Diary of Lucy Larcom, December 1861

Beverly.  The two weeks of vacation are nearly over, and I have done nothing but sew. I had planned to read, and paint, and walk, and rest; but things are as they are, and one cannot go in tatters. I like to be somewhat troubled and absorbed in the necessities of life, once in a while; it is rather pleasant than otherwise to feel that something urgently requires my attention; and then this is the way to realize how three fourths of the inhabitants of this world live to eat, drink, and wear clothes.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, p. 115

Diary of Lucy Larcom, December 13, 1861

Vacation is over; and here I am at Norton again, not so fully awake and in earnest about school work as I wish I was.

My whole life has lost the feeling of reality; I cannot tell why. Alike in the city, by the seashore, and here on the levels of this now leafless flat-land, I feel as if I were "moving about in worlds unrealized." I know well enough the theory of life; what principles must sustain me; what great objects there are to live for; and still there remains the same emptiness, the same wonder in everything I do. I feel as I imagine the world might have felt, when going through some of its slow transitions from chaos into habitable earth, waiting for sunshine, and bursting buds, and running rivers. I suppose I am not ready for full life yet.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, p. 115

Diary of Lucy Larcom, December 16, 1861

To-day there are rumors of a possible war with England, on account of the affair of Mason and Slidell, now prisoners in Boston harbor. It will be an outrage on humanity, a proof that England's pompous declamations against slavery are all hypocritical, if this should be done; for all good authorities have declared that a war on this account would never be, unless a pretext for war was wanted. Perhaps Providence intends that this shall be brought out definitely as a struggle for principles; I think the nation and the army need some such lesson, and they will not learn it unless it is made very plain.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, pp. 115-6

Diary of Lucy Larcom, December 22, 1861

I have found what are to be my two books of Bible study, my two Sabbath books for the term. They are Neander's "History of the Church," and Conybeare and Howson's "Life of St. Paul." I have commenced them both, and find that satisfaction in them that is only met with by coming in contact with a character,—gifted, scholarly and Christian.

How I should like to live a free life with nature one year through! out in the bracing winds, the keen frosty air, and over the crackling snowcrust, wherever I would; and then in summer, seek the mountains or the sea, as I chose; no study, no thoughts, but what came as a thing of course; no system, except nature's wild ways, which have always their own harmony, evident enough when one enters into them, though understood by no mere observer.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, p. 116

Diary of Lucy Larcom, December 28, 1861

A pretty table found its way into my room Christmas morning, a gift contributed from two classes; I was half sorry and half glad to receive it; I don't think I appreciate this kind of a present—it represents so many persons, some vaguely and some clearly fixed in memory—so much as a simpler token from the heart of one friend. And yet I feel the kindness which prompted the gift, and am grateful for it, I am sure.

How ashamed one is obliged to be just now of the "mother country"! Step-mother Country England ought to be called, for her treatment of us in our trouble. It is hard to believe that all she has said against slavery was insincere, and that she would really like to see the slave-power established and flourishing on the ruins of our free Republic; but her actions say so.

Yet we are not guiltless; not wholly purged from the curse yet. The army is not entirely anti-slavery in principles; and we cannot look for success, nor wish it, but for the sake of freedom.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, p. 116-7

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Sunday, May 1, 1864

This P. M., Miss O. and myself accompanied Rev. E. P. Smith to listen to his "colored preaching," as he termed it, in the same church in which is the school for the colored children. It was a rare treat and the first colored audience I ever saw.

Do not imagine a squalid, ragged, filthy audience; but one where silks, ribbons, velvet, broadcloth, spotless linen and beavers predominated, with a sprinkling of beautifully carved or silver, and gold-headed canes, with about the usual proportion of fops to the canes that one may find in an audience of equal size, of our own color. Some of these persons are free and own property. But one would scarcely covet some of the ladies their silks and velvets, when she learns that it is purchased with the avails of extra labor at night after the day's work "for de missus is done."

But so it is. And although the church was built some years ago with their money, yet it was held in trust by white people because "negroes cannot own property."

