Major Wilder Dwight: Tuesday Afternoon, July 30, 1861

maryland Heights, Advanced Post, July 30, 1861,

Tuesday Afternoon, in Camp.

With your passion for fine prospects and high hills, you would like to climb with me from the dripping ford of the Potomac up the abrupt steep that overhangs it to the thick wooded side of the Heights on the Maryland shore. You might enjoy the tangled pathway through the woods; you would certainly find a thirsty pleasure at the spring of pure water which pulses from the heart of the mountain; and when you came out of the silent wood-path upon a broad table-flat, and found it white with tents and alive with armed men and vocal with martial music, you would wonder, as King George before the dumpling, how the d----l we got there. This is precisely what I am going to tell you. Giving you first, however, a moment to cast your delighted eyes up the Potomac Valley to the blue hills beyond, and across Harper's Ferry town to the gorge of the Shenandoah, which gives the name to the lazy military department which waits a new life from the energy of General Banks. And, interrupting you again, to say that I have all your letters safe, and have every pleasure in reading them and in rereading them. Now for the story. In this melting heat of the sultriest afternoon my memory is relaxed, and I cannot recollect when I wrote. On Sunday, however, the army moved across the Potomac and occupied Maryland Heights below Sandy Hook, leaving the Massachusetts Second in full possession of Harper's Ferry. The Colonel leaving the upper part of the town where we had been, I spent Sunday evening in posting our pickets and outposts, and in taking what military precautions were possible against a night surprise and attack. Of course we spent a wakeful night, though I could not think there was any chance of attack. The next morning I was off again on the road towards Charlestown to fix a point for a strong picket, and generally to cruise about the country. Colonel Andrews and myself spent three hours in sunny riding (you don't quite appreciate the meaning of the sunny South). When we got back we found that Colonel Gordon had got an order changing the disposition of our forces thus: Colonel Andrews to remain in Harper's Ferry with three companies (Captains Cary's, Abbott's, and Cogswell's), a battery of three guns to be mounted on the table-land above the ford on the Maryland shore, and the rest of the regiment to cross and encamp near it, to support the battery and protect the ford. This sounds plain and easy, but it gave us a lively afternoon. I will tell you the story by and by. Now the call is sounding for dress-parade. The heat is ridiculous. I have philosophized myself, however, into great good spirits, and I do not wilt. With humility I hope to get through. Now for parade. . . . .

If you had happened in on our parade you would have had the pleasure to see me preside. We do not look as gay as we did at Camp Andrew, but we also do not have so many friends to see us. I have got my tent finely pitched, with a rich carpet of oak-leaves, and have extemporized a writing-desk. Tattoo is just beating, and I will go on with my story.

After the order to divide our forces came, the regiment was soon paddling and splashing through the water. We left Colonel Andrews making everything secure. The regiment mounted the steep ascent on this side, and at last made the plateau. But our wagons, which had to take a longer and more circuitous ascent, were not so lucky; and tentless, almost supperless, the men bivouacked for the night. The officers found a friendly supper in the house of a man on whoso farm we are, — the only inhabitant of the neighborhood, if that can be called a neighborhood where neighbors there are none. This farmer* knew John Brown; and, indeed, John Brown's school-house, where he hid his arms, is down just below our camp, in the woods. I may exaggerate the effect of John Brown, but certain it is that the whole military organization in Virginia dates from his raid. And the other day a woman said, “We have not dared to command our slaves since John Brown came.” The man's name is a terror and a bitterness to them. To-day we have been getting our wagons up, pitching tents, organizing an encampment. In Colonel Andrews's absence this falls a good deal on me. New work is hard work, but the aptitude, I suppose, will come. I suppose when an old dog is going to learn new tricks he does not do it in dog-days. I certainly should like to take my lessons in cooler weather. I have been riding about the hills a good deal, and have been to head-quarters to see General Banks. Old Mr. Weller generalized quite broadly when he said, “Sammy, a man as can form a ackerate judgment of a horse can form a ackerate judgment of anything.” Perhaps we generalize a little rapidly in making Governor Banks the commander of a division and a department. We shall see. Just now military civilians must look sharp lest they fall. I am making a long story of very little, but if I could have brought you up to our sunset view, you would have easily understood the new pleasure of our fine camp life after the dull work of garrisoning Harper's Ferry. It does no good to write of scenery, you want to hear of achievement. We must wait for that. Think of us, now in perfect safety, getting ready for better things, I hope. The events of the past week show that every man who is fit for it must do his part to fight now.

