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

Friday, April 20, 2012

20th.—On Wednesday we saw eight thousand troops pass through town. We were anxious to see many who were among them. The sidewalks were thronged with ladies, many of them in tears. General C. passed with his brigade, containing the 17th, with its familiar faces. Colonel H. and himself rode to the sidewalk for a shake of the hand, but the rest could only raise their hats in recognition. I knew the cavalry would pass through Franklin Street, and hurried there to see my dear W. B. N. The order “Halt” was given just as he, at the head of his troop, was passing. I called him aloud. Amid the din and tumult of course he could not hear, but as he raised his cap to salute the ladies near him, his quick eye met mine; in an instant he was at my side: “My dear aunt, what are you doing here?” “I came to look for you; where are you going?” “Our orders extend to the steamers at the wharf,” he replied; “but don’t be uneasy, we are going to the right place.” His face glowed with animation, and I meant to appear cheerful to him, but I found, after he was gone, that my face was bathed in tears. They all looked as if the world were bright before them, and we were feeling the appalling uncertainty of all things. A mother stood by, straining her weeping eyes for the parting glance at her first-born; and so many others turned their sad, weary steps homewards, as their dear ones passed from their sight.

Civil War envelope for Massachusetts Thirteenth Regiment Rifles showing Lady Justice dressed in an American flag pattern

Civil War envelope for Massachusetts Thirteenth Regiment Rifles showing Lady Justice dressed in an American flag pattern

Addressed to Miss Lydia H. Weymouth, No. Braintree, Mass.; postmarked Hancock, Dec.; bearing 3 cent stamp.

Collection: Liljenquist Family Collection of Civil War Photographs (Library of Congress)

This envelope and additional information may be found here at the Library of Congress

Camp Near Beckley’s, Easter Sunday, April 20, 1862.

Dearest: — We left Raleigh the day before yesterday and came here intending to continue our march at least as far south as Flat Top Mountain. But just as we had got our tents up the rain began to fall and by morning all movement was out of the question. It has rained ever since. The streets of the camp are trodden into mortar-beds, the weather is getting cold, and you would naturally think that a gloomier set of fellows could hardly be found. But we are jolly enough. A year ago we used to read of these things and sympathize with the suffering soldiers. But a year of use has changed all that. Like sailors in a storm, the soldiers seem stimulated to unnatural mirth by the gloomy circumstances. We are guessing as to when it will stop. We hope this is the last day of the storm, but there is no trusting to experience in the Virginia mountains. Every new storm has a new set of phenomena. The men sing a great deal, play fiddle, banjo, etc. At the stated calls, the fifer, buglers, and band exert themselves to play their liveliest airs, and so we manage to get on.

I (when alone) get out your two pictures and have a quiet talk with you. Joe is in the next tent with Major Comly and Dr. McCurdy singing sacred music. I am alone in a tall Sibley tent writing this on a book on my knee, my ink on my trunk. The mess-chest open is before me; next to it, saddle, etc., then India-rubber cloth and leggings, old hat, haversack, glass, and saddle-bags; by my side, trunk; behind me cot with overcoat and duds, and on the other side of the tent Avery’s truck in similar disorder. We have a sheet-iron stove in the centre — no fire now. So you see us on a muddy side-hill. I can’t find time to write often now. If we are resting I don’t feel like writing; when going, of course I can’t.

Send this to Mother Hayes. She is seventy years old this month, about these days. She will think I am forgetting her if I don’t send her some “scrabble” (western Virginia for “scribbling”) of mine. — Love to all at home.

Affectionately, your

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

Sunday, 20. — Rained four or five hours, part very violently. I fear we can’t cross Piney. Sent to Piney; find it too high to cross teams, but not so high as to preclude the hope that it will run down in a few hours after the rain stops falling.

A cold rain coming; men sing, laugh, and keep mirthful. I poke about from [the] major’s tent to my own, listen to yarns, crack jokes, and the like. Avery won a knife and fifty cents of Dr. McCurdy (a cool-head Presbyterian) today at (what is it?) freezing poker! The doctor couldn’t play himself and sent for Bottsford to play his game. This, Sunday! Queer antics this life plays with steady habits!

