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

Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

May 29, 1865.—I arrived in Mobile on the 27th, having left Newnan on the 17th instant, in company with Captain Nutt, his wife and three children. Captain Cloud, one of General Morgan’s squadron, and about six of Captain Nutt’s men, were of the party. I regretted leaving Newnan, as I have many good and true friends there; among them my kind friend, Dr. Hughes. He intends starting for his home in Kentucky in a few days. The failure of our cause has been a sad blow to him. He is one of those who was willing to suffer much more than he had already, so we had gained our independence.

I had concluded to go to Atlanta, and see if the Federal commander there knew of any way to send me on, as I had been told they were sending refugees back to their homes. While getting ready, Captain Nutt, and Captain Butler, our old commissary, called and told me, if I wished, I could go with Captain N. and his family; they were going to West Point in the cars, and Captain B. would have a wagon waiting there to take them to Montgomery. I was only too thankful to accept the kind offer. Dr. Hughes very kindly disposed of my whisky, and received three dollars and fifty cents, all the money I had in my possession, with the exception of a one dollar greenback that Dr. Bateman had given me as a memento; he had picked it up on the battle-field of Chickamauga.

As we were to be some time on the road, I set my wits to work to see what I could hunt up in the way of provisions. I went to Mrs. Dr. Redwine, and she promised to give me what she could. I then tried to get some eggs, and other things, for the sheets I had with me, but did not succeed. I found it impossible to sell them, as there was no money about. Bartering was the order of the day.

I went to see Mrs. Nutt, and had a hearty laugh at her; she was so earnest, bartering away for food every little household article she had. One calico dress, which she was trying to dispose of, she paid the moderate sum of five hundred dollars for. A friend told me she had paid five hundred dollars for a calico dress, six hundred for a pair of cotton cards, and twenty for a bar of brown soap.

The morning I started, Mrs. Brooks had some nice ham, cake, and biscuit ready for me. Mrs. Redwine sent the same. Mrs. Dr. Reesse brought me a present of some cakes and eggs; Dr. Berry, some ham. On the whole I was pretty well supplied, considering the times.

Many of my friends came to see me off; Miss Taylor, her sister, Mrs. Brooks, and Dr. Hughes. I remarked that I should ever remember Newnan with pleasure, as every one had been so kind. A friend answered me, saying that my opinion was different from that of some soldiers lately there; they said it was the meanest place on the earth.

A little while before the armistice, our cavalry, passing through there, begged corn for their horses, but got none. As soon as the enemy came on their last raid, the same people who refused our men sold corn to the Federals; but perhaps the people were very much in want of the money.

We got on the freight train, and after starting, the conductor came for our fare. He charged me four dollars to go to West Point; that took all the money I had except fifty cents. I forgot for the moment that I had been in the service, and did not tell the conductor, or, I expect he would not have charged any thing.

We reached West Point about two hours before sunset, and such a scene as I saw there I never shall forget. The river was gliding as smoothly as if the enemy had never been there to disturb the quiet. The fine bridge that spanned it had been destroyed, and every way the eye turned was ruin and desolation. The depot and warehouse were a pile of blackened bricks. The banks were covered with the men of our army returning to their homes. The faded gray uniform was seen every-where. There were some half a dozen “blue-coats” standing by themselves, as much alone as if they had been in the Desert of Sahara, instead of in the midst of a people whom they claimed to have conquered. I almost pitied their loneliness. I thought they looked ashamed of themselves; or, rather, as if they had been guilty of a wrong for which they were sorry.

We had to remain some few hours on the banks of the river, as there was nothing to take us across but a flat and a few small boats. The scene was a most impressive one. I wish I had been gifted with the pencil of an artist, so I could have drawn a picture. Nature never looked more beautiful to me, and when the setting sun flung his rays over the grand old trees and scattered groups, as if to remind us that there was something more than the present, which no foe could take away:

 

“A vision fell solemn and sweet,

Bringing gleams of a morning-lit land;

I saw the white shore which the pale waters beat,

And I heard the low lull as they broke at their feet,

Who walked on this beautiful strand.

 

And I wondered why spirits should cling

To their clay, with a struggle and sigh,

When life’s purple autumn is better than spring,

And the soul flies away, like a sparrow, to sing

In a climate where leaves never die.”

 

The whole scene reminds me of the children of Israel sitting on the banks of the Euphrates:

 

“Insulted, chain’d, and all the world a foe,

Our God alone is all we boast below.”

 

The last time I was there we were suffering, but free. Some other families and ourselves were the last to cross over. In the crowd were two young ladies, who seemed to be returning home. They evidently had run with their valuables from some of the raids; with them were two negro women, who had charge of their trunks. A Federal officer, who seems to be the post commandant, was standing near this group. One of the young ladies pointed to a trunk, and told the servant to take care of it, as it was filled with silver. The negro said to her, please speak lower, as the Yankees will hear you, and steal it. I looked at the officer, but he never raised his head. Perhaps the remark hit him!

We put up at a large hotel, which we were told the enemy had left standing in pity for the proprietor, Mr. Camp, who had both of his eyes shot out while helping to defend the place at the time of its capture. I have been told that at that time the garrison in the fort consisted of seventy-five men of Massingale’s battery. The citizens, old men and boys, amounting to about forty, joined them. They defended it manfully, for six hours, against twenty-five hundred of the enemy. We lost fifteen in killed, and some wounded. The enemy destroyed two bridges, the depot, some very valuable flour mills, and other property.

My money being all gone, Captain Nutt kindly offered to pay my expenses. He had got his money by selling two horses. Some of the rebels kept up a great noise all night, singing “Dixie,” and hurrahing for Jeff. Davis. I thought they would have to be informed that they were “whipped” as they did not seem to be aware of the fact.

The next morning, the 18th, we were aroused by the information that we could go a few miles further on a wood-car. As the expected wagon was not there, Captain Nutt resolved to take the car. In the hurry of leaving, woman-like, Mrs. N. forgot a very precious bottle of camphor, and I took a coffee-pot full of coffee, and ran with it. When the conductor came for our fare, I told him who I was; he said, all right, and passed on. We had quite a pleasant ride, as we had the full benefit of the breeze.

Our next stopping-place was on the banks of a creek or river. The bridge having shared the fate of the others, we had to cross in a small boat. The owner would take nothing but Confederate money as ferriage, and charged seventy dollars. Captain Cloud said he felt like giving three cheers for the Confederacy, as there still seemed to be a spot of it left.

We climbed a very steep hill, which was hard on the children. Captain Nutt’s men carried my baggage, which consisted of a trunk and a large bundle. Mrs. N., like a true soldier, had none but what she could carry in her hand.

After walking about a mile, we came to a house inside of a very pretty park. We went into the park, and remained there nearly all day. The house was large, and some two or three hundred yards from the road. The trees around it were magnificent, and put me in mind of dear old Tennessee. The sun was in a cloud, and the breeze blew delightfully through the trees, which had a very soothing effect after our hot walk. The park was filled with other stragglers besides ourselves, rebels returning to their homes. Many of them stretched themselves on the grass to rest, as they had doubtless done many times in camp. We looked like a real band of gipsies; Captain C. and myself called Mrs. N. the queen. As we knew no way of getting on, we were “trusting to luck,” for something to “turn up.”

Captain C. is a Kentuckian, and was outlawed by the governor of that state. He seemed much grieved because he could not go home to see his mother and sisters.

He related many an incident about his late general, John Morgan; said he arrived at the place where the general was killed a little while after the deed was done. When the men heard of their general’s death, they wept like children:

 

“A child will weep at bramble’s smart,

A maid to see her sparrow part,

A stripling for a woman’s heart;

But woe awaits a country, when

She sees the tears of bearded men.”

 

Not even the noble Douglas himself had the hearts of his countrymen more than had this dauntless chief.

Captain Nutt was a lawyer in Shreveport, Louisiana, and entered the army at the first call of his country. He commanded a company of scouts, and saw service in the Virginia and Tennessee armies; he was wounded and a good while a prisoner. His wife went through the lines and remained with him until he was released. She told me that, on arriving at Richmond on her return south, the ladies crowded around her, she expecting the first question to be, how is our cause progressing in the North? but no, the fashions were all they cared for. She became so thoroughly disgusted with them that she wrote a letter to Vice-president Stevens on the subject, asking him to comment on it, and have the whole published; but she had looked in vain for the appearance of the article in the papers.

Mrs. N. is a true southern woman, and when she had the good of the cause in view, could not be daunted. I could not but compare her to the wife of Pantheus, that noble Spartan woman who followed her husband to Africa, and after his death met hers with so much fortitude.

We commented a good deal upon a report that was going the rounds: It seems that before the surrender of Richmond the dead-letter bag was opened, and on reading the letters from the soldiers’ wives, nearly all were begging the men to desert! Many of the gentlemen now are blaming the women for our failure. I do not altogether agree with them, for I think if the truth was wholly known, the rich people who remained at home and did nothing for the soldiers’ families, are greatly to blame. In the afternoon the gentlemen managed to procure a wagon which took all the baggage and the children.

There was a party from Helena, Arkansas, who, like ourselves, were trying to get home. The wife and child of one of the gentlemen rode in the wagon; Mrs. N. and myself preferred walking.

A little while before dark we reached a small town, called Cussetta. There was but one hotel in the place, and it has left an indelible impression on my mind time will never efface. It was in a most dilapidated condition, and when the children walked on the upper gallery they ran the risk of falling into the street. We were given two rooms which opened on the gallery. The floors were so covered with tobacco spit and other filth, that even to walk on them with thick shoes was disagreeable. As it was the only shelter here we had to put up with it. We had our own edibles with us, so got along pretty well.

