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

July 2012

July 31 — Received orders this evening to get ready to march to-morrow morning.

JULY 31ST. —Gen. Breckinridge has beaten the Yankees at Baton Rouge, but without result, as we have no co-operating fleet.

Richmond, July 31, 1862. Prison on 18th St.

Dear Father, — Time goes rather slowly here, as we expect to be released soon, and find the waiting for the lucky day tedious. However, we manage to do pretty well, and with the help of books and cards, make the hours pass more quickly than they would if we did not have the above-mentioned articles.

In the evening we have lectures delivered by some of the officers here, which are very interesting. Morning and evening religious exercises are held.

We have the papers every day, and find quotations from Northern papers, which give us some information of what is going on in the world.

I received a letter from General Porter in which he very kindly offered to send me money or clothing. He relieved my mind very much by telling me that all were well at home, and free from anxiety on my account. I am perfectly well. Love to all.

July 31st.

I believe I forgot to mention one little circumstance in my account of that first night at the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, which at the time struck me with extreme disgust. That was seeing more than one man who had no females or babies to look after, who sought there a refuge from the coming attack. At daylight, one dapper young man, in fashionable array, came stepping lightly on the gallery, carrying a neat carpet-bag in his hand. I hardly think he expected to meet two young ladies at that hour; I shall always believe he meant to creep away before any one was up; for he certainly looked embarrassed when we looked up, though he assumed an air of indifference, and passed by bravely swinging his sack — but I think he wanted us to believe he was not ashamed. I dare say it was some little clerk in his holiday attire; but I can’t say what contempt I felt for the creature.

Honestly, I believe the women of the South are as brave as the men who are fighting, and certainly braver than the “Home Guard.” I have not yet been able to coax myself into being as alarmed as many I could name are. They say it is because I do not know the danger. Soit. I prefer being brave through ignorance, to being afraid in consequence of my knowledge of coming events. Thank Heaven, my brothers are the bravest of the brave! I would despise them if they shrunk back, though Lucifer should dispute the path with them. Well! All men are not Morgan boys! They tell me cowards actually exist, though I hope I never met one. The poor men that went to the Asylum for safety might not have what Lavinia calls “a moral backbone.” No wonder, then, they tumbled in there! Besides, I am told half the town spent the night on the banks of the river, on that occasion; and perhaps these unfortunates were subject to colds, and preferred the shelter of a good roof. Poor little fellows! How I longed to give them my hoops, corsets, and pretty blue organdie in exchange for their boots and breeches! Only I thought it was dangerous; for suppose the boots had been so used to running that they should prance off with me, too? Why, it would ruin my reputation! Miss Morgan in petticoats is thought to be “as brave as any other man”; but these borrowed articles might make her fly as fast “as any other man,” too, if panic is contagious, as the Yankees here have proved. One consolation is, that all who could go with any propriety, and all who were worthy of fighting, among those who believed in the South, are off at the seat of war; it is only trash, and those who are obliged to remain for private reasons, who still remain. Let us count those young individuals as trash, and step over them. Only ask Heaven why you were made with a man’s heart, and a female form, and those creatures with beards were made as bewitchingly nervous?

Thursday, 31st—We started at 8 o’clock this morning and arrived at Bolivar at 12 o’clock noon. We went into camp two miles east of town on the banks of the Hatchie river. Our camp is in a fine piece of timber, well shaded. I was almost played out when we arrived in camp; the weather being so hot, it was hard work to carry knapsack and accouterments and keep up with the company. Our officers are expecting to be attacked at this place and have put three or four hundred negroes to work throwing up breastworks. There is some very pretty land in this part of old Tennessee and there are some very nice farms. The timber here is chiefly of white oak, but there is some poplar and beech. Bolivar is a fine town and has one railroad.

To Mrs. Lyon.

Camp Clear Creek, Miss., July 31, 1862—You are mistaken in supposing that we are meeting with reverses out here. These raids of guerillas have no significance, whatever. A few of them pitch into an unprotected town of no consequence, rob, steal and burn, and then skedaddle. They have not taken a single place occupied by our troops, of any value to us, except Murfreesboro in Tennessee, and that was retaken in a very few days. So don’t let your heart be troubled when you read all these sensational dispatches about guerilla operations. They serve one good purpose, however, and that is to encourage enlistment at the North.

I think this gigantic rebellion will be put down without resorting to a draft, every soldier of the 1,000,000 who aids in doing it being a volunteer. History furnishes no parallel to this. The whole policy of the Government is now changed, and war from henceforth is to be war. Where the army of the Union goes, there slavery ceases forever. It is astonishing how soon the blacks have learned this, and they are flocking in considerable numbers already in our lines. The people here will learn before this war is over that ‘The way of the transgressor is hard.’

Tell our Canada friends, many of whom seem to be groping in the darkness in regard to us, that this is a war for civil and religious liberty, for civilization, for Cristianity, on the part of this Government against crime, oppression and barbarism; and that all of their sympathies ought to be with us. But whether foreign nations comprehend the true bearings of this struggle or not, as sure as there is justice on earth or a God in heaven, we shall triumph. I shall not think of leaving the service so long as I have an arm to wield a sword or a voice to encourage my men to fight in so holy a cause. But I find I am making a stump speech, so I close.

