescribed. Four miles from town we stopped at Mrs. Brown's to see mother, and after a few moments' talk, went on our road.

I saw the first Yankee camp that Will Pinckney and Colonel Bird had set fire to the day of the battle. Such a shocking sight of charred wood, burnt clothes, tents, and all imaginable articles strewn around, I had never before seen. I should have been very much excited, entering the town by the route our soldiers took; but I was not. It all seemed tame and familiar. I could hardly fancy I stood on the very spot where the severest struggle had taken place. The next turn of the road brought us to two graves, one on each side of the road, the resting-place of two who fell that day. They were merely left in the ditch where they fell, and earth from the side was pulled over them. When Miriam passed, parts of their coats were sticking out of the grave; but some kind hand had scattered fresh earth over them when I saw them. Beyond, the sight became more common. I was told that their hands and feet were visible from many. And one poor fellow lay unburied, just as he had fallen, with his horse across him, and both skeletons. That sight I was spared, as the road near which he was lying was blocked up by trees, so we were forced to go through the woods, to enter, instead of passing by, the Catholic graveyard. In the woods, we passed another camp our men destroyed, while the torn branches above testified to the number of shells our men had braved to do the work. Next to Mr. Barbee's were the remains of a third camp that was burned; and a few more steps made me suddenly hold my breath, for just before us lay a dead horse with the flesh still hanging, which was hardly endurable. Close by lay a skeleton, — whether of man or horse, I did not wait to see. Not a human being appeared until we reached the Penitentiary, which was occupied by our men. After that, I saw crowds of wagons moving furniture out, but not a creature that I knew. Just back of our house was all that remained of a nice brick cottage — namely, four crumbling walls. The offense was that the husband was fighting for the Confederates; so the wife was made to suffer, and is now homeless, like many thousands besides. It really seems as though God wanted to spare our homes. The frame dwellings adjoining were not touched, even. The town was hardly recognizable; and required some skill to avoid the corners blocked up by trees, so as to get in at all.

Our house could not be reached by the front, so we left the buggy in the back yard, and running through the lot without stopping to examine the storeroom and servants' rooms that opened wide, I went through the alley and entered by the front door.

Fortunate was it for this record that I undertook to describe the sacking only from Miriam's account. If I had waited until now, it would never have been mentioned; for as I looked around, to attempt such a thing seemed absurd. I stood in the parlor in silent amazement; and in answer to Charlie's “Well?” I could only laugh. It was so hard to realize. As I looked for each well-known article, I could hardly believe that Abraham Lincoln's officers had really come so low down as to steal in such a wholesale manner. The papier-maché workbox Miriam had given me was gone. The baby sacque I was crocheting, with all knitting needles and wools, gone also. Of all the beautiful engravings of Annapolis that Will Pinckney had sent me, there remained a single one. Gentlemen, my name is written on each! Not a book remained in the parlor, except “Idyls of the King,” that contained my name also, and which, together with the door-plate, was the only case in which the name of Morgan was spared. They must have thought we were related to John Morgan, and wreaked their vengeance on us for that reason. Thanks for the honor, but there is not the slightest connection! Where they did not carry off articles bearing our name, they cut it off, as in the visiting-cards, and left only the first name. Every book of any value or interest, except Hume and Gibbon, was “borrowed” permanently. I regretted Macaulay more than all the rest. Brother's splendid French histories went, too; all except “L’Histoire de la Bastille.” However, as they spared father's law libraries (all except one volume they used to support a flour barrel with, while they emptied it near the parlor door), we ought to be thankful.

The dining-room was very funny. I looked around for the cut-glass celery and preserve dishes that were to be part of my “dot,” as mother always said, together with the champagne glasses that had figured on the table the day that I was born; but there remained nothing. There was plenty of split-up furniture, though. I stood in mother's room before the shattered armoir, which I could hardly believe the same that I had smoothed my hair before, as I left home three weeks previously. Father's was split across, and the lock torn off, and in the place of the hundreds of articles it contained, I saw two bonnets at the sight of which I actually sat down to laugh. One was mother's velvet, which looked very much like a football in its present condition. Mine was not to be found, as the officers forgot to return it. Wonder who has my imperial? I know they never saw a handsomer one, with its black velvet, purple silk, and ostrich feathers.

I went to my room. Gone was my small paradise! Had this shocking place ever been habitable? The tall mirror squinted at me from a thousand broken angles. It looked so knowing! I tried to fancy the Yankee officers being dragged from under my bed by the leg, thanks to Charles; but it seemed too absurd; so I let them alone. My desk! What a sight! The central part I had kept as a little curiosity shop with all my little trinkets and keepsakes of which a large proportion were from my gentlemen friends; I looked for all I had left, found only a piece of the McRae, which, as it was labeled in full, I was surprised they had spared. Precious letters I found under heaps of broken china and rags; all my notes were gone, with many letters. I looked for a letter of poor –––, in cipher, with the key attached, and name signed in plain hand. I knew it would hardly be agreeable to him to have it read, and it certainly would be unpleasant to me to have it published; but I could not find it. Miriam thinks she saw something answering the description, somewhere, though. Bah! What is the use of describing such a scene?¹ Many suffered along with us, though none so severely. Indeed, the Yankees cursed loudly at those who did not leave anything worth stealing. They cannot complain of us, on that score. All our handsome Brussels carpets, together with Lydia's fur, were taken, too. What did they not take? In the garret, in its darkest corner, a whole gilt-edged china set of Lydia's had been overlooked; so I set to work and packed it up, while Charlie packed her furniture in a wagon, to send to her father.