Our Arkansas friends were at the same hotel with us. They told me that the loyal people of Arkansas had suffered much by the war. The lady had an aunt who was an invalid, and lived in a beautiful house surrounded by all the comforts of home. Some of the enemy went to her house, and without any provocation, except her southern proclivities, carried her out, and fired her house. Such things were quite common.

Riding one day with a very beautiful young lady from that state, she told me that many a time she had stood at her room window, and saw our troops shoot down these vandals, and with great vehemence she said, “I clapped my hands with delight, when I saw the robbers fall.” I looked at her, as she spoke, in wonder that any one so gentle and lovely could feel such hate, and I made a few remarks on the subject. She said, “Yes, it is all very well for you to talk thus, you who have never known the wrongs that we have had to endure; you know nothing about the war.” She was about right; for as much trouble as I have seen, I have been spared the evil of ever coming in contact with the enemy except as prisoners.

Hundreds of rebels passed and re-passed all the time. Some were from Lee’s army, going south, others from the Mississippi and Gulf department, going north. They were much quieter than might have been supposed. One band of them occupied an empty store, near us, and sang hymns nearly all night. General Allen and his staff, with some wagons, passed. I bought two ounces of coffee from a woman who had a pound of it, and paid her twenty cents in silver. Captain N. replenished his larder. He bought some nice fried chickens from a farmer, who also gave us a pitcher of sweet milk. We left this delectable place, in a wagon, on the 20th, much relieved to get away from it. Arrived at Opelaka the same day, and was disappointed at finding no way of getting on further. General Bragg and his staff stopped awhile there. As they were to pass through Tuskeega they kindly offered to take my baggage in their wagon. They would have taken us, but their horses were almost broken down, having come so far. Captain N.’s men then left us, as we had no idea when we should get away from there, and they were anxious to return to their homes. They were all from Louisiana, and had been with the captain through the whole campaign. They fairly venerated him, and told me that he had cared for them as if they had been his relatives. I was grateful for their kindness to me on this trip. I found them, as I have nearly always found the southern soldiers, true gentlemen. Opelaka is sixty-seven miles from Montgomery; is a post village of Russell county. A railroad runs from there to Columbus, Georgia. The enemy seemed to have done little damage there in the way of destroying private property. The depot and warehouses were in ruins; and we saw the remains of a number of cars; their ruins were to be seen all along the road.

We took a walk in the afternoon around the fortifications. Quite a large fort commanded the Columbus and Montgomery road. As far as the eye could reach, the trees had been cut down to prevent the enemy from having a cover. We saw another fort; it enclosed a very pretty house. There are three or four churches there: the Episcopal, Methodist, Baptist, and I believe, a Presbyterian. Dr. Hedges, of New Orleans, lives near there, and has charge of the Episcopal Church. He had an appointment elsewhere, so the church was closed on Sunday the 21st.

I spoke to some men returning from Mississippi. They looked weary and sick. One had been wounded in his foot. They had been with the army in Mobile, and told me there had been no fighting in the city; which information relieved my mind a good deal.

Many Confederate soldiers passed us, with their clothes in rags, and almost barefooted. At any time, on looking down the road, these poor fellows could be seen, wending their weary way home. The sad remnant of a brave but unfortunate army.

The hotel we put up at was a great contrast to the one we had just left, as all about it was neat and clean.

On the 22d a locomotive and tender came from Columbus, Georgia, to take us a little further. While getting ready to start, the gentleman told Mrs. N. and myself to hurry, or we should not get a place, as there were so many soldiers going, and southern chivalry was played out. But they were mistaken; for as soon as we made our appearance the soldiers made room for us.

We crowded the engineer so much that he could scarcely work the engine. After going a short distance we came across two freight cars, and coupled them on the engine—fortunate for us, as in a few minutes afterward a heavy shower of rain fell. In the car were a number of officers, Mississippians.

It was quite amusing to hear all giving their opinions as to the cause of our failure; each having his own ideas on the subject. The merits and demerits of our generals were fully discussed; and as to forming an opinion of them from what we hear, is simply out of the question. I have heard some say that Lee was no general, and that Johnston was much his superior. Another says the reverse; and some, that Morgan did us more harm than good. I repeated the remark of a friend, that he believed General Bragg was one of our best generals; and a gentleman answered, that my friend must be deranged. I replied, that perhaps he would say the same of him.

Our conversation next turned on Napoleon. From some remark I made about him, a friend said, he did not think I liked him. I answered, that I could not glorify him as I heard many do, though no one could help being struck with awe and admiration at his meteor-like genius. But I could not like any man who made ambition his god, and every thing subservient to his love of power; and one who had broken the most sacred tie on earth, and waded through the best blood of his countrymen to gain it; thereby bringing woe and desolation where, had he loved glory less, and his country more, would have been peace and prosperity. I might have told him that I disliked him for the same reason that the children of to-day, in after years, may hate the Federals; as my mother’s father was imprisoned by him many years. And when I thought of our hatred toward our enemy of to-day, another circumstance came up before me: The forefathers of perhaps all those about me then, had fought against mine; and my fraternal grandfather, when a midshipman, was captured by the redoubtable Paul Jones. By the way, here is another proof that the colonies had foreign aid, for Paul Jones was a Scotchman, and his familiarity with the rocks and shoals around his native coast made him the successful privateer that he was there.

After we had gone some few miles we came to a creek, and got out. The bridge here had been a very large one. In its destruction the main portion of it had fallen into the water, which made a pathway for us to go on. We met some soldiers, who carried the children over. They were fine-looking men from Missouri. They were outlawed by their own state, and were on their way to join Kirby Smith. Mrs. N. and myself remained on the bank of the creek while Captain N. went in search of a conveyance to take us to Tuskeega, some four miles distant. The name of this place was Chehaw. In wandering along the banks I came across two springs of delightful, cool water, which was a great treat, as the day was very warm. Near the springs was a pathway over which the trees and shrubbery made a dense covering, which the sun’s rays could scarcely penetrate. The whole scene was wild and solemn. I gazed at the ruins the enemy had made round it, and thought how beautiful were all of God’s works till man defaced them!

Mrs. N. and I were so much pleased with the prospect, that we concluded to remain there all night if the captain failed to get a conveyance, as we were both going home without having ever “camped out.” The grass was so green and fresh-looking, compared with the floors of the hotel at Cusetta, that the fear of getting into another such a house made us firmer in our resolution. After staying there some few hours, Captain N. came back, unsuccessful, but said there was a small house near, where we could go. In vain we protested against leaving our rural retreat, but the captain was inexorable, and said if we remained there all night we would have chills by next morning, so we had to obey our commander, pack up our “truck,” and go. The sun was very hot, and we had some quarter of a mile to walk. The children, three little girls, (the oldest eight years of age,) stood the journey like soldiers, with the exception of the youngest, (a little beauty, named Nannie,) who broke down when half way to the house. Her mother told her that she was no “rebel” if she cried in that way. We remained at that house some few hours. There was no one in it except one or two negroes, who were in the kitchen. The rebels were still on the go, returning to their respective homes. One, from Lee’s army, a fine-looking young man, badly wounded in the arm, came into the house to rest. The merits of our respective generals was again the subject of discussion. When the young man heard General Lee disparaged, I thought we were going to have a battle; but it was only one of words, and did no harm. The young man said, the first thing he intended doing, after he arrived home, was to get married. I heard many of the soldiers say the same.

At a little before sundown, Captain N. procured a wagon. The children, Captain C, (who was suffering from the effects of an old wound, and could scarcely walk,) and myself got in. Mrs. and Captain N. walked. We went, at what is termed, “snail’s pace.” There were three mules drawing us, that had been on the go all day. When half way on the road we stopped at a very pretty place. The inmates were refugees, from Kentucky, old friends of Captain N.’s. They came out to see us, and brought us some nice fresh water. Our driver was a good old negro man, and a member of the Methodist Church, and seemed very religious. We arrived at Tuskeega about 10 o’clock at night. As we entered the town we were greeted by the perfume of the cape jasmine, which filled the air. We put up at a nice hotel, where we had pure coffee, and, in fact, the table was supplied with every thing to be had in peace times. It was kept by an excellent gentleman, Mr. Kelly, whose son had just returned from General Forrest’s army. Captain C. and he were old friends.

On the 23d, the gentleman tried to get a wagon to take us the rest of our journey, but failed; so we had to make the best of our lot, and remained contented, hoping that some good genius would send us a conveyance.

Tuskeega is the capital of Macon county, Alabama, and is forty miles east-by-north from Montgomery. It is a pretty town, and has some very fine buildings in it, and an excellent college for the education of young ladies. The flower gardens exceeded every thing for beauty I had ever beheld. I never saw the cape jasmine in such profusion.

I walked through the place with our host’s daughter, and I think I met more pretty girls than I had ever seen before, and they were very gaily dressed. The people there have felt the war very little. Raiders passed through the town, from Montgomery, on their way to Columbus, Georgia, just before the war closed, but did little or no damage to the place, as they were in a hurry to reach Columbus. Some of the citizens, it seemed, had sent a petition to the commandant at Montgomery, requesting him to send Federal troops there to garrison the town. The windows of my room were near where a knot of men were seated. As I sat by it I could not help hearing their conversation. The majority of them were condemning the senders of the petition, as this was a quiet little town, and had no need of the garrison. One of the group was accused of having signed it, which he stoutly denied, but said he had never favored secession or the war.

While Captain C. and myself were in the parlor, looking over some books, a lady called on Miss K.; in the course of conversation the latter informed her that the Federals were expected to garrison the town. The lady replied, “I am so glad, as it will be such a nice change.” I looked at Captain C.; the blood mounted to his face, and he muttered between his teeth, “Is this the kind of women I have been fighting for?”