I have been repeatedly told that I would turn pro-slavery when I came south and saw how things really were. I do not feel any of the first symptoms as yet, but quite the contrary. Instead, I'm getting to believe that the day when the Emancipation Document was sent forth, was that of which it is said "a nation shall be born in a day," and I'm learning to think that this gospel, which is

"Writ in burnished rows of steel,"

and read by

"The watch-fires of an hundred circling camps,"

is the "word" which "makes men free," and will forever strike the manacles from the oppressed bondsman.

One indignant white man, during the first prayer which was made by a negro preacher, and in which he asked for blessing upon the Union arms and freedom for slaves, left his seat and walked the whole length of the church, with heavy tread and with his hat on his head, while a voice called out,"Take your hat off!"

During the closing prayer the negro very properly prayed, "Oh Lord, wilt dou give de people good manners and teach 'em right behaviour wen dey come into de house ob de Lord!"

The sermon was the Bible-story of the death of James and the release of Peter from prison. It was told in a simple, earnest, impressive manner, to a deeply attentive, impressible audience. When he drew the picture of the angel entering the prison, and taking Peter away as easily as though "his chains were made of wax and a lighted candle was held beneath them, while the four quarternians—sixteen—soldiers were powerless to act," one old man laughed outright, a joyous, grateful laugh, others made their peculiar grunting noise which no combination of sounds will give exactly, while others shook hands and cried "Glory to God." During the singing some women had the "power” so that they passed round, embraced and shook hands.

Some joined the church, and the negro preacher told them he "hoped that wouldn't be the last of it, and that they'd be faithful and come to church;" but that some joined whom he "never could get a chance to set eyes on again, so that when they died he never could tell WHICH PLACE THEY'D GONE TO!"

I have forgotten to note in its proper place, that upon entering the church Miss O. and myself took seats in the only unoccupied pew in the body of the church. But Rev. Mr. S. beckoned us forward to a side seat by the pulpit. We took our seats there, but soon a neat, elderly negress came forward and said with a coaxing smile and voice, "Young ladies go up in de altar an' set-you doesn't want to set down here wid dese yere colored folks." We preferred remaining, and she urged the matter in vain. Soon an elderly mulatto man, probably a prominent member in the church, whose portly form was assisted in its waddles by a gold-headed cane, came forward and made the same request. But not being accustomed to the highest seat in the synagogue on account of our possessing a lighter color, we declined doing so until all the seats were filled and some must stand, when we did go; but upon others coming in they also were induced to take a seat in the altar.

During the sermon Mr. S. related an interesting personal experience. He said that a year ago last July he was in front of Vicksburg, in that dreadful fever region-the Yazoo bluffs. He felt the fever coming upon him-he knew something of its workings-he was two thousand miles from anybody he knew. He said he "had been talking to the boys, to the sick ones in the hospital, telling them that it didn't matter where they died if they only had Jesus with them, and he found that on his back, and on his blanket, had come the time to take some of his own medicine." He said he "tried to do so, but found it rather hard to take. He tried to think that it was just as well to be sick there and to die and be buried on the Yazoo bluffs, and never see his family again; but somehow he couldn't get in that frame of mind, but kept thinking he would much rather be at home. One morning, after he had burned and tossed with fever all night, Aunt Nancy came and drew back the folds of the tent and said: "Massa, how are you this morning-have you found the bright side?'

"Well no, Aunt Nancy, I haven't found any bright side.” "Well, Massa, I'se sorry you can't, for Aunt Nancy never get in such trouble but she can find the bright side.”

"Well, Nancy,” I said, “I guess you've never had any very great trouble—guess you don't know what it is.”

"Well,” said she with a sigh, “may be I don't know what trouble is, but my old man was sold away from me down in old Virginny and I never see him any more, and then my son, the staff of my old age, was sold way down in de rice fields, an' I never see him any more. No-maybe I don't know what trouble is, but after that my last little boy an' girl was sold away from me, an' I never see them any more-an' now I'm getting so old I'll never go back to ole Virginny any more!”

"Well, Aunt Nancy, that is trouble; but tell me how you managed to find the bright side.'