It was now three o'clock; and with my light linen dress thrown off, I was standing over a barrel putting in cups and saucers as fast as I could wrap them in the rags that covered the floor, when Mr. Larguier sent me a nice little dinner. I had been so many hours without eating — nineteen, I think, during three of which I had slept — that I had lost all appetite; but nevertheless I ate it, to show my appreciation. If I should hereafter think that the quantity of rags was exaggerated, let me here state that, after I had packed the barrel and china with them, it made no perceptible diminution of the pile.

As soon as I had finished my task, Charlie was ready to leave again; so I left town without seeing, or hearing, any one, or any thing, except what lay in my path. As we drove out of the gate, I begged Charlie to let me get my bird, as I heard Charles Barker had him. A man was dispatched, and in a few minutes returned with my Jimmy. I have since heard that Tiche deserted him the day of the battle, as I so much feared she would; and that Charles found him late in the evening and took charge of him. With my pet once more with me, we drove off again. I cast many a longing look at the graveyard; but knowing Charlie did not want to stop, I said nothing, though I had been there but once in three months, and that once, six weeks ago. I could see where the fence had been thrown down by our soldiers as they charged the Federals, but it was now replaced, though many a picket was gone. Once more I stopped at Mrs. Brown's, while Charlie went on to Clinton, leaving me to drive mother here in the morning. Early yesterday, after seeing Miriam's piano and the mattresses packed up and on the road, we started off in the buggy, and after a tedious ride through a melting sun, arrived here about three o'clock, having again missed my dinner, which I kept a profound secret until supper-time.

By next Ash Wednesday, I will have learned how to fast without getting sick! Though very tired, I sat sewing until after sunset, dictating a page and a half to Anna, who was writing to Howell.

_______________

¹ In her book, From Flag to Flag, Mrs. Eliza McHatton Ripley gives a vivid description of Judge Morgan's house as she herself saw it after the sacking. — W. D.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 196-203

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Monday, December 26, 1864

Everything is quiet this morning, though for a while last night there was quite an excitement in town when a fire broke out. We are still lying in camp, with no particular duty to perform, though we are expecting orders every day to move down the river to Ft. Johnson, below Savannah. We are on half rations now, but today got large quantities of fresh oysters, all we can make use of. They were in the shell and were hauled into our camps by the wagon load, and sold to the boys by the peck or bushel. Governor Stone of Iowa arrived in camp today from Morehead City, North Carolina. He came to issue commissions to the officers of veteran regiments, and also to see that the sick and wounded Iowa soldiers in the field hospitals of the South were receiving good care.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 241

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, December 25, 1864

This is a cloudy, cool day and a lonesome Christmas. We are on one-third rations now and poor prospects of getting more soon. We still have plenty of rice, although in the hull, so we can get along. Large foraging parties were sent up the Savannah river to obtain rice straw for our beds and they brought in large quantities of rice still in the sheaf to feed the horses and mules. There are some very large rice plantations along the river and there is a great deal of rice not yet threshed. We had company inspection this evening. All is quiet.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 240-1

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 23, 1862

Gen. Winder was in this morning listening to something MacCubbin was telling him about the Richmond Whig. It appears that, in the course of a leading article, enthusiastic for the cause, the editor remarked, “we have arms and ammunition now.” The policemen, one and all, interpreted this as a violation of the order to the press to abstain from speaking of the arrivals of arms, etc. from abroad. Gen. Winder, without looking at the paper, said in a loud voice, “Go and arrest the editor — and close his office!” Two or three of the policemen started off on this errand. But I interposed, and asked them to wait a moment, until I could examine the paper. I found no infraction of the order in the truly patriotic article, and said so to Gen. Winder. “Well,” said he, “if he has not violated the order, he must not be arrested.” He took the paper, and read for himself; and then, without saying anything more, departed.

When he was gone, I asked MacCubbin what was the phraseology of the order that “had been served on the editors.” He drew it from his pocket, saying it had been shown to them, and not left with them. It was in the handwriting of Mr. Benjamin, and signed by Gen. Winder. And I learned that all the orders, sumptuary and others, had been similarly written and signed. Mr. Benjamin used the pencil and not the pen in writing these orders, supposing, of course, they would be copied by Gen. W.'s clerks. But they were not copied. The policemen threaten to stop the Examiner soon, for that paper has been somewhat offensive to the aliens who now have rule here.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 115-6