Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: October 27, 1863

I was surprised this morning by a precious visit from Mrs. S. Smith She went to Petersburg this evening, to join her husband, who is stationed there. She seems to think that she can never return to her Winchester home, so completely is every thing ruined. It is strange how we go on from month to month, living in the present, without any certain prospect for the future. We had some sweet, sad talk of our dear William. She says he was prepared, and God took him. At his funeral, his pastor took out his last letter from him, but became so overwhelmed with tears that he could not read it. It is right, and we must submit; but it is a bitter trial to give up one we loved so dearly.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 242

T. B. to Mrs. Mackall, November 4, 1864

Vineville, Nov. 4, '64.

My dear Mrs. Mackall:

My maid Amanda, on a visit yesterday to your servants, learned that preparations were being made by the young ladies for a large party to be given, as she was informed, by me. Imagine my amazement, when I tell you that though always glad to do anything for the enjoyment of young people, I was wholly innocent of any such purpose on this occasion. I fear they have been made victims of one of those silly, stupid, practical jokes, in which I never could see any amusement! I do not envy the person whoever he be, who can enjoy the disappointment of two such charming creatures as the “Fair Rose of Texas” and “the Nymph of the Alabama” in the realization of fancied triumphs of dazzling glances, and bewitching smiles, dreams of delicious tête-a-têtes, divine galops and ecstatic waltzes — ambrosial gumbo. (?) They have my heartfelt sympathy. Amanda tells me too, that all day long they were pent up, up stairs, patient martyrs to “crimps,” (Mr. Toby can't bear me in “crimps” — says I look like the head of Medusa — horrid man!) — that the entire toilette was arranged. Just think of the crimson silk and the sycamore balls — the killing lavender!

I cannot close without expressing my contempt for the person who so cruelly and maliciously amused himself at their expense. It can be no other than a young man, one of those unappreciative, indifferent, ungallant, 'frisky' creatures of these degenerate days. I am sure that that highly chivalrous gentleman, Capt. Mackall, will become perfectly furious at this disclosure of the plot, and will not be pacified, swearing vengeance on the author! Woe be to him! if caught. I am too angry to write more. The sad thought of “how it might have been!”

Yours truly,

Toby? or not Toby?

That is the question.

P. S.

Tell the young ladies to be sure and bring Capt. Mackall to see me. I hear he is “coming out.”

T. B.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 198-200

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Sunday, September 14, 1862

I have been so busy making Lieutenant Bourge's shirt that I have not had time to write, besides having very little to write about. So my industry saved my paper and spared these pages a vast amount of trash. I would not let any one touch Lieutenant Bourge's shirt except myself; and last evening, when I held it up completed, the loud praises it received satisfied me it would answer. Miriam and Miss Ripley declared it the prettiest ever made. It is dark purple merino. The bosom I tucked with pleats a quarter of an inch deep, all the way up to the collar, and stitched a narrow crimson silk braid up the centre to hold it in its place. Around the collar, cuffs, pockets, and band down the front, the red cord runs, forming a charming contrast to the dark foundation. Indeed, I devoted the sole article the Yankees let fall from my two workboxes — a bunch of soutache — to the work. Large white pearl buttons completed the description, and my shirt is really as quiet, subdued, and pretty a one as I ever saw. I should first hear the opinion of the owner, though. If he does not agree with all the others, I shall say he has no taste.

I got a long sweet letter from Sophie on Friday that made me happy for the whole day. They were about leaving for Alexandria. I was glad to hear they would be out of danger, but still I was sorry they were going so far away. I have been laying a hundred wild schemes to reach Baton Rouge and spend a day or two with them, which is impossible now. Sophie writes just as she talks — and that means remarkably well, so I can at least have the pleasure of corresponding. At Dr. Carnal's they will be out of the reach of all harm and danger; so I ought to rejoice. There is one thing in which Sophie and I agree, and that is in making Stonewall Jackson our hero. Talk of Beauregard! he never had my adoration; but Stonewall is the greatest man of the age, decidedly.

Still no authentic reports of the late battles in Virginia. I say late, referring to those fought two weeks ago. From the Federal accounts, glowing as they usually are, I should gather the idea that their rout was complete. I cannot imagine why we can hear nothing more from our own side. . . .

