Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

March 25 — Moved to Taylortown, four miles south of Woodstock. Quartered in a house.

I am now packed and ready for my departure to the mouth of the Mississippi River. The last vessel, the Miami, takes me down. I spent last evening very pleasantly with General Butler. He does not appear to have any very difficult plan of operations, but simply to follow in my wake and hold what I can take. God grant that may be all that we attempt. I have now attained what I have been looking for all my life—a flag—and, having attained it, all that is necessary to complete the scene is a victory. If I die in the attempt, it will only be what every officer has to expect. He who dies in doing his duty to his country, and at peace with his God, has played out the drama of life to the best advantage.

Tuesday March 25th 1862

This has been a pleasant day. The troops have been quite active, some five or six Regiments marched through the City to the River to embark. No particular news afloat. Nothing is allowed to be published relating to army movements except official dispatches from the War department. The news papers are consequently rather stale at present. After dinner we all went up to the camp of the 98th NY to see the Lyons boys and bid them good bye. They expect to start tomorrow for down the River. They all seemed to be in good health and spirits. Surgeon David came down and took tea with us. We all regret to have him go. We are all much attached to him. He appears so amiable and quiet in his demeanor and so sincere in what he says. We got back from the camp before dark. After Dr David left, Julia and I called at Mr Hartlys on NY Avenue. I also called at the office of Maj A B Williams on 11th street. Met Mr VanMaster of Lyons and Mr Underwood of Auburn NY. Genl Burnside has taken Beaufort N.C. & Fort Mason.

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The three diary manuscript volumes, Washington during the Civil War: The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865, are available online at The Library of Congress.

MARCH 25TH.—Gen. Bonham, of South Carolina, has also re-signed, for being overslaughed. His were the first troops that entered Virginia to meet the enemy; and because some of his three months’ men were reorganized into fresh regiments, his brigade was dissolved, and his commission canceled.

Price, Beauregard, Walker, Bonham, Toombs, Wise, Floyd, and others of the brightest lights of the South have been some-how successively obscured. And Joseph E. Johnston is a doomed fly, sooner or later, for he said, not long since, that there could be no hope of success as long as Mr. Benjamin was Secretary of War. These words were spoken at a dinner-table, and will reach the ears of the Secretary.

Tuesday, 25th—We had company drill twice today. We have a fine drill ground. Our water here is good, there being several springs a short distance to the east and to the west of our camp. The camp of the Thirteenth Iowa is on our left, while to our right are the Eighth and Eighteenth Illinois. These three regiments with ours, the Eleventh Iowa, form the First Brigade of the First Division of the Army of the Tennessee, under the command of Maj. Gen. John A. McClernand. Col. Abraham M. Hare of our regiment is in command of the brigade. Dresser’s battery of six guns is encamped just in front of the Eleventh Iowa.

To Mrs. Lyon

Mound City, March 25, 1862.—We are ordered to leave here at six this evening to join the regiment, to report at Cairo. No fighting where they are.

25th. Commenced reading Scott’s “Ivanhoe.” Delighted with its principal characters, Rowena and Ivanhoe.

Darkies.

March 25. There are swarms of negroes here. They are of all sexes, ages, sizes and conditions. They sit along the streets and fences, staring and grinning at every thing they see, laughing and chattering together like so many black-birds. They have very exaggerated notions of freedom, thinking it means freedom from work and a license to do about as they please. There is no use trying to get them to work, for if they can get their hoe-cake and bacon, it is all they want, and they are contented and happy. When a party of them is wanted to unload a vessel or do any job of work, the commissary or quartermaster requests the colonel to send along the men. The colonel orders one of the companies to go out and pick them up and report with them where they are wanted. A patrol is detailed and put in charge of a non-commissioned officer who starts out to pick up his party. On seeing a good, stout looking fellow, the officer halts his squad, and calling the darky’s attention, says, “Come here, boy!” The unsuspecting darky comes grinning along up and asks, “Wat ‘er want ‘er me?” “Fall in here, I want you,” “Wat I don’ ‘er want me?” “Well, I want you to do something; fall in here,” “O, lor’ a gorra, boss,i’se so busy today i’se couldn’t go nohow, i’se go tomorrer suah.” “Never mind that, fall in here,” and the darky falls in, his eyes rolling around and his thick lips sticking out, feeling about as mad as he well can, doubtless thinking that freedom is no great thing after all.

In that way the whole party is picked up in a few minutes and marched off to where they are wanted. They are set to work, and at night will all promise to be on hand the next morning, “suah.” The next morning perhaps a few of them will put in an appearance, but the most of them will keep away, and another patrol will be sent out to pick up another lot. But I think, after a little while, they will learn that freedom means something besides idleness and they will feel a willingness to work. They have a curious custom of carrying everything on their heads, toting they call it, and will tote large or small bundles along the street or through a crowd as unconcernedly and safely as though it were a basket slung on their arm. They will tote a brimming pitcher or tumbler of water without spilling scarcely a drop. These darkies are a curious institution.

