Sunday, 23d—We had regimental inspection at 10 a. m. and this afternoon at 2 o’clock our division was reviewed by General Smith. The division came out in good style.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
23rd. Was unable to get out on account of my neck. Read Thede’s diaries to Ma and Melissa, and talked about him. Minnie in a short time. Read Atlantic. Melissa went to church in P. M. Played with Carrie. Quite a wintry day. Prof. Peck very kind to the family.
Village, St. Helena, S.C., April 23, 1865.
We did go to Charleston to that great celebration, and on the very day that vile assassin was doing his work, or had accomplished it.[1] Such shouts and cheers went up for Lincoln from the freed people of Charleston, at the mention of his name by Garrison at the great meeting in Zion Church, that it must have done him good even in his death. I never saw such enthusiasm as they showed every time he was mentioned. On the island here they are inconsolable and will not believe he is dead. In the church this morning they prayed for him as wounded but still alive, and said that he was their Saviour — that Christ saved them from sin, and he from “Secesh,” and as for the vile Judas who had lifted his hand against him, they prayed the Lord the whirlwind would carry him away, and that he would melt as wax in the fervent heat, and be driven forever from before the Lord. Was n’t it the cunning of the Devil that did the deed; and they are going to prove him insane! When he was wise enough to strike the one in whom all could trust, and whose death would inevitably throw confusion and doubt into the popular mind of the North! And then to single out Seward[2] in hopes that the next Secretary might embroil us with Europe and so give them another chance! It is so hard to wait a week or two before we know what comes next.
But I must tell you of our trip to Charleston. General Saxton gave us all passes, and a large party of teachers went from this island with Mr. Ruggles — good, kind, handsome fellow — to escort us. We stayed at a house kept by the former servants or slaves of Governor Aiken.
I was dreadfully seasick going up, and the day after I got there had to go to bed, and so I missed seeing many things I should have liked to visit. It stood — the house we stayed at — in the very heart of the shelled part of the city, and had ever so many balls through it. The burnt part of the town is the picture of desolation, and the detested “old sugar-house,” as the workhouse was called, looks like a giant in his lair. It was where all the slaves were whipped, and the whipping-room was made with double walls filled in with sand so that the cries could not be heard in the street. The treadmill and all kinds of tortures were inflicted there. I wanted to make sure of the building and asked an old black woman if that was the old sugar-house. “Dat’s it,” she said, “but it’s all played out now.” On Friday we went to Sumter, got good seats in the amphitheatre inside, near the pavilion for the speakers, and had a good opportunity to see all. I think there was not that enthusiasm in Anderson that I expected, and Henry Ward Beecher addressed himself to the “citizens of Charleston,” when there were not a dozen there. He spoke very much by note, and quite without fire.
At Sumter I bought several photographs, and send you one of the face [of the fortress] farthest from Wagner, Gregg, and our assailing forts, and consequently pretty well preserved. The other side is a mass of ruins and big balls. If you look closely you will see rows of basket-work, filled with sand, repairing a break. The whole inside of the fort is lined with them.
The next day was the grand day, however, when Wilson, Garrison, Thompson, Kelly, Tilton, and others spoke. Redpath mentioned John Brown’s name, and asked the great congregation to sing his favorite hymn, “Blow ye the Trumpet,” or “Year of Jubilee.”
I spoke to Judge Kelly afterwards and had a nice promise from him that he would send me all his speeches. We came home on Sunday and found all the missing boxes arrived, — or nearly all, — among them, mine. You do not know how intensely we all enjoy your picture — that exquisite sea-view. How could you spare me such a picture! I lie down on our sofa which faces it, and do so heartily enter into the freshness of it that it is refreshing in this hot weather. Many thanks to you.
[1] Abraham Lincoln was assassinated April 14, 1865.
[2] An attempt was also made to assassinate Secretary of State Seward.
Chattanooga, Sunday, April 23. Cold night but warm midday. Wrote my usual letters, read, etc. Grazing in the afternoon took up most of the time. No danger of ennui at present. Health very good.
April 23d.—My silver wedding-day, and I am sure the unhappiest day of my life. Mr. Portman came with Christopher Hampton. Portman told of Miss Kate Hampton, who is perhaps the most thoroughly ladylike person in the world. When he told her that Lee had surrendered she started up from her seat and said, “That is a lie.” “Well, Miss Hampton, I tell the tale as it was told me. I can do no more.”