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* See Appendix VIII.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 61-3

Charles Robinson to John Brown, September 13, 1856

Lawrence, Sept. 13, 1856.

Captain John Brown.

Dear Sir, — Governor Geary has been here and talks very well. He promises to protect us, etc. There will be no attempt to arrest any one for a few days, and I think no attempt to arrest you is contemplated by him. He talks of letting the past be forgotten, so far as may be, and of commencing anew. If convenient, can you not come to town and see us? 1 I will then tell you all that the governor said, and talk of some other matters.

Very respectfully,

C. Robinson.

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¹ The interview solicited by Robinson did take place at a house in Lawrence, and in course of it, according to John Brown, Jr., who was present, Robinson not only did not censure Brown for his Pottawatomie executions, but urged him to undertake similar work elsewhere; to which Brown replied, “If you know of any job of that sort that needs to be done, I advise you to do it yourself,” or words to that effect. Robinson now denies that he made such a proposition.

SOURCE: Franklin B. Sanborn, The Life and Letters of John Brown, p. 329-30

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, June 18, 1863

Camp Brightwood, June 18, 1863.

Sumner talked a great deal about the black troops, — about the President's views and Stanton's intention of having 200,000 in the field by the end of summer, which I thought rather wild, considering the total number of arms-bearing blacks in the South to be 360,000; Fremont wrote in the same way. Sumner had some excellent ideas on the probable duration of the war, — he thinks it ought to be a very long war yet. He does not find in history any record of such great changes as we expect to see, having been brought about except with long wars and great suffering. I think his ideas excellent because they agree with mine. What should we do with a peace, until events have shaped out a policy which a majority of people at the North will recognize as the necessary one for a successful reorganization of the Southern territory and Southern institutions? What two men agree about such a policy now? What one man has any clear, practical ideas on the subject at all? — not Charles Sumner certainly. If black armies can be organized on a large scale and made to fight, the question of slavery and the disposition of the slaves becomes comparatively easy of solution: but our whole Constitution, and perhaps our whole form of government, has, it seems to me, to be remodelled, — and that cannot be done until a new generation, better educated in such things than the present, takes hold of it. How many years it took to form our present Constitution.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 260-1

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Sunday, November 3, 1861

Camp Ewing, Virginia. — Yesterday and today it has been rainy, stormy, and disagreeable. I came up to my regiment yesterday as lieutenant-colonel. The men and officers seem pleased with my promotion. All regret the loss of Colonel Matthews and say that if I go their interest in the regiment is gone. The paymaster has paid me up to the 31st [of] August, four hundred and ninety-six dollars. Lieutenant Richardson has also collected for me two hundred and fifty dollars of money lent the company officers. I can send home seven hundred dollars and still have two months' pay due me. I have been very economical in order to a fair start for my family. I shall now feel relieved from anxiety on that score and will be more liberal in my expenditures.

A Mr. Ficklin, of Charlottesville, Virginia, a brother-in-law of Mrs. Colonel Tompkins, came with her bearing a flag of truce. He staid with us last night. He is an agreeable, fair-minded, intelligent gentleman of substance, formerly and perhaps now a stage proprietor and mail-carrier. He says he entertains not the shadow of a doubt that the Confederate States will achieve independence. He says the whole people will spend and be spent to the last before they will yield. On asking him, “Suppose on the expiration of Lincoln's term a state-rights Democrat shall be elected President, what will be the disposition of the South towards him?” he replied hesitatingly as if puzzled, and seemed to feel that the chief objection to the Union would be removed. So it's Lincoln, Black Republican, prejudice, a name, that is at the bottom of it all. His account of things goes to show that great pains have been taken to drill and discipline the Rebel troops, and that their cavalry are especially fine.

All the sick sent over Gauley last night. A new lot appear today. We have had three deaths by the fever.

I now enter on new duties. I must learn all the duties of colonel, see that Colonel Scammon does not forget or omit anything. He is ready to all but so forgetful. He loves to talk of West Point, of General Scott, of genteel and aristocratic people; and if an agreeable person is found who will seem to be entertained, he can talk by the hour in a pleasant way to the omission of every important duty.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 136-7

Brigadier-General John A. Rawlins to Mary Emeline Hurlburt Rawlins, April 18, 1864

April 18, 1864.

. . . The General has been reviewing troops to-day. I did not go out with him, but shall to-morrow.

