March 25th.—Two gunboats undertook to pass the batteries just at daylight this morning; one sunk in front of town; other badly damaged; reported sunk at 12 M.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Wednesday, 25th.—Capture of the “Queen of the West” confirmed. Reported that the Indianola, the gunboat that passed batteries 13, also captured.
Camp 103d Illinois Infantry, Jackson, Tenn.,
February 25, 1863.
I guess it’s full two weeks since I wrote you last, excepting a half sheet a few days ago. My reason is that it has been raining ever since, and my tent leaks so that (that’s rather a larger story than I think you’ll swallow, so I’ll not spoil paper by finishing it); but, Scotland, how it does rain here. Commences slowly and gently, comes straight down and continues coming for about 24 hours in the same manner. Mercury at about 35 degrees. Then the wind will commence blowing, cool, cooler, cold. Stop the rain, scatter the clouds, and getting warm again will, in a day or so, gather the moisture from the surface, and probably give us one pleasant day, rarely more. It seems to me there has not been a day this winter when the sun shone, and the air was calm, that I needed a fire, and I remember but one day during which the mercury sunk as low as 10 degrees. We had two nice “falls” of snow, but they found they’d lit in the wrong country and evacuated in quick time. It can’t snow here to much advantage, but I am sure the rest of the world could learn from this region on the rain question. Canton is a parlor compared to this town. Part of the town is on rolling ground, but the hillside seems even muddier than the valleys. This town is thrice the size of Canton, and has ten times as many costly dwellings, but the sidewalks and streets will not compare with yours. The arrangements of gardens is passable and much taste is shown in the distribution of evergreens. One gentleman living between our camp and town has 10,000 pines, hollies, cedars, etc., in the grounds surrounding his house. The grounds comprise maybe fifteen acres. I mean he had 10,000 trees, but the Yankees burned the fences around his paradise, and have in various ways managed to destroy a few thousand evergreens A kind of a parody, you understand, on that Bible story of the devil in Eden. Colonel Kellogg is here to-night, but goes to Memphis to-morrow where he will join Colonel Babcock. They may both be here again within a week, but it is not certain. He says we may be thankful we are not in the Yazoo Swamp or at Vicksburg, but two months heavy picketing here have rendered me unable to see it in that light. Our pickets have been fired on twice during the last two days. Nobody hurt, I believe. We have news to-night of General Dodge, of Corinth, capturing some 200 prisoners and a train of wagons at Tuscumbia, Ala. How I do wish we could be sent into that country again. It’s worth all the rest of the South that I have seen. I have 11 negroes in my company now. They do every particle of the dirty work. Two women among them do the washing for the company. Three babies in the lot, all of which have run barefooted all the winter, and though they have also run at the nose, etc., some, seem to be healthy all the time.
Wednesday, February 25th.
Here we are still, in spite of our expectations. Difficulty on difficulty arose, and an hour before the cars came, it was settled that mother should go to Clinton and make the necessary arrangements, and leave us to follow in a day or two. Two days more! Miriam no more objected than I did, so mother went alone. Poor Miriam went to bed soon after, very ill. So ill that she lay groaning in bed at dusk, when a stir was heard in the hall below, and Colonel Steadman, Major Spratley, and Mr. Dupré were announced. Presto! up she sprang, and flew about in the most frantic style, emptying the trunk on the floor to get her prettiest dress, and acting as though she had never heard of pains and groans. When we leave, how much I shall miss the fun of seeing her and Anna running over each other in their excitement of dressing for their favorites. Anna’s first exclamation was, “Ain’t you glad you did n’t go!” and certainly we were not sorry, from mere compassion; for what would she have done with all three? If I laughed at their extra touches to their dresses, it did not prevent me from bestowing unusual attention on my own. And by way of bravado, when I was carried down, I insisted on Mrs. Badger lending me her arm, to let me walk into the parlor and prove to Colonel Steadman that in spite of his prophecies I was able to take a few steps at least.
• • • • • • • • •
His last words, “You won’t go, will you? Think once more!” sent me upstairs wondering, thinking, undecided, and unsatisfied, hardly knowing what to do, or what to say. Every time I tried to sleep, those calm, deep, honest gray eyes started up before my closed ones, and that earnest “You won’t go, will you? Think once more!” rang in my ears like a solemn warning. Hopes of seeing Georgia grew rather faint, that night. Is it lawful to risk my life? But is it not better to lose it while believing that I have still a chance of saving it by going, than to await certain death calmly and unresisting in Clinton? I’d rather die struggling for this life, this beautiful, loved, blessed life that God has given me!
February 25—Henry Wortheim was sent home on a sick furlough, as he is very bad off.
February 25, Wednesday. Had a brief call from General McClellan this P.M. He looks in good health, but is evidently uncomfortable in mind. Our conversation was general, — of the little progress made, the censoriousness of the public, of the dissatisfaction towards both of us, etc., etc. The letter of General Scott, of the 4th of October, 1861, complaining of his disrespect and wanting obedience, is just brought out.
