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

The American Civil War

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father

H.Q. 5th Mass. Cav’y, Sutherland St., near
Petersburg, April 10, 1865

Grant’s great movement was already under way and General Weitzel, to whom I reported, ordered me to get out to the front with no delay. The regiment was unarmed, lumbered up with surplus baggage and all disorganized by the rapid move from an old, permanent camp. Arms were to be drawn, stores turned in and the regiment forced to the front in a moment. To add to the trouble it rained incessantly all the two next days — bad enough for me; but that was nothing compared with the anxiety we all felt for the jeopardy in which the grand movement was placed. Thoroughly wet and knee deep in mud the work went on somehow and every official gave us all possible aid. Wagons, animals and arms were procured somehow. I went out to the front and selected a camp and the morning after I landed sent out one battalion. Friday noon it cleared away.

Meanwhile confusion in affairs regimental had become worse confounded and it needed all the head I had to keep things straight at all; but keeping cool and the assistance of first rate officers brought things round and Friday evening, having got ten companies sent forward, I broke up the receiving camp and moved out to the front. Here, in the deserted camp of the 1st N.Y. I found myself very comfortable on Saturday night, and the next evening the balance of the regiment arrived, and once more we were all together. I now found myself in command of all the Cavalry detachments north of the James — some two thousand men in all, of whom about 1000 were mounted. All Sunday reports of Grant’s successes were coming in and we were anxious and expectant. I felt sure that Richmond would be abandoned as Atlanta had been, but Generals Weitzel and Devens treated my suggestion to that effect so lightly that they quite put me out of conceit with it. However, the day, bright and warm, passed away and at night orders came to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. The miscellaneous Brigade of which I had charge was the hardest body to handle of which I had any experience, being made up of all sorts of detachments and being without any staff or organization. I went to bed anxious, weary and disgusted enough.

At dawn I received a dispatch from my picket line that the enemy was not to be seen, and immediately after an order to move my command to the Darbytown road “and there await further orders.” Then came vexations, for, without a staff, I had to get a column in motion. At seven o’clock, after fretting, fuming and chafing for an hour, I had the satisfaction of getting in motion at last. I had about one thousand mounted men and a battery. I got out to the Darbytown road, and by this time heavy explosions were heard towards Richmond, like the sound of heavy, distant fighting. Finding the enemy’s lines deserted and no orders coming I concluded something was up and it was best to push ahead; so we went through the lines and took the Richmond road. Then came an exciting march, not without vexations; but nine o’clock found me in the suburbs of Richmond. Of my march through the city I have written the details to John and he will doubtless forward the letter to you. I am still confounded at the good fortune which brought me there. To have led my regiment into Richmond at the moment of its capture is the one event which I should most have desired as the culmination of my life in the Army. That honor has been mine and now I feel as if my record in this war was rounded and completely filled out.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday we lay near Richmond picketing all the roads. My impressions of the city and its people I sent to John; but I also had to ride round a portion of the line of defences, crossing the celebrated Chickahominy swamp and visiting the scene of McClellan’s old operations. The rebel earthworks are the strongest I ever saw and the city is wonderfully defensible. There, at last, however were those works, the guns still mounted and unspiked, with the ammunition beside them, taken at last without the loss of a man, flanked by great marches in Georgia.

Thursday afternoon I was surprised by an order to report with my regiment to General Hartsuff in Petersburg. I called in my pickets and made a moonlight flitting, leaving my camp at midnight. The regiment marched through Richmond at ten o’clock and found that conquered city quiet and silent as a graveyard. I believe I saw but one living being in the streets — a single sentry on his beat and I did not hear a sound. In fact all through the occupation the behavior of our Army has been wonderful. I have not seen or heard of any riot, blood-shed or violence. Of drunkenness there necessarily was a great deal; for, with an insane idea of propitiating our soldiers, the citizens actually forced liquor on them in the streets; but now those two cities are as quiet and orderly as any cities of the North. As for the usual scenes which have accompanied such captures abroad, there were absolutely none of them.

We found the slaves and the poor whites pillaging freely, but that was put a stop to and the soldiers, so far as I could see, behaved admirably. I got to Petersburg at nine o’clock and reported to General Hartsuff. He gave me until next morning to get the regiment together and rest it, and then sent me out here to cover the South Side Railroad.