I called on Mrs. John Battle of Mobile, who has been living there for some years, to see if she could tell me anything about Mobile, or if she knew of any conveyance for us. She could give me no information, excepting that the enemy were behaving very well to the citizens of Mobile. She had suffered by the late raid. On hearing that they were coming, she had sent her carriage horses and other valuables into the woods; the horses and the negro man with them were captured; the negro made his escape, and brought the intelligence that the Federals could not get the horses to work under the saddle, and had shot them.

We left Tuskeega on the 26th, in a wagon without a cover; but we had two very large umbrellas. We started about an hour before sunrise, and the first thing that greeted our sight, on leaving the town, was the Federal encampment; they had arrived the night before, and were busy getting breakfast. I looked at them through curiosity, as this was the first camp of them I had seen, excepting as prisoners. The rest of the party gazed into vacancy rather than look at them. They had some negro women and children with them, the most squalid and miserable looking creatures I ever beheld. We met some few negro men going to join them. The negro boy that drove us made a good deal of fun of them for going, and told them they had better keep away, as the Yankees were hanging all the darkies they could catch; and that we had just seen some hanging as we passed. We met an old man hobbling to them; the owner of the wagon was with us, and told us that this old man had been treated by his owner as one of his own family.

About 12 o’clock A. M., we stopped at a charming spot, where there was a delightful grove of oaks. There we alighted, for the purpose of taking dinner and resting in the shade. I went to a house near, and the lady of it gave me the privilege of making coffee. She also gave us a large pitcher of sweet milk, for which she would take no money. I think her name was Elder. She related a horrible tragedy that had lately happened near there. A negro woman killed her little child so that she might with greater facility go to the Federals; her negro companions, without trial, burned her.

After resting for awhile we started on our journey, and two or three times came near having a disaster, the mules taking fright at the dead horses and cattle of all kinds that strewed the way; the enemy had killed what they had no use for. Some parts of the road were very bad, and we could scarcely drag through it.

We met hundreds of negro men, women, and children, returning to their homes from Montgomery, where they had been with the Federals, and had had a taste of freedom; and to judge from their looks it had brought them any thing else but happiness. As we journeyed along we sang the laments of Ireland, as they best accorded with our feelings. Moore’s and Campbell’s songs were duly appreciated. We felt that the “Exile of Erin” and “Tara’s Halls” described realities. Our conversation was not at all cheerful. We spoke of the terrible past and the gloomy future. Some say that it is a disgrace to be living after our country has gone.

Even the wind had a melancholy sound, and seemed to sigh and moan through the woods as if lamenting with us o’er our buried hopes, and the graves of that unconquered band of heroes, whose names are radiant with immortality:

 

“The flowers of the forest, that fought, aye the foremost,

The prime of our land are cauld in the clay.

 

We’ll hear na mair liltin, at the ewe milkin,

Women and bairns are heartless and wao;

Sighin and moanin on ilka green loamin,

The flowers of the forest are a wede away.”

 

We commented on the cause of our failure; first one thing was blamed for it, then another. There is no doubt but we as a whole might have done better, but it would only have prolonged the war, for the North, with a determination which seemed demoniacal, was bent on our subversion. Why the enemy were permitted to work their fiendish purposes, is still in oblivion. The unfolding future will lift the vail which is enveloping us, and then, I trust, all shall be revealed. “God is his own interpreter.” Let us trust him for his grace, and remember that “no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.”

As we neared Montgomery the country presented a rich appearance. We passed quite a number of plantations, with very neat houses on them, and luxuriant flower gardens; some few of the houses were magnificent buildings. The whole wore an air of prosperity; the evil effects of the war had certainly not been felt there.

We had heard so much about the ladies of Montgomery and Mobile having given the Federals a warm reception, that we were disposed to accuse every lady we met on the road of the same crime, and take every man we met for a Yankee.

Some members of our party were bitter against the Alabama girls for acting as report said they had done. A very beautiful girl passed us on horseback, accompanied by a fine-looking young man. They were certain the latter was a Yankee. To be sure of it, they stopped and asked a lady and gentleman who were passing, and were told that he had been a Confederate staff officer. We next passed a company of ladies and gentlemen, who seemed to be a bridal party. They concluded directly that an Alabama girl had been marrying a Yankee. I found it useless to try and defend the women of my state against such ocular proof of their guilt.

The woods and roadside were filled with wild flowers; we saw numbers of the sensitive plant in full bloom, and the flower of it is very beautiful. We saw many trees with the same leaf and flower, only much larger. We pulled some of the branches, and found that the leaves did not close like the plant’s. This tree in full bloom was gorgeous.

At dark we stopped at a house about twelve miles from Montgomery. It was untenanted, but we found some negroes in the kitchen who gave us an unfurnished room to lodge in for the night. An old negress brought us in a mattress from her own bed and put it on the floor. Mrs. N. spread a blanket for the children; the gentlemen lodged in the hall. I did not like the idea of sleeping on the mattress, but Mrs. N. did not seem to mind it; as it was the best we could get, and we were weary with our days jolting, we wrapped ourselves in our shawls and slept on it very soundly.

We got up at 4 o’clock the next morning, 27th instant—it was dark as Erebus— and started on our journey. When within a short distance of Montgomery, we came to the Federal encampment, and the headquarters of the commanding general, where the gentlemen had to have their paroles inspected. They did not remain long, and on their return said they were politely treated.

The Federals displayed good taste in selecting their camp ground. It was on a slight eminence and amidst the finest forest of trees I ever beheld. The sun was an hour high, and its golden rays came glimmering through the trees, mantling them with a flood of glory. As we rode on, camp after camp came in view, filled with the mighty host, who had taken this fair heritage from us. The men with us said little or nothing. They seemed to be trying to keep from giving utterance to the indignation they felt at seeing their native land in the hands of the conqueror.

 

“The soldier’s hope, the patriot’s zeal,

Forever dimmed, forever cross’d—

O, who shall say what heroes feel

When all but life and honor’s lost!”

 

O, I felt so sad! visions of the terrible past would rise in review before me—the days, weeks and months of suffering I had witnessed—and all for naught. Many a boyish and manly face, in the full hey-day of life and hope, now lying in the silent tomb. But it is not the dead we must think of now:

 

“They live immortal, and for them

We need not drop the tear;

Each wears a golden diadem,

In a celestial sphere.

 

But we must weep—ay, deeply mourn

For our own selves bereft;

The priesthood from our altars torn,

Our homes in darkness left;

The widowed and the orphan band,

On fate’s rude waters toss’d,

Weep for the anguish-stricken land

That such great souls has lost!”

We were a solemn company as we rode into Montgomery, and the sights greeting us there did not by any means dispel the gloom. The stars and stripes were floating over many of the large buildings. Federal officers and privates were standing in groups and thronging the streets.

We stopped at the Exchange Hotel, and found in the parlor quite a number of refugees—French people—returning to New Orleans. With all the characteristics of that light-hearted people, they were playing the piano and singing, apparently enjoying themselves, just as if there never had been one dark hour in our sunny land. I do not know but that this cheerfulness displayed a good deal of wisdom. They had done their duty—had failed—found it was vain to repine for what was already gone, and were

 

“Acting in the living present,

Heart within and God o’erhead.”

 

Captain N. concluded to go to Mobile by the river. I made up my mind to take the cars, being much the quickest way. I was very anxious to reach home, as I had not heard from there for three months. To add to my anxiety, news had reached Montgomery of a terrible gunpowder explosion in Mobile. Captain N. had paid out a good deal of money on my account, and I wished to repay him before leaving. I had an order for transportation, with which I hoped to get a ticket from the Federals to take me on the cars. Handing my order to Capt . N., I called on Mrs. Dr. Scott to see if I could not borrow enough to pay my debts, but I found her as poor as myself. She had been in the possession of five dollars, made from selling vegetables, but had given it to the doctor, who had gone to Pensacola, with naught but that large amount to pay his way.

She introduced me to Colonel Jones, superintendent of the Pensacola road, who told me if I could not get my passage from the Federals, he would give me a note to Mr. Jourden, the superintendent of the Mobile and Great Northern Railroad, and I could pay him on my arrival in that city.

Mrs. Scott told me that the people in Montgomery had suffered much by the Federal soldiers.

She had been nearly frightened to death by a negro soldier. He demanded all her valuables; and when she refused, he cursed her, and held his drawn sword over her head, threatening to kill her. She thinks, had it not been for her seeming bravery and a negro servant-woman who stood by and protected her, he would have done so. She had a guard around her house for days afterward. A horse was stolen from her by some of the soldiers. On informing the commanding general, he gave her another in return. She has lost a great deal by the war, but she has only shared the fate of many, many others.

I was told there was a great deal of destitution in the city. People that were wealthy before the close of the war were then living on rations drawn from the Federals.

From all I heard and saw I do not believe that the ladies of Montgomery were accepting any attentions from the Federals. I scarcely saw one while there, and the last time I passed through the streets were thronged with them.

I believe there was little or no fighting at the capture of Montgomery; so it did not suffer like Selma, which I am told is in ruins. The Presbyterian clergyman of that place was killed in the trenches, and many other citizens. Mr. Ticknor, the Episcopal clergyman, was wounded, and a friend told me that, after the place had been surrendered, the enemy went to Mr. Ticknor’s house and demanded some valuables that Mrs. T. had laid away, and whipped her till she was compelled to give them up. They did the same to many other ladies. The same friend told me that she saw the blood running in streams through the streets of Selma, from hundreds of slaughtered cattle. The enemy killed those they did not need, so we would have none to use for farming purposes.