I think my first act on my return home will be to take a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, two luxuries of which I have been deprived for a long while. Miriam vows to devour an unheard-of number of biscuits, too. How many articles we considered as absolutely necessary, before, have we now been obliged to dispense with! Nine months of the year I reveled in ice, thought it impossible to drink water without it. Since last November, I have tasted it but once, and that once by accident. And oh, yes! I caught some hail-stones one day at Linwood! Icecream, lemonade, and sponge cake was my chief diet; it was a year last July since I tasted the two first, and one since I have seen the last. Bread I believed necessary to life; vegetables, senseless. The former I never see, and I have been forced into cultivating at least a toleration of the latter. Snap beans I can actually swallow, sweet potatoes I really like, and one day at Dr. Nolan's I “bolted” a mouthful of tomatoes, and afterwards kept my seat with the heroism of a martyr. These are the minor trials of war. If that were all — if coarse, distasteful food were the only inconvenience!

When I think of what Lavinia must suffer so far from us, and in such ignorance of our condition, our trials seem nothing in comparison to hers. And think how uneasy Brother must be, hearing of the battle, and not knowing where we fled to! For he has not heard of us for almost two months. In return we are uneasy about him and Sister. If New Orleans is attacked, what will become of them with all those children?

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 222-5

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Monday, January 9, 1865

We remained in camp all day.¹ It rained most of the day. No news of any importance.

_______________

¹ I had been suffering with the doctor some days when on this day it became so bad that I made up my mind to go to the doctor and have the tooth extracted. I arrived at the doctor's tent, he directed me to an ancient chair and asked me to show him the tooth. I pointed out the exact tooth, he hooked on, at the same time telling me to hold on to the chair, and pulled. He succeeded in bringing the tooth, but it was not the aching one. I however, concluded that one tooth at a time was enough, even if it was the wrong one, and returned to my rancho with the hope that it would soon quit aching. But the last state of that tooth was worse than the first.—A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 245

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Tuesday, January 10, 1865

Our division moved out to the front about five miles and went into camp again. We had to move because we had burned up all the fallen timber around our camp, while at the new camp we will have plenty. It rained quite hard this afternoon and then turned colder at night. The country through which we passed is on a dead level, and the plantations lie idle. All of the buildings and fences were burned by our armies operating in this part of the state before our arrival.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 246

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: April 2, 1862

Gen. Wise is here with his report of the Roanoke disaster.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 118

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: April 3, 1862

Congress is investigating the Roanoke affair. Mr. Benjamin has been denounced in Congress by Mr. Foote and others as the sole cause of the calamities which have befallen the country.

I wrote a letter to the President, offering to show that I had given no passport to Mr. Dibble, the traitor, and also the evidences, in his own handwriting, that Mr. Benjamin granted it.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 118

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 23, 1865

I want to get to Kate, I am so utterly heart-broken. I hope John Chesnut and General Chesnut may at least get into the same army. We seem scattered over the face of the earth. Isabella sits there calmly reading. I have quieted down after the day's rampage. May our heavenly Father look down on us and have pity.

They say I was the last refugee from Columbia who was allowed to enter by the door of the cars. The government took possession then and women could only be smuggled in by the windows. Stout ones stuck and had to be pushed, pulled, and hauled in by main force. Dear Mrs. Izard, with all her dignity, was subjected to this rough treatment. She was found almost too much for the size of the car windows.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 351

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: October 25, 1863

To-day we heard the Rev. Mr. Peterkin, from the text: “Be not weary in well-doing.” It was a delightful sermon, persuasive and encouraging. Mr. ––– spends Sunday morning always in the hospital. He has Hospital No. 1, in addition to the Officers' Hospital, under his care. They occupy a great deal of his time, in the most interesting way.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 242

A. V. Toby to Mrs. Mackall, Wednesday Evening, November 2, 1864

Dear Mrs. Mackall:

The young gentlemen are more particular about the weather than I am — and having notified me that I was not to be “surprised” tonight have greatly disappointed me. If the young ladies partake of my annoyance, I hope they will also partake of the pleasure I anticipate of seeing them some early evening under more auspicious circumstances. I would even now beg your family and friends to come, but am afraid the gumbo would be a poor inducement.

