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

April 5.—News has come that Selma is in the hands of the enemy, who have destroyed it, and are en route for Montgomery. Dr. de Yampert’s home is near Selma, and he has no doubt but that it is now in their possession. He says he does not care, as he expected to lose his all.

Dr. Bemiss is here on a tour of inspection; I am much pleased to see him again; it is like seeing a very old friend to meet any of our former surgeons. He is low-spirited, and it is not much wonder, as he has been separated from his wife and children a long time, and there seems little chance at present of his seeing them soon; and, what adds to the trouble, communication through the lines is very uncertain. These are things we try not to think about.

Mrs. Newsom arrived to-day. She does not intend remaining, but is trying to reach the army in North Carolina, as her brother is there. She is leaving two of her negroes, a man and his wife, with Dr. de Yampert.

April 3.—Have a very nice lady, Mrs. Fyffe, assisting mo. She is a refugee from Chattanooga. She came out of Chattanooga on a visit to some friends a few miles in the country; while she was there our army took possession of Lookout Mountain, and she found herself within our lines and cut off from her family. She tried very hard to get back, as she had left her house and in it an only child, a married daughter, very sick, but her entreaties were of no avail, Rosecrans had given orders on no account to permit any woman to cross the lines, as they were worse rebels than the men. Mrs. F. remained on the mountain, living in a house about half-way up, for some weeks, within sight of her daughter’s home, and between the firing of both armies. Finding she could not get into Chattanooga, she came South. She is now in great distress, having heard but once from her daughter since she left.

The citizens of Chattanooga have suffered all kinds of indignities from the Federals. I have been told that Mrs. Whitesides has been sent North, and that herself and family are now in prison. I knew Mrs. W. well; she was a perfect lady. I had heard her say before I left Chattanooga, that if the enemy should come there she intended remaining, as she had a family of seven children, and could not leave her home with them. She felt certain that the Federals would not molest her if she kept quiet; but it appears she has given them more credit for philanthropy than they deserved. I can not understand this, as I believed as she did about remaining quiet.

I have thought, if I should ever be so unfortunate as to be in the “enemy’s lines,” that by taking little or no notice of them I should be unmolested; as I think many of our ladies have been in fault, by giving a warm and open expression to their feelings, when silence would have much better become them, and spoken more eloquently their wrongs. “Discretion is the better part of valor,” in this as well as in other cases. When we are in the lion’s gripe, it is no sign of cowardice to use every means that wisdom can suggest to extricate ourselves. I feel confident that neither we nor our cause have ever gained any thing by walking around the flag instead of under it, or using insulting language when silence would have much better become us. A flag is nothing but a symbol, and walking around it can not take away the reality of being under it. And we much oftener lower ourselves by insulting language than the person whom we abuse.

I have been told that it was on account of Mrs. W.’s wealth that she and her children have been imprisoned, but the enemy could have taken that without such harsh measures.

April 1.—I have just been told that Spanish Fort is closely besieged. The day is very beautiful, but I can not enjoy it on account of the bad news. I wish, now, I had remained at home, so as to help take care of the wounded.

March 29.—We have scarcely any patients, as the road between Augusta and Atlanta is not yet finished. There is rumor on rumor of battles in the direction of the army. I only wish we could get the wounded to take care of. Dr. de Yampert is busy getting every thing ready for the reception of patients. The large ward is nicely whitewashed, and he has had comfortable cotton mattresses made by a regular mattress-maker. A new bakery, wash-house, and every thing else necessary are being put up, just as if there was no such thing as moving again. I am kept quite busy attending to the sewing. The thread, bought in bunches, has to be doubled, twisted and reeled. We have no wheel of our own, but borrow, as every house in the neighborhood has one. Mrs. Love’s two little girls stay with me a great deal. In the evenings I teach them to read. Neither their father or mother know how to read They are from Tennessee.

We have a vegetable garden in cultivation next to our house, and another large one, “the plantation,” about two miles in the country, of which Mr. Yerby has charge. I have a flower garden, and Mr. Moore has procured me some very nice plants. After awhile, I have no doubt, I shall have flowers enough to delight our patients.

