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

July 2012

Newport, R. I., July 25.

Dear Friend, — I have slept in my own bed! or, rather, I did not sleep, — I lay awake thinking of a poor Southern fellow who said to me one morning: “I could n’t sleep, ma’am, for thinking how comfortable I was!”

We left Harrison’s Landing on Thursday in the “Daniel Webster,” with two hundred and thirty sick on board. At Fortress Monroe Mrs. Griffin came off from the “Euterpe”[1] to ask me to take her cousin, a captain in the regular army, to his friends in Newport. We had some difficulty in getting him on board, for the sea was running very high at midnight, when Mr. Olmsted put the “Webster” as close to the “Euterpe ” as he dared. The captain had typhoid fever, with a good deal of low delirium; but he did very well during the voyage, having a comfortable berth on deck under cover. When we reached New York I took him over to the Newport boat in an ambulance, hunted up Captain Brown, and made him establish my patient on his stretcher in the airiest part of the boat. It was rich to see the state of fuss into which that worthy man was thrown, and to hear him exhort me to “keep calm”! As soon as I could, I went below, and made the stewardess give me oceans of warm water, out of which I emerged a new creature. When I went back to my captain I found a lady sitting by him,—his mother, who happened to be going to Newport on that boat! So I gave up my last patient into better hands, — though at night, when I found him moved out of the fresh air, so essential to him, into the close cabin, I wished I had held command over him till we landed, and sighed over the follies of private nursing.

I met several friends on board. Mr. Tweedy gave me his stateroom, and Mr. Edward King took me down to supper, — an excursion I never made in my civilized existence; but now (think of it!) the lights, the flowers, the feast, seemed to me delicious and magnificent,— an Arabian Nights’ entertainment! No one will accuse us of having “eaten up the gifts of the people” on board the “Small.” If they do, I shall make Dr. Bigelow give us a testimonial about it. He owes it to us in return for all the grumbling which he did over our bad food. The last I saw of him was at the best restaurant in Washington, where we left him on the 5th of July; but he tells me in a subsequent letter that he went to see Dr. Bellows, President of the Sanitary Commission, and that, owing to his strong representations of the horrors on board the “Wilson Small,” “a cook, a cooking-stove, and something to eat” were to be sent down at once. “I told him,” he adds, “that in all probability no one on board that boat woold live to get home; but that a few puddings, if administered immediately, might save one or two: and I gave him six excellent recipes.” Can’t you imagine them?

The Hospital Transport Service is ended. We left the “Elizabeth” well supplied, and moored to the long wharf at Harrison’s Landing, where the surgeons and chaplains and quartermasters can get at her with ease. Dr. Jenkins and Dr. Douglas remain to superintend the issue of stores and inspect the condition of camps and regiments; but the transports are given back to the Quartermaster’s Department: our reign is over. I wonder who’ll succeed to my cabin on the “Small,” and hang his clothes on my gimlets (used for pegs), and inherit my other little inventions of that nature?

Georgy and Mr. Olmsted and I sat up the greater part of our last night on the “Webster,” talking as people will who know that on the morrow they are to separate widely. Did I say somewhere that Mr. Olmsted was severe, or something of that kind? Well, I am glad I said it, that I may now unsay it. Nothing could be more untrue; every day I have understood and valued and trusted him more and more. This expedition, if it has done no other good, has made a body of life-long friends. We have a period to look back upon when we worked together under the deepest feelings, and to the extent of our powers, shoulder to shoulder, helping each other to the best of our ability, no one failing or hindering another. From first to last there has been perfect accord among us; and I can never look back to these months without feeling that God has been very good to let me share in them and see human nature under such aspects. It is sad to feel that it is all over.

The first thing Mr. Olmsted did on arriving in New York was to send down a cargo of vegetables to check the scurvy, that enemy having appeared in force. Mother was greatly amused by my reply to her inquiry: “What shall be done with that last hundred dollars?” “Oh, spend it in onions!” I cried, enthusiastically. The last I saw of Mr. Olmsted he was disappearing down the side of the “Webster,” clad in the garb of a fashionable gentleman. I rubbed my eyes, and felt then that it was indeed all over. I myself had risen to the occasion by putting on a black-lace tablespoon [such were the bonnets of the period], in which I became at once conventional and duly civilized.