By the latest information in the papers it would appear that the enemy is moving troops from Johnston's army to that of Lee. If so, you may expect battle here before we are prepared to bring it on. Yet, strong as we are, we hope to be able to whip the enemy whenever he chooses to attack. I would much prefer their waiting for us to take the initiative. There is always a moral strength given the attacking party that nothing but strong fortifications can resist. No news from our front. The Richmond papers have it that Macgruder has whipped Banks near Shreveport badly. This can hardly be so. Our forces, if Banks is obeying the orders sent him, should ere this be returning from the Red River. This would naturally give foundation for such a report. The fact is Banks ought now to be back in New Orleans, but I fear he will be tardy in his movements.

I tell you I shall ever look with distrust upon any man who ever in the whole course of his life could conjure up the contingency and give expression to it in which he would “let the Union slide.” Such men are not the ones to trust too much to, I assure you.

The surgeon was here to-day (two of them) and sounded my lungs thoroughly and is satisfied nothing is the matter with them. They say nothing ails me but the chronic bronchitis, which I will recover from with proper care of myself. They also say that I have from over-exertion greatly prostrated my whole physical organization and that I need rest and good living. They have prescribed Codliver Oil as my principal medicine, and I shall follow their prescription most faithfully. ...

SOURCE: James H. Wilson, The Life of John A. Rawlins, p. 419-20

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, November 19, 1864

November 19, 1864

The rain continued, being cold, by way of variety, and from the northeast; whereby it happened that we got no mail. Be-cause what? as small Co says. Well, because the captain of that gallant ship went and ran her aground somewhere on a shoal which they told me the name of — whereat I was no wiser. The result to us was disastrous; when I say to us, I mean our mess; for the chef, Mercier, (no relation of French minister) was on board with many good eatables for us, but in the confusion, the knavish soldiery, who were on board as passengers, did break the boxes and did eat much and destroy and waste more. “Aussi,” said little Mercier, “they broke many bottles; but,” he continued, with the air of a good man, whom a higher power had protected, “that made no difference, for they belonged to other people!” In the night we were favored with quite a disturbance. The officer of the guard, who had possibly been storing his mind from some mediaeval book on the ordering of warders in a walled town, suddenly conceived an idea that it was proper for the sentries to call the hours. So we were waked from the prima quies by loud nasal and otherwise discordant cries of: “Post number eight! Half-past twelve! All's well!" etc., etc. The factionaries evidently considered it a good joke, and, as they had to keep awake, determined no one else should sleep; and so roared often and loud. Some of the officers, hastily roused, fancied the camp was on fire; others conceived the sentinels were inebriated; others that Mosby was in the camp; and others again, like myself, didn't think anything about it, but growled and dropped off again to sleep. “What was that howling?”said the testy General, at breakfast. “Yes, what did the confounded fools mean?” added the pacific Humphreys. But the most indignant personage was Rosencrantz. “I do svear!” he exclaimed, “this whole night have I not a single vink slept. It is not enough that those sentry fellows should tell us vat time it is, but they must also be screaming to me a long speech besides! Vat do I care vat time it is; and if all is vell, vy can they not keep it to themselves, and not be howling it in my ears and vaking me up? This is the most fool tings I have seen!” You may be sure that was the first and last of the warders.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 276-7

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: July 5, 1861

We have news of a fight at Gainesville between Gen. Patterson and Col. Jackson; the latter, being opposed by overwhelming numbers, fell back after punishing the Philadelphia general so severely that he will not be likely to have any more stomach for fighting during the remainder of the campaign.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 58

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 14, 1862

Thank God for a ship! It has run the blockade with arms and ammunition.

There are no negro sexual relations half so shocking as Mormonism. And yet the-United States Government makes no bones of receiving Mormons into its sacred heart. Mr. Venable said England held her hand over “the malignant and the turbaned Turk” to save and protect him, slaves, seraglio, and all. But she rolls up the whites of her eyes at us when slavery, bad as it is, is stepping out into freedom every moment through Christian civilization. They do not grudge the Turk even his bag and Bosphorus privileges. To a recalcitrant wife it is, “Here yawns the sack; there rolls the sea,” etc. And France, the bold, the brave, the ever free, she has not been so tender-footed in Algiers. But then the “you are another” argument is a shabby one. “You see,” says Mary Preston sagaciously, “we are white Christian descendants of Huguenots and Cavaliers, and they expect of us different conduct.”

