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

July 2014

Sunday, July 31st.

At midnight I received an order from Col. Wainwright, Chief of Artillery of the Fifth Corps, directing me to get my battery out of “Fort Hell” as quickly as possible, and teams for the purpose arriving at about 3 o’clock A. M., we had the guns out and at the foot of the covered way by daylight, and I accompanied them to Siege Train Landing and turned them over to the proper officer, my two companies in the meantime reporting to the regimental camp without the loss of a man. Why the battery was ordered out so suddenly I do not know, unless it was because of a rumor that the enemy was mining our fort, and the facts that in our magazine we could occasionally hear muffled sounds apparently coming from the earth beneath, and that quite a number of men were seen from time to time to enter and leave the cellar of an old house between the lines which had been burned, furnished some confirmation of the rumor, for we knew that work of that sort was going on at other points.

31st. Sunday. Relieved from picket and marched to Brigade Hdqrs. Camped in woods. Fixed a bower. A very hot day, yesterday too. Report that the portion of the enemy’s works occupied after mine explosion was abandoned today by order of Gen Grant. Received letters from Mr. Brown and my good Sarah Felton, also notes from Ed and Otto.

Sunday, July 31.—A most exciting day. The town is filled with troops. Last Thursday, the 28th, about dark, scouts brought in word that the enemy was crossing the river in large force. There was little heed paid to the report, as we had heard so many lately. About 9 o’clock the whole sky was illuminated by a glare of light, in the direction of Palmetto, a small town on the railroad. We knew then what we had to expect, and got ready as usual; whisky, and every thing of any consequence, was sent off; the men who were able taking to the woods.

Some of the negro women refused to go this time, as they had such a hard time of it before; but off they went, “truck” and all. The old woman who had suffered so much before we could not prevail upon to remain behind the others.

On the 29th scouts came in, and reported that the enemy had gone in the direction of Jonesboro, on the Macon road. We had respite again.

Yesterday morning, while I was in the yard of the court-house, attending to the patients, I saw a man ride in haste to town and a crowd collect around him. We were informed he was a courier, and had brought news that the enemy were within six miles of the place.

He was not through talking when the locomotive gave a most unearthly whistle, and immediately we heard the firing of musketry. I asked Captain Currau, to whom I was talking, what that meant. He answered—fighting.

I never saw men run as all did. The crowd who had been around the courier dispersed in double-quick time. I hurried across the street to secure some money and little trinkets that the men had given me to take care of, thinking they would be more secure with me than themselves. On crossing, two or three shots whizzed past me, so I have been under fire for once.

After securing my valuables I went to look at the fighting. I had just got out when we heard cheering, and shouting that “the Yankees were running!” A lady and myself were looking at them, when a gentleman told us to hurry away, as the enemy was planting cannon on a hill near, intending to shell the town.

It seems that the night before General Roddy and his command were passing on their way to Atlanta. They were detained here all night; I do not know why. The engineer on the train saw a reconnoitering party of the enemy coming, and blew the whistle as an alarm. All the men near flew to arms. The enemy, not knowing there were any troops there, thought the train was running off, so rode up to demand a surrender, and received a volley of musketry—a thing they were not expecting. They retreated as speedily as possible.

General Roddy got his men into order (they were cavalry, but had no horses), and awaited the advance of the enemy. I saw General R. riding about in haste, without coat or saddle. A lady and myself tried to procure him a saddle, but were unsuccessful; the lady got him a blanket.

It was rumored that the enemy had surrounded the town and would likely fire upon it. We all suffered much from suspense, as we had many wounded; and if there was a battle in town, they would fare worse than any others. How I did hate to think about all the poor fellows lying so helpless, momentarily expecting a shell to be thrown in their midst.

We had them all moved into the strongest buildings; the court-house was crowded, although every one said a cannon-ball could easily penetrate its walls.

Roddy’s men were drawn up in line of battle on one side of our hospital. The citizens sent baskets of provisions to the soldiers who were in battle array, and we sent them what we could.

At 12 A. M., Wheeler’s cavalry was seen approaching the town. O, how joyfully we hailed them! They came galloping in by two different roads; the enemy, in the mean time hearing of their approach, were retreating. They were hotly pursued, and when four miles from town our men came up with them, where they made a stand, and had quite a battle.