We are not yet forgotten on the James; at least I am assured of it in two letters, — one from the Great Mogul, the Medical Inspector General; the other from that United States Officer who did more than any other to make our work successful. They are characteristic. One writes: “How I miss the dear ladies of the ‘Wilson Small’ and their freshening drinks, — animal that I am! but how can I forget that which comforted me?” The other says: “The departure of the ‘Wilson Small’ has left a sad blank in these waters. It always had a humanizing effect upon me to go on board, if only for a moment. I trust that when this weary war is over I may meet the friends I have made here under happier skies.”

There! my story is done. A short three months ago I wrote to tell you it was beginning; but what a lifetime lies between now and then!


[1] Sister-ship to the “St. Mark.” She was used as a receiving hospital in Hampton Roads. Mrs. Griffin took charge of the women’s department on her for several weeks.

Company Drills.

July 25. The colonel, thinking that guard duty and dress parades are not quite exercise enough for us, has ordered company drills in the forenoon. The company officers do not take very kindly to this, and thinking it a good opportunity to give the sergeants a little practice in drilling the companies, they shirk out of it every time they can invent an excuse to do so. The companies are seen out under command of the orderlies or some other of the sergeants frequently. B company moves out of the company street on to the parade ground, and after executing a few brilliant maneuvers, starts off across the fields to the Trent road, a little out of sight of the camp, and here in the shade of the trees we sit down and await the recall, when we march back into camp with all the pomp and circumstance of glorious war. The duty has been performed and everybody seems well enough satisfied, except perhaps the performers.

Patriotism Suppressed.

And now, right here under the broad banner of freedom, personal liberty and rising patriotism has been suppressed. A party of small darky boys organized themselves into a drum corps and furnished themselves with old tin pans and kettles for an outfit. Being natural musicians, they soon acquired the art of drumming, and when they thought, they could make a creditable appearance before the public appeared one evening, standing just outside the guard in front of our dress parade. When the band led off down the line the little fellows commenced putting in their work, and they certainly did a good job, as they beat the time very well. But the thing was so ludicrous it was with difficulty the band could perform their part, and many of the boys in the line could not restrain their laughter. The little fellows seemed to enjoy it immensely, and would put in an appearance every evening, until the colonel finding it impossible to have a decent dress parade ordered the guard officers to suppress the amateur band, very much I presume against his inclination and feelings.

Miss Foster.

Gen. Foster has his wife and daughter with him here, which must make it very agreeable for him. Mrs. Foster is engaged in works of love and mercy around the hospitals, while Miss Foster, a young lady of some 16 or 17 years, is pretty much engaged in horseback ridding and having a good time generally. She is quite a military character, as we notice that when she and the general ride past here, she always returns the salutes from the sentinels as gracefully as the general. She frequently rides past here alone, and the sentinels along the street take great pride in honoring her with a present arms, a compliment which she never fails to acknowledge, by a graceful wave of her hand and her face wreathed with smiles.

July 25th. Weather still fine. Had a capital brigade drill in the afternoon, Colonel J. R. Brooke commanding, French still being in command of the division. General Richardson absent on sick leave. For the first time this summer the rations included new potatoes, cabbage, and tomatoes; the country hereabout produces nothing but corn, and all we have comes from the North; our main stay is, of course, hard bread (hard tack), salt pork, and fresh beef, killed on the hoof, and dressed and served on the ground, the animals’ skins being used to cut up the meat on. As the beef is issued immediately after being killed, it is generally warm and full of sand, due to the carelessness of the butchers.

map of the 1862 battles near Richmond

 

This map puts a bit of perspective on the battles that were fought around Richmond in 1862 and the location of McClellan’s forces in July.

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map of the 1862 battles near Richmond full mapFrom “Map of the battle ground near Richmond, showing plainly, every point of interest of the late & present position of the Union army.”

  • L. Prang & Co.
  • Boston 1862
  • Scale ca. 1:250,000.
  • LC Civil War Maps (2nd ed.), 633
  • Indicates location and dates of battles, “McClellan’s present defensive line” at Harrison’s Landing, principal roads, railroads, towns, and drainage.