Went in Mrs. Preston's landau to bring my boarding-school girls here to dine. At my door met J. F., who wanted me then and there to promise to help him with his commission or put him in the way of one. At the carriage steps I was handed in by Gus Smith, who wants his brother made commissary. The beauty of it all is they think I have some influence, and I have not a particle. The subject of Mr. Chesnut's military affairs, promotions, etc., is never mentioned by me.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 143

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: April 10, 1862

Spent yesterday in the hospital by the bedside of Nathan Newton, our little Alabamian. I closed his eyes last night at ten o'clock, after an illness of six weeks. His body, by his own request, will be sent to his mother. Poor little boy! He was but fifteen, and should never have left his home. It was sad to pack his knapsack, with his little gray suit, and coloured shirts, so neatly stitched by his poor mother, of whom he so often spoke, calling to us in delirinm, “Mother, mother,” or, “Mother, come here.” He so often called me mother, that I said to him one day, when his mind was clear, “Nathan, do I look like your mother?”  “No, ma'am, not a bit; nobody is like my mother.” The packing of his little knapsack reminds me of

THE JACKET OF GRAY.

Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,

Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride,

For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,

The jacket of gray, our loved soldier-boy wore.

Can we ever forget when he joined the brave band

Who rose in defence of our dear Southern land,

And in his bright youth hurried on to the fray—

How proudly he donned it, the jacket of gray?

His fond mother blessed him, and looked up above,

Commending to Heaven the child of her love;

What anguish was hers, mortal tongue may not say,

When he passed from her sight in his jacket of gray.

But his country had called him, she would not repine,

Though costly the sacrifice placed on its shrine;

Her heart's dearest hopes on the altar she lay,

When she sent out her boy in his jacket of gray.

Months passed, and war's thunders rolled over the land,

Unsheathed was the sword, and lighted the brand;

We heard in the distance the sound of the fray,

And prayed for our boy in the jacket of gray.

Ah, vain, all in vain, were our prayers and our tears;

The glad shout of victory rang in our ears;

But our treasured one on the battle-field lay,

While the life-blood oozed out on the jacket of gray.

Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,

Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride,

For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,

The jacket of gray our loved soldier-boy wore.

His young comrades found him, and tenderly bore

The cold lifeless form to his home by the shore:

Oh, dark were our hearts on that terrible day

When we saw our dead boy in the jacket of gray.

Ah, spotted and tattered, and stained now with gore,

Was the garment which once he so proudly wore;

We bitterly wept as we took it away,

And replaced with death's white robes the jacket of gray.

We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow bed,

And 'graved on the marble we placed o'er his head,

As the proudest of tributes our sad hearts could pay,

He never disgraced the poor jacket of gray.

Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,

Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride,

For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,

The jacket of gray our loved soldier-boy wore.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 104-6

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: September 11, 1862

My husband has today returned without the dear remains of Willy.  . . . “Slain in battle — Slain in battle” — he continually reiterates.  . . . He could not know certainly which was Willy's grave; had the one he supposed to be, opened; alas! for our poor humanity! when he opened the blanket in which the body was wrapped, he could not distinguish a feature of his boy on the despoiled face — he tore open the shirt, and there where I had written it was W. C. Preston! He thought to bring a lock of his hair, — it crumbled to the touch! It was impossible to have him removed, so he carefully marked the spot, and left the removal to be accomplished another time.

Such pictures of horror as Mr. P. gives! Unnumbered dead Federal soldiers covering the battle field; one hundred in one gully, uncovered, and rotting in the sun ; they were strewn all along the roadside. And dead horses everywhere, by the hundred. Hospitals crowded to excess, and loathsome beyond expression in many instances. How fearful is war! I cannot put down the details he gave me, they are too horrid.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 148-50

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, May 21, 1864

Reveille sounded at 3 o'clock and at 5 we took up the line of march, our company being rear guard for the brigade. We marched seventeen miles and went into bivouac several miles beyond Elkhorn. which we reached at 1 o'clock. Here we waded the Elkhorn¹ river, which is from three to five feet deep and two hundred feet wide. The boys had a great deal of fun in wading across. The country is very rough and rocky, and the hard turnpike over which we marched most of the day made our feet very sore.