I well remember an interview between these two officers about the period that letter was written, the President, myself, and two or three others being present. It was in General Scott’s rooms opposite the War Office. In the course of conversation, which related to military operations, a question arose as to the number of troops there were in and about Washington. Cameron could not answer the question; McClellan did not; General Scott said no reports were made to him; the President was disturbed. At this moment Seward stated the several commands,—how many regiments had reported in a few days, and the aggregate at the time of the whole force. The statement was made from a small paper, and, appealing to McClellan, that officer replied that the statement approximated the truth. General Scott’s countenance showed great displeasure. “This,” said the veteran warrior, “is a remarkable state of things. I am in command of the armies of the United States, but have been wholly unable to get any reports, any statement of the actual forces, but here is the Secretary of State, a civilian, for whom I have great respect but who is not a military man nor conversant with military affairs, though his abilities are great, but this civilian is possessed of facts which are withheld from me. Military reports are made, not to these Headquarters but to the State Department. Am I, Mr. President, to apply to the Secretary of State for the necessary military information to discharge my duties?”
Mr. Seward explained that he had got his information by vigilance and attention, keeping account of the daily arrival of regiments, etc., etc. There was a grim smile on the old soldier. “And you, without report, probably ascertained where each regiment was ordered. Your labors and industry, Mr. Secretary of State, I know are very arduous, but I did not before know the whole of them. If you in that way can get accurate information, the Rebels can also, though I cannot.”
Cameron here broke in, half in earnest and half-ironical, and said we all knew that Seward was meddlesome, interfering in all the Departments with what was none of his business. He thought we had better go to our duties. It was a pleasant way of breaking up an unpleasant interview, and we rose to leave. McClellan was near the open door, and General Scott addressed him by name. “You,” said the aged hero, “were called here by my advice. The times require vigilance and activity. I am not active and never shall be again. When I proposed that you should come here to aid, not supersede, me, you had my friendship and confidence. You still have my confidence.”
I had, in the early stages of the War, disapproved of the policy of General Scott, which was purely defensive, —non-intercourse with the insurgents, shut them out from the world by blockade and military frontier lines, but not to invade their territory. The anaconda policy was, I then thought and still think, unwise for the country. The policy of General McClellan has not been essentially different, but he was called here with the assent if not by the recommendation of General Scott. It was evident from what transpired at the interview here mentioned that Mr. Seward, who had been in close intimacy with the veteran commander at first, had transferred his intimacy to the junior general, and the former felt it, —saw that he was becoming neglected, — and his pride was wounded.
That Seward kept himself well informed in the way he stated, I think was true, and he likely had his information confirmed by McClellan, with whom he almost daily compared notes and of whom he made inquiries. But McClellan is by nature reticent,—in many respects a good quality. Seward has great industry and an inquiring mind, and loves to possess himself of everything that transpires. Has an unfortunate inclination to run to subordinates for information. Has in Meigs a willing assistant, and others who think it a compliment to be consulted by the Secretary of State, and are ready to impart to him all they know of the doings and intentions of their superiors. He has by his practice encouraged the President to do likewise and get at facts indiscreetly; but the President does this because he feels a delicacy in intruding, especially in business hours, on the heads of Departments. S. has no such delicacy, but a craving desire to be familiar with the transactions of each Department.
[Diary] February 25.
Rosie, Will, Mr. and Mrs. Philbrick, Charles Ware, Ellen, Nelly, and I rode to the ferry, took the Bythewood and crew and rowed down to Camp Saxton, taking Quaker back to his regiment and getting him excused for absence without leave. When we arrived, Colonel Higginson was just drilling his men. Had a nice long talk with him, and with Colonel Montgomery, of Kansas, who walked with Ellen and me to the cypress swamp. Colonel Montgomery seems to me like a fiery westerner, full of fight and with sufficient confidence in himself. He told us about how he had been sent by General Hunter or General Saxton to recruit in Florida, and how he was ill-treated and scowled at by the officers of the steamer he was in. He wanted to have his men landed at Smith’s plantation, but the captain of the boat ignored his request and kept on up to Beaufort. Meantime, General Hunter and General Saxton had both gone to Smith’s to see the new men. When the steamer went past they were astonished, and General Saxton rode up to Beaufort to see why it was so. When he learned the reason, he put the steamer under Colonel Montgomery’s orders, and the reluctant officers had to obey him whom they had so slighted.
Rowed home by moonlight.
