April 13th. Commences with pleasant weather, and continued so during the early hours, nothing of importance occurring. At seven thirty P. heavy squalls of rain came on, accompanied by thunder and lightning. The storm raged up to midnight. Since no awnings or boom covers were spread, tarpaulins placed over the hatches, or allowed to be, the berth deck was a trough for the water, and caught it all; the watch below (poor lads) with no hammocks slung to turn into, or permitted to have, got no sleep; neither were their comrades on deck any more fortunate.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
April 13th.
Left Parker’s Bluff at 2 o’clock; roads very muddy and one balky horse to contend with. The driver insisted that he would do very well after he became heated. As the sun was very warm the horse accommodated us by getting heated very soon and gave us very little trouble. Within about four miles of Palestine one hind wheel of the coach gave way and we sank very gently into the road. After considerable delay we placed a sliding pole under the axle and went on our way rejoicing, on foot. We strolled into Palestine about 5 o’clock in the afternoon. It has an older and more settled look than the towns in western Texas. The court house square is shaded by very pretty sycamore trees. It is situated in a hilly, red clay region. About one-third of the buildings are brick and the balance are framed buildings. We discovered here some defect in our transportation tickets, and will have to pay our way to Rusk. It will be just my luck to have to pay all the way to Richmond, Va. I have already paid out since the war commenced five times as much for the privilege of serving in the ranks as the government has paid me, but I am perfectly willing to give all I have if the sacrifice will aid my country in achieving its liberty.
April 13. — Rather a stirring accompaniment to your scribbling pencil to have a furious cannonade going on within two or three miles, —to have fresh in your memory the sharp skirmish which took place on the very spot where you are seated, only a few hours-ago; and all the time to have the Second Massachusetts Battery harnessed up in the road, with the men on the horses and seats; to know that when they whip up we shall be ordered in, and that our business will be to support this battery through thick and thin, — the thick, just at the present, being most probable. It is early in the afternoon. The hot sun beats down upon us, who have stacked our arms here in this shadeless cane-field, and seated ourselves among the furrows. Perhaps we shall have time to eat a hard tack and make a hasty cup of coffee before we start.
To-day is Monday. Saturday, we embarked at Brashear City, leaving a fine, airy, roomy camp for —
“Fall in!”
April 13 — Moved camp to-day a mile west of New Market and are now camped near the North Fork of the Shenandoah.
Monday, April 13th.
Having nothing to do, I may as well go on with the history of our wanderings. When the cars were moving off with the handsome Mr. Howard, mother turned to a gentleman who seemed to own the place, and asked to be shown the hotel. He went out, and presently returning with a chair and two negroes, quietly said he would take us to his own house; the hotel was not comfortable. And, without listening to remonstrances, led the way to a beautiful little cottage, where he introduced his wife, Mrs. Cate, who received us most charmingly, and had me in bed before five minutes had elapsed. I don’t know how any one can believe the whole world so wicked; for my part I have met none but the kindest people imaginable; I don’t know any wicked ones.
Before half an hour had passed, a visitor was announced; so I gathered up my weary bones, and with scarcely a peep at the glass, walked to the parlor. I commenced laughing before I got there, and the visitor smiled most absurdly, too; for it was — Mr. Halsey! It seemed so queer to meet in this part of the world that we laughed again after shaking hands. It was odd. I was thinking how much amused the General would be to hear of it; for he had made a bet that we would meet when I asserted that we would not.
After the first few remarks, he told me of how he had heard of our arrival. A gentleman had walked into camp, asking if a Mr. Halsey was there. He signified that he was the gentleman, whereupon the other drew out my note, saying a young lady on the cars had requested him to deliver it. Instantly recognizing the chirography, he asked where I was. “Hammond. This is her name,” replied the other, extending to him my card. Thinking, as he modestly confessed, that I had intended it only for him, Mr. Halsey coolly put it into his pocket, and called for his horse. Mr. Howard lingered still, apparently having something to say, which he found difficult to put in words. At last, as the other prepared to ride off, with a tremendous effort he managed to say, “The young lady’s card is mine. If it is all the same to you, I should like to have it returned.” Apologizing for the mistake, Mr. Halsey returned it, feeling rather foolish, I should imagine, and rode on to the village, leaving, as he avers, Mr. Howard looking enviously after the lucky dog who was going to see such a young lady.