Captain N. failed in getting transportation for me, so Colonel Jones very kindly gave me the order which he had promised. I went back to the hotel as empty-handed as I left it, so I could not pay my kind friend what I owed him.

I looked at my roll of Confederate money, and put it away with a sigh. Memories of what it once was came crowding upon me. Now

 

[1]” Representing nothing in God’s earth below,

And naught in the water beneath it;

As the pledge of a nation that’s dead and gone,

Keep it, dear captain, and show it;

Show it to those who will lend an ear

To the tale that this paper can tell—

Of liberty born, of the patriot’s dream,

Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.

 

Too poor to possess the precious ores,

And too much a stranger to borrow,

We issued to-day our promise to pay,

And hoped to redeem on the morrow.

The days rolled by, and the weeks became years,

But our coffers were empty still;

Coin was so rare the treasury did quake

If a dollar should drop in the till.

 

But the faith that was in us was strong indeed;

And our poverty well we discerned;

And this little check represented the pay

That our suffering veterans earned.

We knew it had hardly a value in gold,

Yet as gold the soldiers received it;

It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay,

And each patriot soldier believed it.

 

But our boys thought little of price or pay,

Or of bills that were over due;

We know that if it brought us our bread to-day,

‘T was the best our poor country could do.

Keep it, it tells all our history over,

From the birth of the dream to its last;

Modest, and born of the angel Hope,

Like our hope of success it has passed.

 

I left Montgomery on the 26th, and the roads were so bad that I thought at one time we should never get to the end of our journey. It was a dreary trip to me, as, being left alone to my sad thoughts, I could more fully realize than ever before the state of our affairs. As we neared Mobile my heart sank within me at the desolate appearance of every thing. The explosion had laid whole squares in ruins, and destroyed a number of steamboats. Instead of the carriages and crowds of familiar faces that used to grace the landing on the approach of the steamer, nothing was to be seen but “blue coats,” cannon, and ammunition of all kinds.

On reaching home I found my family all well. My brother, along with his company, had done good service at Spanish Fort. The company lost, in killed, James W. Sampson, a brave youth, who was a native of Mobile, and W. B. Anderson, an excellent young Scotchman, and also had several wounded. The Twenty-first Alabama Regiment lost, in killed, Fitz Ripley, William Martin, William Hartenett, and others.

The fort at Blakely and Spanish Fort, on the eastern shore, were erected after the fall of the forts on the lower bay for the defense of Appalachee River. General St. John Liddel, under General Maury, had command of those forts at the time of the siege. They were manned by veteran troops of Missouri, Texas, Arkansas, Georgia, Mississippi—indeed, nearly every state in the Confederacy was represented in them. The garrison was a mere handful of men, who withstood manfully, for seventeen days, the assaults of more than ten times their number, besides the fire of a formible fleet of gun-boats.

We lost heavily, but did not yield until our ammunition was nearly exhausted and our forces almost surrounded. Colonel William E. Burnett of Texas, chief of artillery, was killed in Spanish Fort. He is spoken of in the highest terms as having been a good and brave soldier. General Gibson, with his gallant band of Louisianians, was the last to leave the forts. I have been told that, after the surrender, the negro troops acted like demous, and slaughtered our troops on all sides; the white Federal soldiers had to turn on them and shoot them before they would desist. But we must draw a mantle over these horrors.

Many of our men waded through the sloppy marshes, and when they reached the city they were covered with mud, and many of them with blood. During the siege the people did all in their power to render assistance to the garrison, and many of the old men went over with refreshments for the men, and to take care of the wounded.

Mobile has acted nobly in this contest. The main portion of her arms-bearing citizens were in the field, and those who were incapable of taking the field worked assiduously in relieving the wants of those who were in it, and they did every thing that could be done for the relief of the poor in the city. Her hallowed dead can be numbered by the score; scarcely a family but is enshrouded by affliction for the loss of one or more loved ones. She has given up the very flower of her youth and manhood as an oblation on the altar of freedom. The history of Mobile is, I expect, the history of every city in the South.

I found that the people of Mobile had been sadly misrepresented, and that instead of the joyful welcome given by the citizens to the triumphant army, the town had the quietness of the grave. Scarcely a soul was to be seen in the streets, excepting negroes. Every blind was closed, and the whole place looked more as if the plague had entered it, instead of its deliverers, as they call themselves.

Since then, there are but two or three ladies who have countenanced the enemy in any way, and now their old friends will have nothing to say to them. The ladies take no more notice of the Federal officers than if they were invisible, and a friend told me that they say they would much rather that the ladies would give them impertinence than treat them as they do. They have a fine band of music, which plays on the public square; have reviews, and display their fine trappings; give receptions; but all has been in vain; with few exceptions, the ladies are true to their dead. The color of blue is wholly ignored. I heard one little girl crying bitterly because her mother was going to put a blue ribbon on her hat. She said the Yankees might take her for one of them.

The negroes are free: and the poor creatures are acting like children out on a frolic. The main portion of the women do little else than walk the streets, dressed in all kinds of gaudy attire. All are doing their own work, as a negro can not be hired at any price. But they have behaved much better than we had any right to expect, as they have been put up to all kinds of mischief by the enemy. Many of them seem to despise the Federals, and it is not much wonder, as they treat them so badly.

A lady told me that they robbed a poor old woman, that she had left in her house in the country, of every thing that she had. They have treated all who fell into their hands in the same way. As a rule the Federal soldiers have behaved very well to the citizens; they are any thing but exultant—and they need not be, when they consider that they succeeded by overwhelming numbers alone. They found that they could gain nothing by fighting themselves, so they hired foreigners, and at last had to take the darky; and Sambo boasts that the rebels could not be conquered until he took the field. Many think if we had put negroes into the army at the start, that we should have had another tale to tell to-day; and I am confident that if we had freed the negro, we would have had the aid of foreign powers. I believe now that Great Britain was consistent in her hatred to slavery. And she dreaded bringing war upon her people, as she knew more about its horrors than we did. In this I can not blame her. We all know that the majority of her people sympathized with us, and did much to render us aid. To be sure the northerners got men and ammunition from her, but then they had money, which is a lever even with Britons. But all is gone now, and we must try and “let the dead past bury its dead!”

This year has developed the fate of the South. Time has revealed the utter loss of all our hopes. A change must pass over every political and social idea, custom, and relation. The consummation makes the year just passed ever memorable in our annals. In it gathers all the interest of the bloody tragedy; from it begins a new era, midst poverty, tears, and sad memories of the past. O, may we learn the lesson that all of this is designed to teach; that all things sublunary are transient and fleeting, and lift our souls to that which is alone ever-during and immutable—God and eternity! And forgetting the past, save in the lessons which it teaches, let us, as admonished in the following lines, redeem the time, live humbly, and trust God for future good.

 

The Years of Time[2]

 

The years go by us like a trooping band

Of Pilgrim Prophets, chanting requiems

Or dirges o’er buried hopes and joys

They, mocking, promised. As, behind

Their tomb-ward feet, the dusty vail of dim

Forgetfulness enshrouds their paling forms,

We hear the dying tones of man’s sad hymn,

And the trampings of their muffled feet, far down

The Everlasting Aisles. They come like kings,

And go like skeletons. The one just passed

Wore blooded armor — clanging — treading o’er

A bleeding, tearful, horrified humanity.

This Nemesis of Time, with mailed hand,

Smote creeds and polities and forms of state—

It smote the true and beautiful and good—

It smote on sea and shore—on hill and plain—

It smote with brand and blade and hostile hosts,

Infernal enginery, and all that gold

And brain and energy of hate invoked

To wreak its ghastly will.

Remorseless war—

All pitiless and dire and big with woe—

Enwreathed the faded year with gory crowns,

Engorged its maw with brother’s flesh and blood,

Lit up its path with torch of burning homes—

With blazing trains of flying shot and shell—

With lurid Phlegethons from guns and mines,

And, midst a wasted empire, paused to con

Its work of blood. But—

Let its wailings die

Like echoes heard in childhood’s troubled dreams,

Think not of nameless graves; of agonies

From mothers, wives, and maidens wrung; of groans

From man’s great heart; of wasted hall and hut —

Prolific fields in wilderness. Let some divine

Nepenthe give a swift oblivion!

The Miserere ends. Its record is

With God. In solemn thought, the human heart

In silence ponders sorrow’s Epic past,

And waits, in faith, God’s future benedictions.

The year has gone for aye. Far down the steeps

Of ancient time it stalks, in aspect grim,

To join the Brotherhood of Centuries.

Behind it drop the leaves and flowers brushed

By sweepings of its dabbled robes; while winds

And waves and light and sounds and blasted hopes—

While griefs and tears and bursting shrieks, and groans

Call out to its departing form, “Leave us,

Thou messenger of ill!”

Another year—

Another cheat—with necromantic spells,

With visage wreathed in blandest smiles of hope,

Behind the screen of Future Life, invokes

Our faith. Shall we be credulous again,

And trust to bubbles, nothing at the touch?

Let disappointments disenchant our hearts,

And lift them up to God. Redeem the year

With self-suppressions, prayers, and high resolves!

Live humbly, trusting God for future good!

Live not for Time, but for Eternity. See far

Beyond these eddies of events—these hours

Of joy and years of pain — the guerdon bright—

Immortal youth and changeless love and peace

And ever growing thought and deep’ning fields

Of grandeur—angels, seraphs, jeweled hosts,

And uncreated light. O, man! O, worm!

