May 11, 1865.
The 14th and 20th crossed the river and went as far as Hanover to-day.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Thursday, 11th—The Fourteenth and Twentieth Army Corps started on their way for Washington City. Our corps remained in camp all day. The sick were all sent down to the wharf to go around by boat to Washington. The doctor had my name listed for that route, and I started to go, but got a release. I told the doctor that I should much prefer to march through with my company, if he would have my knapsack and accouterments carried for me in the wagons. He assured me that he would have them seen to and told me that I could rejoin my company, for which I am very thankful.
Thursday, 11th. Drew one month’s pay on my order. Went through the Patent Office and to the Treasury. Went home with Mr. Mills to tea and remained over night. Rained. Had a very pleasant time with Flint, Lyra and Leof. Capitol yesterday.
May 11th. About midnight of last night, while I was in the Court House, I heard the cry of fire. Looked out and saw a great blaze to the south. Ran to the fire. It was a large barn on the Faulkner place. Watched it burn, as it could not damage other buildings. The Faulkners had many enemies in the neighborhood, whom he treated bad at the outbreak of the war. I heard Mr. Faulkner repeat “Poor revenge.” Sometimes revenge is sweet. The soldiers did not have any sympathy for the Faulkners. Looked upon as arch traitors. Soldiers were placed on guard over his property at the time of the fire.
Mrs. Lyon’s Diary.
May 11, 1865.—Cold and stormy. We got so cold that we tied up the tent and went to bed to keep warm. It is raining so hard we have had to take a lunch in the tent. We could not build a fire to cook anything, nor set the table out of doors. It cleared off towards night, so we had a fire built before the tent and it made it quite comfortable, and we had a good supper. I often find that our goodies in the trunk come handy.
Chattanooga, Thursday, May 11. Feel much better than yesterday afternoon, although weak yet. Yesterday afternoon had a severe fever, and my whole frame ached sorely. Ate no supper. Bathed in the evening and perspired freely. Bowels are yet very sore, but fever is gone. Griff made a cup of gruel for my breakfast. Did not go to sick call, hence on duty, were it not for Goodwin’s kindness. But I have no desire to be subjected to the doctor’s barbarous cure-all. Cantharides blister is his universal remedy for everything. Drew soft bread today again, which is a little better, and by doing all I can to help nature I expect to be all right again. I have had only one of my accustomed spells, when my system becomes prostrated by hard usage, but I have a wonderful vitality, and it soon rallies again to its accustomed standard. I hope to keep all right until I bid adieu to soldiering.
May 11th, 1865.—I went to the picnic and if I was not entertaining nobody was so ill-mannered as to tell me so and I can assure you I was entertained. So many gray-coated soldiers; so much to listen to; so many questions to be asked and answered. A delicious dinner, boat rides in the cool of the evening and then the pleasant ride home “in the gloaming.” Cousin Henry was there and he told us of life in the prison on Johnson’s Island. He was captured in the battle of Missionary Ridge and was exchanged just in time to meet the returning soldiers from Virginia. He had a terrible stay in prison. In the midst of plenty, they were given only barely enough to sustain life; this in retaliation for Andersonville. But they ought to remember we would gladly have given those poor prisoners all they could want if we could have gotten it. Little food; no medicines, almost no clothing, we could not help ourselves and we should not be arraigned for that.
Cousin Henry said sometimes they got so hungry they caught the prison rats and ate them. The prisoners vied with each other in catching the rats, just as they had in shooting deer or quail in the days of yore. There was a dead line, just an imaginary line, but it must not be crossed under penalty of death. One morning a large rat ran out into the open space and several Confederates gave chase. In the excitement one of the men accidentally went over the “dead line.” Quick the guard raised his gun, flash, there was one prisoner the less on Johnson’s Island that night. War is cruel; men grow callous. Is the spirit of Christ dying out of the world?