Truly yours,

A. V. Toby.

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 197-8

Diary of Sarah Morgan: September 10, 1862

Yesterday I was interrupted to undertake a very important task. The evening before, mother and Lilly happened to be in a store where two officers were buying materials for making shirts, and volunteered to make them for them, which offer they gladly accepted, though neither party knew the other. They saw that they were friends of Charlie, so had no scruples about offering their services; the gentlemen saw that they were ladies, and very kind ones, besides, so made no difficulty about accepting. Lilly undertook one of purple merino, and I took a dark blue one. Miriam nominally helped her; but her very sore finger did not allow her to do much. Mother slightly assisted me; but I think Lilly and I had the best of the task. All day we worked, and when evening came, continued sewing by the light of these miserable home-made candles. Even then we could not finish, but had to get up early this morning, as the gentlemen were to leave for Port Hudson at nine o'clock. We finished in good time, and their appearance recompensed us for our trouble. Lilly's was trimmed with folds of blue from mine, around collar, cuffs, pockets, and down the front band; while mine was pronounced a chef d'oeuvre, trimmed with bias folds of tiny red and black plaid. With their fresh colors and shining pearl buttons, they were really very pretty. We sent word that we would be happy to make as many as they chose for themselves or their friends, and the eldest, with many fears that it was an “imposition” and we were “too good,” and much more of the same kind, left another one with Charlie for us. We cannot do too much, or even enough, for our soldiers. I believe that is the universal sentiment of the women of the South.

Well, but how did we get back here? I hardly know. It seems to me we are being swayed by some kind of destiny which impels us here or there, with neither rhyme nor reason, and whether we will or no. Such homeless, aimless, purposeless, wandering individuals are rarely seen. From one hour to another, we do not know what is to become of us. We talk vaguely of going home “when the Yankees go away.” When will that be? One day there is not a boat in sight; the next, two or three stand off from shore to see what is being done, ready, at the first sight of warlike preparation, to burn the town down. It is particularly unsafe since the news from Virginia, when the gunboats started from Bayou Goula, shelling the coast at random, and destroying everything that was within reach, report says. Of course, we cannot return to our homes when commissioned officers are playing the part of pirates, burning, plundering, and destroying at will, with neither law nor reason. Donaldsonville they burned before I left Baton Rouge, because some fool fired a shotgun at a gunboat some miles above; Bayou Sara they burned while we were at General Carter's, for some equally reasonable excuse. The fate of Baton Rouge hangs on a still more slender thread. I would give worlds if it were all over.

At Mrs. Haynes's we remained all night, as she sent the carriage back without consulting us. Monday we came to town and spent the day with Lilly. How it was, I can't say; but we came to the conclusion that it was best to quit our then residence, and either go back to Linwood or to a Mrs. Somebody who offered to take us as boarders. We went back to Mrs. McCay's, to tell her of our determination, and in the morning took leave of her and came back home.

We hear so much news, piece by piece, that one would imagine some definite result would follow, and bring us Peace before long. The Virginia news, after being so great and cheering, has suddenly ceased to come. No one knows the final result. The last report was that we held Arlington Heights. Why not Washington, consequently? Cincinnati (at last accounts) lay at our mercy. From Covington, Kirby Smith had sent over a demand for its surrender in two hours. Would it not be glorious to avenge New Orleans by such a blow? But since last night the telegraph is silent.

News has just come of some nice little affair between our militia in Opelousas and the Yankees from New Orleans, in which we gave them a good thrashing, besides capturing arms, prisoners, and ammunition. “It never rains but it pours” is George's favorite proverb. With it comes the “rumor” that the Yankees are preparing to evacuate the city. If it could be! Oh, if God would only send them back to their own country, and leave ours in peace! I wish them no greater punishment than that they may be returned to their own homes, with the disgrace of their outrages here ever before their eyes. That would kill an honest man, I am sure.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 219-22

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, January 7, 1865

This morning we found that during the night our ship was driven by the high wind upon a sand bar in the bay. Here we lay, a cold northwest wind blowing across our deck forty feet above the water. But we fared better than the boys below, for, on account of their being so sick, it was reported that their floor was difficult to stand on even after the ship had stopped. They ran a small side-wheel steamboat alongside of the ship and set a tall ladder on the wheelhouse, reaching up to our deck, and one by one we climbed down the ladder to the other boat, which hauled us to the shore. We were glad to leave that ship. Some of the boys declared that they would rather walk the entire distance than ride on any ship. We marched out about two miles from town and went into camp in a heavy pine timber. Here we have plenty of wood with which to build a good fire, as a cold rain commenced to fall this afternoon.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 245

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, January 8, 1865

It is quite cool. We lay in camp all day. We are once more drawing full rations, and it is well that we are, for there is absolutely nothing to forage here, not even rice in the hull. We have also received some of the Sanitary goods sent here for distribution. All is quiet at present and there is no news of any importance. Beaufort is a nice place, situated on an island, and has good shipping facilities. Goods of all kinds are sold here at reasonable prices, business being carried on much as in a Northern town. The Union army has been in possession of the place for some time. The entire Seventeenth Army Corps is here, but will move forward in a few days.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 245

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, December 20, 1862

Bivouac Near Fairfax Station,

December 20, 1862.