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¹ Now called Elk river. The town which our diarist calls Elkhorn was probably what is now Aspen Hill. — Ed.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 189

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: July 15, 1864

Came off picket very early. A fine morning. The army again on the march. Our regiment in the rear, waiting for orders. Passed through Knoxville, pushing on to Berlin, Maryland. Coming to a halt discovered the advance wading the Potomac River, over into Virginia, the Loudon Valley country. At this point there was a stony ridge running diagonal across the river. At low water it could be forded. At this time the water was about waist deep and the stones were very slippery. In order to keep our ammunition and rations dry we carried our equipments and haversacks fastened to the muzzle of our muskets, over our shoulder. Some of the boys lost their footing, went down under the water, getting a ducking. There was much laughing, joking, and shouting, in spite of the wetting we were all getting. On reaching the Virginia shore no time to halt, not even to stop and pour the water out of our shoes. Must push on in our wet clothes over dusty roads which soon formed a mud covering. After a time our clothes began to dry as we marched on in the hot sun, the dirt dropping off. By night our clothes were all dry and we were all in better spirits. Many reports are in circulation that we are following on after the rebs under the command of Jubal Early, who have been raiding into Maryland. Late tonight camp near Hillsborough.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 98-9

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: March 21, 1862

Went out with a detail of twenty privates and two sergeants to cut wood for the regiment. Had twelve mule teams. Drew twenty-two loads. Saw a long overland train bound for Humboldt with crackers. Another train coming loaded with nine yoke of oxen. One wagon had 17 yokes stuck fast in the mire of the creek. California Overland Route.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 9-10

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, June 17, 1863

Camp Brightwood, June 17, 1863.

I wonder whether I shall ever be able to repay Cousin John in any way for his many kindnesses and for the many pleasant days and evenings I have passed at Milton and Naushon. Do you know that after Chancellorsville he wrote that he had more than half a mind to come home at once to help raise a new army, and, if necessary, to take a musket himself.¹ Perhaps one of these days I may have a chance to do something to gratify him. I wonder whether my theories about self-culture, &c., would ever have been modified so much, whether I should ever have seen what a necessary failure they lead to, had it not been for this war: now I feel every day more and more that a man has no right to himself at all, that indeed he can do nothing useful unless he recognize this clearly: nothing has helped me to see this last truth more than watching Mr. Forbes, — I think he is one of the most unselfish workers I ever knew of: it is painful here to see how sadly personal motives interfere with most of our officers' usefulness. After the war, how much there will be to do, —  and how little opportunity a fellow in the field has to prepare himself for the sort of doing that will be required: it makes me quite sad sometimes; but then I think of Cousin John and remember how much he always manages to do in every direction without any previous preparation, simply by pitching in honestly and entirely, — and I reflect that the great secret of doing, after all, is in seeing what is to be done. You know I’ll not be rash; but I wish I could feel as sure of doing my duty elsewhere as I am of doing it on the field of battle, — that is so little part of an officer's and patriot's duty now.

We are still at our old camp, and with less prospect of an immediate move than there was three days ago. Did I tell you poor Ruksh had been sent to a hospital in town, — to be turned out to pasture if he lives. I am going to town to pick out a Government horse to take his place as well as maybe.

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¹ The subject of this letter's just praise was Mr. John Murray Forbes. He was not “Cousin John” to Lowell, but the bond of friendship and trust was so strong between the men that, as he was Miss Shaw's kinsman, Lowell liked to take advantage of the kinship, before his marriage should entitle him to it. Mr. Forbes was at this time in England, a private citizen sent by his government on a mission of vital importance. I copy from his Reminiscences, privately printed, the same story I have heard from his own lips: —

“All through the early months of 1863 the alarm in regard to the Laird ironclads had been increasing until, one Saturday morning in March, I received a telegram from Secretary Chase of the Treasury asking me to meet him the next morning, Sunday, in New York, where Secretary Welles of the Navy would also be. I was half ill, but could not refuse, and so met the two Secretaries and W. H. Aspinwall at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, as requested. They wished Aspinwall and me to go at once to England, and see what could be done in the way of selling United States bonds, and stopping the outfit of Confederate cruisers, and especially ironclads. We agreed to go, and we were asked to draw our own instructions, which we did, making them very general in their terms, the main features being a very wide discretion and the unrestricted use of ten million of 5-20s then just being prepared for issue to the public on this side, but not yet countersigned. It was thought necessary that I should embark by the Cunard steamer of Wednesday from Boston, and that Aspinwall should follow with the bonds in a week. I returned home that night, packed up my baggage, left my business, and started, as arranged on Wednesday, the 18th of March.  . . . Aspinwall agreed to bring one of his old steamship captains as an expert, to help us in our examination of the British shipyards, then reported to be swarming with the outfitting Rebel cruisers.” Mr. Forbes went to the Barings “and suggested, as a first want, that they should put at my disposal £500,000, for which they were to have perhaps $4,000,000 of 5-20S as security.” This required consideration. Mr. Joshua Bates, of the firm, “was the best of Americans, and he was always for the strongest measures. His consultation with Mr. Baring resulted in their handing me a bank-book with £500,000 at my credit, subject to cash draft; and so, when Aspinwall arrived, a week later, our finances were all right, and he deposited the 5-20S in Baring's vaults, part as security for the money, and the rest subject to our orders.” Mr. Forbes used every effort to show the English where “their sympathy was due, and that, as neutral, it was their duty to stop the sailing of the ironclads known to be built for the Confederacy.” The Society of Friends and the Peace Society were friendly, but cold; and, bad as things were, he wrote, “Bright, Cobden, W. E. Forster, the Duke of Argyle, and a few others were with us heartily and took bold ground in our cause; but, generally speaking, the aristocracy and the trading classes were solid against us. Gladstone . . . had not found out the merits of our cause, and Lord John Russell, called a liberal member of the Cabinet, was with official insolence sneering, even in a public speech, at what he called ‘the once United States.’” Mr. Forbes worked hard to quicken the sympathies of the Society of Friends. His coming was welcomed by our brave minister, Charles Francis Adams, whose task had become indeed anxious and heavy. The work of selling the 5-20s in England and on the Continent was pushed, the purchase of the most threatening ironclads, which had been contemplated, proved impracticable. Then Mr. Adams took the final step. On the 5th of September he wrote to Lord Russell: “At this moment, when one of the ironclad vessels is on the point of departure from this kingdom on a hostile errand against the United States, it would be superfluous for me to point out to your lordship that this is war.”

