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

August 2012

August 29, Clinton, La.

Noah’s duck has found another resting-place! Yesterday I was interrupted while writing, to pack up for another move, it being impossible to find a boarding-house in the neighborhood. We heard of some about here, and Charlie had engaged a house for his family, where the servants were already settled, so I hurried off to my task. No easy one, either, considering the heat and length of time allowed. This time I ate dinner as I packed, again. About four, finding Miriam did not come to Mr. Elder’s as she promised, I started over to General Carter’s with her clothes, and found her just getting into the buggy to ride over, as I arrived warm, tired, hardly able to stand. After taking her over, the General sent the buggy back for Mrs. Carter and myself, and soon we were all assembled waiting for the cars. At last, determining to wait for them near the track, we started off again, General Carter driving me in his buggy. I love General Carter. Again, after so many kind invitations, he told me he was sorry we would not remain with him; if we were content, he would be only too happy to have us with him; and spoke so kindly that I felt as though I had a Yankee ball in my throat. I was disposed to be melancholy anyway; I could not say many words without choking. I was going from the kindest of friends to a country where I had none at all; so could not feel very gay. As we reached the track, the cars came shrieking along. There was a pause, a scuffle, during which the General placed me and my bird in a seat, while Lilly, Charlie, Miriam, mother, five children, and two servants, with all the baggage, were thrown aboard some way, when with a shriek and a jerk we were off again, without a chance of saying goodbye, even.

I enjoyed that ride. It had but one fault; and that was, that it came to an end. I would have wished it to spin along until the war was over, or we in a settled home. But it ended at last, to Jimmy’s great relief, for he was too frightened to move even, and only ventured a timid chirp if the car stopped, as if to ask, “Is it over?” Nothing occurred of any interest except once a little boy sent us slightly off the track, by meddling with the brakes.

Landed at sunset, it is hard to fancy a more forlorn crew, while waiting at the depot to get the baggage off before coming to the house. We burst out laughing as we looked at each lengthened face. Such a procession through the straggling village has hardly been seen before. How we laughed at our forlorn plight as we trudged through the hilly streets, —they have no pavements here, — looking like emigrants from the Ould Counthry, as we have watched them in New Orleans!

At the house we found Tiche laid up. The loaded wagon, with its baggage, four mules, three grown servants, and four children, was precipitated from a bridge twenty-five feet high, by the breaking of the before-mentioned causeway, and landed with the whole concern in deep water below. Wonderful to relate, not a life was lost! The mattress on which the negroes remained seated floated them off into shallow water. The only one hurt was Tiche, who had her leg severely sprained. The baggage was afterwards fished out, rather wet. In the mud next morning (it happened late at night), Dophy found a tiny fancy bottle that she had secreted from the Yankees; a present from Clemmy Luzenberg, it was, and one of two things left in my curiosity shop by the Yankees.

After seeing everything in, we started off for the hotel, where we arrived after dark, rather tired, I think. Not a comfortable house, either, unless you call a bare, unfurnished, dirty room without shutter or anything else, comfortable; particularly when you are to sleep on the floor with four children and three grown people, and a servant. After breakfast we came here until we can find a place to settle in, which Mr. Marsden has promised to attend to for us. It is rather rough housekeeping yet, but Lilly has not yet got settled. Our dinner was rather primitive. There was a knife and fork to carve the meat, and then it was finished with spoons. I sat on the floor with my plate, and a piece of cornbread (flour not to be bought at any price) and ate with my fingers — a new experience. I found that water can be drunk out of a cup!

Ouf! I am tired!

29th.—Struck tents near Alexandria, at 10 A. M., and have marched in direction of Fairfax Court House, I suppose to go to Bull Run, to reinforce General Pope, who with fifty thousand men is now engaged with Jackson and Longstreet’s army, over one hundred thousand strong. I hope to God that may be our destination, and that we may be in time. We have marched to-day only about six miles. The day is beautiful and cool, the roads fine. Why do we not go further. Is it because we have other destination than what I hoped?

Friday, 29th—No news of importance. We are all on fatigue duty today, building rifle-pits and a fort. Our fortifications are not on high ground, but in case of an attack upon our camp, they would give us ample protection.