"Well, Massa,” she said, “when I see the storm coming, and the clouds are thick and get black and blacker, then I just go 'round the other side of the cloud where Jesus is!'

"Then I turned over in my bed, with my face to the back of the tent, and said:

"Come now fever, death and burial upon the Yazoo bluffs, if God wills, I am ready!"

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 66-9

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Tuesday, May 3, 1864

Spring has long delayed her coming here as well as northward. I could not be comfortable this P. M. in my room without a fire. Still, despite the cold, I have seen the blossom of a species of magnolia, which is very beautiful. It is in shape and size something like the African lily, and grew upon a tree the size of the common apple. It is of a peachblow hue upon the outside and white within, and with the mingled fragrance of the roses and lemon.

Aunt Nanny, the former housekeeper of the rebel banker who owned this residence, has just been giving me a highly interesting account of the scenes here when it became known that our forces were coming towards Nashville. It was on Sunday morning the news reached the white citizens, when they were on their way to church. And the streets were soon filled with half-crazed people flying here and there, women and children and even men running out of breath, and screaming, "The Yankees are coming," while the less excited ones were securing every possible conveyance to use for flight.

"We colored folks," said Aunt Nanny, "knew it in the night, and all de mornin' while de white ones was so quiet a putin' on dere finery for church, we knew it wouldn't last long. An' we was all so full wid de great joy, dat we'se a sayin' in our hearts all de time "Bless de Lord," "Thank de good God," for de "day of jubilee has come!"

"But we was mighty hush, an' put on just as long faces as we could, an' was might' 'sprized when they told us of it. An' missus she come runnin' back from the street wid' her bonnet on her neck, an' the strings a flyin', an' she come to the kitchen and put up both arms, an' she said:

"Oh, Aunt Nanny, we'll all be killed! The Yankees are coming! They'll hang or cut the throat of every niggar that's left here!'

"An' after that she tried to have me go south with her, but I told her I'd risk the Yankees a killin' us, an' I wouldn't go."

Aunt Nanny is respected by all who know her. She is neat, industrious, well-informed, although she cannot read, respectful, polite, affectionate, virtuous, and a Christian. Her husband is here, and she has one little daughter who is in my division at school.

She tells me also that only last Sunday she saw the body of a dead negro boy of about nine years who died from blows received from his mistress. The cause was her anger that his mother had run away in search of freedom. But the mother heard of the illness of her child and returned in time to hear him say that "the whipping his mistress had given him had killed him," and to find upon his back the terrible gashes from the whip, and bruises from blows.

I wish I had known of this before the child was buried. Having the name of speaking my mind, it might be as well to do so, occasionally.

Have just listened to a little incident which occurred some months since. While Grant had charge of this department, General Rousseau in his absence, issued an order to the effect that slaveholders, who had taken the oath of allegiance, might dispose of their slaves. One man from the country, accordingly drove in several slave women tied hand to hand. But Grant had suddenly returned and countermanded the permit, and he could not dispose of them. He got into his carriage and ordered his negro women to march home. They refused to obey. This was unprecedented insolence. He caught his horse-whip and was about laying it over their shoulders when the "blue coats" appeared as suddenly and as thick around him as if like fairies they had popped out of the ground.

"No whipping here! No whipping here!" they exclaimed, and the result was, he was forced to return alone, and they were slaves no longer.

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 70-2

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Wednesday, May 4, 1864

A death in the house. Little Clark, the only son of Rev. E. P. Smith, aged three and a half years, died last night. It is a sad affliction. The disease, decline from measles. The funeral service was held in the parlor, this P. M., by Rev. Mr. Allen. His body was embalmed and is to be sent to the Sabbath School of the parish, over which Mr. S. presided, at Pepperill, Massachusetts.

To me it seems strangely touching this trusting of the precious remains to the chances of travel, and so many miles away, to land in the throng of sad little faces to whose questioning glances he can perchance respond

"From the land o' the leal."