Received by Fitch, Company E, a Commercial of 16th. Pittsburg battle not a decided victory. Beauregard in a note to Grant asks permission to bury his dead; says that in view of the reinforcements received by Grant and the fatigue of his men after two days’ hard fighting, “he deemed it his duty to withdraw his army from the scene of the conflict.” This is proof enough that the enemy was repulsed. But that is all. Two or three Ohio regiments were disgraced; [the] Seventy-seventh mustered out of service, [the] Seventy-first has its colors taken from it, etc., etc Lieutenant De Charmes, the brother of Lucy’s friend, killed.

What a day this is! Cold rain, deep mud, and “Ned to pay.” Cold and gusty. Will it snow now?

Sunday, 20th—John T. Rice, a member of Company E, Eleventh Iowa, was buried this afternoon with military honors.[1] He died of his wound accompanied with fever. Three other men who died of disease were also buried today. We learned that Wilson Simmons of Company E died of lung fever on the 15th at Mound City, Illinois.


[1] Rice was buried in the Shiloh National Cemetery, Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee, his grave being 175, Section 9.—A. G. D.

20th. Sunday. Moved the camp over the creek. Heard the stories, pitiful indeed, of Union refugees driven from home by the jayhawkers. Wrote home.

I Get Arrested.

April 20. Not caring to trouble the captain all the time for passes I have got in the habit of going about town on my sagacity, and I have not yet discovered but it answers the purpose as well as a pass, but I was brought up a day or two ago, when I ran against Charley of company D, who was standing sentinel on the corner of Broad and Middle streets. I was walking leisurely along, when coming to Charley’s post, he halted me and demanded my pass. I said I had not got any. He replied if that was the case it was his duty to march me to the provost’s office. Rather than have any trouble with him, and to have it military in form, I handed him an old pass I happened to have in my pocket. He looked at it and tearing it up, took the position of a soldier, saying. “You non-coms are getting too big for your clothes, you are putting on altogether too many airs, but I will let you know that you can’t put them on over me.” I said, “Perhaps there is a shadow of truth in what you say. It is possible that they maybe somewhat afflicted with inflation, but you know I am one of the meek and lowly kind.” “You? You are the worst pill in the box, you never have a pass, but are all over town, in the back rooms of all the sutler’s stores and taking more liberties and putting on more style than half the commissioned officers.” “Now, Charley, that is a sad state of affairs indeed; but you are the first one that has found any fault with it, but if you desire the honor of escorting me to the provost’s office you can have the job. After you get me there, Old Dan will give you the biggest setting up you have had recently.”

He marched me over, and as we entered, Old Dan looked up and, addressing my escort, asked, “What are you here for? What do you want?” “I found this man running at large without a pass, and thought it was my duty to bring him here.” “Without a pass? Was he making any disturbance?” “No sir.” And so you arrest one of your own regiment because he happens to be without a pass and then come here to interrupt me. If you come here again on such an errand I will put you in the guard house. Go to your post.”

After my escort had gone out with a flea in his ear, Capt. Dan removed his spectacles, and wiping his eyes, which a good deal resembled gashes cut in ripe tomatoes, pointed to the table, saying, “I reckon there is something left in the bottle, help yourself.” I did as the captain requested. After chatting a little with him, a couple of officers came in, and I touched my cap, bade the captain good-day and made my escape.

Poor White Trash.