O, quenchless soul! O, child of God! These, these,

Survive the passions, names, and deeds,

And proud report of man—survive the globe—

Survive the lofty stars and moon and sun—

Survive the years—survive the grave—survive

In God, the trophies of redeeming love.


[1] The Metropolitan Record, under the caption “Too Good to be Lost,” says that the lines above wore written on the back of a Confederate bill. In a late number of the Montgomery Advertiser we find them published as an original contribution.— The South.

[2] The above sublime and instructive poem, which appeared originally in the Louisville Journal, is from the pen of Rev. W. IH. Platt, the excellent and gifted rector of Calvary Church, Louisville, Kentucky. He was for many years rector of St. Paul’s Church, Petersburg, Virginia, at which place he resided during its eventful siege, and ministered to the spiritual wants of the brave Virginia army. His church was struck many times by shells, and one entered his house and fell within a few feet of his wife.

Sunday, May 14.—President Davis has been captured, and I am glad of it, as he can clear his fair fame from the aspersion cast upon it.

I have been told that, on hearing of the reward offered, and the accusation against him, he did not try to get away.

One thing, in connection with him, has made me feel prouder of our people than any thing else. At this time the country is filled with lawless men, whom defeat has made reckless. They steal from friend and foe. It seems that bands of these men came across Davis, but on finding out who he was did not molest him.

The patriot is now a prisoner, for devotion to freedom and his country’s good. He has the consolation of religion to support him, and also the consciousness of having done his duty to his country.

 

Far dearer the grave or the prison,

Illumin’d by one patriot name,

Than the trophies of all who have risen

On liberty’s ruins to fame.

 

Quite a number of Federal cavalry have been here. They went to Mr. D.’s corncrib, broke down the doors, and took all his corn and fodder, without giving him any thing for it.

A number of paroled prisoners have passed through here. Many of them stayed a day or two at Mr. D.’s Some of them go quietly away, saying nothing, while others have the war spirit still in them. All have behaved gentlemanly, with the exception of two Texans, who had been on a general’s staff. Mr. D. had closed his house, as he could not afford to buy provisions and get nothing but Confederate money for board. These men told him they had greenbacks and silver. They have been here some time. To-day they told Mr. D. that if he did not take Confederate money he would have to do without; and said that they had been fighting for four years to save his property, and had a right to what he had given them.

My good friend, Mrs. D.’s sister, who was so very ill when I first came here, is getting better.

I have received much kindness from all my old friends. Many have called and invited me to make their houses my home. But with all this, I am very anxious to get to Mobile.

I called on Mrs. Judge Hopkins, of Mobile, now here, to see if she knew of any way of my getting there, but was disappointed. Mrs. H. has nobly done her duty in the cause. She went into the hospital service at the commencement of the war, and had charge of some two or three Alabama hospitals, in Richmond. She left that place some time before it fell, as the hospital department was ordered away. Since then she has been at a post near Montgomery, and came here from fear of Wilson’s raid.

She told me she had nothing to eat but corn-bread and bacon, and that she had drawn from our commissary. Judge H. is with her, and is in very feeble health, caused mainly by his poor diet, and were it not for a little coffee and sugar they have, Mrs. H. thinks he would have died.

Before the war he was one of the richest men in Alabama. She spoke very highly of the lady she was staying with; says they all fare alike.

My friend, Mrs. Captain Nutt, and her children, are here. They intend leaving in a few days for Louisiana. I could go with them, but should be compelled to leave my baggage, which I am unwilling to do.

This evening Mr. and Mrs. Brooks went with me to a Mrs. Barnett’s, whose husband is going as far as Montgomery in a wagon. I asked her if he could not take my baggage, but he had no room. There we met a fine-looking lady, Mrs. General Fry, who has spent much of her time in Richmond, and related to us some incidents in high life there.

One of them I will notice, which occurred in an Episcopal Church, as I have witnessed the like more than once in our own churches—in Mobile—and which I think reflects little credit, not only on Christians, but on all who claim to have a sense of true politeness.

It seems that the wife of one of our generals, who is high in command, and a member of one of the most aristocratic families in Virginia, was dressed very plainly, as true greatness needs no adorning. She went to one of the churches, I suppose a stranger there, took her seat in the pew of one who she thought would make her welcome, when a member of his family, a young lady fashionably dressed, came to the pew, and judging of the occupant from appearances, ordered her out, and did not find out her mistake until too late to retrieve it, and until a dozen of the pew doors were flung open to receive Mrs. General ——.

Sunday, May 7.—This is one of the gloomiest days I have spent since the war. The enemy have offered a reward of one hundred thousand dollars for the apprehension of our president. There are also rewards offered for many others of our leading men.

I do hope and pray that Davis will get off. I am so afraid that some of our men will be tempted to betray him for the love of gain. If they should, it will be no more than others have done before them. Wallace was betrayed by one of his own countrymen; Charles I likewise. Some of our people are condemning Davis’s administration. I have even heard him called a despot. If his detractors could see themselves in the proper light, perhaps they would hear a voice whispering, “He that is without sin, let him cast the first stone.”

If Davis has committed errors, they have been, as even those who condemn him say, errors of judgment, for a truer patriot never lived. Can his defamers say the same?

Davis did not bring on secession, but accepted it, like many others, as the issue of a people’s decision, and did what he felt was his duty when he found the rights of his country imperiled.

 

“War, war to the knife, be enthralled or ye die,

Was the echo that woke in his land!

But it was not his voice that promoted the cry,

Nor his madness that kindled the brand.

He raised not his arm, he defied not his foes,

While a leaf of the olive remained;

Till, goaded by insult, his spirit arose

Like a long baited lion unchained.”

 

The reward is offered on the plea that he was accessory to the murder of Lincoln, but we all know that not even the enemy believe that. They only make this a plea so as to capture him, should he get to a foreign country. The placards, when put up here, were immediately torn down by some of the citizens.

Since my arrival here I have been told that some time after the armistice a report was brought to town that a large army of the enemy were advancing on it. The citizens, forming themselves in a body, went and met them some few miles from the town, and informed them of the armistice. Instead of the enemy remaining where they were, they marched right in.

The general commanding this army, and indeed nearly all of the officers and men, made a boast, which, I think, were it known, would be scorned and condemned by their own people, as well as by us. They said, had it not been for the armistice, Newnan would have been laid in ashes; and the General had some half-dozen ladies’ names written down, whom he intended making examples of, by punishing most ignominiously, in revenge for some ill-natured remarks they had made to the prisoners who were captured near here last year. I believe one of the ladies committed the unpardonable sin of refusing some of them apples and water. She was a refugee, and had lost her all by some of these men, so it was not much wonder if she was embittered against them. Another cause of complaint was, that a man, or some men, living a few miles from here, had hunted some of them with blood-hounds, and I know that this is false. I am certain these are all their wrongs, unless I add Generals Roddy and Wheeler having the daring to rout the whole command who came here with the kind intentions then, so we thought, of laying Newnan in ashes, before the terrible wrongs, I have just narrated had been committed.

I visited the wounded prisoners, and they all spoke highly of their treatment. I was told of one lady, Mrs. Dr. ——, who, when the well prisoners passed her house, abused them. Some of us were shocked to think she could so far forget herself, as a lady and a Christian, to insult the helpless. But when we remembered that this lady and her children had been left in the world without shelter or food— these vandals having robbed her and set fire to her house, she being compelled to stand by, looking helplessly on the destruction, without even the liberty of remonstrating—when we thought of this, we concluded that perhaps, had we been like treated, we might have done the same.

Have the northern people really become such arbiters of all things, that every woman who makes use of the only weapon she has, when wronged beyond human endurance, is to be punished with degradation worse than that which even Haynau visited on the unhappy Hungarians; and for this terrible offense is a whole town to be laid in ashes? I believe, notwithstanding all the woe and inhumanity perpetrated on our unfortunate people by the enemy, that there is still manhood enough among them to condemn this officer to whom they have intrusted their honor.

Those things may do in barbarous lands, but they ill become the boasted descendants of the great and good men who were the followers of the immortal Washington.

This general kept his men in the place till many a lady’s wardrobe was lessened, and many a little trinket stolen. Mrs. Myers gave me a description of one band who came to her house. They took every thing they could carry away. After they left she sat down in despair, where a door hid her, when in walked a Dutchman, who commenced turning over what few things had been left in her drawers and trunks. Seeing her, he said, “Madam, they have treated you very badly.” He meant himself, for nothing was left for him. She answered, “Yes; what do you want?” He begged her for some clothes, saying he was badly in want of them. She told him she had none, or else he should have them, for his politeness in asking.

May 5.1—Since my return here, I have received a letter from a young lady in Texas, thanking me, in grateful terms, for some little attention I paid her brother, Mr. Angel, while in the Foard Hospital, wounded. She also says she is certain that, next to my own state, I cared most for Texas, as I wore a star on my hat while waiting on the Texas soldiers.

This caring for one state more than another is a feeling I have never experienced, and, indeed, I expect that, many a time, I have been guilty of slighting men from my own, as it had never been overrun by the enemy, and the men from it could communicate with their families, and so receive their aid.

I never approved of state hospitals, situated as we were. They would do with the northern people, where there was no foe, taking state after state from them, thereby shutting out all communication with homes and friends; but not here, where it was the duty of the more favored to aid their sister states in adversity.

I have often observed the spirit of rivalry existing between men from the different states. In many instances it has been made a subject for jesting; in others, it has been exhibited by a spirit of bitter prejudice. I have found a mixture of good and evil in them all.

The lowest and most degraded people I have ever met were in Tennessee, and the best educated and most polished men were also from that state.

