Sunday, 22d.—1 P. M., heavy cannonading; supposed to be salute in honor of Washington’s birthday.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Feb. 22d. We fired a salute to-day, of seventeen guns, in honor of the birth-day of Washington.
Sunday, February 22d, 1863.
Mother has come to me! O how glad I was to see her this morning! And the Georgia project, which I dared not speak of for fear it should be mere talk and nothing more, is a reality. — Yes! we are actually going! I can hardly believe that such good fortune as getting out of that wretched Clinton really awaits us. Perhaps I shall not like Augusta either; a stranger in a strange city is not usually enchanted with everything one beholds; but still — a change of scene — a new country — new people — it is worth while! Shall we really go? Will some page in this book actually record “Augusta, Georgia”? No! I dare not believe it! Yet the mere thought has given me strength within the last two weeks to attempt to walk. Learning to walk at my age! Is it not amusing? But the smallest baby knows more about it than I did at first. Of course, I knew one foot was to be put before the other; but the question was how it was to be done when they would not go? I have conquered that difficulty, however, and can now walk almost two yards, if some one holds me fast.
Sunset. Will [Pinckney] has this instant left. Ever since dinner he has been vehemently opposing the Georgia move, insisting that it will cost me my life, by rendering me a confirmed cripple. He says he could take care of me, but no one else can, so I must not be moved. I am afraid his arguments have about shaken mother’s resolution. Pshaw! it will do me good! I must go. It will not do to remain here. Twenty-seven thousand Yankees are preparing to march on Port Hudson, and this place will certainly be either occupied by them, or burned. To go to Clinton is to throw myself in their hands, so why not one grand move to Augusta?
February 22, Sunday. A severe snowstorm. Did not venture abroad. Had a call from Dahlgren, who is very grateful that he is named for admiral. Told him to thank the President, who had made it a specialty; that I did not advise it. He called with reference to a written promise the President had given one Dillon for $150,000 provided a newly invented gunpowder should prove effective. I warned Dahlgren that these irregular proceedings would involve himself and others in difficulty; that the President had no authority for it; that there was no appropriation in our Department from which this sum could be paid; that he ought certainly to know, and the President should understand, that we could not divert funds from their legitimate appropriation. I cautioned him, as I have had occasion to do repeatedly, against encouraging the President in these well-intentioned but irregular proceedings. He assures me he does restrain the President as far as respect will permit, but his “restraints” are impotent, valueless. He is no check on the President, who has a propensity to engage in matters of this kind, and is liable to be constantly imposed upon by sharpers and adventurers. Finding the heads of Departments opposed to these schemes, the President goes often behind them, as in this instance; and subordinates, flattered by his notice, encourage him. In this instance, Dahlgren says it is the President’s act, that he is responsible, that there is his written promise, that it is not my act nor his (D.’s).
Something was said to me some days since in regard to the great secret of this man Dillon, but I gave it no attention, did not like the manner, etc. So it was, I apprehend, with the War Department; and then Dillon went to the President with his secret, which I apprehend is no secret.
Mrs. Lyon’s Diary.
Feb. 22, 1863.—Another scare. There is a large rebel force at Waverley. The boys in the hospital are all better, except one poor Norwegian, who is dying of homesickness. I tried to encourage him, but it was of no use, he is so despondent.
22nd. Snowing in the morning and all day. Thede came over and stayed with us to breakfast, 10 A. M. During the day read 3rd volume of Irving. Stormed so I did not go to town. A year ago we had the little affair at Independence. Oh what a time in rain, snow and ice at Kansas City.
February 22nd [1863]. Clear and beautiful. Cannons were fired. Numerous reports as usual. Company to dinner who reported fighting over the river. Mary Harrison on her way from church met three Confederate soldiers under arrest taken from the boat. A hundred were sent off, it is said. Willy Thompson, a young friend of Mary Waugh’s, became furious with disappointment— said if he could not go into the Confederacy, he would go to Fort Jackson. Consequently he gave his tongue license and was arrested on the boat and brought before Colonel Clarke. This gentleman, who stands out from the Federal groups here like a piece of harmonious statuary, merely said to him that he knew he had met with a disappointment, “and now, young man,” he continued, “you had best-take yourself off home as soon as possible.” The remaining prisoners were transferred to the Brunswick, and were carried a few miles above Baton Rouge. They left the boat giving three cheers for Colonel Clarke. We “Rebels” are not all fire-eaters and savages, as it pleases Northern satirists to style us, and really know how to appreciate a kindly enemy even. Our hearts ached this morning to hear that five of our Confederate friends fell overboard, owing to the slipping of some wood, and one of them was drowned. The Yankee Era says that the “Rebel” officer who called the roll of our prisoners at Houston, is Lieutenant Todd, brother of Mrs. Lincoln. He is tall, fat, and savage against the Yankees.
Sunday, 22d—Dress parade was dispensed with today on account of the smallpox scare. One case of smallpox was discovered in Company K. Instead of the regular inspection, the doctor vaccinated all who could not show a scar less than a year old.
Memphis, Sunday, Feb. 22. Cold. Froze the mud in the morning. Excused from duty, being on the sick list. Cold.
Md. Heights, Feb. 22, 1863.
Dear Family:
Yours found us all well. This is the anniversary of the birth of Geo. Washington. We had an order yesterday to hold divine service at 10 o’clk A.M. together with a dress parade; but we had a severe snow storm last night and it has snowed ever since, the hardest we have had. Sergt. R. applied for a furlough; but the Major refused to forward it, on the ground that several had received them and have not been heard from since. T. is trying to get one; went over to see the Gen’l yesterday, but got no definite answer.
Capt. has not been heard from since keeping a hotel! The news seems to be a little more encouraging; we must have a defeat or victory at Vicksburg and along the Charleston coast. The papers speak of English and French mediation in our affairs, but I don’t know as it will amount to any thing. Last night they spoke of the French Army in Mexico; they have had several defeats and I guess they will have to work hard to get a good substantial position any where in Mexico. The boys say that Capt. Bradley and Genl. McClellan are their men. What do they think of the way Gov. Andrew used Genl. McClellan on his late visit to Massachusetts? The boys don’t have a very good opinion of his doings; in fact he is not liked amongst the troops. Now I will give Mother a little news, or rather answer some of her kind questions. I kept money enough to pay up old bills and a little on hand. We both kept $5 a piece; you see Jere only draws $12 a month to my $13. We fare as well as can be expected; in fact we have all we can eat and more too. Draw fresh beef and no salt or corned, keep twelve days rations ahead. To give you an idea of what we have (and you must judge the cooking; but we think it good, Cyrus Messer is cook now). Well first, we have coffee, Bread, fresh beef, with some that we salt, Bread of the best quality, potatoes, dried apples and molasses, and a soup twice a week; have vinegar, salt &c. as much as we want. I should like to write to all of my relations; but some times I don’t feel like answering letters and then it stops. I hope I shall be able to correspond with Home, as I may well call it, once a week. Love to all.
Leverett Bradley, Jr.