Friday, 29th. Morning passed as usual in reading the late papers and loafing. Washed dishes. No encouraging news. Several commissions came over—some very just and deserved ones. In the afternoon came a detail of all well mounted men to go on an expedition into Mo. Archie and I went. 50 men in all under Capt. Welch. 9th Wisconsin, Allen’s Battery, and part of the 9th Kansas along under Gen. Salomon. We went as advance. Rode all night. Slept a good deal in saddle. Was very sleepy. Reached Montebello just before sunrise. Went in on all roads, dashing down at full gallop, but never an enemy. Expected to find 1200 there.

Friday, 29th.—Notified to-day that we were marching to Richmond, Kentucky. Camped at Big Laurel Bridge. Lieutenant D. U. Fox, R. F. Anderson, Brothers Tom and Lon Magill and myself went out to Uncle Newton Magill’s; very strong for the Union. Said he could not understand how children of his brother could be fighting against the Union. We explained to him that where we lived it was either fight or be conscripted, and made to fight, and so we only had “Hobson’s choice,” no matter which end of the dilemma we took, it was to land in the army. The whole family treated us so nicely that we enjoyed our stay for the night. We trusted them so implicitly that we stacked our guns in the corner down-stairs, and left and went up-stairs to sleep, leaving ammunition and everything down there. It has always been a pleasure to me to think back of how nicely they all treated us.

August 29—Lieutenant Belk, whom we left at Weldon, sick, returned to us to-day.

AUGUST 29TH.—Bloody fighting is going on at Manassas. All the news is good for us. It appears that Pope, in his consummate egotism, refused to believe that he had been outwitted, and “pitched into” our corps and divisions, believing them to be merely brigades and regiments. He has been terribly cut up.

August 29th. Early this morning received orders to march to the old Bull Run battlefield, to the assistance of General Pope, who, report says, is getting much the worst of the fighting. Bull Run seems a fatal stream for us. Our entire division fell in, taking the road to Alexandria for a while, then turning off to the left, passed in front of Washington, and halted on the glacis of Fort Corcoran, bivouacking there for the night.

[August 28]

Arriving at Alexandria early in the morning, we immediately disembarked and marched directly for Camp California, our first winter quarters. When the men came in sight of the old spot, they fairly yelled with delight, throwing their caps in the air, and hurrahing till half their throats were sore. The Fifty-second German regiment expressed their feeling by singing magnificently, “Home Again.” Nearly every man in this regiment is a singer, and they have organized a system of singing on the march, when going through towns, on any notable occasion, which is most impressive. Every regiment bivouacked on its original ground, and most of us began to arrange and plan for a new camp, expecting a moderate stay, but were doomed to disappointment. The trains were not yet up, and as we have no camp equipage, are obliged to bivouac in the open air. What an extraordinary coincidence, that just five months after the opening of hostilities in the spring we should be back on the identical ground we started from, but not all of us are here; just about one-half of those who started to run the gauntlet of shot and shell, disease and capture, have succumbed to the one or the other, and their bones in many cases are whitening many a lonely spot in the pine forests of this unlucky state. Those of us surviving are a hardy, well disciplined, experienced body of troops that no disaster can appal, no hardship terrify; men for whom the soldiers of Lee’s army have a most wholesome respect. The campaign we have just finished has, of course, been a lamentable failure, but, as I have frequently observed, the general commanding, and not the men, is to blame. I remember a verse of a song, said to have been sung by the French army, commanded by Villeroi, after the battle of Cremone, in Piedmont, in which Villeroi, the commanding general, was captured; both armies were equally delighted:

“Francais rendon grace a Bellone,

Notre bonheur est sans egal:

Nous avons conserve Cremone

Et perdu notre General!

If we have really lost our general, I expect we shall do much better.

We busied ourselves getting information about the state of affairs, which is greatly mixed. Hooker and Kearney’s division passed through here a week ago by rail to join Pope’s army. Porter, with Morrel’s and Syke’s division, landed at Aquia Creek about the same time and marched to Fredericksburg, so that two corps of our army, at least, are with Pope, who ought to be able to give a good account of himself, thus reinforced.

1862 August Culpeper Court House, Va. Court house, with a group of Confederates captured

Culpeper Court House, Va. Court house, with a group of Confederates captured at Cedar Mountain on balcony; photo by Timothy H. O’Sullivan in August 1862.

Library of Congress image.