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

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Post image for Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

January 8, 2015

Diary of a Southern Refugee During the War by Judith White McGuire

8th. — Some persons in this beleaguered city seem crazed on the subject of gayety. In the midst of the wounded and dying, the low state of the commissariat, the anxiety of the whole country, the troubles of every kind by which we are surrounded, I am mortified to say that there are gay parties given in the city. There are those denominated “starvation parties,” where young persons meet for innocent enjoyment, and retire at a reasonable hour; but there are others where the most elegant suppers are served— cakes, jellies, ices in profusion, and meats of the finest kinds in abundance, such as might furnish a meal for a regiment of General Lee’s army. I wish these things were not so, and that every extra pound of meat could be sent to the army. When returning from the hospital, after witnessing the dying scene of a brother, whose young sister hung over him in agony, with my heart full of the sorrows of hospital-life, I passed a house where there were music and dancing. The revulsion of feeling was sickening. I thought of the gayety of Paris during the French Revolution, of the “cholera ball” in Paris, the ball at Brussels the night before the battle of Waterloo, and felt shocked that our own Virginians, at such a time, should remind me of scenes which we were wont to think only belonged to the lightness of foreign society. It seems to me that the army, when it hears of the gayety of Richmond, must think it heartless, particularly while it is suffering such hardships in her defence. The weddings, of which there are many, seem to be conducted with great quietness. We were all very much interested in a marriage which took place in this house a short time ago. Our sweet young friend, Miss A. P., was married to a Confederate States’ surgeon from South Carolina. We assembled in the parlour, which was brilliantly lighted, before the dawn of day. The bride appeared in travelling costume; as soon as the solemn ceremony was done the folding-doors were thrown open, revealing a beautifully spread breakfast-table in the adjoining room. Breakfast being over, the bride and groom were hurried off to the cars, which were to bear them South. But, as usual in these war-times, the honeymoon was not to be uninterrupted. The furlough of the groom was of short continuance—the bright young bride will remain in the country with a sister, while he returns to his duty on the field. As soon as the wedding was over and the bridal party had gone, the excitement of the week had passed with us, leaving a blank in the house; but the times are too unquiet for a long calm—the gap was closed, and we returned to busy life. There seems to be a perfect mania on the subject of matrimony. Some of the churches may be seen open and lighted almost every night for bridals, and wherever I turn I hear of marriages in prospect.

 

“In peace Love tunes the shepherd’s reed;

In war he mounts the warrior’s steed,”

 

sings the ” Last Minstrel” of the Scottish days of romance; and I do not think that our modern warriors are a whit behind them either in love or war. My only wonder is, that they find the time for the love-making amid the storms of warfare. Just at this time, however, I suppose our valiant knights and ladies fair are taking advantage of the short respite, caused by the alternate snows and sunshine of our variable climate having made the roads impassable to Grant’s artillery and baggage-wagons. A soldier in our hospital called to me as I passed his bed the other day, ” I say, Mrs. ——, when do you think my wound will be well enough for me to go to the country?” “Before very long, I hope.” “But what does the doctor say, for I am mighty anxious to go?” I looked at his disabled limb, and talked to him hopefully of his being able to enjoy country air in a short time. “Well, try to get me up, for, you see, it ain’t the country air I am after, but I wants to get married, and the lady don’t know that I am wounded, and maybe she’ll think I don’t want to come.” “Ah,” said I, ” but you must show her your scars, and if she is a girl worth having she will love you all the better for having bled for your country; and you must tell her that

 

“‘It is always the heart that is bravest in war,

That is fondest and truest in love.’ “

 

He looked perfectly delighted with the idea; and as I passed him again he called out, ” Lady, please stop a minute and tell me the verse over again, for, you see, when I do get there, if she is affronted, I wants to give her the prettiest excuse I can, and I think that verse is beautiful.”

Post image for Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

January 8, 2015

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton (Eighty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers)

Chapin’s Farm, Va.,
January 8, 1865.

My Dear Father:—

On New Year’s my friend Richardson, late captain in the Eighth (resigned), arrived and put up with me. He is from Roscoe, Ill., and has just come from home, where he had been to recover from wounds. He has resigned and come down to settle up his business, and we had many things to talk of while he was here, so that I had little time to write. When he left Lieutenant Burrows went with him “on leave” and I was appointed brigade quartermaster.

The clothing for the brigade had just arrived and I had it all to issue. I suppose there was forty thousand dollars worth of it and it behooved me to be careful in my issue, for a small proportion of it unaccounted for would absorb the little four months’ pay due me now. After attending to that I had the clothing to issue to my regiment, for as I do not expect to be brigade quartermaster permanently, I preferred doing the duties of both positions to turning over my property. I got through it all in good shape; did not lose anything. I have now over a hundred horses and mules to feed and a large train to care for, and that includes a deal of care, for in these roads shoes will get off the mules, and wagon tongues and axles will break and something needs attention constantly. I rather like the extra labor and responsibility. It gives me an opportunity to exercise all my powers, and it has always seemed to me before that I had not that. You will see, however, that I have not much time for writing, and excuse short letters on that account.