The most unruly and dastardly in our hospitals have been from Louisiana; and yet, to be a Roman, in the palmiest days of that ancient republic, was no higher honor than to be a citizen of that state. The men from it have won laurels for bravery and heroism, that will long live in Story.

We all know what it is to be reputed a Virginian, a descendant of the ancient cavaliers and the nobles of France, who, rather than submit to a power that they thought had no right over them, left wealth, home, their native land, and emigrated where they could enjoy that

 

“Eternal spirit of the chainless mind,”

 

as best suited them.

The great Lee was deserted in his last extremity by hundreds of the Virginians.

I have often remarked that the men from Kentucky and Missouri were more intelligent and finer-looking, as a whole, than the men from the states further south. I have thought the reason was, that as a rule, none came from those states excepting the better class, and men who left their homes for pure patriotism, while from the other states we had all classes.

These two states were represented in our army by some of the noblest and most dauntless of men; and yet I could relate instances where some of them strayed widely from the right path.

Texans and Arkansians I can say but little about, excepting what we all know— their faultless bravery on every battle-field. I may say the same of South Carolinians and Marylanders, who boast of their descent from the same ancient lineage as the Virginians.

But I have forgotten an incident which happened to me some time ago. I was in company with an officer from South Carolina, whose actions I did not think entitled him to the name of gentleman. I related the circumstance to a friend, a native of the same state, and jestingly told her I was done with it forever. She asked me if I would cast aside a roll of bank bills because it had a counterfeit in it.

Mississippi I have heard abused for every thing that was contemptible, and yet, when the history of this war is written, no pages in it will boast of brighter stars than the names of the gallant men from that state. And in all the places I have been I have never seen any thing to equal the enthusiasm and patriotism which I met there.

Georgia, poor abused Georgia! no state in the Confederacy came forward with more alacrity than she did at every call for troops, and I expect none has surpassed her for liberality in providing for the sick and wounded. In this respect Atlanta can vie with any city. The ladies of it have worked assiduously, year after year, for the sufferers. It was a hospital from the evacuation of Bowling Green until the time of its fall.

North Carolina and Florida, like others, had lights and shadows. Of the former I know but little, excepting the records of the deeds of bravery of her noble sons on the battle-field. Florida, being a small state, could send fewer troops to the field, but did not send fewer in proportion to her population. She can compete with any of them in every thing that is good and gallant.

Of my own state, Alabama, I need say but little, as acts speak louder than words, and I have already recorded enough of them to tell how her people have suffered, and what their character has been.

There are no Federal troops sent here yet to garrison the town. We all think that their presence would be of benefit, as all southern rule is now dead, and we have no law.

Scarcely a day passes without our hearing of some outrage committed by men calling themselves returned Confederates. The other day a band of them went to the house of a gentleman living near here, who had some gold and silver. They told him if he did not give it up they would hang him. He stoutly refused; they took his wife and commenced hanging her before his eyes. So he gave them every cent he had. They were closely disguised.

Another case, but one more excusable, happened in town. Some poor women, headed by one or two men, went to the house of a lady, and demanded some commissary stores which they thought she had, as they said they were starving. There were men enough in the house to prevent them doing any harm.

Many laugh at the idea of these people starving. I do not. One of the men who headed this party is Mr. Love, who once had charge of our wash-house. I have been to see his family, and found him an invalid, and his family on the very brink of starvation. I could do nothing for them, so did not go back. God pity them and all such! Mr. Love was in the Cherokee Hospital before I went to it; was a quiet, inoffensive, and truly honest man.

A little while before the war closed, when there was a call for troops, Dr. de Yampert, thinking Mr. Love was lit for field service, sent him to the army. His wife and children had to leave with him. As our government had not paid any one in months, they had no money. A few of the good people of Griffin gave them some; Dr. de Y. also gave them a little out of the hospital fund.

Mr. L. brought his family here, and joined the army, I believe, at Macon. He had not marched far when his old disease, the dropsy, came back; and when I saw him his feet were so swollen that he could not walk. He was one of the “hospital rats.”

I am told that the people of Georgia are collecting provisions and money for the destitute in their state, and that the Federals are giving them rations.

Some Federals have been here from Atlanta; they came for the purpose of visiting their relatives’ graves, men who were killed near here last summer; some of their comrades had marked the graves. These men behaved very gentlemanly.

Mrs. Bell, a relative of Mrs. D.’s, a warm-hearted southerner and an excellent lady, has been here lately. The battle near here last year was not far from her farm. And at the present time one of our men, Rev. Mr. Hudson, is lying in her house, helpless from a wound near the spine, received then. He is a Presbyterian minister, and was a chaplain in Ross’s Texas cavalry. Mrs. B. says he is as helpless as a child, and one of his companions has been with him all the time nursing him. She says his patience and endurance are above all praise.

Newnan, like every other town in the confederacy, has her array of martyrs. The war has cast the mantle of sorrow over many households. The whole country has lost heavily. Mr. S. Martin, who is over sixty years of age, entered the service at the commencement of the war, along with four or five sons. Two or three of them are now sleeping their last sleep, and another has lost his arm in the service. Mr. Thurmond and Mr. Brown have each lost two sons; Major Kendrick, whom I have heard spoken of as being a good citizen and a brave soldier, was killed. It would be useless for me to mention them all, as there is scarcely a family in the whole county but that has to mourn the loss of a loved one.

My friend, Captain Brooks, had a brother killed, and has another who lost an arm in the service. Captain B. was in the state service, and had a very narrow escape in a battle near Macon. Mrs. B. showed me a shawl that he had on at the time, which is completely riddled with bullets, and he did not receive a scratch.

Colonel Berry, whom I met one evening at Mr. Dougherty’s, a relative of Mr. D.’s., is now suffering from his sixth or seventh wound, and it is supposed he is a cripple for life.

There is a gentleman and his family here who have just come from Auburn, Alabama, and report great difficulty in getting on, as every bridge between West Point and Montgomery has been destroyed. He has just returned from a long sojourn in a northern prison, and gives horrible accounts of the ill-treatment of himself and companions. His feelings against the North are very bitter. He is a highly intelligent man; I believe was editor of a newspaper in Atlanta. We hear many recitals from returned prisoners, such as this gentleman has given us.

One gentleman told me that he had seen as many as six carried from their bunks at one time, frozen to death. At night a sentinel went round, and if they had more than one blanket on, no matter how cold the night, it was taken from them. Another told me that they had been kept for days without food or water, and a table filled with all kinds of dainties set so they could see it, and told if they would take the oath of allegiance to the United States they could have them. He knew of one poor fellow who did take the oath, but says his mind was almost gone, and when he got the food, his tongue was so swollen for want of water, that he could not eat.

Ono young man, who was confined at Camp Douglas, told me that it was common for them, whenever they heard of their army being defeated, to keep the prisoners for days without food or water. And he knew of one young man who went out and picked up a handful of snow to put to his parched lips, when a sentinel shot him dead. My narrator told me he helped to carry in the young man’s body. These are only a few of the evils which were inflicted on our men. How hard it is to suppress feelings of hate for our enemy! I feel as confident as I am living, that God, in his own good time, will avenge our wrongs.

When I think of the kind treatment that our people bestowed on the prisoners here, bad off for food as we were, did I think otherwise, it would be contrary to the faith I have in the justice of God.

A few days ago a speech was published in the papers, made by President Johnson to the Indiana delegation. It seems to have struck dismay to many a heart, and if he carries out what he says in it, I am confident the war is not over yet, for I have watched the countenances of some men, who I have been told never favored the war or secession, and I think they expressed a determination that, if there should be another war, they would assist in it, heart and soul.

If President Johnson wants the southern people to be more inimical to the North than even this war has made them, he will carry out the policy indicated in that speech; but, if he wishes the North and South to be united in spirit, as well as in the form, he will adopt another.

“God has implanted a desire to resist oppression in the nature of every man,” and “even the smallest worm will turn, being trodden on.”

What wound was ever healed by continual irritation. Have we not been wounded? God knows how terribly! Grant that we were in the wrong, are we the only people who have erred? Let him recollect that,

 

“We’re the sons of sires that baffled

Crowned and mitred tyranny;

They defied the field and scaffold,

For their birth-right, so will we.”

 

We are of the same indomitable race as himself. We have not been conquered, for that would be a disgrace to him, as well as us; but we have been overpowered by numbers, and in no craven spirit would I tell him, for we and all we have are in his power, that forbearance and magnanimity are godlike virtues, while cruelty and revenge characterize the dastard; and that if he wishes to make a name for himself, such as mortal man has never had before, by bringing two such adverse spirits together, in peace and harmony, it will never be done by oppression. History gives us no such examples.

O, if I had the ability to write to him, as did the lamented Bishop Otey to Seward, at the out-break of the war, and plead with him, in earnest tones, to let dove-eyed peace reign where cruel war has been sole monarch—with the hope that my appeal would not be in vain as was Bishop Otey’s—how earnestly I would pray to him to have peace, and peace alone, as his sole aim!

God grant that some wise and able advocate may rise in our behalf, and that ere long, peace, with all its blessings, may reign over our now distracted land I

To the people of the South I would also say a few words. Our doom is sealed; we are in the power of the North. Our representative man a prisoner; our armies vanquished—or, those which are not soon will be. Have we done our duty? Have the planters given of the abundance of their harvests to the poor women and children of soldiers who were fighting to save their wealth? But I should not say poor, for that is not the word; none were poor whose husbands, sons, and brothers offered up their lives a sacrifice for liberty! No money can buy such riches.

Have no native southern men remained at home, when their country had need of their strong arms, speculating on what the planters charged so much for, doubly taking the bread out of these same poor, yet rich, soldiers’ families’ mouths?