Here I am on classic ground and see a good deal of the inhabitants. The rumor today is that Lee has surrendered. If this is so the fighting is over. Johnston must follow suit and there will hardly be another skirmish. Even if the rumor is false, however, I am persuaded the war is really over. For the first time I see the spirit of the Virginians, since these last two battles, completely broken; the whole people are cowed —whipped out. Every one is now taking the oath of allegiance. By the first of June you will not be able in these parts to find any confederates. The war is really over. These indications are new to me. In all former times these people might be broken, but they would not bend. Now they cower right down before us.

My present line runs right through both camps of the two armies. It is a curious region of desolation. I have ridden all through it and it seems to have been swept with the besom of destruction. All landmarks are defaced, not only trees and fences, but even the houses and roads. It is one broad tract, far as the eye can reach, dotted here and there with clumps of trees which mark the spot where some Head Quarters stood, and for the rest covered with a thick stubble of stumps of the pine. You ride through mile after mile of deserted huts, marking the encampments of armies, and over roads now leading from nowhere, nowhither. Large houses are gone so that even their foundations can no longer be discovered. Forts, rifle-pits and abattis spring up in every direction, and in front of Petersburg the whole soil is actually burrowed and furrowed beyond the power of words to describe. There it all is, freshly deserted and as silent as death; but it will be years and years before the scars of war disappear from this soil, for nature must bring forth new trees and a new race of men must erect other habitations.

So much for my experiences, so far in the most interesting bit of campaigning it has yet been my fate to take part in. As you will imagine I have been and am happy and contented enough. This continual change and movement, without the crush and drive of a fierce campaign, is most delightful. It is also most fortunate; for to have been forced into the field at once would have utterly ruined my regiment. As it is, it has now an excellent chance. In a word, my usual good fortune has accompanied me. I seem once more to have landed on my feet in just the right moment and at just the right place. . . .

April 2d.—Bright and beautiful. The tocsin was sounded this morning at daybreak, and the militia ordered to the fortifications, to relieve some regiments of Longstreet’s corps, posted on this side of the river. These latter were hurried off to Petersburg, where a battle is impending, I suppose, if not in progress.

A street rumor says there was bloody fighting yesterday a little beyond Petersburg, near the South Side Road, in which Gen. Pickett’s division met with fearful loss, being engaged with superior numbers. It is said the enemy’s line of intrenchments was carried once or twice, but was retaken, and remained in their hands.

I hear nothing of all this at the department; but the absence of dispatches there is now interpreted as bad news! Certain it is, the marching of veteran troops from the defenses of Richmond, and replacing them hurriedly with militia, can only indicate an emergency of alarming importance. A decisive struggle is probably at hand—and may possibly be in progress while I write. Or there may be nothing in it—more than a precautionary concentration to preserve our communications.

Mrs. Davis sold nearly all her movables—including presents— before leaving the city. She sent them to different stores.

An intense excitement prevails, at 2 P.M. It pervaded the churches. Dr. Hoge intermitted his services. Gen. Cooper and the President left their respective churches, St. James’s and St. Paul’s. Dr. Minnegerode, before dismissing his congregation, gave notice that Gen. Ewell desired the local forces to assemble at 3 P.M.—and afternoon services will not be held. The excited women in this neighborhood say they have learned the city is to be evacuated to-night.

No doubt our army sustained a serious blow yesterday; and Gen. Lee may not have troops sufficient to defend both the city and the Danville Road at the same time.

It is true! The enemy have broken through our lines and attained the South Side Road. Gen. Lee has dispatched the Secretary to have everything in readiness to evacuate the city to-night. The President told a lady that Lieut.-Gen. Hardee was only twelve miles distant, and might get up in time to save the day. But then Sherman must be in his rear. There is no wild excitement—yet. Gen. Kemper was at the department looking for Gen. Ewell, and told me he could find no one to apply to for orders. The banks will move to-night. Eight trains are provided for the transportation of the archives, etc. No provision for civil employees and their families.

At 6 P.M. I saw the Hon. James Lyons, and asked him what he intended to do. He said many of his friends advised him to leave, while his inclination was to remain with his sick family. He said, being an original secessionist, his friends apprehended that the Federals would arrest him the first man, and hang him. I told him I differed with them, and believed his presence here might result in benefit to the population.