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Digitally corrected for fading.

July 25.—At St Louis, Mo., great excitement existed on account of the order of Governor Gamble, authorizing the enrolment of the State militia.—An engagement took place on the Hatchie River, near Brownsville, Tenn., between a body of rebels, under the command of Capt. Faulkner, and a party of National cavalry, led by Major Wallace.

— Major-Gen. Pope, at Washington, issued the following order:

“Hereafter no guards will be placed over private houses or private property of any description whatever. Commanding officers are responsible for the conduct of the troops under their command, and the articles of war and regulations of the army provide ample means for restraining them to the full extent required for discipline and efficiency. Soldiers were called into the field to do battle against the enemy, and it is not expected that their force and energy shall be wasted in the protection of the private property of those most hostile to the government. No soldier serving in this army shall hereafter be employed in such service.”

—The Philadelphia and Reading, Pa., Railroad Company, subscribed twenty-five thousand dollars to aid in raising volunteers.—The rebel steamer Cuba arrived at Mobile, Ala., “from Havana, after an exciting chase by the blockaders.” — Richmond Examiner, July 26.

— President Lincoln, in accordance with the sixth section of the act of Congress entitled, “An act to suppress insurrection, to punish treason and rebellion, to seize and confiscate the property of rebels, and for other purposes,” issued a proclamation warning all persons to cease participating in aiding, countenancing or abetting the existing rebellion, or any rebellion, against the government of the United States, and to return to their proper allegiance to the United States, on pain of the forfeitures and seizures as by said sixth section provided.—(Doc. 158.)

— Two companies of Union troops, under the command of Captain Davidson, while guarding the bridge at Courtland, Ala., were completely surprised and captured by a force of rebel cavalry.— (Doc. 159.)

— A meeting of Irish citizens and residents of St. Louis, Mo., was held in that city for the purpose of denouncing the conduct of such of their countrymen as had attempted to avoid the operation of the Governor’s proclamation for troops to serve the State, by appealing to the British Consul for protection, as cowardly, base, and infamous.

— A skirmish took place near Orange Court-House, Va., between a reconnoitring party of Union troops under the command of General Gibson, and a body of rebels, resulting in the retreat of the latter with a loss of five men killed, several wounded and some prisoners.—Large meetings were held at Corning and Ithaca, N. Y., to promote enlistments into the army under the call of the President for additional troops.

July 24 — Early this morning we renewed our march and crossed the mountain and moved in the direction of Luray. At the Shenandoah we found the Yankee pickets posted on the east bank of the river. We silently and unobserved approached the heights on the west side of the river which overlooked the picket post that was held by about a dozen Yanks. We unlimbered one gun and landed a twelve-pound shell right in the midst of them, which was a regular astonisher from the way in which the Yanks, in the twinkling of an eye, scattered. It was an utter surprise to them, and in two minutes after we fired I did not see a single bluecoat. They all disappeared in the direction of Luray, without taking time to reconnoiter and ascertain where the little howling monster hailed from that came plowing through their picket post without permission and so unceremoniously. After we fired we fell back to a piece of woods about half a mile from the river and waited to see what else our shell would stir up beyond the Shenandoah. In about half an hour after we fell back a four-gun battery appeared on a high hill on the opposite side of the river, thoroughly commanding our position. They opened on us with all four guns. We did not return their fire, but fell back about a mile out of the range of their guns. They shelled our cavalry for a while and then ceased. I saw one of their shell tear up the ground and pass through right under Colonel Harman’s horse, without doing the least damage to man or horse.

I think that the object of our scout was merely to let the Yanks know that some of us are still around. After the firing had all died away and we found that the Yanks would not venture to come to our side of the river, we fell back to the foot of Massanutten, and camped.

Harrisons and Westover Landings

Harrison’s Landing appears to have been a named place or property, while Westover Landing was an actual river landing.