I wrote, the other day, from near this place. That day we marched as rear guard over seven miles of the muddiest kind of Virginia roads, crossing the Occoquan creek; we went into bivouac in a thick wood a little while after dark. We made our usual nightly arrangements, eating our supper of coffee, bread, etc., and spreading our blankets, and very soon lay down for the night. Towards morning, all three of us awoke simultaneously, with some large rain-drops spattering in our faces. We drew the rubber blankets out from under us and put them on top, and turned in again. I was next awakened by a perfect deluge of water pouring in on me from the blanket where it had collected; as it was nearly daylight, I concluded to get up. About nine o'clock the rain stopped, and shortly afterwards we marched. The roads were in the worst possible condition, wagons sinking to the hubs of the wheels; we went only three miles, then stopped for the day. The next morning (Wednesday) we started at daylight, and marched back to this place. If we hadn't got used to such things, the march back over these horrible roads would have been very discouraging. We learned, when we got near the station, that our division had been ordered back because that place had been threatened by the enemy. The most that could have been lost by losing that place would have been some fifty thousand rations, yet this seems to have been a sufficient reason for preventing us from joining the main army. We also learned here that Burnside had been entirely repulsed, and was again on this side of the Rappahannock. The rebels have paid us off now for Antietam. No one seems to have any idea what will happen next. I am more afraid of a disgraceful peace than anything else, from the looks of everything now.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 113-4

Major Wilder Dwight: November 14, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 14, 1861.

I should have written a line at a shorter interval from my last if I had not been full of work. I decided to move my camp on Tuesday morning, and have given the last two days to making the men comfortable in their new quarters. By some strange mishap, we got upon an unlucky piece of ground for our camp. We were assailed by diarrhoea, — officers and men. But I think I have made a fortunate selection of a new ground, and I am myself feeling much better. Our whole mess was under the weather. As I am left alone in command, I have been obliged to snatch odds and ends of time to be a little sick in. Now, however, we are out upon high, open ground, and have fine, clear sunshine, and we are all well again. I do not wish either to complain or be elate, but I have, this morning, a tranquil satisfaction in obstacles overcome, and sunshine achieved. You know there are times when everything seems to get going wrong. The Colonel seemed to leave the regiment just at that moment. But now we start again.

We never had a more regular, neat, and comely camp than we have to-day. Of course I enjoy that, and I am trying to keep the machine in good order

If there were no one waiting for me, I should try and scribble this sheet full, but, in the end, you would know only that reveille and tattoo succeed one another naturally; that our camp is pleasant, and, I hope, healthy; and that to be major commanding a regiment is a busy life, but, on the whole, a happy one, as lives go. Love to all.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 141-2

Major Ladd to Major Adams Ames, April 19, 1861

NEw York, April 19th, 1861

To Major ADAMS AMEs

Troops left at twelve of the clock. General Schouler has telegraphed to provide for one thousand men on Sunday morning. Show this to General Butler.

P.S. Just got news that Penna. troops have been attacked in Baltimore and some killed. Telegraph wires cut.

LADD

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. 16

Major-General John A. Dix to Major-General Henry W. Halleck, September 15, 1862

Head-quarters, Seventh Army Corps, Fort Monroe, September 15,1862.

Major-general H. W. Halleck, General-in-chief:

general, — Before I left Baltimore I designed to represent to the Government the importance of making Fort Federal Hill a permanent fortification, but was prevented by my sudden departure. There is now an admirable earthwork, and all that is necessary is to surround it with brick walls and construct casemates within. I do not think an essential alteration of the plan necessary. The ground would probably cost on appraisement $100,000; the work, $250,000; which, in view of the important object to be secured, is a very moderate expenditure.

The considerations by which this measure is supported are as follows:

1. The geographical position of Baltimore renders it indispensable that it should be under the control of the Government by military force, in order to insure the quietude and safety of the capital. The direct connection of the two cities, and the preponderance of Baltimore in population, require that the latter should not be left to the dangers arising from popular or political excitement.

2. There is no city in the Union in which domestic disturbances have been more frequent or carried to more fatal extremes, from 1812 to the present day. Although the great body of the people are eminently distinguished for their moral virtues, Baltimore has always contained a mass of inflammable material, which ignites on the slightest provocation. A city so prone to burst out into flame, and thus become dangerous to its neighbors, should be controlled by the strong arm of the Government whenever these paroxysms of excitement occur.

3. Fort Federal Hill completely commands the city, and is capable, from its proximity to the principal business quarters, of assailing any one without injury to the others. The hill seems to have been placed there by Nature as a site for a permanent citadel; and I beg to suggest whether a neglect to appropriate it to its obvious design would not be an unpardonable dereliction of duty.

