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

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

April 9th. At six A. M., got up anchor and steamed up the river; at eleven A. M., two rebel steamers were discovered ahead of us near the mouth of Red River (one of which was of large proportions), and approaching same with the intention of entering it. They no doubt had in our absence come out of Red River and transported a mail and provisions to the Confederate army at Vicksburg, and were now returning, having accomplished their work; as soon as we were discovered by them, they everlastingly did get up and keep putting on a full head of steam to escape capture by the “infernal Yanks,” as they called us. The larger steamer of the two was successful in her effort to escape, but the other was bagged by us, a shot from our Sawyer rifle hitting her, or passing so near to the heads of those on board that they brought up with their craft among the bushes, and commenced blowing the steam whistle of same for assistance from the other, which was by this time well up Red River, her smoke only being visible to us from outside. Some of her crew made their escape, I believe, by taking to the bushes, when they saw that their cry for help was of no avail. Since we had come to an anchor off the mouth of Red River, in the Mississippi, and this steamer was just a few yards up first-mentioned stream, around a point of land. We sent the Albatross, our tender ( a light draught gunboat), after our prize; she was successful in her mission, and soon returned with a miniature paddle-wheel boat, by name the J. D. Clarke, and brought her alongside of us.

The Albatross brought also three prisoners on board of us from off the rebel steamer,—one a secesh major, another an engineer, and the third party a fireman of the boat. This afternoon the Admiral paroled two of the above-mentioned parties, the engineer and fireman, and retained the major.

We are at anchor off the mouth of Red River, with logs on the ship’s side, about where the boilers and machinery are situated, as a protection against injury from rebel rams, should they be so pugnacious as to come out of Red River some dark night and try their butting powers.

Camp White, April 9, 1863.

Dear Uncle: — Yours of the 3rd received. Yes, Jenkins made a dash into Point Pleasant, but he dashed out before doing much mischief with a loss of seventy-five killed and prisoners. He attacked one other post garrisoned by men under my command but was repulsed. His raid was a failure. He lost about one hundred and fifty men while in this region and accomplished nothing. But we expect repetitions of this thing, and with our present force we shall probably suffer more another time.

I do not look for an end of the war for a long time yet. I am glad the late elections show the second sober thought to be right. We can worry them out if we keep at it without flagging.

Come on, it will be good weather in a few weeks.

I send you a soldier’s photograph of our log-cabin camp near Gauley. It is not good. You can see the falls beyond the camp and the high cliffs on the opposite side of the Kanawha. My quarters were at the long-roofed cabin running across the street towards the back and right of the picture.

Sincerely,

R. B. Hayes.

S. Birchard.

9th. A little after sunrise, went to breakfast at a private house. So many slaves about here, more than white folks by far. Started on at 8 P. M. After nine miles passed through Flemingsburg. Men, women and children were out with flags and handkerchiefs. It did our hearts good. Passed through Tilton. Drake and I stopped at a house and got dinner. Went on to Sherburne and camped. Chamberlain got thrown and hurt badly. Got wagon for the boys.

April 9, Thursday. A yearning, craving desire for tidings from Charleston, but the day has passed without a word. They send us from the front that there is great repose and quiet in the Rebel camp, which is a favorable indication, for when they have successes there is immense cheering. Again I have a dispatch from the President at Headquarters this evening. He has a Richmond paper of to-day and sends me the contents. The ironclads have crossed the bar. The paper speaks with assurance, yet there are forebodings of what is to be apprehended. Says Charleston will be a Saragossa.

A desperate stand will be made at Charleston, and their defenses are formidable. Delay has given them time and warning, and they have improved them. They know also that there is no city so culpable, or against which there is such intense animosity. We shall not get the place, if we get it at all on this first trial, without great sacrifice. There are fifty-two steamers for the work and the most formidable ironclad force that ever went into battle. These great and long-delayed preparations weigh heavily upon me. As a general thing, such immense expeditions are failures. Providence delights to humble man and prostrate his strength. For months my confidence has not increased, and now that the conflict is upon us, my disquietude is greater still. I have hope and trust in Du Pont, in the glorious band of officers that are with him, and in the iron bulwarks we have furnished as well as in a righteous cause.