25th.—This A. M., at 6, weighed anchor, and dropped down to Hampton Roads, and disembarked at what was the little town of Hampton. If there be pleasure in the indulgence of sad reflections, how delightful it would be to have all my friends here, to enjoy them with me to-day. For a few hours, whilst the troops have been disembarking, and transferring the baggage and munitions of war from steamer to transportation wagons, I have been walking the streets of this once beautiful, but now desolate little city. Never before had I a conception of the full import of that word—desolate. Shortly after the battle of Bull Run, the rebels, fearing that we should occupy the town as our winter quarters, abandoned and burned it. This little city, amongst the oldest in America, and now giving evidences of a former beauty, possessed by no other I have seen in the South, they burned!

Oh, the demoralization, the misery resulting from this wicked rebellion. I would like to describe here the scenes I have witnessed this morning; but the sad picture, so strongly impressed on the mind, would be blurred and rendered indistinct by any attempt to transfer it to language. I have already an affection for this little city, and a deep-rooted sympathy for its former citizens, now scattered and hunted, exiled and homeless. Its population, I should judge, was about 2,500. ‘Twas compactly built, mostly of brick. The yards and gardens even yet, give evidence of great taste.

The walls of the old Episcopal Church, said to be the oldest orthodox church on the continent, stand almost uninjured, but not a particle of combustible matter is left about it. In its yard are the tombs and the tomb-stones of a century and a half ago. And what a place to study human nature, amongst the 50,000 soldiers strolling around. ‘Tis low tide. All the tiny bays left uncovered by water, are crowded by soldiers “on all fours,” sunk to knees and elbows in the slimy mud feeling for oysters. The gardens are full of soldiers, the church yards are full, each giving an index of his character by the object of his search and admiration. Whilst I have been looking disgusted and indignant at a squad prying the tomb-stones from the vaults to get a look within; at another squad breaking off pieces of the oldest tomb-stones as ” trophies,” my attention is suddenly drawn away from these revolting scenes by the extacies of a poor, ragged, dirty fellow, over a little yellow violet which he had found. He almost screams with delight. Just beyond him is a better and more intelligent looking soldier scratching among the ashes in hope of finding a shilling, or something else, which he can turn to some use; a few seems impressed by the solemnity of the scene. Such are the varieties of human characters and of human natures. For myself, I cannot but think how worse, even, than Sodom and Gomorrah is the fate of this place. To think, whilst looking over the sad ruins, of the young persons who had grown up here, and whose every hour of happiness was in some way associated with their beautiful homes; of old men who had been born and raised here, and who had known no other home; of widowed mothers, with dependent families, whose homes here constituted their sole wealth on earth. To think of all these clustered together on some elevation in that dark and dreary night, turning to take the last sad look at their dear old homes; oh, what aching hearts there must have been there that night! What envyings of the fate of Lot’s wife, as they were leaving the quiet, happy homes for—God knows where, and God knows what! My heart aches for them, and every feeling of enmity is smothered in one of pity. Before disembarking this morning, we got a look at the famous little Monitor. A raft—an iron raft, about two hundred feet long, lying from eighteen to thirty inches above the water, with its great cheese box on one end, with holes in it to shoot from. Were I to attempt a description I should say, it looked for all the world just like the sole of an immense stoga boot lying flat on the water with the heel sticking up. In the afternoon, left Hampton, marched about four miles in the direction of Newport News, and encamped.

March 25.—Washington, North-Carolina, was visited by the United States steamer Louisiana, under the command of Lieut. A. Murray, who reported “that underlying an apparent acquiescence of the people of the town and neighborhood in permitting the building of gunboats and the construction of batteries to repel the approach of the Federal forces, was a deep-rooted affection for the old Union.”—(Doc. 107.)

—Two hundred and thirty rebel prisoners, captured at the battle of Winchester, Va., arrived at Baltimore, Md., this afternoon, and were provided with quarters in the north wing of the new city jail. They are all Virginians, with the exception of five or six Baltimoreans, who left before the war broke out. One of the prisoners, on reaching the quarters, threw up his hat and exclaimed: “Thank God, I am in the United States once more!” Others congratulated themselves at the prospect of getting something good to eat, which they admitted they had not had for some time—N. T. Times, March 26.

—This day the National gunboats Seminole, Wyandotte, and Norwich, under the command of Capt Gillis, senior officer, proceeded up Wilmington River, Ga., and upon arriving within a mile of the Skidaway batteries, dispersed the rebel cavalry stationed there by shell, and then destroyed the batteries. The rebel force fled, leaving everything behind them, even their dinners. Captain Gillis landed and hoisted the American flag on the ramparts. Another flag was hoisted over the rebel headquarters by Acting-Master Steele. The rebel batteries were entirely destroyed, but the dwellings were spared. The dwellings were afterwards burned by the rebels. The batteries mounted ten guns, and were well built. — (Doc. 108).

—Gov. Johnson directed a letter to the officials of Nashville, Tenn., requiring them to take the oath of allegiance, but the Common Council, by a vote of sixteen to one, refused to do so. The sixteen declined on the score that it was never contemplated that that they should take such oath. The one who voted ay, said he would subscribe to the oath, but immediately resign.— Nashville Patriot.