Raleigh, April 17, 1865.
We have a brief dispatch this morning informing us of the assassination of President Lincoln, Secretary Seward and son. I have not the heart to write a word about it. The army is crazy for vengenance. If we make another campaign it will be an awful one. Sherman meets Johnston to-day. The delay in the negotiations was caused by some dispatches being missed. We hope Johnston will not surrender. God pity this country if he retreats or fights us.
April 17th.—Bright and clear.
I add a few lines to my Diary. It was whispered, yesterday, that President Lincoln had been assassinated! I met Gen. Duff Green, in the afternoon, who assured me there could be no doubt of it. Still, supposing it might be an April hoax, I inquired at the headquarters of Gen. Ord, and was told it was true. I cautioned those I met to manifest no feeling, as the occurrence might be a calamity for the South; and possibly the Federal soldiers, supposing the deed to have been done by a Southern man, might become uncontrollable and perpetrate deeds of horror on the unarmed people.
After agreeing to meet Gen. Green this morning at the Provost Marshal’s office, and unite with him in an attempt to procure the liberation of Capt. Warner, I returned home; and saw, on the way, Gen. Ord and his staff riding out toward Camp Lee, with no manifestations of excitement or grief on their countenances.
Upon going down town this morning, every one was speaking of the death of Lincoln, and the Whig was in mourning.
President Lincoln was killed by Booth (Jno. Wilkes), an actor. I suppose his purpose is to live in history as the slayer of a tyrant; thinking to make the leading character in a tragedy, and have his performance acted by others on the stage.
I see no grief on the faces of either officers or men of the Federal army.
R. A. Pryor and Judge W. T. Joynes have called a meeting in Petersburg, to lament the calamity entailed by the assassination.
I got passports to-day for myself and family to the Eastern Shore, taking no oath. We know not when we shall leave.
I never swore allegiance to the Confederate States Government, but was true to it.
Monday, 17th—News came that Abe Lincoln[1] had been assassinated at Washington, in a theater, also Secretary Seward and his son.[2] When the news came of the death of the president, the safety guards, placed at private houses to protect the families from violence, were relieved. General Sherman at once demanded an answer from Johnston by tomorrow, in regard to the surrender. Charles Correll of our company was put under arrest for saying that the president should have been shot three years ago. Correll has only been with the company since the 28th of last September, and then had been hired to enlist for a big sum of money. I went out on picket this morning.
[1] That a soldier should speak of Lincoln in such familiar terms was but natural. It was in no sense disrespectful. All through the war the President was spoken of as “Abe” Lincoln.—Ed.
[2] This shows again the unreliable character of the first reports.—Ed.
17th. Rode all night with paroled prisoners—Yankees. Cold. Reached City Point at 8 A. M. Got ready to leave on the mail boat at 10 A. M. Boat loaded mostly with Southern officers and a few Yankees, few citizens. Saw a telegraph operator with whom I was acquainted in Tenn. Read late papers. Accounts of the assassination. A little seasick. Most of the rebels seem submissive and willing to come under the old flag again.
Chattanooga, Monday, April 17. Splendid weather. Good appetite. Harness and saddles unboxed and issued out this morning. Hitched up and went out to drill. Captain Nicklin, inspector-general, was on the ground. Drilled three batteries together. Brigade drill for two hours, did very well. Noon by the time we reached camp. To-morrow we are to have monthly inspection, everything being “slicked up” in preparation.. A comrade took out my horse to graze, so I had time to write to sister Hannah. No mail yet.
April 17th.—A letter from Mrs. Davis, who writes: “Do come to me, and see how we get on. I shall have a spare room by the time you arrive, indifferently furnished, but, oh, so affectionately placed at your service. You will receive such a loving welcome. One perfect bliss have I. The baby, who grows fat and is smiling always, is christened, and not old enough to develop the world’s vices or to be snubbed by it. The name so long delayed is Varina Anne. My name is a heritage of woe.
“Are you delighted with your husband? I am delighted with him as well as with my own. It is well to lose an Arabian horse if one elicits such a tender and at the same time knightly letter as General Chesnut wrote to my poor old Prometheus. I do not think that for a time he felt the vultures after the reception of the General’s letter.
“I hear horrid reports about Richmond. It is said that all below Ninth Street to the Rocketts has been burned by the rabble, who mobbed the town. The Yankee performances have not been chronicled. May God take our cause into His own hands.”
Camp In The Field, Near Burksville Junction, Va.,
April 17, 1865.
Dear Family:
We moved yesterday to this position, only a few rods from our former one, to wait orders. We rec’d the sad news of President Lincoln’s being severely wounded in the head, yesterday morning, and of his death last night. The news cast a gloom upon all. Many were the oaths taken against the perpetrator of the deed. We rec’d no particulars, simply that it was by J. W. Booth in Ford’s theatre, and that Sec’ty of State Mr. Seward and his son were attacked in their own house. We have had no newspapers of late date, since we left Petersburg, except the Richmond Whig, which goes on the same as before, with a great change in its tone. I will try now and give you a description of our operations, although I have no notes to copy from. I think it is impressed strongly enough upon my memory to transfer it to paper.