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White House to Harrisons Landing

Above map is from the map:

 

“White House to Harrison’s Landing”

  • Creator: Abbot, Henry L.
  • [S.l.] : Top. Engr’s., Army of the Potomac, [1862]
  • Relief shown by hachures.
  • Shows fortifications, towns, roads, railroads, houses, names of residents, vegetation, drainage.
  • At head of title: “Campaign map, Army of the Potomac, map no. 3.”
  • Library of Congress Geography and Map Division
  • www.loc.gov/item/2006626049

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Digitally enhanced for fade correction MpG

JULY 24TH.—Already the flood-gates of treasonable intelligence flowing North seem to be thrown wide open. The Baltimore papers contain a vast amount of information concerning our condition, movements in progress, and projected enterprises. And to crown all, these rascals publish in the same papers the passports given them by Gen. Winder. I doubt not they are sold by the detectives, Winder being ignorant.

We had now reached the 24th of July, and the climate had become deleterious to the health of our sailors, mostly in the shape of a malarious fever, which was prostrating a dozen a day. We had a sick list of about one hundred men, and we now most gladly started down the river, leaving the command with Commodore Davis. The mortar boats had previously been removed, and we now sailed for New Orleans.

Thursday, July 24th.

Yes; that must be the date, for one day and two nights have passed since I was writing here. Where shall I begin the story of my wanderings? I don’t know that it has a beginning, it is all so hurried and confused.

But it was Tuesday evening that the Federals were seized with a panic which threw the whole town in alarm. They said our troops were within eight miles, ten thousand in number. The report was even started that the advance guard was skirmishing with the Federals; the shots were heard distinctly, a dozen people were ready to swear. The Yankees struck their tents, galloped with their cannon through the streets with the most terrific din, troops passed at double-quick on their way to the Garrison, everything was confusion. Mr. Tunnard told us yesterday he was present when part of them reached the gate of the Garrison, and saw one of the officers spring forward, waving his sword, and heard him cry, “Trot, men! Gallop, I say! Damn you! run in!” —with a perfect yell at the close; whereupon all lookers-on raised a shout of laughter, for the man was frightened out of his wits. A Federal officer told him that their fright was really a disgrace; and if one thousand of our men had come in town, the whole thirty-five hundred would have been at their mercy. Even the naval officers denounce it as a most arrant piece of cowardice; for instead of marching their troops out to meet ours, they all rushed into the Garrison, where, if attacked, their only retreat would have been into the river. The gunboats were ordered into the middle of the stream, in front of the Garrison; and cooped up there, these valiant men awaited the assault in such trepidation that yesterday they freely said the force could be purchased for fifty cents, they are so ashamed of their panic.

Imagine what effect this had on the inhabitants! Soon, an exodus took place, in the direction of the Asylum, and we needs must follow the general example and run, too. In haste we packed a trunk with our remaining clothes, — what we could get in, — and the greatest confusion prevailed for an hour. Beatrice had commenced to cry early in the evening, and redoubled her screams when she saw the preparations; and Louis joining in, they cried in concert until eight o’clock, when we finally got off. What a din! Lilly looked perfectly exhausted; that look on her face made me heartsick. Miriam flew around everywhere; mother always had one more article to find, and the noise was dreadful, when white and black assembled in the hall ready at last. Charlie placed half of the trunks on the dray, leaving the rest for another trip; and we at last started off. Besides the inevitable running-bag, tied to my waist, on this stifling night I had my sunbonnet, veil, comb, toothbrush, cabas filled with dozens of small articles, and dagger to carry; and then my heart failed me when I thought of my guitar, so I caught it up in the case; and remembering father’s heavy inkstand, I seized that, too, with two fans. If I was asked what I did with all these things, I could not answer. Certain it is I had every one in my hands, and was not very ridiculous to behold.

Seventeen in number, counting white and black, our procession started off, each loaded in their own way. The soldiers did not scruple to laugh at us. Those who were still waiting in front of the churches to be removed laughed heartily, and cried, “Hello! Where are you going? Running? Good-bye!” Fortunately they could not see our faces, for it was very dark. One stopped us under a lamp-post and wanted us to go back. He said he knew we were to be attacked, for the Confederates were within five miles; but we were as safe at home as at the Asylum. He was a very handsome, respectable-looking man, though dirty, as Yankee soldiers always are, and in his shirt-sleeves besides. We thanked him for his kindness, and went on. All stopped at the Brunots’, to see that they were ready to fly; but the two parties were so tremendous that we gladly divided, and Miriam and I remained with them until they could get ready, while our detachment went on.