Passing down Ninth Street to the department, I observed quite a number of men—some in uniform, and some of them officers— hurrying away with their trunks. I believe they are not allowed to put them in the cars.

The Secretary of War intends to leave at 8 P.M. this evening. The President and the rest of the functionaries, I suppose, will leave at the same time.

I met Judge Campbell in Ninth Street, talking rapidly to himself, with two books under his arm, which he had been using in his office. He told me that the chiefs of bureaus determined which clerks would have transportation—embracing only a small proportion of them, which I found to be correct.

At the department I learned that all who had families were advised to remain. No compulsion is seen anywhere; even the artisans and mechanics of the government shops are left free to choose—to go or to stay.

A few squads of local troops and reserves—guards—may be seen marching here and there. Perhaps they are to burn the tobacco, cotton, etc., if indeed anything is to be burned.

Lee must have met with an awful calamity. The President said to several ladies to-day he had hopes of Hardee coming up in time to save Lee—else Richmond must succumb. He said he had done his best, etc. to save it. Hardee is distant two or three days’ march.

The negroes stand about mostly silent, as if wondering what will be their fate. They make no demonstrations of joy.

Several hundred prisoners were brought into the city this afternoon—captured yesterday. Why they were brought here I am at a loss to conjecture. Why were they not paroled and sent into the enemy’s lines?

At night. All is yet quiet. No explosion, no conflagration, no riots, etc. How long will this continue? When will the enemy come?

It was after 2 o’clock P.M. before the purpose to evacuate the city was announced; and the government had gone at 8 P.M.! Short notice! and small railroad facilities to get away. All horses were impressed.

There is a report that Lieut.-Gen. A. P. Hill was killed, and that Gen. Lee was wounded. Doubtless it was a battle of great magnitude, wherein both sides had all their forces engaged.

I remain here, broken in health and bankrupt in fortune, awaiting my fate, whatever it may be. I can do no more. If I could, I would.

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father

Newport, R.I., March 7, 1865

What do you think of the inaugural? That rail-splitting lawyer is one of the wonders of the day. Once at Gettysburg and now again on a greater occasion he has shown a capacity for rising to the demands of the hour which we should not expect from orators or men of the schools. This inaugural strikes me in its grand simplicity and directness as being for all time the historical keynote of this war; in it a people seemed to speak in the sublimely simple utterance of ruder times. What will Europe think of this utterance of the rude ruler, of whom they have nourished so lofty a contempt? Not a prince or minister in all Europe could have risen to such an equality with the occasion. . . .

Wednesday, 18th—The weather is very pleasant. We are still on duty guarding the main road to Beaufort. The trains have all gone in for supplies. All is quiet in front. This low country, before the war, was planted to cotton, the planters living in town while their plantations were managed by overseers and worked by slaves brought down from the border states. We can see rows of the vacant negro huts on these large plantations, set upon blocks so as to keep the floors dry. The negroes are all gone, being employed in the armies of both sections.[1]

[1] When I think of the vacant plantations I saw all through the South, when I recall the hardships of the negroes, and the different modes of punishment inflicted upon the slaves, all with the consent of the Southern people, then I can understand how they could be so cruel in their treatment of the Union prisoners of war. They put them in awful prison pens and starved them to death without a successful protest from the better class of the people of the South. The guards of these prisons had lived all their lives witnessing the cruel tortures of slaves; they had become hardened and thus had no mercy on an enemy when in their power. Many an Andersonvllle prisoner was shot down just for getting too close to an imaginary dead-line when suffering from thirst and trying to get a drink of water.

Not all Southerners were so cruel, for I lived in the same house with an ex-Confederate soldier from Georgia, when in southern Florida during the winter of 1911 and know that he had some feeling. He had been guard at Andersonvllle for a short time, and told me that he would have taken water to them by the bucketful, for he could not bear to hear the poor fellows calling for water; but that he did not dare to do it. This man’s name was McCain, and at the time I met him his home was at College Park, Atlanta, Ga.—A. G. D.

December 29th.—Rained all night; spitting snow this morning.