The answer (Sept. 8) was: “Instructions have been issued which will prevent the departure of these two ironclad vessels from Liverpool.”

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 258-60, 424-6

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, November 2, 1861

Camp Tompkins, Virginia, November 2, 1861.

Dearest Lucy: — I am about to return to my regiment, six or eight miles up New River at Camp Ewing. I shall probably be comfortably settled there tonight.

Colonel Matthews having been promoted to the colonelcy of the Fifty-first, I have been promoted to the lieutenant-colonelcy of the Twenty-third and relieved, for the present at any rate, of the duties of judge-advocate. I of course regret very much the loss of Colonel Matthews. But you know we have been separated more than half the time since we came to Virginia; so it is more a change in name than in fact. I hope he has a good regiment. If he has decent materials he will make it a good one. I am pleased, as people in the army always are, with my promotion. I confess to the weakness of preferring (as I must hereafter always be called by some title) to be called Colonel to being styled Major.

We had a noisy day yesterday. A lot of Floyd's men (we suppose) have got on the other side of the river with cannon. They tried to sink our ferry-boats and prevent our crossing Gauley River at the bridge (now ferry for Wise destroyed the bridge). They made it so hazardous during the day that all teams were stopped; but during the night the ferry did double duty, so that the usual crossing required in twenty-four hours was safely done. Both sides fired cannon and musketry at each other several hours, but the distance was too great to do harm. We have two wounded and thought we did them immense damage. They probably suffered little or no loss, but probably imagined that they were seriously cutting us. So we all see it. Our side does wonders always. We are not accurately informed about these Rebels, but appearances do not make them formidable. They can't attack us. The only danger is that they may get below on the Kanawha and catch a steamboat before we drive them off.

I wish you could see such a battle. No danger and yet enough sense of peril excited to make all engaged very enthusiastic. The echoes of the cannon and bursting shells through the mountain defiles were wonderful. I spent the day with two soldiers making a reconnaissance — that is to say trying to find out the enemies' exact position, strength, etc., etc. We did some hard climbing, and were in as much danger as anybody else, that is, none at all. One while the spent rifle balls fell in our neighborhood, but they hadn't force enough to penetrate clothing, even if they should hit. It's a great thing to have a rapid river and a mountain gorge between hostile armies. . . .

Affectionately,

R. B. Hayes.

P. S. — I have been paid half of my pay, and will send you two or three hundred dollars at least, the first chance. I wish you would get Dr. Jim to buy one or two pairs of lieutenant-colonel's shoulder-straps to send with the privilege of returning if they don't suit. We expect Dr. Clendenin daily.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 134-5

Brigadier-General John A. Rawlins to Mary Emeline Hurlburt Rawlins, April 17, 1864

Culpepper C. H., Va., April 17, 1864.