Wagons, carts, every vehicle imaginable, passed on to places of safety, loaded with valuables, while women and children hurried on, on foot. It took the Brunots as long to prepare as it did us. I had to drag Sophie out of her bed, where she threw herself, vowing she would not run; and after an interminable length of time, we were at last ready and started, with the addition of Mrs. Loucks and her sons in our train. The volunteer, whose sole duty seems to be to watch the Brunots, met us as we got out. He stopped as he met the first, looked in silence until Sophie and I passed, and then burst out laughing. No wonder! What a walk it was! Nobody hesitated to laugh, even though they meant to run themselves, and we made fun of each other, too, so our walk was merry enough.

When we reached there, the Asylum was already crowded — at least, it would have been a crowd in any other place, though a mere handful in such a building. The whole house was illuminated, up to the fifth story, and we were most graciously received by the director, who had thrown the whole house open to whoever chose to come, and exerted himself to be accommodating. It looked like a tremendous hotel where every one is at home; not a servant or one of the deaf and dumb children was to be seen; we had all the lower story to ourselves. Was n’t it pleasant to unload, and deposit all things in a place of safety! It was a great relief. Then we five girls walked on the splendid balcony which goes around the house until we could no longer walk, when I amused myself by keeping poor Sophie standing, since she would not sit down like a Christian, but insisted on going to bed like a lazy girl, as she is. When I finally let her go, it did not take her many minutes to undress, and soon we were all ready for bed. The Brunots had beds on the parlor floor; across the wide hall, we had a room opposite; and next to ours, Lilly and the children were all sleeping soundly. I ran the blockade of the hall in my nightgown, and had a splendid romp with the girls after rolling Sophie out of bed, and jerking Nettie up. Mother and Mrs. Brunot cried, “Order,” laughing, but they came in for their share of the sport, until an admiring crowd of females at the door told us by their amused faces they were enjoying it, too; so I ran the gauntlet again, and got safely through the hall, and after a few more inroads, in one of which Miriam accompanied me, and on which occasion I am sure we were seen in our nightgowns, we finally went to bed. I won’t say went to sleep, for I did not pretend to doze. All our side of the house had bars, except me; and the mosquitoes were unendurable; so I watched mother and Miriam in their downy slumbers and lay on my hard bed for hours, fighting the torments with bare arms.

Every now and then I heard a stir among the females above, indicating that some few were anticipating a panic. Once they took a rush from the fourth story, and cried they heard the cannon; twenty guns had been fired, etc. I lay still, determined not to believe it; and presently all subsided. I lay there for hours longer, it seemed, when Nettie at last wandered in disconsolate to find if we were asleep; for with the exception of Sophie, they, too, had been awake all night. I went to the parlor with her, when she, Dena, and I, decided to dress at once and sit on the balcony, since sleep was hopeless. Behold me in a blue muslin flounced to the waist, with a cape, too! What a running costume! Miriam only had time to take off her white dress before starting. All dressed, we went to the northwest corner, as far as possible from the rest of the household, and sat in a splendid breeze for hours. It was better than fighting insatiable mosquitoes; so there we sat talking through the greater part of a night which seemed to have borrowed a few additional hours for our benefit. We’ll have no Leap Year in ’64; the twenty-four extra hours were crowded in on that occasion, I think.

We discussed our favorite books, characters, authors, repeated scraps here and there of the mock sentimental, talked of how we would one day like to travel, and where we would go; discussed love and marriage, and came to the conclusion neither was the jest it was thought to be. (O wise young women!) Poor Nettie retired in despair, and we two watched alone for hours longer. The sun must have been arrested by some Joshua on the road; could n’t make me believe it was doing its duty as usual. We wandered around the balconies, through the grounds in the dim starlight (for it was cloudy), and finally, beholding a faint promise of morning, sat still and waited for the coming of the lazy sun. What was still more aggravating was that every time we looked in at the others showed them sleeping peacefully. Miriam lay her full length with outstretched arms, the picture of repose, looking so comfortable! When the sun finally made his appearance (he was out on a spree, I found, for his eyes were not half opened, and he looked dull and heavy as he peeped from behind his bed curtains), others began to stir, and in an hour more, we were ready to leave. Those who had slept, came out with swelled eyes and drowsy looks; while we three, who had been up all night, were perfectly calm, though rather pale; but I am seldom otherwise.