He was laid out in a child's military suit of light blue, with star-flowers, snow-drops, rose-buds, and leaves of the rose geranium. It was a sweetly sacred bequest to the Sabbath School.

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, p. 72

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Saturday, May 7, 1864

Have been to Hospital, No. 1, at the request of a mother whose young son had died there. She is in great anxiety to learn something of his last words, and whether he died a Christian. I have just written her the facts, that there was no outward evidence of the same, but that she must trust the Good Father that it was "well with him."

All the patients whom I have mentioned in my journal, are better. Even the one with ulcers is improving. As for William he has applied for a furlough, and expects soon to go home.

Day before yesterday a girl came to school who had just the look and complexion of a snuff-dipping refugee. She, also, like them, wore a dress of the same color, derived from some kind of bark. Her manner was as listless and her expression as vacant. Wishing much to know whether she could claim our superior race as her own, or whether a few drops of the black blood in her veins had procured perhaps from her father and master the fiat— "only a niggar!" I made known my curiosity to one of the teachers, with my perplexity as to how I should obtain the coveted information, without wounding her feelings.

"Oh! you need not fear that," was the reply, "they're used to it, and expect to be asked whether they're niggars or not." I could not do it, however, without considerable circumlocution; and commenced by asking if she could buy herself a book, whom she lived with, &c. After some time the questions eliminated the fact that though she didn't know whether she was free, or a “refugee," her own second name, or the age, she did know that she had lived most of her life in Texas, where she had always worked out of doors, had hoed corn, and ploughed that she lived with the same people now—that her father she had never heard anything of—that her mother was black, "though not real black," and finally that she herself was a "niggar," which nobody else could have told by her features or complexion.

A lady who stopped over night, on her way home from Bridgeport, where she has been stationed with her husband in charge of sanitary stores, relates the following:

She said that sitting a few days since in the rooms where were the stores of the Christian Commission, she saw a woman, when half a mile distant, who had a long stick in her hand. She supposed that being weary perhaps, with a long walk, she had picked it up to serve the office of a cane. But after entering, and engaging for some time in jovial conversation and laughter with some neighbors, she found there, she made known her errand. She wanted to beg a shirt, pair of stockings and a coffin for her husband, and the stick was the measure of his body. My informant asked the age of the deceased husband, and she replied:

"Well, now, I never rightly axed him how old he was. but I reckon he mought be nigh on to thirty or forty!"

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 72-4

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Tuesday, May 10, 1864

My friend Miss O. is quite ill. We fear it may prove typhoid fever. Shall not enter the school again until she is better.

Last evening, had just seated myself to write to Mrs. Bickerdyke who had promised me a situation in Huntsville, Alabama, when she and Mrs. Jeremiah Porter, of Chicago, arrived on train from that place, bound for the front of Sherman's army, if they can procure passes.

To-day at dinner table, heard Rev. Dr. Thompson, of New York city, say that he saw 8,000 men march through the streets of Paris, at that farce entitled the election of Napoleon. I expressed my idea of the grand sight to Mrs. B. when she said that was not equal to what may be seen now. That there are "twice that number marching to the front now." "Is there?" was the surprised inquiry.

"Yes," she replied, "why don't you read the papers? You ignorant women in the army do ask such foolish questions!" This is her style of speech, but she is a perfect hero in the army, among sick soldiers.

It seems that not long since she solicited and obtained contributions of fruit and vegetables for the soldiers who are suffering with scrofulous diseases for want of them. Some have arrived at this place, which she had ordered to be sent to Huntsville. She had left word while here some time since, with Colonel, or Captain Somebody, whose duty it was to attend to the matter, to forward them immediately upon their arrival. She also wrote the same from Huntsville, and still the fruits and vegetables came not, although she had learned of their arrival at this city, while the sick men in the hospital were suffering for the want of the vegetables, which were wasting from decay. This morning, she sallied out to ferret out the matter. In an hour or two she came capering into our room, where Mrs. P. was writing, and swinging her bonnet by the string, exclaimed:

"There, I've done it! I've said it! I've had it all my own way, for you wasn't there—addressing Mrs. P.—, to nudge my elbow and whisper 'be careful now, don't say too much,' or to tell the one I'm talking to 'Oh, she don't mean that.' Why what do you think I found?" she continued. I found those cars of vegetables moved on to a side track to spoil for days, while some of these officers have been sending on their fine furniture to keep house with, down to Huntsville. And after finding this out, I went to the office of this fine gentleman in shoulder-straps, and told him to send on those things in double quick-time, or I'd have his official head taken off. And I asked him if it needed a Miss Nancy to come and tell Miss Betty what her duty was, before she could do it."

