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

Thursday, November 6, 2014

November 6, 1864.

Rain all day. We are preparing for a huge campaign, and are all right glad of it; 50 days’ rations is the word. Don’t know when we start. Montgomery or Augusta are probably the points. We are going to shake up the bones of the rebellion. I would not miss this campaign for anything.

Sunday, November 6. — Dull as usual here. Johnny Bull on as officer of the day. Weather warm. Major Greene reported dangerously ill of pneumonia.

Sunday, 6th—Our division was moved in close to town today and went into camp. We received orders to remain here a few days, to draw clothing and receive our pay. This was glorious news. We pulled down vacant houses and proceeded to build bunks and “ranches” with the lumber, covering them with our rubber ponchos. The Sixteenth Iowa went out with the regimental teams for forage. Nine trains came in over the railroad from the north, loaded with provisions for the army stationed at the different points along the line, and at Atlanta. Things are quite lively in town today.

November 6th.—Sally Hampton went to Richmond with the Rev. Mr. Martin. She arrived there on Wednesday. On Thursday her father, Wade Hampton, fought a great battle, but just did not win it—a victory narrowly missed. Darkness supervened and impenetrable woods prevented that longed-for consummation. Preston Hampton rode recklessly into the hottest fire. His father sent his brother, Wade, to bring him back. Wade saw him reel in the saddle and galloped up to him, General Hampton following. As young Wade reached him, Preston fell from his horse, and the one brother, stooping to raise the other, was himself shot down. Preston recognized his father, but died without speaking a word. Young Wade, though wounded, held his brother’s head up. Tom Taylor and others hurried up. The General took his dead son in his arms, kissed him, and handed his body to Tom Taylor and his friends, bade them take care of Wade, and then rode back to his post. At the head of his troops in the thickest of the fray he directed the fight for the rest of the day. Until night he did not know young Wade’s fate; that boy might be dead, too! Now, he says, no son of his must be in his command. When Wade recovers, he must join some other division. The agony of such a day, and the anxiety and the duties of the battle-field—it is all more than a mere man can bear.

Another letter from Mrs. Davis. She says: “I was dreadfully shocked at Preston Hampton’s fate—his untimely fate. I know nothing more touching in history than General Hampton’s situation at the supremest moment of his misery, when he sent one son to save the other and saw both fall; and could not know for some moments whether both were not killed.”

A thousand dollars have slipped through my fingers already this week. At the Commissary’s I spent five hundred to-day for candles, sugar, and a lamp, etc. Tallow candles are bad enough, but of them there seems to be an end, too. Now we are restricted to smoky, terrabine lamps— terrabine is a preparation of turpentine. When the chimney of the lamp cracks, as crack it will, we plaster up the place with paper, thick old letter-paper, preferring the highly glazed kind. In the hunt for paper queer old letters come to light.

Sherman, in Atlanta, has left Thomas to take care of Hood. Hood has thirty thousand men, Thomas forty thousand, and as many more to be had as he wants; he has only to ring the bell and call for them. Grant can get all that he wants, both for himself and for Thomas. All the world is open to them, while we are shut up in a bastile. We are at sea, and our boat has sprung a leak.

Colonel Lyon’s Letters.

Nov. 6, 1864.—Since Hood has left our vicinity I do not have as much work on hand. We are having quiet times, just enough bushwhacking around us to make us remember that war is our business.

The health of our men is improving rapidly. Yesterday morning we had a heavy frost, the first of the season. The weather is mild. There are about 160 nonveterans. They go north this week.

We do not know where Hood has gone, but there is a large force concentrated at Pulaski, ready to strike him if he demonstrates this side of the river.

Many of the best citizens profess to be anxious to have me remain here in command at Huntsville. My opinion now is that I shall spend the winter in this vicinity, perhaps at Larkinsville. It is a mud hole, but a woman that has wintered at Fort Henry ought not to be afraid of a little mud.

I go up on Tuesday to vote with the regiment. Old Abe will be elected, but that will not end the war. We have to whip them and disperse their armies to do that . Our people North are deceiving themselves if they expect the war to close on the strength of Lincoln’s election. It will have its influence, no doubt, in that it satisfies the people South that we are in earnest, but it will not rout and destroy armies. The hope of the country is the army and ballot box combined. Politics are good in their place, but 24-pounder howitzers are better to bring traitors and rebels to their allegiance.

Sunday, November 6th.—Bright and frosty.

All quiet below. Another day, and if it remains quiet, we may know that Lincoln will be re-elected.

It is said news came from the North last night, that gold sold for $260, and that Governor Seymour had ordered the militia of New York to be in readiness for the protection of the polls on Tuesday next.

G. W. Randolph, late Secretary of War, has sailed for Europe, taking his family with him. Other quondam Confederate States functionaries have gone, or are going. Many have realized fortunes, who were poor, and this country has ceased to be the one to enjoy them in.

A parting letter was written by Mr. Randolph to his friend, R. G. H. Kean, Chief of the Bureau of War—appointed by Mr. R., and from whom I derived the information of the sailing of his patron. Such departures, at a crisis like this, spread additional doubts in the community. Mr. R. was not liable to conscription, if averse to fighting more in our cause, being exempted by Governor Smith as a member of the Common Council.

To-morrow is the day fixed for the reassembling of our Congress, but doubts are entertained whether there will be a quorum.

We shall soon have lively news from Beauregard. If I understand his letter of the 24th ult., he is determined to march the army without delay into Middle Tennessee, leaving Sherman on his right flank and rear. It is a desperate conception, and will probably be a brilliant success—or a sad disaster. Napoleon liked such games. If Beauregard really has great genius, he has now the field on which to display it. If the Tennesseeans and Kentuckians rise, momentous events may follow; if not, it is probably the last opportunity they will have. They have their choice—but blood is the price of independence.

Etowah Bridge, Sunday, Nov. 6. Cold, disagreeable and rainy. Ordered to prepare for inspection, but were visited by the paymaster before it came off, a welcome visitor too. Paid us for July and August. Tickets were circulated this afternoon for the election next Tuesday, none for Iowa County. I wrote off such, and wrote a letter to John.

6th. Sunday. Inspection of division by Major Otis. Undress parade. Col. Purington took leave of the boys. Given three cheers. Ordered out on two days’ scout. Went to forks of road, Cedar Creek and Strasburg over Little North and camped. Acted Adjt. Very laughable scene. A drunken citizen came in, bewildered and lost, almost frozen. He could find a demijohn of brandy if we could only tell him where he laid down.