JULY 20TH.—I am back again, signing passports to the army. But yesterday, during the interregnum, the Beaverdam Depot was burnt by the enemy, information of its defenseless condition having been given by a Jew peddler, who obtained no passport from me.
Friday, July 20, 2012
View of Winchester, Va., from fort on the hill N.E. of the town, breastwork in foreground.
Artist: Edwin Forbes.
Morgan collection of Civil War drawings, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division
Record page for image is here.
July 20th, Sunday.
Last night the town was in a dreadful state of excitement. Before sunset a regiment, that had been camped out of town, came in, and pitched their tents around the new theatre, in front of our church. All was commotion and bustle; and as the pickets had been drawn in, and the soldiers talked freely of expecting an attack, everybody believed it, and was consequently in rather an unpleasant state of anticipation. Their cannon were on the commons back of the church, the artillery horses tied to the wheels; while some dozen tents were placed around, filled with men who were ready to harness them at the first alarm. With all these preparations in full view, we went to bed as usual. I did not even take the trouble of gathering my things which I had removed from my “peddler sack”; and slept, satisfied that, if forced to fly, I would lose almost everything in spite of my precaution in making a bag.
Well! night passed, and here is morning, and nothing is heard yet. The attack is delayed until this evening, or to-morrow, they say. Woman though I am, I am by no means as frightened as some of these men are. I can’t get excited about it. Perhaps it is because they know the danger, and I do not. But I hate to see men uneasy! I have been so accustomed to brave, fearless ones, who would beard the Devil himself, that it gives me a great disgust to see any one less daring than father and the boys.
I have been so busy preparing to go to the city that I think if the frolic should intervene and prevent my departure, I would be disappointed, though I do not want to go. It would be unpleasant, for instance, to pack all I own in my trunk, and just as I place the key in my pocket to hear the shriek of “Van Dorn!” raised again. This time it is to be Ruggles, though. I would not mind if he came before I was packed. Besides, even if I miss the fun here, they say the boats are fired into from Plaquemine; and then I have the pleasure of being in a fight anyhow. Mother is alarmed about that part of my voyage, but Miriam and I persuaded her it is nothing.
If I was a man — oh, would n’t I be in Richmond with the boys! . . . What is the use of all these worthless women, in war times? If they attack, I shall don the breeches, and join the assailants, and fight, though I think they would be hopeless fools to attempt to capture a town they could not hold for ten minutes under the gunboats. How do breeches and coats feel, I wonder? I am actually afraid of them. I kept a suit of Jimmy’s hanging in the armoir for six weeks waiting for the Yankees to come, thinking fright would give me courage to try it (what a seeming paradox!), but I never succeeded. Lilly one day insisted on my trying it, and I advanced so far as to lay it on the bed, and then carried my bird out — I was ashamed to let even my canary see me; — but when I took a second look, my courage deserted me, and there ended my first and last attempt at disguise. I have heard so many girls boast of having worn men’s clothes; I wonder where they get the courage.
To think half the men in town sat up all night in expectation of a stampede, while we poor women slept serenely! Everybody is digging pits to hide in when the ball opens. The Days have dug a tremendous one; the Wolffs, Sheppers, and some fifty others have taken the same precaution. They may as well dig their graves at once; what if a tremendous shell should burst over them, and bury in the dirt those who were not killed? Oh, no! let me see all the danger, and the way it is coming, at once. To-morrow, — or day after, — in case no unexpected little incident occurs in the interval, I purpose going to New Orleans, taking father’s papers and part of Miriam’s and mother’s valuables for safe-keeping. I hate to go, but they all think I should, as it will be one less to look after if we are shelled — which I doubt. I don’t know that I require much protection, but I might as well be agreeable and go. Ouf! how I will grow homesick, before I am out of sight!
Midnight
Here we go, sure enough. At precisely eleven o’clock, while we were enjoying our first dreams, we were startled by the long roll which was beat half a square below us. At first I only repeated “The roll of the drum,” without an idea connected with it; but hearing the soldiers running, in another instant I was up, and was putting on my stockings when Miriam ran in, in her nightgown. The children were roused and dressed quickly, and it did not take us many instants to prepare, — the report of two shots, and the tramp of soldiers, cries of “double-quick,” and sound as of cannon moving, rather hastening our movements. Armoirs, bureaus, and everything else were thrown open, and Miriam and I hastily packed our sacks with any articles that came to hand, having previously taken the precaution to put on everything fresh from the armoir. We have saved what we can; but I find myself obliged to leave one of my new muslins I had just finished, as it occupied more room than I can afford, the body of my lovely lilac, and my beauteous white mull. But then, I have saved eight half-made linen chemises! that will be better than the outward show.