February 25th. Invited to lunch at Mrs. Roselius’s—had headache—so had Ginnie; concluded late to go. Found everything delightful, and pleasant company. Can’t say, though, that I have any fancy for any sort of company just now. After lunch, ran over to Mrs. Waugh’s in my light silk, to which she has taken such a fancy, and felt in another atmosphere with her. No memories of the jarring world when with her, or at least an inspiring confidence that we can live above them. How purely intellectual she is! How free from vanity, egotism and pedantry which men have pleased to associate with a learned woman. Her conversations are sometimes beautiful lectures that fall from her lips without effort and with simple elegance. Indeed her heart speaks in everything, and there is a sincerity and earnestness, a childlike sweetness, that spiritualizes her most didactic discourses. I like Mrs. Roselius better than any woman of the world I have ever known. She has seen much of society—she has elegance of manner, tact and good taste—she has not lost her natural warmth of heart, or her enthusiasms; she has much charity without show and is both ingenuous and truthful. She is smart, even talented; but neither thought or conversation are purified by sentiment. It amuses me to hear her talk, for she seems to know all that happens, but I never feel any better or wiser after having listened to her for hours. On the contrary, some of her most amusing sketches of life, people or character depress me wonderfully, though I laugh over them. She lives next door and is very sociable. I’m ashamed to say that we are not. Her husband is such a Federal and talks so abusively of Southerners that she excuses our want of sociability on that account—but I consider him such a silly person that his petulent talk does not affect me in the least. I never get angry with a silly person; I do not consider them responsible. When the New Orleans Guard was deserted outside of the lines, and its members stole ingloriously back to enjoy the luxuries of the city—Mr. R—— excused them. He said that he, too, “was brave, that he would stand to be shot at as well as any man, but that gentlemen could not endure camp life. He could not eat pork and beans. Those Virginians and Mississippians (mentioning people from other States) were not gentlemen, he said; they ought to fight.” It was useless to talk to a man who could not feel the meaning of hating, yet stealing in to lead a life of inglorious ease, leaving the burden of defence to be borne by others. Nobly has that burden been borne by others—Louisianians, American sons have won honors on every field.
Much dissatisfaction was felt here for a time over President Davis’ speech at Jackson. It was partial and addressed wholly to Mississippians, though the army by which he was surrounded was composed of men from all States. The battle of Chickasaw Bayou was fought by Louisianans and Georgians. These men were entitled, even as exiles from home, to kindly mention—but no word of praise, except to Mississippians. The women of Vicksburg were approved because they expressed wishes that the town should be shelled rather than surrendered. The women of New Orleans rushed in numbers to sign a paper imploring that this city should never be given up. They were fearless, they said; we signed it and would have been glad enough to have resistance made. I have always felt that Davis was a partisan, rather than a father of his country; a politician rather than a statesman. I heard him speak once and was not satisfied. I can never learn to love him as I do Washington or Lee, “Stonewall” Jackson, or the two Ashbys even, who were willing to serve their country in any capacity. It does me good to feel that thousands of men are privates in this war, undergoing, voluntarily, all sorts of deprivation and hardships, who, before the war, were wealthy and lived in luxury. Thousands of our countrymen are yielding to the authority of officers who are far beneath them in wealth and social standing. This state of things gratifies the hero-worship that has always stirred my heart. I hate man-worship or place-worship—it corrupts—but in hero-worship I feel that I serve but my ideal.
The ram, Queen of the West, has been captured by our Confederates up Red River. Some of the men escaped, but many were taken prisoners. We captured guns and useful supplies. One of our men, John Burke, had been seized to pilot the boat up Red River that our batteries could be captured or destroyed—he was forced under a Federal guard and therefore felt privileged to deceive them. When quite near he assured the Federals that they were still fifteen miles distant; they were, therefore, more unprepared than they would have been. A warehouse on shore was fired by one of our officers, which lighted up the river. We made a complete triumph of it. I am glad that this capture was made in Louisiana, for, owing to the fall of New Orleans, she has been somewhat depreciated in the Confederacy, though I think the Government at Richmond was more to be blamed in that disaster than the people who had trusted all defences to their military superiors. Large contributions were made here to the defence of the city and to the general war. And had not the citizens been trammeled by the general Government, the city would not have fallen. Its fall had been anticipated by those who knew anything of military matters, but to the people at large it was a great surprise. They were therefore totally surprised and unprepared and showed panic—that undignified state of things. It was reported at one time that Butler had gotten hold of the ladies’ list and was to bring to justice all offending therein. Butler was so senseless in much of his tyranny, that any report of him could receive credence. I firmly expected to go to prison when the others were taken, when the oath-taking was going on. Judge Ogden told us of a young lawyer friend of his who took the oath, not for his own interests, but to protect those of others. He had in charge a large property belonging to minors, and as he could have no control over it, or practice in any of the courts unless he took the oath, he took it. He has since gone completely mad in consequence—he suffered so and his thoughts were completely filled with it. This is a terrible case and I know of another just like it. That wretch Butler has much to answer for. They continually threaten to send him back here, but we do not fear that he will come. The Consuls had him removed, and beside we do not think that he would trust himself to the watery pathway in which the 290, or the Oreta, may find him.
The Yankee paper reports that the Alabama(the 290) is captured and that we are about to evacuate Port Hudson and Vicksburg on account of starvation. We do not heed these stories.
Wednesday, 25th. After breakfast wrote to Fannie. Thede took the letter to town. Found tea, candles and coffee in McGuire’s box—the thief. In evening at quartermaster’s. Ate apples. Got beaten at four games of checkers. Read in Irving. Am rejoiced at the reaction against the Copperheads. God still rules.
Wednesday, 25th—We arrived at Greenville at 9 o’clock in the morning and reported to the commander of the post, who informed us that he did not need reinforcements. He had just defeated a force of three hundred with a battery of six light guns and lost but three men. We remained, however, during the day, leaving for our camp down the river at 10 o’clock at night.