He told me something that slightly disgusted me with Captain Bradford. It was that when he reached the bivouac the next morning after leaving Linwood, the Captain had put him under arrest for having stayed there all night. It was too mean, considering that it is more than probable that he himself remained at Mrs. Fluker’s. We discovered, too, that we had missed two letters Mr. Halsey had written us, which, of course, is a great disappointment. One, written to both, the other, a short note of ten pages, for me, which I am sure was worth reading.
It was not until after sunset that we exhausted all topics of conversation, and Mr. Halsey took his leave, promising to see us in the morning.
And, to be sure, as soon as I was dressed on Saturday, he again made his appearance, followed soon after by the carriage. Taking a cordial leave of Mrs. Cate, with many thanks for her hospitality, we entered our conveyance, and with Mr. Halsey riding by the side of the carriage, went on our way. He was to accompany us only as far as Ponchatoula — some six miles; but the turning-point in his journey seemed to be an undetermined spot; for mile after mile rolled away — rather the wheels rolled over them — and still he rode by us, talking through the window, and the sprays of wild flowers he would pick for me from time to time were growing to quite a bouquet, when he proposed an exchange with the farmer who was driving us, and, giving him his horse, took the reins himself.
I think Miriam and I will always remember that ride. The laughter, the conversation, the songs with the murmuring accompaniment of the wheels, and a thousand incidents pleasant to remember though foolish to speak of, will always form a delightful tableau in our recollections. I have but one disagreeable impression to remember in connection with the trip, and that occurred at a farmhouse two miles from here, where we stopped to get strawberries. I preferred remaining in the carriage, to the trouble of getting out; so all went in, Mr. Halsey dividing his time equally between Miriam in the house and me in the carriage, supplying me with violets and pensées one moment, and the next showing me the most tempting strawberries at the most provoking distance, assuring me they were exquisite. The individual to whom the carriage belonged, who had given up the reins to Mr. Halsey, and who, no doubt, was respectable enough for his class in his part of the country, would allow no one to bring me my strawberries, reserving the honor for himself. Presently he appeared with a large saucer of them covered with cream. I was naturally thankful, but would have preferred his returning to the house after he had fulfilled his mission. Instead, he had the audacity to express his admiration of my personal appearance; without a pause gave me a short sketch of his history, informed me he was a widower, and very anxious to marry again, and finally, — Lams and Penates of the house of Morgan ap Kerrig, veil your affronted brows! You will scarcely credit that the creature had the insolence to say that — he would marry me tomorrow, if he could, and think himself blessed; for the jewel of the soul must be equal to the casket that contained it! Yes! this brute of a man had the unparalleled audacity to speak to me in such a way! Just then, mother, remembering her invalid, came to the gallery and asked how I was enjoying my lunch. “I ‘m courting her!” cried the wretch. “Glad she did not go in! Swear she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw!” At that moment Mr. Halsey came sauntering out with a handful of violets for me, and, turning my shoulder to the creature, I entered into a lively discussion with him, and at last had the satisfaction of seeing the wretch enter the house.
A drive through the straggling, half-deserted town brought us here to Mrs. Greyson’s, a large, old-fashioned-looking house so close to the Tchefuncta (I think that is the name of the river) that I could throw a stone in it from my bed, almost.
Mrs. Greyson herself would require two or three pages to do her justice. Fancy the daughter of Sir Francis Searle, the widow of General Greyson, the belle of New Orleans in her young days, settled down into a hotel-keeper on a small scale, with stately ladies and gentlemen looking down in solemn surprise at her boarders from their rich portrait frames on the parlor wall! Fallen greatness always gives me an uncomfortable thrill. Yet here was the heiress of these shadows on the wall, gay, talkative, bustling, active; with a word of caution, or a word of advice to all; polite, attentive, agreeable to her guests, quarreling and exacting with her servants, grasping and avaricious with all; singing a piece from “Norma” in a voice, about the size of a thread No. 150, that showed traces of former excellence; or cheapening a bushel of corn meal with equal volubility. What a character! Full of little secrets and mysteries. “Now, my dear, I don’t ask you to tell a story, you know; but if the others ask you if you knew it, just look surprised and say, ‘Oh, dear me, when did it happen?’ ‘Cause I promised not to tell; only you are such favorites that I could not help it, and it would not do to acknowledge it. And if any one asks you if I put these candles in here, just say you brought them with you, that’s a love, because they will be jealous, as I only allow them lamps.” Eccentric Mrs. