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

Monday, June 15, 2015

15th. Went to town and saw Sister M. and A. B. off at 4:20. Hated to see them go. Hope to see them at home soon. Very warm.

Chattanooga, Thursday, June 15. Breakfast passed as usual. Charlie Pickard and myself procured a blackberry pass, and armed each with a tin pail, set out while it was yet cool, and we walked fast. We followed the old Georgia Railroad out into Chickamauga Valley, passed the vineyard which we tugged through on the 25th of November, 1863, under the rebel fire. The scene looked very natural, but the houses used as hospitals close by are burnt down, fences repaired and crops growing, Here we conversed with a negro, once a slave but now a free man. When “Massa run, aha,” he staid behind, and has forty acres of good corn planted and cultivated by himself for his own benefit. We saw many others industriously engaged for the welfare of self and family. What better proof need we have than this that the negro will support himself.

Here we found plenty of berries, but not many of them ripe yet, so we marched on, struck Chickamauga Creek, followed it about half a mile to the ferry, when cries and shrieks fell upon our ears, evidently a woman in great agony. Our minds were readily carried back to the time when such cries were often extorted from the poor slaves by the cruel hand of the master. And could it be possible that such a scene was being enacted in this valley now under the very eye of the power that had abolished it? It seemed incredible, yet we feared it, and we hastily turned our steps in the direction of the sound. As we approached, it still became more hideous and different voices could be discerned. Up high on the hill we at last discovered the place whence the noise proceeded, from a rough log negro hut. Passing a neat white house about fifty rods below the shanty, we were informed of the cause by a woman unconcernedly smoking her pipe. She “reckoned they were shouting up there”. A little suspecting the cause, yet we were bent on investigation. We met a young woman on the way with long, flowing disheveled hair, looking very much excited.

Charley asked “What’s the row up there?”

“An old ‘oman ‘fessed ‘ligion this morn’ “.

Now we are at the door, and such a sight I never saw before. Here two large negro women and two young white girls, 16 and 17 years old about, from all appearances raving maniacs, still screeching, yelling, jumping, hugging, dancing, crying, shaking, hands, and uttering incoherent sentences, foaming at the mouth with perspiration rolling down their cheeks in streams. No cessation, but each making as much noise as though a dagger were at their hearts. The spell appeared to be partially broken by one of the girls seeing us. She stopped, looked at us with a mesmeric glare for a few minutes, then shrunk a corner, where she remained quietly until her sister (I suppose) returned to her from covering the negro woman, and commenced violent demonstrations, such as bumping her head against the wall, etc. until both soon moved.

We looked on thus for over half an hour. I was filled with amazement and sometimes provoked to laughter. I had heard of such excitement in revival meetings where enthusiastic preachers and brethren were at work, working up the imagination of the victim. But to find it in such a sequestered place with but four solitary women was such as I never dreamt of. The superstitious character and education of the negro caused me to wonder less at them than the white girls, which looked awful. But when I remembered the unconcern of the people in the white house, I concluded it was nothing strange after all for these ignorant people (for I consider it nothing but ignorance of the true standard of the human soul).

A revival is going on there, it seems, and the old woman said God had been allowing her to go on in her “devilment” for a long time, but this morning ”Jesus stood right squar’ in her way and she found him right in the chair,” and then again she started. The girls I suppose came to see her and were taken with the influence. I felt it my duty to do what I could to restore these poor creatures to their senses, and believe if I had entered the room and spoken firmly to them in earnest, the spell would be broken and the excitement quieted.

But modesty prevented me from making the experiment, and we went on in quest of berries. Found plenty of beautiful ones in a field adjoining, and we soon filled our pails and started for camp in another direction. The shouting which we heard a mile away at first, still continued while we were within hearing. Reached camp before 2 P. M. tired and very warm, having walked at least fourteen miles, well pleased with our success at berrying. Told our story of the revivalists in camp, which caused much amusement. I shall always consider it as one of the greatest psychological phenomena.

U. S. Steamer Illinois, off Brazos de Santiago, Texas,
Thursday, June 15, 1865.

Dear Sister L.:—

I wrote you last from Mobile Bay, just as we were about sailing. Our trip across the Gulf of Mexico had nothing of special interest till on Tuesday morning we sighted land, the island “Del Padre” or Father’s Island, as we would say, and at 9 o’clock we dropped anchor at Brazos.

My letter from Fort Morgan left us expecting to disembark the next morning, and the entry in my diary for Friday, the 9th, is “Disembarked at Mary Cove, Mississippi Steamer Swaim. Sand-flies. Swimming in the surf. Roast pork at the Hotel de Lawrence. Soiree dansante—minstrels—model artists—midnight orgies on the beach—school house.”

To you, that collection of disjointed phrases is suggestive of bedlam, I presume. To me it is suggestive of a day long to be remembered for its unique pleasures. “Mississippi Steamer Swaim” recalls the image of the craft that took us off the Illinois to the wharf at Mary Cove—a lumbering awkward looking steamer, that could turn one wheel forward and the other back at the same time—that made a smoke suggestive of inferno—and that coughed like a consumptive Titan. “Sand-flies” is a compound word, and sand-flies themselves are a compound of all the disagreeable qualities of mosquitoes, fleas, lice, gnats and bedbugs. They are so small they are almost invisible till they bite, and it is no pleasure to kill them for they stand still to be killed with perfect equanimity, and for every one you kill ten more take his place. The only things to keep them away are mud and tobacco. We had a few of them at Mary Cove.

“Swimming in the surf” recalls a pleasant two hours of sea bathing, when big waves combed over us, or tossed us high on the beach, and when the sharks kept at their proper distance, which we were afraid they wouldn’t.

“Roast pork at the Hotel de Lawrence” recalls our dinner. We had gone on shore expecting to starve, or live on salt air till the next day, but the adjutant and I with our usual inquisitive spirit, started on a prospecting tour, and catching a glimpse of some “delaine” that did not look exactly like the “cracker” style, we ran alongside, took a reef in our topsails, saluted, and invited ourselves to dinner in an insinuating way. Of course, ourselves included the colonel and major. We soon found that Mrs. Lawrence was a southern lady, the wife of an officer in our navy, who hailed from Boston, and that the lady and her two daughters and niece had just come from Boston, where they had been living since the war began. That Mrs. L. had kept a hotel in Pensacola, appeared from her conversation. That she had kept a good one was evident from the dinner she got up for us.

Soiree dansante recalls the evening. Imagine our surprise in finding in that low cottage by the sea, half buried in the sand, a piano, and a girl who could play with taste and skill, one who had played on the great Boston organ. We found it; we sent for our band after tea; we sent for the violins and guitar from the string band, and our “choir” came too. We had music, songs and dancing. At the first squeak of the viol, the girls said it sounded familiar, which was a hint that could not be resisted by a soldier. The floor was cleared and a cotillion formed in a reasonable time. Once the spell was broken there was no stopping it till the “wee sma’ hours.” The tall form of the colonel, with his riding boots, went round and round the mater-familias in stately Lancers or lively quadrille. Schottische and waltz pleased the daughters better, and we had a good time all round.

“Midnight orgies on the beach” recalls the bath before the bed in the school house. We enjoyed that surf some after being cooped up on a ship for more than a week, and then we slept in a school house. The very idea was novel, but we were not in Virginia, and they do have some school houses in Alabama, I believe.

Well, I have enlarged pretty well on that little page, but I have not written half those few disjointed words suggest to me.

The Gulf is full of sharks and the fierce monsters have been following us ever since we left Mobile. Yesterday we caught one about thirteen feet long, and raised him out of the water, but he straightened the hook and got away.

Last night at sunset we had a burial at sea. One of the men of Company F died and as it was impossible to land, and we could not keep the body, it was buried in the deep. The body was sewed up in a blanket and placed on a board on the guards of the ship, with heavy weights at the feet. The band played a dirge, the chaplain read the Episcopal service for burial at sea, and when he came to the words, “We commit his body to the deep.” the plank was lifted and the body descended with a sullen plunge to the bottom of the ocean.

U. S. Steamer Illinois, off Brazos de Santiago, Texas,

Thursday, June 15, 1865.

Dear Father:—

I have a few minutes in which to write a continuation of my note from Mobile Bay. The Illinois returns to New York to-morrow, or sails for there via New Orleans, and I must send by her.