No wonder John Chesnut is bitter. They say Mulberry has been destroyed by a corps commanded by General Logan. Some one asked coolly, “Will General Chesnut be shot as a soldier, or hung as a senator?” “I am not of sufficient consequence,” answered he. “They will stop short of brigadiers. I resigned my seat in the United States Senate weeks before there was any secession. So I can not be hung as a senator. But after all it is only a choice between drumhead court martial, short shrift, and a lingering death at home from starvation.”
These negroes are unchanged. The shining black mask they wear does not show a ripple of change; they are sphinxes. Ellen has had my diamonds to keep for a week or so. When the danger was over she handed them back to me with as little apparent interest in the matter as if they had been garden peas.
Mrs. Huger was in church in Richmond when the news of the surrender came. Worshipers were in the midst of the communion service. Mr. McFarland was called out to send away the gold from his bank. Mr. Minnegerode’s English grew confused. Then the President was summoned, and distress of mind showed itself in every face. The night before one of General Lee’s aides, Walter Taylor, was married, and was off to the wars immediately after the ceremony.
One year ago we left Richmond. The Confederacy has double-quicked down hill since then. One year since I stood in that beautiful Hollywood by little Joe Davis’s grave. Now we have burned towns, deserted plantations, sacked villages. “You seem resolute to look the worst in the face,” said General Chesnut, wearily. “Yes, poverty, with no future and no hope.” “But no slaves, thank God!” cried Buck. “We would be the scorn of the world if the world thought of us at all. You see, we are exiles and paupers.” “Pile on the agony.” “How does our famous captain, the great Lee, bear the Yankees’ galling chain?” I asked. “He knows how to possess his soul in patience,” answered my husband. “If there were no such word as subjugation, no debts, no poverty, no negro mobs backed by Yankees; if all things were well, you would shiver and feel benumbed,” he went on, pointing at me in an oratorical attitude. “Your sentence is pronounced—Camden for life.”
Mrs. Lyon’s Diary.
Bull’s Gap, Sunday, April 23, 1865.—We have sent all the things to the cars. Stayed all day under a borrowed fly to a tent. Captain King invited us to take tea with him. He lives in a part of the depot. We will take the cars here for Knoxville.
Sunday, April 23.— All are yet in doubt as to the rumors afloat. One gentleman is so confident that Governor Brown had sold the state, that he would not be at all surprised if an order was to come by the next train to have all the men put under arrest.
April 23rd, 1865.-1 ought to be ashamed of myself and yet I am afraid I am not. For the first time in all my life I have laid hands in violence upon a negro.
It happened in this way. We were sitting last night in the back parlor, the two tallow candles did little more than to make the darkness visible, but it was moon-light outside. Since we have been in the enemy’s lines, we feel suspicious of all unusual sounds at night and often we have discovered listeners, under the windows or the servants, employed about the house, have “toted news” to the camp at Centreville. So when footsteps were heard approaching, I looked out and saw some twenty or more half-grown negro boys and girls. When they reached the house they began to sing, to the tune of “John Brown’s Body,” these words:
“We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
As we go marching on.”
In the corner of the dining-room stood a new carriage whip, purchased that day by Jordan, who considered himself a judge of carriage whips. His mistress had given him money that morning to buy it and this is what he said when he brought it in, “Miss Patsy, here’s de whup, its a rale sure nuf whale-bone whup and de lash is twisted silk.”
I seized it as I passed through the dining room to get out in the yard. The negroes were evidently expecting to make us angry but they had not counted on the reception they received. I rushed in their midst and, laying the whip about me with all the strength I could muster, I soon had the whole crowd flying toward the Quarter, screaming as they went. One of them screeching loudly, “She dun outen my eye,” another, “Oh, Lordy—Mammy ain’t nuver laid it on me lak
I would have followed up the victory but behind the magnolia tree a dark figure was visible and I did not know how many more there might be. It was over so quickly that no one realized what was taking place until the screams broke on the air. It amused the family to think for nineteen years I had lived on the plantation and never before had I struck a negro.