Have no native southern quartermasters and commissaries robbed these poor, yet rich soldiers, who walked boldly up to the cannon’s mouth, regardless of consequences? They have starved, gone ragged and barefooted through burning suns and chilling frosts, while these delinquent commissaries and quartermasters have lived on the best of the land, and worn the finest clothes to be had.

Have the examining surgeons conscientiously worked, sending none to the field but those who were fit for field service? And none who would have served their country better and more effectively had they been left at home to till the ground, thereby making food for the army and themselves?

Have the conscript officers taken none for the army, that the surgeons had discharged some three or four times, and sent them to the field; they dying before it was ever reached?

Have the stewards and foragers, in hospitals, never speculated on food sold them, much cheaper by the farmers, because it was for the soldiers and the cause; and have they never robbed the government of the money appropriated by it to buy food for the wounded and sick soldiers?

Have there been no officers, to whose keeping mothers have entrusted their young sons—they promising to guide and protect them; but who, as soon as away from all restraint, forgot all obligations, and took advantage of the position the war had given to them to act the tyrant in a thousand petty ways, inducing many of the men to do what they would otherwise never have thought of?

Have all the young native southerners who cried secession, and war to the knife, before the war broke out, gone into the field when their country was bleeding at every pore?

Have all the Christian and refined women of the South, who had no household duties to attend, gone into the hospitals, nursed the wounded and sick, preparing little delicacies, which no man has ever been able to do, for the poor bed-ridden soldier, who had lost all but honor for his country; and, when his hours were numbered, stood by his bedside when no wife, mother, or sister was there, to soothe his last moments and lift his thoughts to the Cross whereon his Redeemer had died, and to that heaven where he was waiting with open arms to receive the departing spirit?

Have the women of the South never passed by, in disdain, a ragged and wounded soldier, who had suffered more than words can express? In a word, have the women of the South done their whole duty; and can the southern people, as a whole, say they have fully done their duty?

It is all over with, some will say, and why bring those things in review before us, as it can do no good. It is not all over with. Men and women of the South, there is much yet to be done.

 

“What are monuments of bravery

Where no public virtues bloom?”

 

What though we had gained our independence, while all these sins were crying out against us, could we have expected, as a nation, to go on in them and prosper? Never! We should have worked our own downfall as we have now done.

Had we been true to our God and country, with all the blessings of this glorious, sunny land, I believe we could have kept the North, with all her power, at bay for twenty years.

What I would ask now, is for the southern people to look to themselves, forgetting all the wrongs inflicted on us by our foe in the knowledge that we have sinned against each other. I do not mean that we should forget all we have suffered, for that would dishonor the glorious dead. I mean, to stop all useless recriminations. They will do us no good now. Let us look to ourselves; “raise monuments where public virtues bloom.” Let us leave the North to itself, with all its isms, to answer for its own sins. I think we have as many as we can see to.

To professed Christians, north and south, I would say, much, very much, depends on you. If you quarrel with each other, in the name of every thing that is good and holy, what will become of us?

When God’s kingdom on earth fails to teach peace and good will towards men, are we to turn to the kingdom of the evil one for it? There are only the two.

Christians, look to it! “Be not deceived. God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap.” Do not the northern and the southern Christians expect to go to the same heaven? There will be no North and South there. If we can not like each other well enough in God’s kingdom on earth to eat at the same communion table, can any of us expect to sit down at the great supper of the Lamb,

 

“Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,

Their Savior and brethren transported to greet?”

 

O, I trust that God’s hand will yet be seen in all of this! and that, ere long, the Church will rise in all her glorious majesty, casting out those who have made God’s house a den of thieves, instead of the temple where we are to learn of that blessed land,

 

“Where the rivers of pleasure flow o’er the bright plains,

And the noontide of glory eternally reigns.”

 


1 Since this entry is after the entry for May 14 in the book, the date should probably be May 15 instead of May 5 – Mike Goad, 10/1/13

May 5, 1865.—I arrived at Newnan to-day at 11 A. M., having left Griffin yesterday. On the train to Atlanta I met my friend, Dr. Hughes, on his way to this place; also Dr. Archer. The latter had been an assistant surgeon in one of the hospitals at this post. He is from Maryland, and like many others, since our failure, does not relish the idea of going back.

Major Fleming, inspector of the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, was on the train. He had left Mobile before the attack, on his way to Richmond, to collect some millions of dollars, which the government owed the railroad company. He turned back, as Richmond had fallen. He had just come from North Carolina, and informed us that Mrs. General J. E. Johnston and Mrs. Jeff. Davis had gone, under his charge, to ——, N. C. Mrs. Davis had her children with her; the youngest, an infant, some few months old. On arriving at —— every house was thrown open to receive Mrs. J., but he had gone from house to house with Mrs. D. and not one door would open to receive her; after awhile he prevailed on a Jewish lady to take her in. “Alas 1 how the mighty have fallen.” Does not this recital fill the mind with pity, for poor frail humanity? Scarcely one, in this whole town, brave enough to receive the wife of him who but a short time ago “all delighted to honor,” but now a houseless wanderer in the land which he has presided over with a wisdom, dignity, and statesmanship which has perhaps never been excelled.

Major F. also told us that it was believed President Davis, accompanied by a number of troops, was trying to make his escape, and cross the Mississippi, to join Kirby Smith’s army, who were in Louisiana. Many say, had the latter been on this side of the Mississippi, we should not be in the position in which we now are. From Jonesboro to Atlanta was one scene of desolation. There, day after day, the brave men of our army had struggled to maintain their rights, against overwhelming numbers. The woods showed how desperately each side had fought for mastery. Large oaks were riven asunder, their branches broken, and scattered all around. Ever and anon we saw the intrenchments which our brave fellows had thrown up; many a time working all night long, after fighting and marching.

We saw many a field hospital. The bunks, made of the branches of trees, were left standing where the poor sufferers had lain, and where numbers of them had breathed their last. Near the hospital, the graveyards were to be seen, where, side by side, lay friend and foe.

 

“And we can only dimly guess

What worlds of all this world’s distress,

What utter woe, despair, and dearth,

Their fate has brought to many a hearth.”

 

As we neared Atlanta, the scene was one of desolation and ruin. As far as the eye could reach, pile after pile of blackened brick could be seen, where once had stood stately mansions, that Atlanta was so large a place as it is. There being few or no buildings, trees, or any thing else left standing, we had a full view of its extent.

We had to remain in Atlanta all night, and as there were no hotels, stayed at the house of Dr. Powell, Mrs. Byrom’s brother; she had just arrived from a hospital in Macon. Mrs. Dr. P. had also just returned. She, like others, had been driven from her home by the remorseless Sherman. Their house had not been treated as badly as the others. It had been the head-quarters of one of the generals. The glorious star-spangled banner had been sketched on all its walls.

This morning, when we came down to the depot, it was almost impossible to find where it had been. I never expected to see such utter destruction as we there beheld. The meanest building on that street—the old Gate City Hospital—was left untouched. It served as a mark, to show us where we were. Opposite it, formerly the Front House, the Atlanta Hotel, the banks, and many other large buildings had stood, of which not one stone is now left upon another. In the front yard of where the Atlanta Hotel once stood were some graves.

My heart sickened as I looked around, for every thing bespoke the malignity of the foe. The modern Tartars had done their work well. They will reap their reward.

There had been no Federal troops there since Sherman left. A garrison of them had just arrived, and were about to plant the stars and stripes over the city, or rather the ruins.

There were many Confederate soldiers there, returning to their homes. They treated the Federals with perfect indifference.

At the depot we met Dr. Burks and Mr. Catlet. They were on their way to Kentucky. Both have suffered much. Dr. B. spent quite a fortune in the Confederate cause. Mr. C. told me that some of our men, on the trains to Atlanta, had quarreled with the Federals; and no wonder. I advised him, and all I saw, to treat them with perfect indifference, as we were in their power, and none but cowards would taunt a fallen foe. If we quarreled with them, we put ourselves on their level.

Mrs. B. came down to the depot with us. I felt sad at bidding her, and the rest of my friends good-by. We had been associated with each other through much tribulation, little thinking that it would amount to nothing.

On the road to Newnan the cars were densely crowded with our soldiers. I noticed Senators Clay and Wigfall. I had just read an article written by the latter, in defense of General Johnston, which I much admired.

I found my Newnan friends, Mr. D.’s family, well, with the exception of one, an old lady, who is supposed to be at the point of death.

May 4.—I heard yesterday that there are no cars running south of West Point, the raiders having destroyed the bridges in that section. I intend going to Newnan, as I may have a chance of getting a conveyance from there home.

I have made up my mind to rob the United States Government of a few things; namely, the bedding I have used since I have been in the hospital, and a few other articles. We have the two barrels of whisky, and I also intend appropriating some of that.

To-day I tried, at quite a number of places, to see if they would not barter some sheets or whisky for flour, as I can not take cold corn-bread to travel with; but I did not succeed. This evening a friend of Mrs. F.’s, a refugee, sent me a little, and also a few eggs, so I feel quite rich. I have forgotten Mrs. Ware, who also sent me some flour.

Mrs. Fyffe has no idea how she is to get home, as at least one hundred miles of the railroad track is torn up between here and Chattanooga. She is grieving very much about her daughter. Since she has been here, the last word at night, and the first thing in the morning is, “My dear child, is she living or not?”

My kind friend, Mr. Yerby, is in the country, and I shall not see him before leaving; I feel very sorry for him; he has lost nearly his all in this war. He was at his home last winter; the enemy had been to his house, and had taken every thing that his wife had, not leaving her even a cooking utensil; but that did not make much matter as she had nothing to cook. Since the enemy was there, she and her children have been living on what their neighbors have given them, and they had little to spare. All this distresses Mr. Y.; he says his wife was the picture of despair.

