June 18, 1862.—I arrived in Mobile this morning, about 9 A. M., accompanied by Mr. John Fowler and his brother. We had a hard time getting down, as the train was very much crowded. Indeed, I scarcely know how I managed to get on it, as the guard tried to prevent us; my friends, Dr. H. and Captain C., threw me on, minus half of my baggage. I stood on the steps of the car for a little while, when one of the soldiers inside, with true southern gallantry, insisted on my taking his seat. As the car was filled with sick and wounded men, I was unwilling to do so; but from his importunity I was compelled to accept. The intention was a good one, and I received it in the spirit with which it was given, but I did not relish the change. The car was so close and crowded that I could scarcely breathe. I was seated with some very nice men from Missouri, but they certainly had not made use of a certain aqueous fluid that morning in making their toilets. As that liquid is scarce in Mississippi, I excuse them. One seemed anxious that I should have a lock of his hair, as he combed and scattered it around me. Another one bought some plums, and put them in a very greasy hat, some of which he very kindly offered me, mill for politeness’ sake I took them. I had to hold my head out of the window to get fresh air. To add to all, we had no water.
General B. was on the train. He and his staff had the ladies’ car and the baggage-car next, which was the cause of our being so crowded. I could not help wondering what had become of our boasted southern chivalry. It does not do to grumble, as these are war times, and the order of things seems to be reversed; but I could scarcely keep from it, as the car I was in was next to the baggage-car, where I had the felicity of seeing General B. and his staff come, every now and then, and arrange their toilets. The sight of them ought to have consoled me; but alas! for poor, weak humanity, I could not help envying them their comfortable seats. I did not mind so much for myself, men now-a-days seem to think that women have no right to leave our homes, and that the railroads and rail-cars are for their exclusive benefit. I could not but feel for the sick and wounded men who were so crowded, and many of them lying on the floor. If General B. was sick, he should have had a nice seat, but not a whole car; and why should his staff, more than other well soldiers, have so much room?
I heard many remarks about it, but said nothing, as I think it wrong to encourage grumbling at this time. We must expect little annoyances, and, as we are all struggling in one common cause, must not mind them.
My Missouri friends were very kind and attentive, and it gave me great pleasure to listen to them talk over their campaigns.
The country through which we passed was one immense field of corn. We came nearly two hundred and fifty miles, and I scarcely saw an acre of cotton.
On my arrival at home I learned that Mobile had lost fearfully by the late battles near Richmond. Among the wounded and slain are friends whom I have known a lifetime. I called on one lady, who had just received a letter from her son, then in the Virginia army, telling her that his father had been mortally wounded, and is now a prisoner, and his uncle in the same position. The battle of Seven Pines, near the Chickahominy River, was fought on the 31st of May. On the morning of the 1st of June, a part of our army was drawn into an ambuscade and had to retire, thereby leaving our wounded in the hands of the enemy. In the first day’s battle General J. E. Johnston, who was in command, was severely wounded. We were victorious, and had it not been for one of our general’s failing to come up at the right time, we would have captured the whole Federal army, which was under the command of General Keys.
The Eighth Alabama Regiment[1] lost many. It is said that it covered itself with glory in the last battle, and also in that of Williamsburg.
Among the killed are Lieutenant Henry Ellis, and Captain L. F. Summers, an eminent lawyer of this place. Lieutenant Mordicai, son of Dr. Mordicai, is mortally wounded. Lieutenant Josh Kennedy is believed killed by all but his devoted wife. Captain Laughrey and his brother are wounded and prisoners. Lieutenant Branigan is badly wounded, and is also a prisoner. The fate of Captain L. is uncertain; but, from what we can learn of him from men coming from the army, there is little doubt but that he is killed, as the last seen of him was when he had been wounded for the third time, and fell, it was supposed, dead.
The company of which Captain L. was a member, the Emerald Guards, was one of the first which left here for Virginia. It was composed of the members of a fire company. The men in it were principally natives of the “Green Isle of the Ocean;” they who have come forward, like Brian of old, at every call in this eventful struggle, and who, having adopted this land as their own, are determined to maintain her rights at all hazards.
I was at the depot the morning the company left for Virginia. It numbered one hundred and fifteen men. They were dressed in dark green, the emblematic color of Ireland, and carried a very beautiful flag, presented to them by some ladies. It was a Confederate flag on one side, in the center of which was the full-length figure of Washington; on the other side was the harp, encircled with a wreath of shamrocks and the words “Erin-go-Bragh.” Below that again was the Irish war-cry, “Faugh-n-ballaghl” which means “clear the way.” They were escorted by all of the fire companies, with a very fine band of music.
At that time I thought, like many others, that they were going more on a frolic than any thing else, as we could not think it possible that the North really meant to try and subjugate us, and as soon as she saw we were in earnest would let us alone, as we asked nothing from her but that. Alas, how fearfully have our hopes fallen, one after the other I We are not to gain our independence but through the blood of our bravest and best. God grant it has not been spilled in vain! I sincerely trust that the bereaved wives, mothers, and sisters will be enabled in this trying hour to look up to Him for comfort, who has promised to be a father to the fatherless and a friend to the widow. And may they also find consolation in knowing that these loved ones have died the death of heroes, and that
“While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirred not, but conquered and died.”
[1] But a remnant of this gallant regiment is now living. It was with General Lee at the time of the surrender. While expecting to be ordered in line of battle they were told to throw down their arms. They took their flag, which they had borne triumphantly through many a battle, and tore it into shreds. Each man, while the tears ran down his cheeks, took a piece to keep as a sacred memento of the past.