Were we not thankful to see home still standing! I did not feel tired much, but somehow, when it struck half-past six, and I found myself alone here (Miriam having stopped at Mrs. Day’s), I suddenly found myself divested of my flounces, and most other articles, and involuntarily going towards the bed. I could not sleep, was n’t thinking of such a thing; meant to — there was an end of my soliloquy! Where I went, I don’t know. As the clock struck eight, I got up as unaccountably, and discovered I had lost all idea of time in sleep. If it had not been for the clock, I should have said I had slept a day and a night, and it was now Thursday morning. A giant refreshed, I rose from my slumbers, took a hasty cup of coffee, and set to work packing Lilly’s trunk, for I was crazy to see the children off as soon as possible.

It was no short work, but we all hurried, said goodbye, and saw them go with a feeling of relief. By the experience of the night before, we knew that when the real moment came it would be impossible to get them off in time to escape danger. Poor Lilly! we miss her sadly; but are thankful to know that she is out of danger with her poor little children. She looked heartbroken at the idea of leaving us alone; but then, when one weak woman has five small babies to take care of, is it fair to impose three big ones on her? I ‘d never stay here, if she sacrificed her children to take care of us who need no protection. I was very lazy after they left; and sat reading until a note was brought from Charlie saying they were safe beyond the lines.

Last night came another alarm. Some fifty cannon were fired somewhere above, reports came that a body of our troops were a few miles out, so a thousand of these men took courage and went out to reconnoitre. Mrs. Brunot and mother insisted on going again to the Asylum for protection against the coming attack, though we at first begged and pleaded to stay at home. But we had to follow, and I don’t think any of us were in the best of humors, as we were all conscious of doing a foolish thing.

We were cordially received again, and got quite gay. Sleeping accommodations no better than before, as far as I was concerned. Sophie, Miriam, and I had but one bar between us, so we placed two mattresses side by side, and by dint of chairs and strings, stretched the net as far as possible over them. Those two were well enough; but to my share fell a baby’s mattress two feet by four, placed between the wall and the other great bed, with the end of the bar a foot above my face, and one sheet to do the duty of two — however, they had only one, also. Well! I believe I am tall, so my bed did not fit me. As it was two inches higher than theirs, there was no sharing. In spite of a heavy rain that was now pouring, my warm place was intolerable, and the perspiration streamed from my face so as to be disagreeable, to say the least. It drove me to walk in my sleep, I am afraid, for I have an indistinct recollection of finding myself standing at the window trying to breathe. It was a very, very little piece of sleep I got after all, and that little by no means refreshing.

Up at sunrise again, but it took some time to get ready, for I had to get some clothes out of the trunk, to send home. Well, ever since I reached here I have been writing, and I am ashamed to say how long it is. As the time grows more exciting, my book grows shorter, to my great distress. What will I do?

We all vowed that would be the last time we would run until we heard the cannon, or had some better reason than a Yankee panic to believe the Confederates were coming; though if we listened to mother, she would go there every night if this lasted for a whole year. Kind Phillie Nolan wrote insisting on our staying with them on the plantation until it was over, but we cannot do it; the time is too uncertain; if we knew it was to come this week, we might stay that long with her; but to go for an indefinite period, Miriam and I would not hear of.

I have kept for the last a piece of news I received with thankfulness, when I finally heard it; for, though known to the whole family and all the town on Tuesday night, no one thought it worth while to tell me until I heard it by accident last evening. It was that a Mr. Bell, writing to his wife, says Gibbes asked him to send word to mother that he, George, and Jimmy were in the fight of the 10th and 11th, and all safe. God be praised!