Although Gen. Bragg announces that the enemy’s fleet has disappeared off Wilmington, still the despondency which has seized the croakers remains. It has probably sailed against Charleston, to co-operate with Sherman. Sherman says officially that he got, with Savannah, about 1000 prisoners, 150 heavy guns, nearly 200 cars and several locomotives, 35,000 bales of cotton, etc. etc. And Gen. Foster says the inhabitants (20,000) were “quiet, and well disposed.” Most people believe Charleston will fall next, to be followed by a sweep of the entire sea-board; and grave men fear that the impetus thus given the invader cannot be checked or resisted.

The great want is fighting men, and they are mostly exempted or detailed under that portion of the “War Department” which is quietly worked by Judge Campbell, who is, of course, governed by his own great legal judgment. Well, the President has been informed of this, and yet waits for Mr. Secretary Seddon to suggest a remedy. I have often thought, and still think, that either the Bureau of Conscription must be abolished or the government must fail. The best generals will not avail without sufficient men to fight.

Gen. Beauregard telegraphs from Charleston, December 26th, that there is a conflict of authority at Mobile as to which branch of the service, navy or army, shall command the torpedo boat. The two Secretaries are referring it to commanders, and I fear that, by the time the question is settled, some calamity will befall the boat, and the city, and the country.

Grant is said to be moving troops to the north side of the river again, fearing an attack from us, or intending one himself.

November 28th.—Calm and warm; clouds and sunshine, without wind.

All quiet below. It is reported that one of our picket boats in the James River deserted last night. It is said the crew overpowered the officers and put them ashore, and then the boat rowed down to the enemy.

I am informed by Capt. Warner that there are 12,000 graves of Federal prisoners at Andersonville, Ga. That climate is fatal to them; but the government cannot feed them here, and the enemy won’t exchange.

A dispatch from Gen. Bragg:

“Augusta, November 27th, 1864.—We have lost communication with the front. A small cavalry raid cut the Savannah Railroad and telegraph, this morning, at Brier Creek, twenty-six miles from here. Gen. Wheeler was, yesterday, confronting the enemy’s infantry at Sandersville. An officer, who left Macon on the 23d, states that one corps of the enemy was still confronting us there; our force not exceeding 5000, nearly all militia. The force here, including all available reserves, does not exceed 6000 effectives: only one battery. I am not yet advised from Charleston and Savannah, but know the means are small. Neither point could long resist the enemy’s whole force; hence my remarks about concentration. Gen. Hardee has gone to Savannah. Wheeler will continue to confront and harass the enemy. I have not learned the strength of his command. He estimates the enemy’s force at about 30,000.”

Gen. Beauregard has published a short proclamation, saying he will soon arrive to the rescue in Georgia. Here, then, will be war between the two B.’s—Bragg and Beauregard; and the President will be as busy as a bee. Meantime, Sherman may possess the land at pleasure.

A long letter (twenty-five pages) from Gov. Brown, Georgia, came to hand to-day, combating, in replication, one from the Secretary relating to calling out all the militia of Georagia, etc. State rights and the Constitution are discussed in extenso, and many a hard blow is aimed at the President. The Governor regards the Secretary as merely the instrument or head clerk of the President, whom he sneers at occasionally. But he denounces as vile the President himself, and refuses to obey the call. What he will do with the militia must soon be known, for Sherman is there.

A great stir among the officers on bureau and department duty in Richmond! Congress has called on the President for a list of all commissioned officers here, their ages, etc., and how many of them are fit for duty in the field. This will be dodged, of course, if possible.

November 19, 1864.

Slept in my clothes last night, as I heard that the Yankees went to neighbor Montgomery’s on Thursday night at one o’clock, searched his house, drank his wine, and took his money and valuables. As we were not disturbed, I walked after breakfast, with Sadai, up to Mr. Joe Perry’s, my nearest neighbor, where the Yankees were yesterday. Saw Mrs. Laura [Perry] in the road surrounded by her children, seeming to be looking for some one. She said she was looking for her husband, that old Mrs. Perry had just sent her word that the Yankees went to James Perry’s the night before, plundered his house, and drove off all his stock, and that she must drive hers into the old fields. Before we we were done talking, up came Joe and Jim Perry from their hiding-place. Jim was very much excited. Happening to turn and look behind, as we stood there, I saw some blue-coats coming down the hill. Jim immediately raised his gun, swearing he would kill them anyhow.

“No, don’t!” said I, and ran home as fast as I could, with Sadai.