July 31, 1862. Thursday. — Rained almost all day, clearing up the after part of the day. Received Commercial of 28th. It looks as if they were getting ready to draft. The Commercial finds fault with the rule which practically excludes from the new regiments officers already in the field: no one to be appointed unless he can be present to aid in recruiting, and no officer to have leave of absence unless he is actually commissioned over a regiment already filled up!! Well, I am indifferent. The present position is too agreeable, to make [me] regret not getting another. — I saw the new moon square in front.

July 31st. Thursday. Finished a letter to Fred Allen. The Court Martial meetings still continue, Major Purington presiding. The officers are beginning to be more strict and exacting. The discipline cannot but be improved. Went to the river and bathed. Washed a pair of pants and handkerchief and towel. Went up on a high bluff of rocks, a more romantic place than I had seen for a long time. It reminded me much of Old Vermont, or Canada side of Niagara. Marched at three P. M. Reached Baxter’s Springs at sundown. Major Miner, Capt. Stanhope and Adj. Weeks ate supper with us, had tomatoes and pineapples for dessert.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] July 31. 1862.

Mr. Soule came to live here as General Superintendent. He has recently had his arm broken and is not yet able to cut up his food at dinner, so I did it for him, to Ellen’s most amusing annoyance.

Pay-day for the negroes. Nelly and Mr. Hooper paid them at the rate of $2 per acre. Most of the women had earned $5 — the men, on an average, not so much.

Camp at Harrison’s Landing, Va.,
Thursday, July 31, 1862.

Dear Cousin L.:—

Though everything in the box was very acceptable and we enjoyed it all so much, still I do not want to have you send another. If my health continues as good as it has been almost all the time I have been in the service, I can get along first-rate on Uncle Sam’s rations. Almost everything we get is of good quality, and though there is nothing very nice or tempting to the appetite in the whole list, still it is good and wholesome food, and I do not wish to put you to the trouble or expense of sending me anything more when I can do very well without it, especially after all you have done for me now. There are so many poor fellows sick and wounded who are suffering in our hospitals, to whom such delicacies would be so acceptable, that I should feel guilty, feel as though I was receiving what they needed more than I, if I should allow you to send so much to me when I am sound and well, and very well able to get along on what the government furnishes. I know the ladies of New York and Brooklyn are doing all they can for the soldiers and I have no doubt that you are doing much that I never hear of, but I would rather you would give them what you would otherwise send to me than to receive it myself under the circumstances. They may be all strangers to you, but they are Uncle Sam’s boys, and so cousins, are they not? —and they are brave and gallant boys that the fortunes of war have brought to suffering. The ladies are doing all they can for them, but there are more coming every day, and when you have done, isn’t there always room for something more? Please, then, don’t send another box, not because I do not appreciate your kind intentions in doing so much to make the hardships of camp life easier for me, but because I do not really need it.

In regard to money, too; when we are paid off I generally send most of my wages home, reserving what I think I shall need to last till we are paid again. Sometimes it happens that it don’t hold out, the paymaster don’t come at the expected time, and I get short and have to do without. I could get money by sending to Erie for it, but it seems just about like throwing it away to take it out of the bank and give it to those army sharks, the sutlers. It is so now. Our pay has been due a month, but it does not come yet. We are expecting it, and so I don’t send for any. Money is well enough off at home, but it isn’t of much account here. I must and will have enough to write all the letters I want; that is something I will not deny myself. I would rather receive a good letter any time than anything else I get here, and they don’t come unless I write. And then I spend considerable time in writing that I should not know what else to do with. So, as to the money that Aunt Buckingham sent, if that must come, I would like to have you send me a gold pen. Ask Ollie, when he is over some time, to get as good a one of Morton’s as he can for $1.25 or $1.50 and send the rest in stamps. That will be just what I want most for writing. I lost a good pen in my knapsack, and since that I have had to get along as I could.

Won’t you send me Aunt B.’s address when you write next time? I think I had it once, but I have forgotten, and I would like to write one letter to her.

It is no use for me to try to pick those bones with you, for I would have to give up before I was half convinced. I can dispute and “argufy” with a man and “hoe my row,” but I never quarrelled with a woman yet but I got the worst of it. I have almost a mind to pick up the second bone, though. It is a misfortune of mine to know no better than to write sometimes just as though I meant it and then expect that people will know that I don’t mean any such thing. L. says she never knows, when I am talking, whether I am in earnest or not, and I suppose it’s just so with my writing. But I would not insult you by writing, for anything more than a little pleasantry, such absurd ideas. I have always thought, since I had any ideas about it, that money or rank could not make a man of the person who would not be a man without either, and that, if I was just as much of a man as another would be stripped of his wealth and titles, I was just as much of a man anyway, but don’t you believe the money was to me as the “sour grapes” were to the fox. Paper is full and I must stop. Write soon as you can.