The President, who has often a sort of intuitive sagacity, has spoken discouragingly of operations at Charleston during the whole season. Du Pont’s dispatches and movements have not inspired him with faith; they remind him, he says, of McClellan. Fox, who has more naval knowledge and experience and who is better informed of Charleston and its approaches, which he has visited, and the capabilities and efficiency of our officers and ships, entertains not a doubt of success. His reliant confidence and undoubted assurance, have encouraged and sustained me when doubtful. I do not believe the monitors impregnable, as he does, under the concentrated fire and immense weight of metal that can be thrown upon them, but it can hardly be otherwise than that some, probably that most of them, will pass Sumter. What man can do, our brave fellows will accomplish, but impossibilities cannot be overcome. We must wait patiently but not without hope.

Letters from Colonel Lyon.

Fort Donelson, April 9, 1863.—At present there seems to be no considerable force of rebels in our vicinity, and we are resting very quietly.

We held an election on Tuesday for Chief Justice.

Our nine companies have cast 385 votes, of which Dixon received 357 and Cothren 28; majority for Dixon, 329. Our other company is at Hickman, Ky.

We are doing much work upon the fortifications here and will soon have a strong fort in a strong position.

A few days ago, April 3d, some gunboats were fired upon with artillery above here, under circumstances that led us to apprehend an attack here. We sent off our sick, and all our women packed up ready to start, but no enemy came.

On Moon Lake, Thursday, April 9. Warm day. Entered Moon Lake 7 A. M. and at 9 A. M. we were once more landed on the sand bar from whence we started 18 days ago. Accomplished nothing. What and where next? “Armada” and “White Rose” are the only boats here beside our own. All the horsemen came ashore in order to clean up.

9th April (Thursday).—Captain Hancock and Mr Anderson left for Bagdad in Mr Behnsen’s carriage at noon.

I crossed over to Brownsville at 11.30, and dined with Colonels Luckett, Buchel, and Duff, at about one o’clock. As we were all colonels, and as every one called the other colonel tout court, it was difficult to make out which was meant. They were obliged to confess that Brownsville was about the rowdiest town of Texas, which was the most lawless state in the Confederacy; but they declared they had never seen an inoffensive man subjected to insult or annoyance, although the shooting-down and stringing-up systems are much in vogue, being almost a necessity in a thinly-populated state, much frequented by desperadoes driven away from more civilised countries.

Colonel Luckett gave me a letter to General Van Dorn, whom they consider the beau ideal of a cavalry soldier. They said from time immemorial the Yankees had been despised by the Southerners, as a race inferior to themselves in courage and in honourable sentiments.

At 3 P.M. Colonel Buchel and I rode to Colonel Duffs camp, distant about thirteen miles. I was given a Mexican saddle, in which one is forced to sit almost in a standing position. The stirrups are very long, and right underneath you, which throws back the feet.

Duff’s regiment is called the Partisan Eangers. Although a fine lot of men, they don’t look well at a foot parade, on account of the small amount of drill they have undergone, and the extreme disorder of their clothing. They are armed with carbines and six-shooters.

I saw some men come in from a scouting expedition against the Indians, 300 miles off. They told me they were usually in the habit of scalping an Indian when they caught him, and that they never spared one, as they were such an untamable and ferocious race. Another habit which they have learned from the Indians is, to squat on their heels in a most peculiar manner. It has an absurd and extraordinary effect to see a quantity of them so squatting in a row or in a circle.

The regiment had been employed in quelling a counter revolution of Unionists in Texas. Nothing could exceed the rancour with which they spoke of these renegadoes, as they called them, who were principally Germans.

When I suggested to some of the Texans that they might as well bury the body of Mongomery a little better, they did not at all agree with me, but said it ought not to have been buried at all, but left hanging as a warning to other evil-doers.

With regard to the contentment of their slaves, Colonel Duff pointed out a good number they had with them, who had only to cross the river for freedom if they wished it.

Colonel Buchel and I slept in Colonel Duffs tent, and at night we were serenaded. The officers and men really sang uncommonly well, and they finished with “God save the Queen!”

Colonel Duff comes from Perth. He was one of the leading characters in the secession of Texas; and he said his brother was a banker in Dunkeld.

Thursday, 9th—The Eleventh Iowa received four months’ pay today, I receiving $3.00 a month here and father drawing $10.00 a month at home. The boys of our regiment send a large amount of their money home every pay day.

Thursday, 9th—I, Tom Taylor and Stroud came on to Alexandria and shod our horses. The Regiment passed on and left us. We came on and got our dinner at Mr. Neal’s living near Mrs. Grandstaff’s and came on to Camp at Spring Creek.

April 9—We were relieved this morning by the 32d Regiment, and marched to Bellevue, where the balance of our brigade is. At 11 o’clock to-night we were ordered to march. We went fifteen miles. There was a fight there to-day. Marched all night without resting.