Among the white people about here, are very few who would be ranked among the first or even second class. Nearly all of them are what is called the poor white trash or clay-eaters. I am told they actually do eat clay, a habit they contract like any other bad habit. Now I cannot vouch for the truth of this, never having seen them eating it, but some of them look as though that was about all they had to eat. They are an utterly ignorant set, scarcely able to make themselves intelligible, and in many ways they are below the negroes in intelligence and manner of living, but perhaps they are not wholly to blame for it, the same principle that will oppress a black man, will a white one. They are entirely cut off from the means of acquiring land or an education, even though they wished to. Public schools are unknown here and land can only be purchased by the plantation. That leaves them in rather a bad fix; poor, shiftless and ignorant. Their highest ambition is to hunt, fish, drink whiskey and toady to their masters. You speak to one of them and he will look at you in a listless sort of way as though unable or undecided whether to answer or not. Ask one of them the distance across the river, and he will either say he don’t know, or “it is right smart.” Ask one of them the distance to any place or house out in the country, and he will tell you it is “a right smart step,” or “you go up yer a right smart step, and you will come to a creek,” and from there it will be so many looks and a screech; meaning from the creek that number of angles in the road and as far beyond as the voice will reach. They do not seem to have any intelligent idea about anything, and in talking with the cusses, one scarcely knows whether to pity them or be amused.

Snuff Dipping.

The women here have a filthy habit of snuff chewing or dipping as they call it, and I am told it is practiced more or less by all classes of women. The manner of doing it is simple enough; they take a small stick or twig about two inches long, of a certain kind of bush, and chew one end of it until it becomes like a brush. This they dip into the snuff and then put it in their mouths. After chewing a while they remove the stick and expectorate about a gill, and repeat the operation. Many of the women among the clay-eaters chew plug tobacco and can squirt the juice through their teeth as far and as straight as the most accomplished chewer among the lords of creation.

Joe Howland to Eliza Woolsey Howland.

Near Fortress Monroe, Sunday, April 20.

No orders. The boat is becoming very dirty and cannot be cleaned as she is so crowded that there is no place to put any number of the men while cleaning is being done. The decks are swept and shoveled once or twice a day, but need washing. The regiment is behaving well. I have had to punish only one man since we left Alexandria, but have made an example of him for smuggling and selling liquor.

We had a nice little service a short time ago and the chaplain is repeating it in different parts of the boat, as it is not safe to assemble the men in any one part where even a couple of hundred could hear. The men were very attentive. The more I see of the regiment the more highly I think of it. I am sure the old 16th will always behave creditably.

April 20th, Sunday morning. It is just one year ago today since I marched down Broadway as one of the Seventy-first regiment, enlisted for three months to put down the rebellion, and here it is stronger and more defiant than ever. How rapidly the year has passed, and how little we have done. So far as producing any results this army has done nothing to speak of, but is ready and powerful enough to deal some stunning blows and will if its commander has the pluck to use it. Many of my notions have been rudely shattered. The old army officer who loomed up so mighty as a man of war, has lost much of his prestige; red tapeism, slowness, desire for a comfortable berth, and above and beyond all, jealousy in such monstrous form, that like vice, to be hated, is but to be seen. During the morning it rained hard; nevertheless, we had the regular inspection and at five o’clock a dress parade, Captain McKay in command. Received some interesting letters from home.

April 20th. The firing of yesterday was kept up all last night, and to appearances with considerable success. As the evening advanced the scene from the mortar boats rapidly increased in interest; as the shells left the gun the track of them through the air was distinctly visible, and the shots were quite accurate. This morning a deserter from Fort Jackson came aboard to visit the Commodore. He was a Pennsylvanian by birth, and had formerly been attached to Dan Rice’s great shows. He stated that many of our shells lodged and bursted within the fort, much defacing it, and killing and wounding several men; also that the large fire reported in that vicinity was really in the fort, and during the excitement of putting out a second one he had escaped through an embrasure created by our firing.

Preparations were made for destroying the rebel chain by dismasting two of our gunboats, in order the more effectually to conceal them from view. At 10 o’clock, P. M., the Itasca got under way and steamed up to the chain in charge of Capt. Henry IT. Bell. They were no sooner there than discovered, and fired upon with spirit, but owing to the darkness of the night no damage was done to them. During this period green, red, and blue lights went the rounds of our fleet, and the mortar boats opened with vigor, firing so fast that six to seven shells could be seen coursing through the air at once.