I am very glad to know that S’s statement of your health was too strong. I did feel quite anxious on that account. And you really are doing better than I could expect. You support your family on a deal less money than I support myself. I’m afraid I should find it hard to get so prudent a wife, or a wife who could make my money go as far as yours does. I am not spending much money now, I notice, for the excellent reason that I cannot get it to spend.

I shall look for the remainder of what you have to say on the subject of my last letter in your next. I suppose you would laugh to hear us young fellows discuss this matter. Richardson, Burrows and I are about of an age, and very similarly situated, and we have been discussing the matter in all seriousness.

Post image for Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne.

Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne.

January 8, 2015

Letters and diary of Laura M. Towne

St. Helenaville, January 8, 1865.

I have a great and troublesome commission for some of you. When H. gave me the one hundred dollars last fall, I instantly thought, “Now I can get my bell,” but afterwards I was afraid I might need funds to finish the inside of our school-house and so I deferred getting the bell. Now it is all finished nicely, everything we want complete, and we have had two days of delightful comfort in it. While Mr. Tomlinson is here, I can get the belfry put up free of charge, and properly attended to. He talks of going away soon, and has said he wished the bell, which I promised, had come. So I want you to buy me one.

Miss Ware has bought a bell for her school-house, and it came down in one of the Philbrick schooners. It rings already all over the island. She has also presented her school-house with an eight-day clock. Her bell is smaller than mine must be, for she calls only one plantation, and we five or six to school. They say it is exquisite in tone. There is great choice in bells of the same size and apparent quality; one will ring clearly and be heard at a great distance, while another will be soft and sweet and deep, but not resonant, and the sound will not travel far. A dollar a pound is the price, or was the price of Miss Ware’s. It will take at least a fifty-pound bell and may take a larger one. You had better ask how far such a bell carries sound. Ours should be heard three miles if possible. Miss Ware calculated that a twenty-five pound bell would be heard a mile and a half. Our children come from five and six miles, but I think no bell could be heard so far. I suppose that the wheel for ringing it comes with it — that and a rope would be necessary. Our building is one story high and raised on piles. We should want a rope to go through the floor and be pulled from beneath.

I think you can get a chance to send the bell by Mr. Winsor’s schooners, which are coming often for cotton. I had rather have freight paid on it than have it come by Mr. Philbrick’s favor. If it cannot come by schooner, I think the Philadelphia Committee would get the New York Committee to forward it.

Another great crowd of negroes has come from Sherman’s army. They are utterly wretched in circumstances — clothes all torn to rags; in some cases children naked. A steamboat load came to the village to-night, and they are crowded in the church and into all the people’s houses. It is astonishing with what open-hearted charity the people here — themselves refugees from Edisto two years ago — have received these newcomers right into their houses, and to that most jealously guarded place — their “chimbly.” A “chimbly” here is a man’s castle, and the privileges of this coveted convenience are held sacred. To lend a “chimbly” to a neighbor is to grant him a great favor, yet these people are welcomed to the “chimblys.” I asked our Brister if he found any friends among the refugees from Georgia. “All friends to-night,” he said, “but I hain’t found no family,” which means relatives.

Pierce Butler’s slaves have just arrived among this lot. We have no clothes to give these poor shivering creatures, and I never felt so helpless. Rina has on her biggest pot and I have just been putting in some of Mr. Wright’s tea, and Ellen and I are going to sally out and give each of the sick a cup of it to warm them up this cold, raw night. Very many come sick: indeed, nearly all are broken down with fatigue, privation of food, and bad air at night.

To-day General Saxton at church announced his intention to reoccupy Edisto pretty soon and fill it with these refugees. . . .

10.45 P.M.

Just returned from giving out the tea to the sick. Such a weary, sick, coughing set! I wish our church would send along some clothes. I have written to the Commission for some, and contributions to their boxes would do.

Post image for I confess what I saw greatly surprised me. We could hardly take more tender care of <em>our</em> sick soldiers.

I confess what I saw greatly surprised me. We could hardly take more tender care of our sick soldiers.

January 8, 2015

Adams Family Civil War letters; US Minister to the UK and his sons.