Sunday morning, Apr. 2nd, at about 7 o’clk our Regt. with the 5th Mich, filed out through the works into the woods on a double quick; all expected a repetition of the scene we passed through before, but what was our surprise, when we passed by the picket line, through the woods into an open field in full view of the Johnnies’ works, and found them vacated. We immediately struck off in pursuit up the Boydton flank road, the sixth Corps in advance. The “Johns” made a stand about two miles from the City and the Artillery kept up the firing for the rest of the day. The next morning, we took the back road and struck out for the Danville road, which we reached the night of the 5th; fortified across it. Our Corps struck the Rebs the next day and gave them an awful run; they would make a stand on a hill, our skirmish line would run them out and then the Cavalry would give them a charge across the open country, till they found they had made another halt. The road was strewn with cars, ammunition boxes, blankets, old broken down mules, horses and wagons, caissons, limbers, forges, and occasionally a gun. The men were all excitement over our late victories and nothing could stop them. Our Brigade captured seven flags. Our regt. was unlucky and got none. We followed them up this way till the surrender. I have never seen such a sight and never expect to, as I did when Genl. Meade rode in from the front and a staff officer announced that Lee had surrendered [the surrender of General Lee at Appomattox Court House]. The men hurrahed as if their throats would split. Soon after Meade came riding through the lines. All the flags were given to the breeze and the men crowded around them and cheered lustily, rushing after Genl. Meade all the time. Men threw up their caps, haversacks, and canteens and some even took off their shoes and threw them up, running a great risk of ever getting them again. Every one had a smile on his face, although they had been without rations for a day and a half.
Regards and love to all. Lev.
Colonel Lyon’s Letters.
April 17, 1865.—I suppose there is little or no doubt of my election. I was never so surprised in my life, for I never had the least expectation of being elected. I shall come home as early as I can honorably and properly do so, certainly by September and probably before, to make the necessary arrangements and preparations for my new duties. You must not feel too hard towards those of my best friends who opposed me. They had an undoubted right to do so.
We have just heard the shocking tidings of President Lincoln’s assassination. This is an awful thing for the country. It makes my heart bleed.
Jonesboro, Tues., April 17.—We have just heard the joyful tidings that William is elected Judge. The first we knew of it was a shout from the regiment that made the welkin ring. We thought they had got a mail and that they had news of some great victory; so William and I started out to see what the noise was about. As soon as they saw us they shouted, “Hurrah for Judge Lyon”. The mail had come and brought papers announcing the fact of his election. We could hardly believe it, it was so unexpected. We had a curiosity to see how many hundred votes he would be beaten by, but had no thought of election. It is two weeks today since the election, and we have only just heard of it. I never saw William so nonplussed. I am so happy I can hardly contain myself, for now William can leave the service honorably and come home. They think now that we will not go farther East, since Lee’s surrender.
The 4th Army Corps, we now hear, was sent here to go through to Richmond and reinforce the troops already there. The deserters are daily coming in. This morning sixty of Vaughn’s command came here and gave themselves up. The war is over, but poor President Lincoln could not live to see the end. His assassination is awful!
April 17, 1865.—We have been very miserable the past few days. General McCook with his command were near Thomasville when General Lee surrendered and they pushed on to Tallahassee. Everybody knew they were coming and some things in the Capitol were hidden away but, just as it is in case of a fire, the most valuable possesions were left behind and the first Yankees who reached Tallahassee helped themselves. Well, it is what we expected.
For days the Union forces have been passing along the Thomasville and Tallahassee road; sometimes like well-drilled soldiers, sometimes straggling over the enclosures and entering the houses without the preliminary knock. It is very disagreeable.
Eddie is five years old now and he is a bright little fellow with the greatest admiration for “Toldiers,” as he calls our men. This morning he was on the porch when a Union officer walked in and took, unasked, a seat. He had quite a pleasant face and I suppose Eddie did not know what the blue uniform betokened. The officer held out his hand to him and said: “Come and talk to me awhile, I have a little son at home just your size.” Eddie went across and in next to no time he was sitting in his lap, and eagerly telling him of the events of the past few days.
“Toldier,” he said, “Don’t you hate the Yankees ?”
“No,” said the officer, “I am a Yankee, myself.”
Eddie looked incredulous, he slided down to the floor, his lip quivered, his eyes filled with tears, as he stood before his new acquaintance.
“I am sorry I sat in your lap,” he said. “I didn’t know you was a Yankee. I thought you was a Toldier.”
The officer flushed angrily; “Look good, my little man,” he said, “See if you can find my horns and the cloven feet you expected?”
But Eddie would take no notice of him. He took refuge in his grandfather’s arms and sobbed out, “I sat in his lap and just a month ago they killed my uncle Mac, my dear uncle Mack. Do you think, grandpa, that this Yankee killed him?”
The officer left the house without another word. I tried to comfort Eddie but found myself crying as hard as he did. Will our losses ever be forgotten or forgiven? Can our people, North and South ever be a united country with this bloody gulf yawning between us? The South did not want this war. We fought for our rights, we resisted oppression and now we are crushed and conquered. God help us!
There are wild tales told of the doings at Washington. I will not try to record them for, like as not, nothing we hear is true. Whether we believe or not, these wild rumors fill us with dismay. Our own especial soldiers have not yet returned and we have not heard one word from them since the surrender. Perhaps they will never come. Father is heartbroken and miserable; he cannot sleep and nobody in the house cares for food; the meals are removed from the table almost untasted.
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