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 74-5

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Friday, May 13, 1864

Miss O. since last date, has been daily growing worse. It seems she must have typhoid fever, and for one of her delicate health and sensitive nerves, we fear the worst. Her mind is at times wandering, and she dwells upon the scenes of filth and wretchedness she has seen among the refugees. At the commencement of her illness she was playfully told that she had "refugee on the brain." But it has since become too serious a matter to jest about, for she is sometimes certain they are in the bed with her; and this morning she told me of that "filthy refugee phlegm she spits up." She is a favorite in the house, and has every needed comfort and attention. I shall not leave for a hospital during her illness.

It was this subject which won from Mrs. P. the following: "A soldier at Fort Donaldson was wounded in the head, and was taken care of by Mrs. B. He was at times deranged, but got better and went to his home in Michigan. Afterward he became so bad as to require constant watching, and it was decided to take him to the insane asylum at Jackson. While on his way there, in the care of his brother, who was worn out with wakefulness, Mrs. B. entered the car. The insane man knew his old nurse, and she said the saying flashed through her mind that we should treat a crazy man as though everybody was crazy but himself. So she said to him :"Why you're taking your brother to Jackson, aren't you?" "Yes," he promptly responded.

"How long has he been crazy?" she asked.

"Oh! he has always been crazy," he replied with emphasis.

So she told him she would help him watch his brother, and taking his arm walked back and forth in the car with him, and let the well man lie down and sleep. They had had much trouble with him, but he caused none the rest of the way.

She accompanied him to Jackson and has since heard that he is rapidly recovering.

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 76-7

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Saturday, May 14, 1864

Mr. V., an acquaintance from Michigan, called on Wednesday. He is a secret messenger or spy for the Government. He wears the citizen's dress and a seven-shooter beneath the skirts of his coat, and has papers to show that he has a permit to wear the arms. His headquarters are here, and he goes on missions to and from the front. He says that on coming on the train from Chattanooga last Monday the train was fired into. He saw one man in the act of firing and he returned the fire, and by the way he tumbled back into the bushes he had reason to think his own shot took effect.

He says the young lady at his boarding-house on Cedar Street, exhibited a pistol that morning, and said it was "intended to shoot a Yankee with; and that most ladies of Nashville carried one for the same purpose."

He told her in return that they might threaten, but that they seemed perfectly willing to accept a Yankee for a husband. It seems she has herself refused a wealthy citizen for a Yankee sutler.

Have found this eve that a Prof. P., a graduate of Yale, is about as nearly related to myself as the thirteenth cousin; and that he as well as myself can trace a relationship back to the "Mayflower." I think we each took a mutual dislike to the other from the first, and have been as coolly polite as possible; but this chance discovery will probably lead each to look with much leniency upon the faults of the other.

He tells me that with another of the delegates he has this P. M. been "the distinguished guest" of the 10th Tennessee Battery, which is stationed at the Capitol, and very near Governor Andy Johnson. That they were "sumptuously regaled with hard tack and molasses, and coffee with sugar in it!"

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 77-8

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Sunday Evening, May 15, 1864

Miss O. is very much worse. I did not sleep any last night, and about three sent for Dr. F. She is suffering greatly, and it is the opinion that before many days nature may give up the contest. I cannot realize it, but fear I am to lose this dear friend. Having had the exclusive care of her and feeling quite worn, two ladies volunteered to take my place to-day and eve. Sought sleep this forenoon but anxiety prevented but little. This P. M. "Charley," as everybody calls him, kindly prescribed fresh air and carriage exercise, and we rode out about two miles to hear a delegate preach to what is called "Anderson's corps."