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his mother

Camp of 5th Maw. Cav’y
Point Lookout, Md., January 8, 1865

You drew a wrong impression from my description if you concluded that our prisoners were harshly treated. War is cruel in all its parts — a horrid blessing sent on mankind in a shape curiously like a curse; and in all wars the purest form of squalid misery to which God’s image is anywhere reduced has ever been found in the depots of prisoners. Our war is no exception to the rule, and yet our prisoners are treated with all reasonable tenderness and care. Their lives are not thought precious, but neither are those of our soldiers, and my experience and observation lead me to state as the conclusion of my best judgment that our prisoners of war at this point are, on the average the year round, as little exposed and as well fed and the wear and tear on their vital powers is as bearable, as is the average with our own soldiers in active campaign. As to that pile of coffins which so harrowed you, it is almost gone now, but I must say I think your sympathies were most unduly excited. Nelson, you know, for years carried his coffin round in the cabin of his ship. If the sight of a pile of coffins is going to shock a man he’d better keep out of the Army. And, by the way, that very pile of coffins was the best possible evidence that men did not die fast; for where men die fast the prejudice in favor of coffins does n’t last long. For instance, do you suppose coffins would be used if they were needed at the rate of ten a day?

However, impelled by your letter I thought on Friday I would look into the matter of our prisoners’ condition. Accordingly I said to myself: “In Hospitals one sees misery, and so to the Hospitals I will go,” and to them I went at once. I must confess, having done so, to a strong sense, when I got through, of pleasure and pride in the Christian spirit and forbearance of our Government. There was neither want nor misery there! I went through ward after ward, passing up and down the long rows of little beds on each of which lay a sick prisoner, with the long matted hair and wild look so peculiar to southern men. The wards were long, wooden buildings, one story high, whitewashed inside, warmed by stoves and scrupulously clean —regular military hospitals. The beds were small and of iron, and each bed had its mattress, coarse white sheets and pillow-case, and two blankets. Among all these thousands the deaths average two or three a day, and I saw but few men who seemed very sick and but one who was dying. The ward-masters and attendants were themselves prisoners and in answer to my inquiries (for I came, you see, officially) all told me that they were very comfortable and had everything which could be expected. Evidently there was no misery or’ suffering there. I confess what I saw greatly surprised me. We could hardly take more tender care of our sick soldiers. After the horrors of the southern prisons, I doubt if our countrymen (well as I think of them) would support the treatment I have described. It is too much in the spirit of Christ for common men; but abroad it should be known in justice to this much libelled country. There was more for a liberal American to be proud of in that hospital than in the greatest achievement of our armies. There was to be found, and that too under circumstances of cruel aggravation, the true spirit of Christianity infused into war. . . .

Post image for Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

January 8, 2015

Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

January 8.—To-day I visited a friend, Mr. Henry Griffin, one of the Ship Island prisoners, and a member of the Twenty-first Alabama Regiment. I never saw such an emaciated frame as his. He is completely prostrated from disease and starvation.

Many of our men who were captured when the Mobile forts were taken were sent to New Orleans, and from thence to Ship Island. They were placed under negro guards, and every possible indignity heaped upon them. They had to walk many miles for every stick of wood they used, and if they showed the least disposition to lay down their load, they had a bayonet stuck into them by the guard.

When sick, they were put on straw right on the ground, and Mr. Griffin says, on putting your hand down with a slight pressure, the water would gush up.

When I listened to this recital, and thought of the humane treatment I had seen their men receive, my blood boiled with indignation. Our surgeons would not allow a nurse or any one to say an unbecoming word to them; and many a time while in Chattanooga I have received the strictest orders concerning what I must prepare for them.

Surely these wrongs will benefit our people, and stimulate them to more exertion than ever before. I think that is why they are allowed. I have been told by more than Mr. (!., that a lad named Dunklin, from Alabama, was shot dead by a negro guard, while putting a potato on the stove to cook.[1] Well, there is a time for all things.

 

“Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, dumb,

But vengeance is behind, and justice is to come.”

 

I feel as confident that in time our wrongs will be redressed, as I am that I am living. In listening to all these tales of wrong and insult, I can not but think that our sins must have been great to have deserved them.

[1] Joseph Dunklin, a private of Company K, Lockhart’s battalion, aged sixteen years, was shot dead by a negro soldier, at half-past 3 o’clock, P.M., December 15, 1864, on Ship Island, under the following circumstances:

Dunklin had been sick, and was recovering. A lot of sweet potatoes (which wore a rarity to us) had been sent by the citizens of Mobile to the prisoners; the little fellow, thinking he would like one roasted, asked permission of the sentinel then on duty to cook it on the stove, which permission was granted, (this always being done after regular meals had been served up.) The sentinels in the mean time were changed, and he went near the stove, and asked the cook to please give him the potato. As the cook was in the act of handing it to him, he saw the sentinel cocking his gun, and aiming it at the little boy; the cook said to him, “Look out, he is going to shoot!” and immediately the sentinel fired, shooting him through the heart, and killing him instantly. He then loaded his gun again, remarking, “I have killed one of the damned rebels, and I’ll kill another if I can get a chance!” Not a word of precaution was given Dunklin before the sentinel fired, except by the cook, and all he could do then was to draw his shoulders up, and was immediately killed. Dr. Robinson was immediately sent for, and said, “This boy has been brutally murdered, and he intended to report it immediately.” He entered the death on his hospital record, “Shot dead by a sentinel!” The sentinel said that orders were given him by Lieutenant W. C. Abby, 74th U. S. C. I., then officer of the guard, to allow no one to go to the stove but the cook. Colonel C. D. Anderson, Twenty-first Alabama Regiment, demanded an investigation, but was told by Colonel Holmstedt, commanding the post, that this was a right that “prisoners of war could not demand!”