. . . I do hope soon for settled weather and the commencement of active operations. I begin to feel that quite now is more advantageous to the enemy than to us. Already there are indications that Lee's army will be strengthened from Johnston's. One battalion and one regiment of regulars have already gone from the latter to the former. If such is the case it will be the policy of Lee to take the initiative and defeat this army before Sherman is able to move against Johnston. Unless he does this, his reenforcing his army from Johnston's would only expose the latter to certain defeat by Sherman. At any rate I am anxious for a move as soon as the roads will permit it.¹

Oh, how terribly our Government stands in its own light in not enforcing the conscription law. If it had done this last January we should now have at least 200,000 additional men in the field, and an army would be at General Grant's command that could not be successfully opposed in any quarter. But why talk over these things? Plain as they are, they have been unheeded, and to-day we have no more force than the enemy is able to oppose to us, and our liberties are still left to be decided by the skill of contending Generals instead of by the great superiority of our resources in materials and more especially in men. God has been most merciful to us as a people. He has preserved us this far, in spite of ourselves, from overthrow and utter ruin. We certainly have not helped ourselves as we might have done. In God therefore patriots must put their trust. I have great and abiding faith in our final triumph. I believe General Grant's plans in the coming campaign will win. Still it might have been put beyond the possibility of doubt by enforcing the draft. . . .

My cough is still getting better and my appetite is being restored. Unless I do get much better I cannot think of trying to remain here, for I had better quit the service than to permanently injure my health. Permanent injury of my lungs would of course be certain death; this, however, I do not seriously apprehend. . . .

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¹ On the Chattanooga-Atlanta line.

SOURCE: James H. Wilson, The Life of John A. Rawlins, p. 418-9

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, November 18, 1864

November 18, 1864

Warm it is this morning — too much so; I would prefer it frosty, but remember the farmer whom Jupiter allowed to regulate the weather for his own farm, and who made very poor crops in consequence. As Albert¹ came last night, I honorably discharged the ebony John this morning, giving him a character, an antique pair of trousers and a dollar or two extra wages, whereat John showed his ivory, but still remarked, standing on one leg: “Er ud like er pass.” “What do you want a pass for?" asked I, in that fatherly voice that should always be used to a very black nig. “Go a Washington.” “If you go to Washington they’ll draft you, if you don't look out.” “Oh,” said John, with the grave air of a man of mundane experience, “dem fellers what ain't travelled none, dey gets picked up: but I's travelled a right smart lot!” Whereupon the traveller departed. It should be stated that his travels consist in having run away from his master, near Madison Court House, and in having since followed the army on the back of a spare horse. We were favored with a batch of two J. Bulls (lately they have taken to hunting about here, in couples and singly). These were a certain legation person, Kirkpatrick, and an extraordinary creature named H–––, who is said to have been once in the British army and to be now in Oxford — rather a turning about. He had a sort of womanish voice and a manner of sweet sap; his principal observations were: “Ao, inde—ed”; “Ao, thank you”; and “Ao, I wish you a good morning.” He had an unaccountable mania for getting shot through the head, and insisted on going to Fort Hell, and staring through embrasures; from which I judge he was more idiotic than he seemed. He was also, it would appear, very fond of fresh air, while his companion (who also disagreed with him on the shooting-through-the-head matter) rather liked a door shut. They were put in a log cabin to sleep, and H––– secretly opened the door at night; whereupon it came to rain and blow, and the Bulls awaked in the morning to behold their shoes and stockings sailing about the room! Really, General Hunt, to whom these creatures are usually billetted, ought to get board free from his many former guests for the rest of his life.

In the evening we had a charge on the enemy under a new form, or rather a very old one, for it was after the fashion of Samson's foxes. A number of beef cattle, in a pen near Yellow Tavern, were seized, in the night, with one of those panics for which oxen are noted, and to which the name “stampede” was originally applied. They burst out of the enclosure and a body of them, forty strong, went, at full gallop, up the Halifax road, towards Petersburg! What our pickets did does not appear; one thing they did not do — stop the fugitive beef. On they went in wild career through the dark, with no little clatter, we may be sure. The Rebel videttes discharged their pieces and fled; the picket sentries opened fire; the reserves advanced in support, and fired too; heedless of killed and wounded, the oxen went slap through the whole of them; and, the last that was heard from that drove was the distant crash of a volley of musketry from the enemy's breastworks! When the gray morn lifted, the first sight that greeted our disgusted pickets was a squad of grey-backs comfortably cutting savory steaks from a fat beef, the quarry of their bow and their spear! The evening brought us warm rain; also, as toads fall in a shower, one military Englishman, and one civilian Blue-nose. The Briton was a Major Smyth, of the Royal Artillery — a really modest, gentlemanly man, with a red face, hooked nose, and that sure mark of greatness, a bald head. The Blue-nose was modest also (the only one I ever saw) and was of the class of well-to-do, honorable Common-Councilmen; his name was Lunn, suggestive of “Sally Lunns.”