Sunday, March 26.— I went to the Episcopal Church, and, after the morning service, the rector, Mr. Thomas, introduced me to his wife, Mrs. Bector, and Mrs. Mitchell. Mrs. M. told me she had a son in Massindorf’s battery, which is now stationed in Mobile, and that he is much pleased with the place. Last year, at the retreat from Dalton, Griffin was filled with wounded. Mrs. M.’s house was full. Bishop Lay and Dr. Quintard visited the place then, and the rite of confirmation was administered to many. One of our old patients, Lieutenant Dupree, was confirmed while lying, badly wounded, at the house of Mrs. M. I am told that the ladies of the place did a great deal for the sufferers.

We seem to be completely hemmed in on all sides. I hear that the long-expected attack on Mobile has at last begun, and that a large force is moving against Selma and Montgomery. One of the largest armies yet massed by the North is investing Richmond; Sherman and his vandals are in the very heart of the country, and a large army coming in by Wilmington— which is now in their hands; Charleston is closely besieged. Not one ray of light gleams from any quarter. It seems like hoping against hope; but my strong faith in the justice of our cause makes failure to me an impossibility. I know we shall have much yet to suffer before the end. I have seen only extracts from the president’s message, and must say I do not like the tone of them. He is still urging the people to do their duty; but says, if we should fail, we must bow with submission to the decree of an all-wise Providence. I do not like the word “fail” at all. While we have one spark of hope left, one breath of submission ought not to be breathed by any one, much less by our chief magistrate.

March 25.—A very beautiful day. I feel very low-spirited regarding our cause. A friend, Dr. —— has just called, and has not served to dispel the gloom. He denounced President Davis, and said that, in putting negroes into the field, he should have given them not only their own freedom but that of their families. He added, that Davis’s last proclamation was the essence of despair, and that he and all in congress know that our cause is gone, and that we soon shall be subjugated. I contended against him to the best of my ability, and said, that if even both our armies were scattered we would not then give up. I could not help feeling there might be some truth in what Dr. —— said.

Sunday, March 19.—Went to the Episcopal Church. The services were held in a small brick house, which was not much cleaner than the Presbyterian. Captain Hicks, one of our patients, and his wife went with me—the first time they were ever in a church of that denomination. They were both delighted with the music. They live about twenty miles from here. Captain H. is from Alabama, and was wounded in one of the battles around Richmond. He can not rejoin his regiment, as he is not able to walk the distance, namely, one hundred miles, Sherman having torn up that much of the railroad track near Augusta.

March 13.—A bright, beautiful day. A woman has been here with a young child, begging me to give her any kind of work, as she has nothing for herself and child to eat. She had just come from Atlanta, and represents the distress there as being very great. I am sorry that we have no work for her. We have many negroes, and nothing for them to do but sewing, as we have no patients. After this woman left, two others came and begged me to give them work just for their shelter and food. How sad all of this is! I have not been long in finding out that there are many worse off than myself.

A number of negro women are at work quilting comforts. Dr. de Yampert wished to have the cloth for them dyed; but most of the Confederate dye does not stand. The comforts are made out of unbleached homespun, and the raw cotton is put in them in lumps, and they are tacked about a foot apart; when washed they are not fit to use.

Cotton goods of all kinds are very high; but I am told that the government manufactories in Georgia, and, I believe, in the other states, sell goods to soldiers’ relatives for nearly one fourth what they can be bought for in the stores.

Fast-day, March 10.— Went to the Presbyterian Church with Dr. Reessc, and was well pleased with the discourse. The church was the dirtiest I have ever been in; I was shocked to see a house dedicated to the worship of God in such a state. I am told that the rector, Dr. Patterson, has a day-school in it, as his school-house was last year taken for a hospital, and has since been burned. I miss greatly in this place “the sound of the church-going bell.” On making inquiries, I was informed that all the bells had been taken to make cannon. Griffin is a nice little place, but not so pretty as Newnan. It is in Pike County, Georgia, on the Macon and Western Railroad, fifty-eight miles north-west of Macon. It is said to be very healthy, and is noted for its excellent water.

The day is bitter cold, and wood is scarce. I thought it bad enough to have so little to eat; but we have no candles or light of any kind, not even light wood. I am compelled to retire at dark, which is a severe trial, as the days are short. I do not believe that even Mark Tapley could be “jolly” under these circumstances. The only consolation I have is comparing my lot with that of the men in the field— I know they are so much worse off.