Here comes an alarm of fire — at least a dreadful odor of burning cotton which has set everybody wild with fear that conflagration is to be added to these horrors. The cavalry swept past on their way to the river ten minutes ago, and here comes the news that the gunboats are drawing up their anchors and making ready. Well! here an hour has passed; suppose they do not come after all? I have been watching two sentinels at the corner, who are singing and dancing in the gayest way. One reminds me of Gibbes; I have seen him dance that way often. I was glad to see a good-humored man again. I wish I was in bed. I am only sitting up to satisfy my conscience, for I have long since ceased to expect a real bombardment. If it must come, let it be now; I am tired of waiting. A crowd of women have sought the protection of the gunboats. I am distressed about the Brunots; suppose they did not hear the noise? O girls! if I was a man, I wonder what would induce me to leave you four lone, unprotected women sleeping in that house, unconscious of all this? Is manhood a dream that is past? Is humanity an idle name? Fatherless, brotherless girls, if I was honored with the title of Man, I do believe I would be fool enough to run around and wake you, at least! Not another word, though. I shall go mad with rage and disgust. I am going to bed. This must be a humbug. Morgan came running in, once more in his night-gear, begging Lilly to hear his prayers. In answer to her “Why? You have said them to-night!” he says, “Yes! but I’ve been getting up so often!” Poor child! no wonder he is perplexed!
One hour and a half of this nonsense, and no result known. We are told the firing commenced, and the pickets were driven in, twenty minutes before the long roll beat.
Sunday, 20th—No news of importance. The weather is very hot. We had company inspection this morning, after which, because of the intense heat, the men remained in their tents. None were out during the day except those detailed on duty.
Camp Green Meadows, Mercer County, Virginia, July 20,1862. Sunday.—Morgan’s gang, or Rebels encouraged by him, have got into Warrick County, Indiana. This is the first successful (if it turns out successful) invasion of free soil. I regret it on that account. I wished to be able to say that no inch of free soil had been polluted by the footstep of an invader. However, this is rather an incursion of robbers than of soldiers. I suppose no soldiers have yet set foot on our soil.
I wish we were near or amidst the active movements. We ought to be sent somewhere.
20th. Reveille at 2 A. M. Marched at 4 A. M. Left Co. “A” to keep up communications. Encamped after 12 miles march. Major Burnett left with an escort for Leavenworth with orders and papers about Wier’s arrest.
Headquarters Stevens’s Div.
Burnside’s Expedition,
Newport News, Va.
July 20th, 1862.
My dear Mother:
I rode over yesterday to Fortress Monroe in my old clothes. Maj. Elliott, now Act’g. Inspector-General of our Division, and others, were of the party. On reaching the Fortress we found a man who for the sum of fifty cents, gives you half a dollar’s worth of likeness — a “Cheap John” style of man — and him we concluded to patronize. I send you the result. If it has defects, I have no doubt there is fifty cents worth of truth in it. The moustache and imperial in the picture I consider an improvement of the original, the most considerate of mirrors being unable to conceal the fact that these articles of beauty are in reality a bright plinthic red. Next week the “Cheap John” style of man says he will have an apparatus for taking carte-de-visite. If so, I will put on my best clothes, get taken, and forward myself to you in a more presentable manner.
I have received a couple of letters from you, one of the 5th, the other of the 9th, both of which took first a trip to Port Royal. I hope my telegraphic despatch may prevent any more from traveling so far in vain.
I am much obliged to my friends for their kind thoughts and words regarding me. I’ll tell you what, I think I ought to have a place in the Field of one of the new Conn. Regiments, not that I feel myself peculiarly competent for such a position, but because I think I’ll do better than those they are likely to select. I have been the longest in the service of any of my friends. I have been oftener in battle and been subject to more vicissitudes, yet they all outrank me. Matteson and Doster are Majors. Ely commands a Regiment. Harland commands a Brigade. Charles Dodge has a Regiment. Rockwell commands a battery, and so on all through the list. Somehow or other I’ve not been so accustomed to bringing up at the tail end as to fancy it now. I am delighted, to be sure, at the success of friends. I feel no envy, but would like to be a little more upon an equality with them. To be sure, by crawling along slowly, I have risen from the Junior Lieut. of my Regiment to rank as the 2d Captain — that is to say, from the 30th position in the line to the 2d. Still I would like a Major’s position in one of the new Regiments. However, where I now am, I have responsibility enough, I suppose.
