Friday, 21st.—Cold and cloudy; sending on troops daily. My birthday.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Camp 103d Illinois Infantry, La Grange, Tenn.,
November 21, 1862.
Every one seems to think that we will start about day-after to-morrow, Monday. We have drawn eight days’ rations, and 200 rounds of ammunition has also been drawn for our corps. I don’t think we have more than 14,000 in our corps, Logan’s and McKean’s Divisions, although there are some eight or ten new regiments here that I don’t know, where assigned. Report to-day says that Sherman has moved from Memphis on the Holly Springs Pike.
We are having delightful weather. No fires are necessary until dark, and we have had no frosts since our arrival. Hope we will keep ahead of cold weather if compatible with the interests of the service. I “borrowed” some citizens clothes and wrote myself a pass as suttler’s clerk, last night, and strolled around the town a couple of hours. There are many fine buildings here, among the rest two very large academies. Many of the Memphian nobility have country seats here, some of them most elegant. Holly Springs, though, is the most important summer rendezvous for the Memphis folk. Our people have left the Springs, and I don’t know that we have any troops in advance of this place. I am very comfortable in my quarters. Have plenty of blankets and a good stove. My colored boy, Dave, went into the country 20 miles last night and returned this p.m. with his wife, a delicate looking black woman, neat and much above the ordinary slave. She has been a sewing girl all her life, and I think would be worth something to a family that has much plain sewing to do. I think I will try to send her to Mrs. S. C. Thompson. “Dave” is a first rate cook and waiter, and I’ll keep him with me until the war closes (if he don’t spoil) and then take him to his woman. How’d you like a good colored woman for your kitchen? This woman mended my pants (I have two pairs) as neatly as any tailor could. Our regiment beats 19 out of 20 of the old ones for discipline, and averages with them for drill. Colonel Dickerman is a star, and Lieutenant Colonel Wright is proving himself much better than we expected. Colonel Oglesby has figured away ahead of anybody I’ve heard of yet in procuring wagons, tents, etc., for this regiment. Ours is the only regiment I’ve heard of yet that is allowed to retain the old complement of transportation, equipage and tents. I’m officer of the day and ’tis my duty to make the rounds of the sentinels to-night at 1 or 2 o’clock; but in consideration of—etc., think the formality will be dispensed with.
November 21 —Rained last night. I had some Yankee prisoners in charge over night.
Friday night, November 21st.
Lying on my face, as it were, with my poor elbows for a support, I try to pass away these lonely hours. For with the exception of old Mrs. Carter, who is downstairs, and the General, who is elsewhere, Anna and I are the only white people on the place. The cause of this heartless desertion is a grand display of tableaux vivants at Jackson, for the benefit of the Soldiers’ Hospital, and of course it would be sinful to stay away, particularly as Anna is a great deal better, and I need no care. . . .
Friday, 21st—No news of importance. We are now in the regular routine of camp life, with drill twice a day. The quartermaster received a consignment of clothing and blankets for some of the men of our regiment.
Friday, 21st. Took three powders and at night had another chill. Drank some capsicum tea. Slept pretty well.
Moscow, Friday, Nov. 21. Weather cold and frosty. 2 P. M. bugle sounded the assembly, “Fall in”, when we were given orders to prepare to march immediately. The horses were harnessed, everything packed ready for further orders which after an hour waiting, came, to unharness. It proved to be an alarm caused by a party of guerillas making a dash upon our foraging train, capturing some seventy mules, then skedaddling before the escort could come up.
November 21.—This is my twentieth birthday. Anna wanted to write a poem for the occasion and this morning she handed me what she called “An effort.” She said she wrestled with it all night long and could not sleep and this was the result:
“One hundred years from now, Carrie, dear,
In all probability you’ll not be here;
But we’ll all be in the same boat, too,
And there’ll be no one left
To say boo hoo!”
Grandfather gave me for a present a set of books called “Irving’s Catechisms on Ancient Greeks and Romans.” They are four little books bound in leather, which were presented to our mother for a prize. It is thus inscribed on the front page, “Miss Elizabeth Beals at a public examination of the Female Boarding School in East Bloomfield, October 15, 1825, was judged to excel the school in Reading. In testimony of which she receives this Premium from her affectionate instructress, S. Adams.”
I cannot imagine Grandmother sending us away to boarding school, but I suppose she had so many children then, she could spare one or two as well as not. She says they sent Aunt Ann to Miss Willard’s school at Troy. I received a birthday letter from Mrs Beaumont to-day. She wants to know how everything goes at the Seminary and if Anna still occupies the front seat in the school room most of the time. She says she supposes she is quite a sedate young lady now but she hopes there is a whole lot of the old Anna left. I think there is.