He informed me that the tales which had been told him of the enemy’s atrocities in Mississippi, were truly awful. It was a common thing for them to kill negro children, so as to carry off the parents with greater facility; and that many a negro child had been left to starve in the woods.

I am told that the enemy is behaving badly in Macon. A few days ago a lady took shelter with us from the rain; she was just from Macon, and was there when the enemy arrived. She has come up here to remain until something like law and order is restored.

The armistice was proclaimed before Wilson’s army reached Macon. The mayor and a number of citizens met the army some miles from the city, and informed General Wilson of the armistice, and begged him not to come any further; but he pretended not to believe it, and marched his troops right in. Robbery and scenes of violence are as common as if peace had not been restored.

This lady knew of a gentleman who had killed a Federal in self-defense, and scarcely any notice was taken of it. Her house had been searched many times by bands of the vandals. They took her gold watch and her mother’s, and made a great fuss because they could not get any more. These ladies thought, like others, that an armistice meant peace, and were not prepared for any thing of this kind. Their house is in the suburbs, and all there share the same fate. She says she does not think that General Wilson has it in his power to restrain his men, but he had no right having them there at all. They use the negroes shamefully, and kill them on the least provocation.

This lady’s name is Gordon; she is a relative of General Gordon, of Virginia fame. Her brother, a member of Massindorf’s battery, is now lying wounded in Mobile.

I see by the northern papers that General Canby, who captured Mobile, says he has received a heartier welcome from the Mobilians than he has any place he has yet taken. How can the people there so soon forget their dead? Why, even the enemy can not respect us when we can be guilty of such heartlessness.

May 1.—A lovely day; spring is silently working her great Creator’s will, and arraying herself in all her glories. Meadow and woodland is brilliant with her gorgeous robes. There is a mellowness breathing in the air, which fills one as with an undefinable feeling of perfect tranquility. O, how welcome it comes to our troubled spirits! How bountifully God has showered his blessings on us, if we would only receive them!

Miss K., Mr. Moore, and myself rode out in Dr. Porter’s carriage, to see Mr. Thomas; when half-way there we met him going to town. He remarked that no doubt the church would suffer by the revolution which had shaken the land, and that he was prepared to earn his living, as he was then doing, by the sweat of his brow.

I do think it is disgraceful that a man with Mr. Thomas’s education and talents should not at least earn a living at his calling. His is no isolated case. I have heard of some of our clergymen in the cities, who were so bad off that they did not know from day to day where they would get the money to buy bread for their households.

“Every man shall give as he is able, according to the blessing of the Lord thy God, which he hath given thee,” is a command to be obeyed as much as “Thou shalt have no other God besides me.” Indeed, to break the one is breaking the other, as what but making a god of money prevents us from giving according to the blessings of the Lord? When Christ sent his ministers into every city, he told them to carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes, for he said the laborer is worthy of his hire. And has not St. Paul said, “They who preach the gospel should live by the gospel.”

The Old and New Testament is filled with commands relating to the support of God’s word; can we expect to break them and go unpunished? Grant that there were no special command of this kind; does not common sense teach us that a clergyman and his family have mouths to feed, and bodies to be clothed, as well as other mortals? How are they to be provided for? “If they have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great matter if they shall reap your worldly things?”

I do not know one who, were he to do any thing else for a living, who would not be well off. Their education fits them for any sphere in life; and were mere worldly profit their aim, they could easily gain that. But we can judge from this alone, if from nothing else, that they feel their calling is a much higher one than any of this world.

I do wish our people would only view this matter in the proper light. Let us suppose that the light of the gospel was shut out from us and our churches closed; no messenger of God to admonish and warn us to flee from the wrath to come; or with a voice of love bid us look up from this sorrow and sin-stricken world to a home eternal in the heavens, where all is peace and happiness; were all this taken away from us, where would we look for one ray of comfort to cheer us in this vale of tears? This is only one breach of the great command our people are guilty, as a nation, of breaking. “Thou shalt have none other gods but me.”

Let us treat God as a reality, not as we seemingly do—a chimera, whose holy name we have upon our lips, while our every act is at variance with what we profess.

Mr. T.’s house is situated in a lovely and romantic spot. There is a fine grove of trees in front of the house, of nature’s planting. I was rather hasty when I said there were no woods in this place; I had not seen one half of its beauty. Mrs. T. gave us a hearty welcome. She told us that many of General Lee’s men had passed there; some of them she had entertained. She said they seemed to take their defeat with a serious dignity, as if they were confident they had done their duty as the defenders of their country and cause; had failed, and were accepting the issue, like all do who feel they have “left no blot on their name,” and can “look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame.” It is only those who have sold their country and honor for their own selfish ends who have cause now to mourn.

It is now rumored that France has recognized us. We conversed about her coming to aid us at the eleventh hour. Mrs. T. and I said we would much rather it had been Great Britain; the others preferred France, as she had always shown herself our friend. I asked them in what way; for I had never seen or heard of any benefit we had received from her. True, she now and then gave us a few words of pity, to let us know we were remembered. She had an idea that some day we might be her neighbors, and it was wiser to make friends of us than foes. It is said she requested Great Britain to join her in recognizing us; but has she become so poor;

 

“Is she steeped so low

In poverty, crest-fallen, and palsied so,

That she must sit, much wroth, but timorous more;”

 

and knock at Britain’s doors, asking her aid to stay this fratricidal bloodshed? Has the land of the immortal Lafayette really sunk so far that she could not have raised her hand and helped us without the aid of other nations? Who was her ally when she helped the colonies? And, by the way, I do not suppose the colonies would ever have gained their independence without her. Since then we all know she has not sunk in power, but is much greater in all that constitutes true national greatness; I look on her present ruler as a wiser and a better one than his great uncle; for by his rule he has brought prosperity to his people, where his uncle brought the reverse.. A lady asked me why I took the part of England, as it had subjugated Scotland. To this I need scarcely give my answer— that not even the august Caesar, whose boast was he had conquered the world, had subjugated Scotland; and that, when he conquered England, he had to build a wall to protect his people from the “daring Caledonian.” To be sure she was under the yoke of England through treachery for awhile, but her brave sons, with their dauntless daring, threw off that yoke, and now the Scot

 

“Wanders as free as the wind o’er his mountain,

Save love’s willing fetters, the charms o’ his Jean.”

 

This is not the first time I have heard the southern people speak thus of France; although I have heard many of them say that the government of Great Britain is the best in the world, and wish we had such a one here.

I think the reason they lean so much to France is because she aided in the revolution of ’76. If she has indeed stepped in just now to help us (which seems at rather a strange time) it is because she wishes us to aid her in keeping Mexico.

Dr. Young is here with the medical stores. Dr. Porter and I tried to get him to give us some of the medicines he would not; he says they were intrusted to his keeping, and he will not give them to any one without orders. We proposed that he should give us a hint of where they were, and we could help ourselves; but even this he would not do.

We have received orders to have every thing packed to hand over to the United States Government, or some one—we do not exactly know who. I asked our post surgeon, Dr. Foster, if we could not keep some of the hospital stores, as we had no money (excepting dear old Confederate) to pay our way home, and we thought we could sell some of the hospital goods. Dr. F. said “No;” that it was like a dead man’s estate, and he, as trustee, was bound in honor to give it up. I must confess that this is a little more honesty than I think at all necessary. Many of our men have not even a change of clothes, and have not been paid for months; and here we are giving hundreds of suits to the United States Government. It seems to me by rights they belong to the men.

Dr. Foster is a high-toned, cultivated gentleman. He thinks we are conquered, and speaks calmly on the subject. He is from Tennessee, and intends going back; and if he finds he can not live there, will leave, he has traveled much on the continent of Europe.

The Tennesseeans, as a whole, seem to dislike President Johnson; but I heard a very intelligent one say he was a man of much more ability than he got credit for, and that he had a good deal of tact, and his aim would be to please the people; so from policy might make a very good ruler.

April 30.—This morning Mr. Thomas preached a very fine sermon from the text, “Thy will be done.” It fell upon our saddened ears with a mournful cadence, as if warning us to prepare for some calamity soon to come, and telling us that, no matter what befell us, we must bow in meekness to “Him who doeth all things well.” “For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth: that the trial of our faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried by fire, might be found unto praise, and honor, and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.”

In the evening, Miss K., Mr. Moore, and myself went to the Baptist Church, and heard an excellent sermon. The text was, “And a man shall be a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest.” A very earnest prayer was offered up in behalf of our fugitive president, in which I know every one joined heartily. I did not know he was a fugitive, but the truth is gradually dawning on us that we are really subjugated, and our beloved president is fleeing from—what? Not justice, for he has committed no crime. I knew we had peace—how, I did not understand; but certainly thought we were independent. This is a severe ordeal; may God in his mercy give us comfort through it.

April 29.—This evening Miss King, Mrs. Newsom’s sister, brought us word that peace is really declared, but she could not tell us on what terms. All the rumors have been confirmed excepting the one about recognition.

One of my Kentucky friends called the other day, and he was bitter against our own people, and says we are subjugated, and that we are alone to blame; and that the enemy have raised all of these recognition rumors to blind us until the rope is fairly round our necks, just as they deluded the poor people in Kentucky. He was resolved never to see Kentucky again, and was going to South America.

I can not believe that we are subjugated, after enduring so much; but it is useless to be miserable about an uncertainty.

April 26.—We have just heard that the French fleet has had a battle with the . Federal fleet, and whipped it, and taken New Orleans. All are much rejoiced. There is really an armistice.