I could hear them cry, “Halt! Halt!” and their guns went off in quick succession. Oh God, the time of trial has come!

A man passed on his way to Covington. I halloed to him, asking him if he did not know the Yankees were coming.

“No—are they?”

“Yes,” said I; “they are not three hundred yards from here.”

“Sure enough,” said he. “Well, I’ll not go. I don’t want them to get my horse.” And although within hearing of their guns, he would stop and look for them. Blissful ignorance! Not knowing, not hearing, he has not suffered the suspense, the fear, that I have for the past forty-eight hours. I walked to the gate. There they came filing up.

I hastened back to my frightened servants and told them that they had better hide, and then went back to the gate to claim protection and a guard. But like demons they rush in! My yards are full. To my smoke-house, my dairy, pantry, kitchen, and cellar, like famished wolves they come, breaking locks and whatever is in their way. The thousand pounds of meat in my smoke-house is gone in a twinkling, my flour, my meat, my lard, butter, eggs, pickles of various kinds—both in vinegar and brine—wine, jars, and jugs are all gone. My eighteen fat turkeys, my hens, chickens, and fowls, my young pigs, are shot down in my yard and hunted as if they were rebels themselves. Utterly powerless I ran out and appealed to the guard.

“I cannot help you, Madam; it is orders.”

As I stood there, from my lot I saw driven, first, old Dutch, my dear old buggy horse, who has carried my beloved husband so many miles, and who would so quietly wait at the block for him to mount and dismount, and who at last drew him to his grave; then came old Mary, my brood mare, who for years had been too old and stiff for work, with her three-year-old colt, my two-year-old mule, and her last little baby colt. There they go! There go my mules, my sheep, and, worse than all, my boys [slaves]!

Alas! little did I think while trying to save my house from plunder and fire that they were forcing my boys from home at the point of the bayonet. One, Newton, jumped into bed in his cabin, and declared himself sick. Another crawled under the floor,—a lame boy he was,—but they pulled him out, placed him on a horse, and drove him off. Mid, poor Mid! The last I saw of him, a man had him going around the garden, looking, as I thought, for my sheep, as he was my shepherd. Jack came crying to me, the big tears coursing down his cheeks, saying they were making him go. I said:

“Stay in my room.”

But a man followed in, cursing him and threatening to shoot him if he did not go; so poor Jack had to yield. James Arnold, in trying to escape from a back window, was captured and marched off. Henry, too, was taken; I know not how or when, but probably when he and Bob went after the mules. I had not believed they would force from their homes the poor, doomed negroes, but such has been the fact here, cursing them and saying that “Jeff Davis wanted to put them in his army, but that they should not fight for him, but for the Union.” No! Indeed no! They are not friends to the slave. We have never made the poor, cowardly negro fight, and it is strange, passing strange, that the all-powerful Yankee nation with the whole world to back them, their ports open, their armies filled with soldiers from all nations, should at last take the poor negro to help them out against this little Confederacy which was to have been brought back into the Union in sixty days’ time!

My poor boys! My poor boys! What unknown trials are before you! How you have clung to your mistress and assisted her in every way you knew.

Never have I corrected them; a word was sufficient. Never have they known want of any kind. Their parents are with me, and how sadly they lament the loss of their boys. Their cabins are rifled of every valuable, the soldiers swearing that their Sunday clothes were the white people’s, and that they never had money to get such things as they had. Poor Frank’s chest was broken open, his money and tobacco taken. He has always been a moneymaking and saving boy; not infrequently has his crop brought him five hundred dollars and more. All of his clothes and Rachel’s clothes, which dear Lou gave her before her death and which she had packed away, were stolen from her. Ovens, skillets, coffee-mills, of which we had three, coffee-pots—not one have I left. Sifters all gone!

Seeing that the soldiers could not be restrained, the guard ordered me to have their [of the negroes] remaining possessions brought into my house, which I did, and they all, poor things, huddled together in my room, fearing every movement that the house would be burned.