As I was more than ten months in command at Baltimore, and as Fort Federal Hill and Fort Marshall were undertaken and completed on my recommendation and under my supervision, I trust I shall be excused for these suggestions. General Cullum went over the ground with me before the plan of defence, of which the two forts referred to were the principal parts, was finally adopted, and is familiar with the whole subject.

I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

john A. Dix.

SOURCE: Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John Adams Dix, Volume 2, p. 36

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes: Sunday P.M., March 9, 1862

Fayetteville, March 9, 1862. Sunday P. M.

Dearest: — I received your letter last night — sent by Mr. Schooley. You wrote it a week ago. A rainy, gloomy day here too, but made rather jolly by Dr. Joe's good nature, with Avery and Bottsford to help me laugh. Dr. Joe is in his best humor these days and makes all around him happy. Today is a lovely spring day — but getting lonely here. I am a hen with one chicken. All but one company, I have sent to Raleigh since Colonel Scammon left. We have been here almost four months. The men are pleased to go. I shall start in a day or two when the hospital goes. No sickness — not a man who can't go about, and only four who need a hospital. Eight hundred well men here and at Raleigh. There is a real gloom among the men caused by a report that I am to be colonel of the Sixth. It is no doubt a repetition of an idle rumor I heard in Cincinnati, But as the thing may come up, I wish you and Stephenson to know that I would not want the place unless it was agreeable generally that I should have it. Young Anderson is probably entitled to it, and I would not want it in opposition to him or his friends. The place is, perhaps, not preferable to my present position and I do not desire it, unless it is all smooth — particularly with Anderson. If I were sure of continuing my present command of the Twenty-third, I would not wish a colonelcy of any other regiment; but in the present uncertainty I am willing to take a certainty in any good regiment.

My new horse performs beautifully. I am in the best of health. There is only one thing: You are not here. Don't you think I love you as much as you do me? Why, certainly. There, I have fixed this letter so you can't show it to “Steve.” I'll write him a note. . . .

Affectionately,

R. B. Hayes.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 204-5

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: April 1, 1862

Gen. Sydney Johnston having fallen in battle, the command in the West devolved on Gen. Beauregard, whose recent defense at Island No. 10 on the Mississippi, has revived his popularity. But, I repeat, he is a doomed man.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 118

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: February 22, 1865

Isabella has been reading my diaries. How we laugh because my sage divinations all come to naught. My famous “insight into character” is utter folly. The diaries were lying on the hearth ready to be burned, but she told me to hold on to them; think of them a while and don't be rash. Afterward when Isabella and I were taking a walk, General Joseph E. Johnston joined us. He explained to us all of Lee's and Stonewall Jackson's mistakes. We had nothing to say — how could we say anything? He said he was very angry when he was ordered to take command again. He might well have been in a genuine rage. This on and off procedure would be enough to bewilder the coolest head. Mrs. Johnston knows how to be a partizan of Joe Johnston and still not make his enemies uncomfortable. She can be pleasant and agreeable, as she was to my face.

A letter from my husband who is at Charlotte. He came near being taken a prisoner in Columbia, for he was asleep the morning of the 17th, when the Yankees blew up the railroad depot. That woke him, of course, and he found everybody had left Columbia, and the town was surrendered by the mayor, Colonel Goodwyn. Hampton and his command had been gone several hours. Isaac Hayne came away with General Chesnut. There was no fire in the town when they left. They overtook Hampton's command at Meek's Mill. That night, from the hills where they encamped, they saw the fire, and knew the Yankees were burning the town, as we had every reason to expect they would. Molly was left in charge of everything of mine, including Mrs. Preston's cow, which I was keeping, and Sally Goodwyn's furniture.

Charleston and Wilmington have surrendered. I have no further use for a newspaper. I never want to see another one as long as I live. Wade Hampton has been made a lieutenant-general, too late. If he had been made one and given command in South Carolina six months ago I believe he would have saved us. Shame, disgrace, beggary, all have come at once, and are hard to bear — the grand smash! Rain, rain, outside, and naught but drowning floods of tears inside. I could not bear it; so I rushed down in that rainstorm to the Martins’. Rev. Mr. Martin met me at the door. “Madam,” said he, “Columbia is burned to the ground.” I bowed my head and sobbed aloud. “Stop that!” he said, trying to speak cheerfully. “Come here, wife,” said he to Mrs. Martin. “This woman cries with her whole heart, just as she laughs.” But in spite of his words, his voice broke down, and he was hardly calmer than myself.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 350-1