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

Friday, January 16, 2015

16th. — Fort Fisher has fallen; Wilmington will of course follow. This was our last port into which blockade-runners were successful in entering, and which furnished us with an immense amount of stores. What will be the effect of this disaster we know not; we can only hope and pray.

Washington, January 16, 1865

I suppose the dating of this letter will surprise you a little, but so it is and here I am once more on my way home. I told you some weeks ago that I looked upon my return to Point Lookout at present as a mere experiment. Gradually I have become persuaded that the experiment was not a success, and accordingly I have broken up my establishment and am off to reestablish myself. I don’t know that I am much less well than when I returned from Boston, but I certainly am no better. Accordingly I have now settled up all my affairs in the regiment, broken up my household, packed up all my traps and am now on my way home for an indefinite period of time — certainly, I think, forty days and perhaps sixty. I shall get to Boston tomorrow evening and shall at once take steps to get myself put on some detached duty. From thence I shall write you more at length. . . .

The first news I saw this morning on arriving here was Mr. Everett’s death, and it will go out to you by the steamer which carries this. He seems to me to have died well and in good time. Over seventy, thoroughly redeemed and standing well before his countrymen, his last public words were those of charity and good-feeling. I do not see that he could have lived longer for any benefit. He passed away on the very crest of the wave. . . .

Nashville, Monday, Jan. 16. In camp. I still feel pretty well. My throat is very sore. Postules begin to fill and turn white, guess it is smallpox. I am ordered to the smallpox hospital, and am now awaiting the ambulance. I must leave everything, as I could bring nothing away. I feel sorry to leave the boys but would not stay to spread the contagion among them. So, dear Journal, I must bid you good-bye until I return. God grant that it may not be long. I anticipate but a short siege, am astonished to find it so easy thus far. Adieu.

16th. Monday. Read some. Application for an officer and 8 sergeants made to go home on recruiting service. Officers’ meeting. Determined to have a history of the 2nd Ohio. Newton, Houghton and Dr. McReynold as committee to get up a plan.

January 16th.—Clear and frosty.

We learn vaguely that the attack on the defenses of Wilmington has been progressing since Friday, and that the enemy’s land forces have effected a lodgment between Fort Fisher and the town.

Another “peace” visitor has arrived—Hon. Mr. Singleton, of the United States Congress. It is said that the President (Confederate States) has pledged himself to appoint commissioners to fix terms of peace. This is but a forlorn-hope. No terms of peace are contemplated by any of these visitors but on the basis of reconstruction; and their utmost liberality could reach no further than a permission for the Southern States to decide, in convention, the question of emancipation. The President having suggested, however, the propriety of putting the negroes into the service, and emancipating them afterward, has aroused the fears and suspicions of many of the people; and but few have confidence in the integrity of the Secretary of State. Hence the universal gloom and despondency of the croakers. There may be difficulty in replenishing the Federal armies, and they may be depleted by spring; and if so, Gen. Lee may be able to make another grand campaign with the men and material now at his command. The issue of the next campaign may inaugurate real negotiations. Wilmington may be taken, blockade-running may cease; but we have ammunition and other stores for another campaign.

At last we have a dispatch from Gen. Lee, announcing the fall of Fort Fisher. Most of the garrison, supposed to be 1500, were taken.

Gold was $70 for $1 on Saturday: what will it be to-day or tomorrow?

A voluminous correspondence is going on between Mr. Conrad (secret agent to arrest disloyal men endeavoring to cross the Potomac) and Mr. Secretary Seddon. Mr. Foote, arrested by their great skill, has applied, indignantly, for a writ of habeas corpus. Thus the time of our great dignitaries is consumed removing molehills, while mountains are looming up everywhere.

The following dispatch was received here at 11 A.M. to-day from Gen. Bragg’s A. D. C.: “January 15th, 1865.—Official information from Gen. Whiting, at Fort Fisher, up to 8 o’clock this evening, reports enemy’s attack on fort unsuccessful. Fresh troops are being sent to him.”

This does not agree with the dispatch from Gen. Lee. It must have been taken last night, and after the hour indicated. Gen. Lee certainly says it has fallen. It is gone, and I fear the “reinforcements” also—with Gen. Whiting “to boot.”

Alas for Bragg the unfortunate! He seems to be another Boabdil the Unlucky.

Dr. Woodbridge announced in the Monumental Church, yesterday, that only five ladies had responded to the call to knit socks for the soldiers! A rich congregation, too. My daughters (poor) were among the five, and handed him several pairs. They sent one pair to their cousin S. Custis, Clingman’s brigade, Hoke’s North Carolina division.

Mr. Lewis, disbursing clerk of Post-Office Department, has sent in a communication asking an investigation of the conduct of Mr. Peck, agent to buy supplies for clerks. What will Mr. Seddon do now?

The Commissary-General says 100,000 bushels corn for Lee’s army may be got in Southwest Virginia.

Monday, 16th—All is quiet in front. Company E moved back four or five miles to a large rebel fort on the main road to Beaufort, and on an inlet of the ocean. We are to remain here on picket duty until further orders. The main part of the regiment has fortified. Our company put up the “ranches” on a causeway.

Monday, 16th.—Ordered to drill, but regiment at first refused; but finally, at the request of company officers, and for their sakes, drilled a little. There will be trouble if asked to drill much when so nearly worn out.

January 16th.—My husband is at home once more—for how long, I do not know. His aides fill the house, and a group of hopelessly wounded haunt the place. The drilling and the marching go on outside. It rains a flood, with freshet after freshet. The forces of nature are befriending us, for our enemies have to make their way through swamps.

A month ago my husband wrote me a letter which I promptly suppressed after showing it to Mrs. McCord. He warned us to make ready, for the end had come. Our resources were exhausted, and the means of resistance could not be found. We could not bring ourselves to believe it, and now, he thinks, with the railroad all blown up, the swamps made impassable by the freshets, which have no time to subside, so constant is the rain, and the negroes utterly apathetic (would they be so if they saw us triumphant?), if we had but an army to seize the opportunity we might do something; but there are no troops; that is the real trouble.

To-day Mrs. McCord exchanged $16,000 in Confederate bills for $300 in gold—sixteen thousand for three hundred.