Benham being disposed of, my letter to Uncle John has proved uncalled for, but I was very indignant at the time of writing it. . . . You may have read something of his letter relative to Gen. Stevens. It is unnecessary to characterize the whole as a malicious falsehood. I will only mention one thing. Benham quotes a letter from Stevens to prove that he (Stevens) approved the reconnoissance Benham projected. I happen to know personally the note quoted was written by Stevens with regard to a reconnoissance proposed by Stevens himself. This plan of a reconnoissance was agreed to by the Generals in Council in opposition to the plan proposed by Benham. Benham at first consented to this, but finally ordered the attack of the 16th to be made as he had originally proposed. The letter then of Gen. Stevens written regarding the Stevens plan of reconnoissance, is used by Benham to show that the Benham plan met with Stevens’ approbation.
Benham had an unaccountable aversion to Rockwell. When Rockwell was sick, and stopping on board the steamer with the amiable General, Benham growled so much about it, that Gen. Stevens was obliged to advise (privately) Capt. Rockwell to return to his company, though he was still pale, weak and unable to do duty. After the battle of the 16th, Benham wrote his report complimenting Capt. Hamilton of the Regular Artillery, omitting all mention of Rockwell, though Alfred’s Battery had been the most exposed, and had done nobly. This made Gen. Stevens very angry, so he informed Benham that he must alter his report, that his Command should have justice, that Rockwell had acquitted himself as well as Hamilton, and that he should have the credit he was entitled to. (Somewhat mixed way of expression, but comprehensible I believe). Gen. Stevens being an unpleasant man to deal with when angry, Benham got frightened and altered his report.
Since commencing this letter I have received one from you regarding dear Lilly’s wedding. I could not be there, but you all know how I feel. You speak of $100.00 having been spent on Lilly’s wardrobe by you in my behalf. I only mention it to have it fully understood that that money must never be returned to me.
Tell Mrs. Tyler, information I afterward received at James Island, renders the presence of Alfred there, to say the least, very doubtful.
I am tired, so I will close. Love to all.
Affec’y. your son,
W. T. Lusk.
Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.
[Diary] July 20, Sunday.
This morning there was no white preacher. After church Father Tom and his bench of elders examined candidates for baptism and asked Ellen to record their names. We stayed. Each candidate, clothed in the oldest possible clothes and with a handkerchief made into a band and tied around the forehead, stood humbly before the bench. Father Tom, looking like Jupiter himself, grave, powerful, and awfully dignified, put the most posing questions, to which the candidates replied meekly and promptly. He asked the satisfactory candidate at last, “How do you pray?” Then the soft, musical voices made the coaxing, entreating kind of prayer they use so much. A nod dismissed the applicant and another was called up. There were sixty or seventy to examine.
We went afterwards to St. Helenaville and stayed at the Jenkins’ house, which was crowded with superintendents.
Mr. Wells, Ellen, and I took a walk along the pretty street under the pines on the high bluff over the water. The passion flowers trailed all over the ground and the crape myrtle was in full bloom. I gave Ellen and Mr. Wells each a berry which I supposed was a “ground berry.” Mr. W. ate his in silence, but Ellen exclaimed that it was intensely bitter. I was alarmed, for I knew that the berry belonged to a poisonous family. We asked some of the people whether they were good to eat, and they said “No — poison.” I then made the two victims hurry back to Mr. Jenkins’ house and drink some strong coffee, besides giving an antidote from my little doctor’s box. No bad effects.
Young Mr. John Alden lay very ill in the house. After a while the people gathered before the porch and sang and tried to get up a “shout,” but this was not encouraged by the leaders. They sang “Happy Morning,” “Down in the Lonesome Valley,” and others.
We rode home in the twilight escorted by Lieutenant Forbes and some other horsemen. Forbes and others of the cavalry are picketed at Wells’, Edding’s Point.
Sunday, July 20, 1862.—A little way down the Yazoo on Friday we ran into McNutt’s Lake, thence into Chickasaw Bayou, and at dark landed at Mrs. C.’s farm, the nearest neighbors of H.’s uncle. The house was full of Confederate sick, friends from Vicksburg, and while we ate supper all present poured out the story of the shelling and all that was to be done at Vicksburg. Then our stuff was taken from the boat, and we finally abandoned the stanch little craft that had carried us for over one hundred and twenty-five miles in a trip occupying nine days. The luggage in a wagon, and ourselves packed in a buggy, were driven for four or five miles, over the roughest road I ever traveled, to the farm of Mr. B., H.’s uncle, where we arrived at midnight and hastened to hide in bed the utter exhaustion of mind and body. Yesterday we were too tired to think, or to do anything but to eat peaches.
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Note: To protect Mrs. Miller’s job as a teacher in New Orleans, the diary was published anonymously, edited by G. W. Cable, names were changed and initials were often used instead of full names — and even the initials differed from the real person’s initials.
Frank L. Keyes, wounded soldier, July 1862.
Summary: Wounded soldier in bed with a woman seated at the bed side, flag hanging on wall.