We heard the booming of cannon, it seemed to me, about two hours. We eagerly listened to hear if it came nearer, as then we would know whether we were successful or not; but it did not seem to move from one spot. We had no idea in what force the enemy were, so did not know what to expect.

About 4 P. M. word was brought that we had killed and captured the whole command. Then the wounded from both sides were brought in. I do not know how many there were in all, but not over nine or ten were brought to our hospital.

Hundreds of well prisoners marched in in a different manner from what they had expected.

Captain ——, a patient in one of the hospitals, went to the battle as a spectator; he took charge of a prisoner, promising to bring him to town. Instead of doing so, he took him into the woods and shot him. A gentleman who was with him did not see the deed, but heard the shot.

A friend has told me that when our soldiers were informed of the circumstance they were very indignant, and vowed, if they could lay hands on the captain, they would hang him.

Such men ought not to be permitted to bring dishonor on a brave people, and deserve punishment. I have never been an advocate of the black flag, but I think it would be mercy to an act of this kind. For then the enemy would know what they had to expect, and would fight valiantly before giving themselves up. This unfortunate man had surrendered in the faith that he would be treated as a prisoner of war.

There might be some excuse for a man in the heat of battle refusing to take prisoners, when he saw his comrades slain around him, but this captain had no such excuse. He has been guilty of murder, and of the most cowardly kind.

I have earnestly prayed that, when the history of this war is written, all the dark pages may be on the side of the enemy; but alas! for poor frail humanity, such is not to be the case.

When this captain was asked by a friend why he had committed the deed, he gave as a justification the barbarous treatment of his mother and sister by Federal soldiers.

It is much to be regretted that a young man who had won enviable laurels on many a battle-field, and is now suffering from his third wound, should have tarnished his former good name by such an act.

Dr. Hughes and other surgeons were for hours on the battle-field, attending to the wounded. Dr. H. says he never worked harder in his life.

Four fifths of the wounded were Federals, who appeared very grateful for what he did for them.

At the commencement of the battle, Dr. H. and others had sent word around to the citizens, telling them to prepare food for our soldiers by the time they would return.

Mrs. W. and myself were kept busy all the afternoon receiving the food. All— rich and poor — sent something. One crowd of very poor-looking women brought some corn-bread and beans, which, I am certain, they could ill afford. They said they would gladly do without themselves, so our brave defenders had them.

When the men came in, some of the nurses helped us to serve out the food, as we found it impossible to do so by ourselves.

We were very busy till about 10 o’clock, P. M., when an officer proposed that some of the commissary officers should take the things and divide them.

The men had remained in the yard while we handed them the food. They put me in mind of a lot of hungry wolves. Poor fellows! many of them had not eaten any thing in a long time. They were mainly Wheeler’s men; Roddy’s men had been fed by the citizens.

I heard many complaints against General Wheeler; the men say, if he had acted differently, not one of the raiders would have escaped. As it is, many hundreds have escaped, and their general, McCook, with them.

It seems that General Roddy had his men all ready to make a charge, and General Wheeler would not give the word of command. Many of the prisoners say, had the charge been made, all would have surrendered, as they were prepared for it. Our men speak very highly of the manner in which the people of Newnan have treated them.

To-day the town has been one scene of military display, as nearly all of the cavalry are here. I have seen many handsome flags—trophies. I sent and asked for a piece of one, which was given me.

The wounded prisoners have been taken to the Buckner Hospital. The cannon that we expected would shell Newnan is here. The firing we heard did not do any damage. It is said that there was so much consternation among the enemy that they did not know where they were firing.

Some of the negro men from the Gamble Hospital have been telling us that there was quite an exciting scene there yesterday morning when the raiders came in. All were at breakfast, and knew nothing of the enemy’s approach till they commenced firing. They fired right into the hospital, at the same time shouting and yelling at a terrific rate. The negro men ran and got out of their way as quickly as they could. A number of the citizens were shot at, and some captured; all are now released.

Ono of our patients, Mr. Black, a Kentuckian, who was stopping at a farm-house, was roused from his bed and made a prisoner. He was with them when they heard Wheeler and Roddy were after them, and says he never saw men so badly frightened. They treated him well, as they knew the tables would soon be turned.

Many of them told him, and indeed I have heard it from others, that when they came here they felt confident that they would be captured. Their time would be out in a week; they would then be of no service to the United States government. By sending them on this raid they would draw cavalry from our army.

