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

Monday, May 21, 2012

Camp Flat Top, May 21, 1862. Wednesday.—A warm, windy, threatening day. Drilled the regiment this morning; marched to the summit of Flat Top, thence along the summit to the Raleigh Road, and so back to camp. Men looked well. Companies A, E, and K, under Major Comly, with a howitzer, marched to Packs Ferry to hold it, build boats, and the like. They take about twenty carpenters from the Twenty-third, also six cavalrymen and a howitzer.

May 21 — Jackson’s army came down the Valley today, turned east at New Market and crossed the Massanutten Mountain, marching rather rapidly toward Luray. This is the first time I have seen any of Jackson’s troops since they left Conrad’s Store on the 30th of April. Old Stonewall has been in the West Virginia mountains, teaching General Milroy how magnificently Jack can be turned up in the laurel bushes on the mountain side and burst the neatest game and calculations of the shrewdest Yank that attempts to sneak through the mountains trying to catch a Rebel army asleep.

General Ewell’s division recently — to-day, I think — joined Jackson’s army. The troops are all in light marching order, having left all their surplus baggage, even their knapsacks at New Market, and as the Romans of old used to say of their gladiators, they are stripped for fight.

The opportunities of a private to obtain information, either in the rear or front rank of Jackson’s army, are very meager, and few indeed even to try to surmise or guess at where and what next. However, from all appearances and indications old Stonewall is going down the Luray Valley to give General Banks, who is at Strasburg, his first object lesson in flanking. As Jackson’s army passed our camp to-day I for the first time saw some of the much talked about Mississippi Tigers. They were in the Eighth Louisiana Infantry. They looked courageous and daringly fearless.

MAY 21ST.—There are skirmishes every day, and we can hear both the artillery and musketry from the hills on the outskirts of the city, whither some of us repair every afternoon.

But the Provost Marshal’s administration is abominable. Mr. Garnett, M. C., told me that in an interview with the President, the latter informed him that he had just received a letter from Gen. Johnston, stating that the enemy not only knew everything going on within our lines, but seemed absolutely to know what we intended doing in the future, as if the most secret counsels of the cabinet were divulged.

Count Mercier, the French Minister residing at Washington, has been here on a mysterious errand. They said it referred to our recognition. He had prolonged interviews with Mr. Benjamin. I think it was concerning tobacco. There are $60,000,000 worth in Richmond, at French prices. For $1,000,000, Mr. Seward might afford to wink very hard; and, after distributing several other millions, there would be a grand total profit both to the owners and the French Emperor. I smile at their golden expectations, for I know they will not be realized. If one man can prevent it, the South shall never be betrayed for a crop of tobacco. This is a holy cause we are embarked in, worthy to die for.

The British Minister, Lord Lyons, has embarked for England, to report to his government that “the rebellion is on its last legs,” and must speedily succumb. He is no prophet, or the son of a prophet.

Wednesday, 21st—The right wing moved up closer upon the fortifications of the rebels and although they tried to drive our men back, they failed in the attempt. There is very heavy cannonading and skirmishing. The left wing of our army is under command of General Pope. The earthworks between the two armies are getting very close to each other.

May 21st. We got under way early, leaving the Iroquois aground, and ran up to Grand Gulf, where we are to wait for orders from the Flag Officer who has gone to Vicksburg. We saw much cotton afloat to-day, and the country nearly all overflowed by the turbid waters of the Mississippi.

May 21st.

I have had such a search for shoes this week that I am disgusted with shopping. I am triumphant now, for after traversing the town in every direction and finding nothing, I finally discovered a pair of boots just made for a little negro to go fishing with, and only an inch and a half too long for me, besides being unbendable; but I seized them with avidity, and the little negro would have been outbid if I had not soon after discovered a pair more seemly, if not more serviceable, which I took without further difficulty. Behold my tender feet cased in crocodile skin, patent-leather tipped, low-quarter boy’s shoes, No. 2! “What a fall was there, my country,” from my pretty English glove-kid, to sabots made of some animal closely connected with the hippopotamus! A dernier ressort, vraiment! for my choice was that, or cooling my feet on the burning pavement au naturel; I who have such a terror of any one seeing my naked foot! And this is thanks to war and blockade! Not a decent shoe in the whole community! N’importe! “Better days are coming, we’ll all” — have shoes — after a while — perhaps! Why did not Mark Tapley leave me a song calculated to keep the spirits up, under depressing circumstances? I need one very much, and have nothing more suggestive than the old Methodist hymn, “Better days are coming, we’ll all go right,” which I shout so constantly, as our prospects darken, that it begins to sound stale.