It seems they enlisted with a promise that they should constitute General Anderson's body corps but afterward were forced into the common field service. They were mostly graduates and professional men, and some have mutinied. Wonder whose fault this was this wrong done them? I should be angry with them, even, should they tell me it was the fault of the Government. The truth is that Red Tape, which in its rightful province forms the firm ligatures which keep in their proper places the different portions of the social and military systems, is sometimes distorted from its original use, and made to subserve the interest of petty underlings and unprincipled officials. It is these who tell us that all sin and high-handed wickedness which is wrought in high places, must be "winked at."

"Red Tape is all right," said a poor boy in Hospital No. 8, "if the commissioned officers did their duty, and had to come under it the same as the privates. 'Tis the abuse of it which makes the trouble."

This poor boy had lain for seven long months in the hospital, while begging to go home, after his limb had been, as all the surgeons declared, permanently bent nearly at right angles with his body.

"Anderson's corps" is a fine and intellectual looking set of soldiers.

We also visited the 15th Colored Regiment and saw them on dress parade. Lieut. Col. ——— accompanied me, and explained the changes and evolutions. He says that no regiment of our own color could so perfectly learn the evolutions, or a band learn to perform so well in so short a time.

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 78-9

Private John C. West to Stark West, July 8, 1863

HAGERSTOWN, MD., JULY 8TH, 1863.

To Master Stark West, four years old:

MY DEAR LITTLE MAN: I wrote to mamma from our camp near Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, and as to-morrow is your birthday, and you are getting to be a big boy, I thought you would like for papa to write you a letter and tell you something about the war and the poor soldiers.

God has been very good to me since I wrote to mamma. He has saved my life when many thousands of good men have been slain all around me. On the 1st, 2nd and 3rd of July a very terrible battle was fought near Gettysburg. We marched all night, leaving camp at 2 o'clock in the afternoon in order to reach the battlefield in time. There had been some fighting on the 1st and we passed a hospital where I saw a great many wounded soldiers, who were mangled and bruised in every possible way, some with their eyes shot out, some with their arms, or hands, or fingers, or feet or legs shot off, and all seeming to suffer a great deal. About two miles farther on I found a great many soldiers drawn up in a line, ready to meet the Yankees, who formed another line a mile or two in front of them. These lines were three or four miles long, and at different places on the hills were the batteries of artillery.

These, you know, are cannons, which shoot large shells, and iron balls a long distance. We kept in this line so long, and I was so tired, I went to sleep and dreamed about you and mamma and little sister, and I asked God to take care of you if I am taken away from you. After awhile we were marched off in a great hurry towards the left of the Yankee line of battle, which is called the left wing, and was opposite to our right wing, which was composed principally of Hood's division. Our brigade was ordered to charge upon one of the Yankee batteries, which was posted on a mountain as high as mount Bonnell, with another battery on a still higher mountain, just back of it, to support it. We were standing in an open field, under the shot and shell of these batteries, for half an hour, before we moved forward, and a good many soldiers were killed all around me. One poor fellow had his head knocked off in a few feet of me, and I felt all the time as if I would never see you and little sister again. When the command was given to charge we moved forward as fast as we could towards the battery. It was between a half and three-quarters of a mile across an open field, over a marshy branch, over a stone fence, and up a very rugged and rocky hill, while Yankee sharpshooters were on the higher mountains, so as to have fairer shots at our officers. On we went yelling and whooping, and soon drove the Yankees from the first battery, but were too much worn out and exhausted to climb to the second, besides a great many of our men were killed, and minnie bullets and grape shot were as thick as hail, and we were compelled to get behind the rocks and trees to save ourselves.

We renewed the charge several times, but the slaughter of our men was so great that after four or five efforts to advance we retired about sunset and slept behind the rocks. I had thrown away my blanket and everything except my musket and cartridge box in the fight, and so spent a very uncomfortable night. We remained at the same place all the next day, and every now and then Yankee bullets would come pretty thick amongst us. One bullet went through my beard and struck a rock half an inch from my head, and a piece of the bullet hit me on the lip and brought the blood.