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¹ The servant, whom he had brought from Brookline, who had been absent on sick leave.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 273-6

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: July 4, 1861

These simple things provoked some remarks from the young gentlemen in the department, and gave rise to predictions that he would soon supplant us all in the affections of the Secretary. And he is nimble of foot too, and enters the Secretary's room twice to Col. B.'s or Major T.'s once. I go not thither unless sent for; for in a cause like this, personal advancement, when it involves catering to the caprices of functionaries dressed in a little brief authority, should be spurned with contempt. But Col. Bledsoe is shocked, and renews his threats of resignation. Major Tyler is eager to abandon the pen for the sword; but Congress has not acted on his nomination; and the West Pointers, many of them indebted to his father for their present positions, are inimical to his confirmation.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 58

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 13, 1862

Mr. Chesnut fretting and fuming. From the poor old blind bishop downward everybody is besetting him to let off students, theological and other, from going into the army. One comfort is that the boys will go. Mr. Chesnut answers: “Wait until you have saved your country before you make preachers and scholars. When you have a country, there will be no lack of divines, students, scholars to adorn and purify it.” He says he is a one-idea man. That idea is to get every possible man into the ranks.

Professor Le Conte¹ is an able auxiliary. He has undertaken to supervise and carry on the powder-making enterprise — the very first attempted in the Confederacy, and Mr. Chesnut is proud of it. It is a brilliant success, thanks to Le Conte.

Mr. Chesnut receives anonymous letters urging him to arrest the Judge as seditious. They say he is a dangerous and disaffected person. His abuse of Jeff Davis and the Council is rabid. Mr. Chesnut laughs and throws the letters into the fire. “Disaffected to Jeff Davis,” says he; “disaffected to the Council, that don't count. He knows what he is about; he would not injure his country for the world.”

Read Uncle Tom's Cabin again. These negro women have a chance here that women have nowhere else. They can redeem themselves — the “impropers” can. They can marry decently, and nothing is remembered against these colored ladies. It is not a nice topic, but Mrs. Stowe revels in it. How delightfully Pharisaic a feeling it must be to rise superior and fancy we are so degraded as to defend and like to live with such degraded creatures around us — such men as Legree and his women.

The best way to take negroes to your heart is to get as far away from them as possible. As far as I can see, Southern women do all that missionaries could do to prevent and alleviate evils. The social evil has not been suppressed in old England or in New England, in London or in Boston. People in those places expect more virtue from a plantation African than they can insure in practise among themselves with all their own high moral surroundings — light, education, training, and support. Lady Mary Montagu says, “Only men and women at last.” “Male and female, created he them,” says the Bible. There are cruel, graceful, beautiful mothers of angelic Evas North as well as South, I dare say. The Northern men and women who came here were always hardest, for they expected an African to work and behave as a white man. We do not.

I have often thought from observation truly that perfect beauty hardens the heart, and as to grace, what so graceful as a cat, a tigress, or a panther. Much love, admiration, worship hardens an idol's heart. It becomes utterly callous and selfish. It expects to receive all and to give nothing. It even likes the excitement of seeing people suffer. I speak now of what I have watched with horror and amazement.

Topsys I have known, but none that were beaten or ill-used. Evas are mostly in the heaven of Mrs. Stowe's imagination. People can't love things dirty, ugly, and repulsive, simply because they ought to do so, but they can be good to them at a distance; that's easy. You see, I can not rise very high; I can only judge by what I see.

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¹ Joseph Le Conte, who afterward arose to much distinction as a geologist and writer of text-books on geology. He died in 1901, while he was connected with the University of California. His work at Columbia was to manufacture, on a large scale, medicines for the Confederate Army, his laboratory being the main source of supply. In Professor Le Conte's autobiography published in 1903, are several chapters devoted to his life in the South.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 141-3

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: March 29, 1862

After much anxiety, more authentic information from the “Valley” received this morning. We gave them a good fight, but the field was left in the enemy's hand. Poor, noble Winchester, to what degradation is she brought! Our dear W. B. C.^[1] was shot through the hip; the wound painful, but not mortal; he was carried to Staunton, and his mother has gone to him. The rest of our own peculiar “boys” are safe, but many lives were lost. It is thought that a great crisis is at hand. The Peninsula is the place appointed by rumour for a great battle. The croakers dread much from their numbers; my trust is in One who can save by many or by few.

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^[1] William Brockenbrough Colston, son of Judith W. (Brockenbrough) McGuire’s sister, Sarah Jane Brockenbrough and her husband, Edward Colston.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 103-4