21st. Wednesday. Archie and I went out and grazed our horses. Good time. Saw George Ashman. Bathed.

21st.—From White House, returned to camp to-day. I really believe I am becoming attached to this kind of life, though I did not feel it till to-day. When I reached the spot where I left the army encamped yesterday, and found it deserted, with the camp poles still standing, (although I had staid there but one night,) the desolateness of feeling was strongly akin to that experienced on returning to an old and loved home, and finding it emptied of all that had made it dear. The army had left, I followed, and am now with it, encamped within ten miles of Richmond, near the Chickahominy. We have had some firing in the distance, towards Richmond, this P. M.

Spaulding,” May 21.

Dear Friend, — We are just where we were, — swinging at anchor under the elm-tree, and doing nothing. This galls us a little; but, after all, we women are but a drop in the bucket of relief, every one on board, except us, being worked to his very utmost,—Mr. Olmsted in organizing the work and endeavoring to get the medical authorities to fall into some kind of system; Mr. Knapp in getting up and issuing supplies; Dr. Ware and our young men in putting a receiving-hospital ashore in something like decent order. It started last night with one hundred tents, twenty-five men in each; ambulances coming in every hour, and nothing for the men hut the bare tents, unfloored. Our gentlemen have been there all day; and Mr. Knapp has sent up straw, bed-sacks, bedding, food, and clothing. Mr. Olmsted declines to let us women go there; I don’t know why. A few wounded men came down to-day, and were taken on board the “Elm City,” where Mrs. Strong, Miss Whetten, and Miss Gardiner take care of them.

Mr. Olmsted gave me to-day a draft of the “Rules” which he has drawn up for the regulation of the service on board our ships. I inclose a copy, as it will give you a fair idea of our interior system after the men come on board, and until they are landed at their destination. It reads very well on paper, and you may be sure that it is carried out, with Mr. Olmsted at the head of affairs: his are no paper orders. But there are hidden rocks and snags under that smooth surface which make, in fact, the anxiety of our female lives. For instance: our boats belong to the Quartermaster’s Department; the captains and crews object, as a general thing, to being used in hospital service, and have to be forever coaxed and conciliated. The kitchen arrangements are a never-ending plague. The cooks and the galleys are not looked upon as being for the use of the hospital, and yet there is no way of getting others; so they must be persuaded to do the work which we have no absolute power to make them do. The twenty or thirty bucketsful of soup daily for the “house diet” (the sick food we prepare ourselves) are an achievement if they are forthcoming at the right moment. We order, make ready, prepare; and then it is hard to find that the instant our backs were turned everything came to a standstill, and that dinner for the sick men can’t be ready at the right moment without some superhuman exertion on our parts. As for hot water (about which you may observe a delicate reference in the “Rules”), our lives are made a burden to us on that subject, and we might as well be in it at once, — if it could be got. You will see from my letters that we women do more than is set down for us in the programme; for, in fact, we do a little of everything. We of the “staff” are specially subordinate to Mr. Olmsted; and though we are not his right hand — Mr. Knapp and Dr. Ware are that — we are the fingers of it, and help to carry out his ideas. The duties of the men and women of the staff are chiefly as follows: to superintend the shipping of the sick or wounded on board the boats which return from the North for fresh loads; to fit up those boats, or others coming into the Commission’s hands; to receive at the landing, to sort and distribute according to orders, the patients who are sent down from the front; to feed, cleanse, give medical aid and nursing to all these men, and otherwise take care of them, until the ships sail again for the North; and, finally, to be ready for all emergencies.