A Captain Webber from Illinois came into my house. Of him I claimed protection from the vandals who were forcing themselves into my room. He said that he knew my brother Orrington [the late Orrington Lunt, a well-known early settler of Chicago]. At that name I could not restrain my feelings, but, bursting into tears, implored him to see my brother and let him know my destitution. I saw nothing before me but starvation. He promised to do this, and comforted me with the assurance that my dwelling-house would not be burned, though my out-buildings might. Poor little Sadai went crying to him as to a friend and told him that they had taken her doll, Nancy. He begged her to come and see him, and he would give her a fine waxen one. [The doll was found later in the yard of a neighbor, where a soldier had thrown it, and was returned to the little girl. Her children later played with it, and it is now the plaything of her granddaughter.]

He felt for me, and I give him and several others the character of gentlemen. I don’t believe they would have molested women and children had they had their own way. He seemed surprised that I had not laid away in my house, flour and other provisions. I did not suppose I could secure them there, more than where I usually kept them, for in last summer’s raid houses were thoroughly searched. In parting with him, I parted as with a friend.

Sherman himself and a greater portion of his army passed my house that day. All day, as the sad moments rolled on, were they passing not only in front of my house, but from behind; they tore down my garden palings, made a road through my back-yard and lot field, driving their stock and riding through, tearing down my fences and desolating my home — wantonly doing it when there was no necessity for it.

Such a day, if I live to the age of Methuselah, may God spare me from ever seeing again!

As night drew its sable curtains around us, the heavens from every point were lit up with flames from burning buildings. Dinnerless and supperless as we were, it was nothing in comparison with the fear of being driven out homeless to the dreary woods. Nothing to eat! I could give my guard no supper, so he left us. I appealed to another, asking him if he had wife, mother, or sister, and how he should feel were they in my situation. A colonel from Vermont left me two men, but they were Dutch, and I could not understand one word they said.

My Heavenly Father alone saved me from the destructive fire. My carriage-house had in it eight bales of cotton, with my carriage, buggy, and harness. On top of the cotton were some carded cotton rolls, a hundred pounds or more. These were thrown out of the blanket in which they were, and a large twist of the rolls taken and set on fire, and thrown into the boat of my carriage, which was close up to the cotton bales. Thanks to my God, the cotton only burned over, and then went out. Shall I ever forget the deliverance?

To-night, when the greater part of the army had passed, it came up very windy and cold. My room was full, nearly, with the negroes and their bedding. They were afraid to go out, for my women could not step out of the door without an insult from the Yankee soldiers. They lay down on the floor; Sadai got down and under the same cover with Sally, while I sat up all night, watching every moment for the flames to burst out from some of my buildings. The two guards came into my room and laid themselves by my fire for the night. I could not close my eyes, but kept walking to and fro, watching the fires in the distance and dreading the approaching day, which, I feared, as they had not all passed, would be but a continuation of horrors.

November 15, 1864.

Went up to Covington to-day to pay the Confederate tax. Did not find the commissioners. Mid [a slave] drove me with Beck and the buggy. Got home about three o’clock. How very different is Covington from what it used to be! And how little did they who tore down the old flag and raised the new realize the results that have ensued!

Saturday, 12th—Our corps marched out on the railroad between Marietta and Big Shanty and tore it up, burning all the ties and bending the irons. The iron rails were thrown into the fires and then twisted up. The last train went North about noon, and no more mail will be sent out from this part of the army for forty days. The telegraph lines between Atlanta and the North were cut soon after the last train left. The railroad from Dalton south, wherever Sherman’s army goes, is to be destroyed and all stations and public buildings burned.

One Hundred Miles South Of The Potomac,

September 27, 1864.

Dear Uncle: — Our work seems to be done for the present. The cavalry and small scouting parties are after the scattered and broken army. It looks as if we should, after [a] while, return towards the Potomac. We are resting in the magnificent Valley of Virginia. A most happy campaign it has been. Our chance to act has been good, and it has been well improved. My immediate command is one of the very finest, and has done all one could desire.

There are five or six brigadier-generals and one or two major-generals, sucking their thumbs in offices at Harpers Ferry and elsewhere, who would like to get my command. One came out here yesterday to ask for it, but General Crook tells them he has all the commanders he wants and sends them back. There is not a general officer in General Crook’s army and has not been in this campaign.

Things look well in all directions. Lincoln must be re-elected easily, it seems to me. Rebel prisoners — the common soldiers — all talk one way: “Tired of this rich man’s war; determined to quit if it lasts beyond this campaign.”


R. B. Hayes.

S. Birchard.