London, November 21, 1862
My work is now limited to a careful observation of events here and assistance in the manual labor of the place, and to a study of history and politics which seem to me most necessary to our country for the next century. The future is a blank to me as I suppose it is also to you. I have no plans nor can have any, so long as my course is tied to that of the Chief. Should you at the end of the war, wish to take my place, in case the services of one of us were still required, I should return to Boston and Horace Gray, and I really do not know whether I should regret the change. The truth is, the experience of four years has done little towards giving me confidence in myself. The more I see, the more I am convinced that a man whose mind is balanced like mine, in such a way that what is evil never seems unmixed with good, and what is good always streaked with evil; an object seems never important enough to call out strong energies till they are exhausted, nor necessary enough not to allow of its failure being possible to retrieve; in short, a mind which is not strongly positive and absolute, cannot be steadily successful in action, which requires quietness and perseverance. I have steadily lost faith in myself ever since I left college, and my aim is now so indefinite that all my time may prove to have been wasted, and then nothing left but a truncated life.
I should care the less for all this if I could see your path any clearer, but while my time may prove to have been wasted, I don’t see but what yours must prove so. At least God forbid that you should remain an officer longer than is necessary. And what then? The West is possible; indeed, I have thought of that myself. But what we want is a school. We want a national set of young men like ourselves or better, to start new influences not only in politics, but in literature, in law, in society, and throughout the whole social organism of the country — a national school of our own generation. And that is what America has no power to create. In England the Universities centralize ability and London gives a field. So in France, Paris encourages and combines these influences. But with us, we should need at least six perfect geniuses placed, or rather, spotted over the country and all working together; whereas our generation as yet has not produced one nor the promise of one. It’s all random, insulated work, for special and temporary and personal purposes, and we have no means, power or hope of combined action for any unselfish end.
One man who has real ability may do a great deal, but we ought to have a more concentrated power of influence than any that now exists.
For the present war I have nothing to say. We received cheerful letters from you and John today, and now we have the news of McClellan’s removal. As I do not believe in Burnside’s genius, I do not feel encouraged by this, especially as it shakes our whole structure to its centre. I have given up the war and only pray for its end. The South has vindicated its position and we cannot help it, so, as we can find no one to lead us and no one to hold us together, I don’t see the use of our shedding more blood. Still all this makes able men a necessity for the future, and if you ‘re an able man, there’s your career. I have projects enough and not unpromising ones for some day, but like most of my combinations, I suppose they ‘ll all end in dust and ashes.
We are very comfortable here in London fog. Some sharp diplomatic practice, but, I hope, not very serious. People don’t overwhelm us with attentions, but that is excusable.
NOVEMBER 21ST.—It rained all night, which may extinguish Burnside’s ardent fire. He cannot drag his wagons and artillery through the melting snow, and when it dries we may look for another rain.
The new Secretary is not yet in his seat. It is generally supposed he will accept.
President Davis hesitates to retaliate life for life in regard to the Missouri military executions.
Common shirting cotton, and Yankee calico, that used to sell at 12 ½ cts. per yard, is now $1.75! What a temptation for the Northern manufacturers! What a rush of trade there would be if peace should occur suddenly! And what a party there would be in the South for peace (and unity with Northern Democrats) if the war were waged somewhat differently. The excesses of the Republicans compel our people to be almost a unit. This is all the better for us. Still, we are in quite a bad way now, God knows!
The passengers by the cars from Fredericksburg this morning report that Gen. Patrick (Federal) came over under a flag of truce, demanding the surrender of the town, which was refused by Gen. Lee, in compliance with the unanimous sentiments of the people. Gen. Patrick, it is stated, said if it were not surrendered by 9 A.M. to-day, it would be shelled.
Mr. Dargan, M. C., writes to the President from Mobile that the inhabitants of that city are in an awful condition. Meal is selling for $3.50 per bushel, and wood at $15 per cord, and that the people are afraid to bring supplies, apprehending that the government agents will seize them. The President (thanks to him!) has ordered that interference with domestic trade must not be permitted.
Mr. Seddon has taken his seat. He has, at least, a manly appearance—his predecessor was said to look like a m___y.
The President has ordered our generals in Missouri, if the Yankee accounts of the executions of our people be true, to execute the next ten Federal officers taken in that State.
The Enquirer, to-day, publishes Col. Baylor’s order to execute the Indians in Arizona, coupled with Mr. Randolph’s condemnation of the act. Who furnished this for publication?
It is rumored that Fredericksburg is in flames, shelled by the enemy. We will know how true this is before night.