My wonder is, that the enemy fight as they do, when they are treated with such inhumanity by their own people.

Dr. Henderson has come back from the army, and has started for Mobile. I expect he will have a hard time in getting there, as the road between Opilika and Montgomery is reported to be torn up by the late raiders.

July 31st. Sunday morning, but hot and dusty. Early on the march. About 9 A. M. we marched through Middletown, a fine place. There are many people in this town, dressed in their good clothes, watching us as we pass on, a dusty crowd. They all have a sad look in their faces. Keep very quiet, not a smile nor a cheer. We cannot tell whether they are in sympathy with us or are against us. We are reminded of our old homes in good old Connecticut. We soon passed through the town, out on the dusty hot roads. Between the hot sun and the dust many of the boys are giving out, dropping by the roadside. Some are picked up by the Ambulance Corps. Those who need a little rest, push on. This is a fine section of Maryland.

Night coming on we go into woodland to camp. Don’t know the location, but believe we must be near the Pennsylvania state line. It is estimated we have marched about fifteen miles.

July 31 — We moved camp this morning about a mile. To-day the Yankees advanced along the Weldon Railroad somewhere north of Ream’s Station. We were ordered to Ream’s Station, but before we got there the Yankees fell back, and we returned to camp. John Esten Cooke, a noted and interesting writer, and inspector-general of the cavalry corps and horse artillery of the Army of Northern Virginia, camped with the horse artillery last night. After night settled down on the thickets of the Rowanty our battalion glee club serenaded the distinguished writer with some of their best songs.

Petersburg, Va., July 31, ’64.

Dear Father, — Am well and uninjured. We start for Andersonville, Ga., to-morrow.

July 31st. Drew rations as soon as we arrived in camp. Layed in camp all day and night.

Camp Five Miles South of Harpers Ferry, Virginia,

July 30, 1864.

Dear Uncle: — I received your letter of the 13th last night. I hardly know what to think about your bank. It seems likely enough that greenbacks may get lower as compared with gold, and perhaps all property employed in banking may depreciate correspondingly. But I am not thinking much of these things now and have no opinions on them which I think of any value.

As to that candidacy for Congress, I care nothing at all about it, neither for the nomination nor for the election.[1] It was merely easier to let the thing take its own course than to get up a letter declining to run and then to explain it to everybody who might choose to bore me about it.

We are gathering an army here apparently to drive the Rebels out of the Valley. I hope we shall be long enough about it to give the men rest and to heal their sore feet. We have had now three months of hard campaigning — marched one thousand to one thousand two hundred miles, besides [travelling] seven hundred [miles] by railroad and steamboat. Much night marching, four or five pitched battles, and skirmishing every other day.

My health is good — perfect; bothered with boils from constant riding in hot weather, but of no importance.

I wish you to send my letters to Mother. It will be a comfort to her to hear oftener than I have time to write. . . .

Colonel Mulligan was shot down very near me. We were side by side conversing a few moments before. My orderly was wounded, also my horse. Lieutenant Kelly had the narrowest possible escapes — several — balls grazing his head, ear, and body — Mrs. Zimmerman’s brother, you know.

Sincerely,

R. B. Hayes.

Sunday, 31st. — I write this at Middletown, at the table of my old home when wounded — Jacob Rudy’s. They are so cordial and kind. Dr. Webb and I are at the breakfast table. All inquire after Lucy and all. Send this to Lucy. Such is war — now here, tomorrow in Pennsylvania or Virginia. — Goodbye. — R.

S. Birchard.


[1] Hayes had received numerous letters from friends in Cincinnati, William Henry Smith, R. H. Stephenson, E. T. Carson, and others, urging him to be a candidate. He was too busy in the field to bother about politics. But he was nominated August 6, and elected in November, without having taken any part in the canvass.

Sunday, July 31. — We started this A.M. and marched through Petersburg, the officers being sandwiched in between the negroes. Colonel Marshall and I were allowed to march with the white troops. We were placed on an island in the Appomattox. Rations were served out late in the afternoon.[1] Spent the night here.


[1] Got wormy bacon, raw onions, and hard-tack, and it was fine.

Etowah Bridge, Sunday, July 31. A calm, quiet Sabbath day. No excitement or news. Spent the day as I do all others, reading and writing, etc. Much gambling going on amongst a certain portion of the boys to-day as usual.