Eye-witness.

Post image for An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

January 8, 2015

An Artilleryman's Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones, 6th Battery, Wisconsin Artillery.

Nashville, Sunday, Jan. 8. Froze very hard last night. Inspection 8:30 A. M. As soon as Griff was relieved from guard, 9 A. M., we started to church by permission. Listened to a very good sermon from a Christian Commission agent in M. E. Church.

Reached camp 2 P. M. Nobody at home, and we spent a very pensive afternoon, or at least I did. Many of our best men are coming down with the diarrhea. Parker of the next tent was very sick all day. Such things make me sad. But when the mail came bringing me that ever encouraging sheet from John, my spirits somewhat revived, and I found much to be thankful for. My health is unimpaired. Why should I pine? I will not.

Post image for War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney

War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney

January 8, 2015

War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

8th. Sunday. Bruce got me a door. Busy with fireplace.

Post image for Rutherford B. Hayes.

Rutherford B. Hayes.

January 8, 2015

Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes

Camp Hastings, Near Cumberland, Maryland,

January 8, 1865.

Dear Uncle: — I am now in our winter camp. All things seem to be about as they should be. My leave of absence for twenty days has been granted, and I shall start home in two or three days. I shall probably not be able to stay with you more than one day. I can’t yet tell, but I suppose about the 25th I shall get around to Fremont. I hope to reach Chillicothe on the 12th. Yours of the first I got last night. I will stay with Mother one or two days at Delaware.

Sincerely,

R. B. Hayes.

P. S. — My adjutant, Captain Hastings, is getting well. He is at Winchester and can’t yet be moved from his bed. He will be major of [the] Twenty-third and in two or three months can probably ride. I have named my camp after him.

S. Birchard.

Post image for Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

January 8, 2015

Diary of Alexander G. Downing; Company E, Eleventh Iowa Infantry

Sunday, 8th—It is quite cool. We lay in camp all day. We are once more drawing full rations, and it is well that we are, for there is absolutely nothing to forage here, not even rice in the hull. We have also received some of the Sanitary goods sent here for distribution. All is quiet at present and there is no news of any importance. Beaufort is a nice place, situated on an island, and has good shipping facilities. Goods of all kinds are sold here at reasonable prices, business being carried on much as in a Northern town. The Union army has been in possession of the place for some time. The entire Seventeenth Army Corps is here, but will move forward in a few days.

Post image for A Rebel War Clerk’s Diary

A Rebel War Clerk’s Diary

January 8, 2015

A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, By John Beauchamp Jones

January 8th.—Bright and cold. Snowed yesterday, and windy.

Gen. Whiting writes that he had only 400 men in Fort Fisher, and it was a miracle that it was not taken. He looked for it, and a determined effort would have carried it. He says there is no reason to suppose the attempt has been abandoned, and it must fall if a sufficient force be not sent thither.

If the enemy are apprised of the weak condition of the fort, it is probable Grant has been sending another and a stronger expedition there, and it may be apprehended that before many days Wilmington will cease to be of value to us as a blockade-running port of entry.

I saw the Hon. Mr. Montague to-day, who told me there was a strong party in Congress (which he opposed) in favor of making Gen. Lee generalissimo without the previous concurrence of the President. He says some of the Georgia members declare that their State will re-enter the Union unless Lee be speedily put at the head of military affairs in the field—he being the only man possessing the unlimited confidence of the people. I agreed with him that the President ought to be approached in a proper manner, and freely consulted, before any action such as he indicated; and I told him that a letter from Gen. Beauregard, dated 6th of December, to the President, if ever published, would exculpate the latter from all blame for the march (unopposed) of Sherman through Georgia.

Col. Baylor, whom the President designated the other day as the proper man to raise troops in New Mexico, Arizona, Lower California and in Mexico, is the same man who invited the Indians to a council in 1861, to receive presents, whisky, etc., and then ordered them, men, women, and children, to be slaughtered. Even Mr. Randolph revolted at such conduct. But now the government must employ him.

The rotund Mr. Hunter is rolling about actively to-day, hunting for more news. His cheeks, though fat, are flat and emaciated— for he sees affairs in a desperate condition, and he has much to lose.