Lieutenant Joe Smith, of McLennan county, was killed in ten feet of me, and John Terry and Tom Mullens were both wounded in the shoulders. I wanted to write my little man a letter, which he could read when he was a big boy, but it has been raining and the ground is very wet and everything so uncomfortable that I cannot enjoy it.

Tell mamma she had better put off her visit to South Carolina until the war is over, as she seems to be doing very well, and it will be better for her.

Your father, truly,

JOHN C. WEST.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 84-6

Private John C. West to Mary Eliza Stark West, July 9, 1863

CAMP NEAR HAGERSTOWN, MD.,        

JULY 9TH, 1863.

MY PRECIOUS WIFE:

On yesterday I wrote a bungling letter to my "little man" intending it for his birthday, as I feared we would be ordered off to-day, and sure enough I have just learned we are to leave directly. God has mercifully preserved me through the terrible battle of Gettysburg, though my escape was as narrow as possible. I cannot attempt an account of the battle as a private only knows what occurred in his immediate presence. Our regiment went into the fight with 350 and lost 150 in killed, wounded and missing. Lieutenant Joe Smith, son of Captain Jack Smith, on Hog Creek, was killed. We had just climbed a stone fence and crossed a branch and little marsh. Lieutenant Smith had wet his handkerchief in the branch and tied it around his head. It was extremely hot. It was about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and we had double-quicked across an open field for nearly 500 yards. He was killed in twenty feet of me, just after we crossed the branch—shot through the head, the bullet passing through the folds of his handkerchief on both sides. He was a splendid officer and we miss him very much.

From the 1st to the 6th of July I never took off my accouterments night or day. I marked in my Bible the Psalm which I read while in the line of battle among the rocks on the third of July. We were somewhat in advance of our main line and held our place, but could drive the enemy no further neither could they dislodge us. We remained there until the close of the battle. I have requested my friends to save my Bible and the little tin cup, which baby gave me for you in case of my fall. I threw away my blankets and all of my extra clothing when we went into the battle, but I picked up a blanket on coming out. You need not trouble yourself about my wants, as it is impossible to make a soldier comfortable. I was soaking wet from the 2nd to the 6th of July, without meat and with little bread, and have been for some time; so you see if I had all the comforts you might fix for me, I would have to throw them away on a long, wet march. It is impossible to carry them. I started from Texas to find a fight, and I have made a success of it. I am much delighted and gratified at the way in which you seem to be spending your time. With kisses for the little ones, I am,

Your husband, faithfully ever,

JOHN C. WEST.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 87-8

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, March 1, 1863

We had company inspection at 12 o'clock and dress parade at 5 o'clock. We then drew clothing, which was needed very much. I drew three pair of socks and one pair of trousers.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 42

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, March 2, 1863

On picket in the cotton field today until about 3 o'clock, when Capt. Wheeler, officer of the day, came around and relieved us. They have the steam tug on the lake bank nearly ready to launch.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 42

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, March 3, 1863

We had a short game of ball this morning, but Buttons got mad and broke it up. Negroes are coming in very fast. We had dress parade at 5 o'clock, after which a game of ball. To close the scene Bill Lowe and Ragan had a fight. The river has risen over two inches a day.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 42

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, March 4, 1863

We had dress parade at 4 o'clock. Orders were read for regimental drill of one hour each forenoon and afternoon.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 42

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, March 5, 1863

We received the news of the Conscription Act. It passed both Houses and became a law. It receives the general approval of the soldiers. Peats drilled us from 10 to 11 o'clock this forenoon, and from 2 until 3 o'clock in the afternoon. We had dress parade at 4 o'clock. There was an order read from Major Peats awarding a medal, worth not less than fifty dollars, to the best drilled in the manual, and the most prompt in the discharge of duty. He gives until the 1st of May. A dredge passed here today. Some of our boys found four hundred bales of cotton, a large pile of corn, and about two tons of meat hidden in canebrake and swamps.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, pp. 42-3