I think I have not yet described our “Chief” to you. He is small, and lame (for the time being only) from a terrible accident which happened to him a few months ago; but though the lameness is decided, it is scarcely observable, for he gives you a sense that he triumphs over it by doing as if it did not exist. His face is generally very placid, with all the expressive delicacy of a woman’s, and would be beautiful were it not for an expression which I cannot fathom, — something which is, perhaps, a little too severe about it. I think his mouth and smile and the expression of his eyes at times very beautiful. He has great variety of expression: sometimes stern, thoughtful, and haggard; at other times observing and slightly satirical (I believe he sees out of the back of his head occasionally); and then again, and not seldom, his face wears an inspired look, full of goodness and power. I think he is a man of the most resolute self-will, — generally a very wise will, I should think; born an autocrat, however, and, as such, very satisfactory to be under. His reticence is one of his strong points: he directs everything in the fewest possible words; there is a deep, calm thoughtfulness about him which is always attractive and sometimes—provoking. He is managing the present enterprise (which is full of responsibility, without having any rights) with the largest views of what is best for the army, and compelling the acquiescence of the Military authority in his plans, while he scrupulously keeps within the understood position of the Sanitary Commission as subordinate to it. You may also see how carefully he attends to details by the sketch of them which he has given in the “Rules.” He is a great organizer— as the past history of the Central Park and the Sanitary Commission will show — and he is a great administrator, because he comprehends details, but trusts his subordinates: if they are good, he relies on them; if they are weak, there’s an end of them.

As for Mr. Knapp, he is our delight. A thin, bald-headed man, with a flowing brown beard and a very fine, sweet, energetic face; always overwhelmed with work; caught at here,, there, and everywhere by some one who has important business, yet able to give and take any saucy drollery that comes up between us. It is not easy to say positively what he is, for he is never still, and he has certainly not been for five consecutive minutes under my observation; but there’s one thing which my mind is clear about: it shines out from every point of him, —he is a philanthropist without the hateful aspects of that calling. He is in charge of the supply department, — the commissariat of the Commission, as it may be called. The entire business of ordering and receiving supplies from the North, and issuing them, when on hand, either to our own vessels or upon the requisition of brigade and regimental surgeons for camp and field hospitals, is an outline of his work. He is always in a hurry; he forgets our names, and calls us everything that we are not, but says it is “a system;” he is lain in wait for at all corners by some one with, a tale of distress and a prayer for stimulants, beefstock, straw, sheets, bandages, or what not, all of which is duly given if the proper requisition from a United States surgeon is forthcoming. He is in a chronic state of worry about “transportation,” — I declare I think I hear that word oftener than any other, except “brandy” and “beef-tea.”

The railroad is open to-day to within ten miles of Richmond: so says Colonel Ingalls. The cars and locomotives came up the river yesterday. This enables them to send forward supplies with great ease. Hitherto, everything has depended on wagon-trains, half of which stick in the mud and clay of Virginia roads. The one question asked by everybody is: “Where’s McDowell?”

Wednesday, 21st.—Marched to the Gap this morning by eleven o’clock; very near worn out when we got here; but towering cliffs soon made me forget being so tired, and after short rest began climbing up to satisfy my curiosity by viewing the surrounding country from the top of Cumberland mountain. Went up with Lieutenants Evans and Greene. While up there, J. W. Smith came up! On north side of the gap is perpendicular bluff, several hundred feet high, and on top of the bluff a large rock; stands probably fifty feet higher. Now came the test to see who could climb to the top of that rock. Part of the way up was rugged, and formed pretty good steps; nearer the top it was smoother and very difficult to ascend. J. W. Smith was the first to go up, and actually got on top, but found the top was a loose rock which swayed slightly when he got on top of it. Seeing his critical position, he descended at once, and remarked that $500.00 would not induce him to go up there again. Lieutenant Greene was determined not to be out done by Smith, and so climbed very nearly to the same spot, but was glad to get down again and remarked: “Man by nature is a coward.” I desired very much to go as high as Smith and Greene had gone; but, after going about half way up, the chances for a broken neck were so good that I climbed down again, and allowed them the honor of excelling, and we went down to camp.


(Note: picture is of an unidentified Confederate soldier.)