We disembarked near Fort Morgan on Friday the 9th. Found on shore a family from Boston, with a piano and girls fond of music and dancing, and enjoyed ourselves immensely. Re-embarked the next morning and sailed at noon. Our trip across the Gulf had nothing of interest till on Tuesday morning we sighted land, the Isla del Padre, and at 9 o’clock anchored off Brazos. There are only nine feet of water on the bar, and as our ship draws nineteen, we could not get over and it has been too rough to transfer the men to a lighter till to-day, when we got them off on a schooner, though it was a perilous job. I expected to see at least one or two drowned, but they all got off in safety. I remain to unload the rations and stores, and seize the time the schooner is off to write my note.

Our brigade is to remain with division headquarters at Brazos. One of the other brigades is at Corpus Christi and one at Indianola. Brazos is an island at the mouth of the Rio Grande. Seven miles down the coast on the other side is Bagdad in Mexico, where several thousand French and Imperialist Mexicans are camped. One of our regiments will guard the ford, and as soon as I can get time I am going across to see how they look.

Brazos has not much to recommend it as a pleasant place to garrison, but we shall build barracks and live within ourselves and enjoy ourselves, I make no doubt. The worst feature is that we must use condensed water. I shall be busy for a time in fitting up, and in making up my papers, but I hope to have time to write some letters, and I hope some of you will write to me at least once a week. Change the address from Washington to New Orleans, but make no other changes.

June 15th. Nothing special has taken place since the last date. Public auction in town today. All government property must be sold. An agent here in charge. Horses, mules, saddles, wagons, ambulances. Some of our company have been on duty and in charge of the corral for several days. Will be glad to see the thing closed up. Some of the horses and mules were kickers, as well as some of our boys, who did not like that kind of work.

June 15th.

Our Confederacy has gone with one crash — the report of the pistol fired at Lincoln.

THE END

Reading this for the first time, in all these many years, I wish to bear record that God never failed me, through stranger vicissitudes than I ever dared record. Whatever the anguish, whatever the extremity, in His own good time He ever delivered me. So that I bless Him to-day for all of life’s joys and sorrows — for all He gave — for all He has taken —and I bear witness that it was all Very Good.

Sarah Morgan Dawson.

July 23d, 1896.

Charleston,

South Carolina.

Thursday, 15th—The men found so much fault with our camp on the low ground and made so much complaint about it at headquarters that our division was ordered to move to higher ground. We moved today to a large piece of sparsely-timbered land, high and rolling, where we will have a fine camp. It is about two miles south of Louisville. The Fourteenth Army Corps and one division of the Twentieth Corps, with the exception of the eastern men in these two corps, have arrived at Louisville.

June 15th, 1865.—Once more the family are every one well and this is a truly delightful state of affairs. Ever “sence freedom drapped,” as the negroes say, we have not been permitted to ride horseback without a gentleman with us. Sometimes it was not convenient to find one and often we could not go but we young folks have determined to turn over a new leaf. We have made up our minds to drown our troubles in a sea of gaiety and with that end in view, we have organized a Riding Company, a Shakespeare Club, a Bezique Club and once a month a regular Dancing Party. This party to be held at whichever home in the neighborhood wanted us most.

The Riding Company will be commanded by Major Henry Bradford, late of the Confederate States Army. Being a cavalryman, he will be able to give us lessons in the cavalry drill.

The Bezique Club is a very informal affair. We have a handsome imported set of Bezique and any number can play it, but we also play any other game, which my be desired. Sad to relate, cards are looked upon with great disfavor in the neighborhood. Only at Pine Hill can the Bezique Club meet. It meets just any time the members please, the only proviso being that the cards must be put aside before eleven o’clock.

The Club, par excellence, is the Shakespeare Club; nobody objects to this as classical knowledge never comes amiss. To be a student of the Bard of Avon is a hall mark in the literary world. We have arranged to meet every two weeks, first at one house in the Bradford neighborhood and next and next, until the round has been made. The various housekeepers have volunteered to provide a fine supper for the Shakespeare Club at all their meetings.

Here is a secret, to be told to none, just yet; the Bezique Club will have suppers provided, too; not only on stated nights, but whenever they chance to meet. Father and Mother are the very most indulgent parents in the world.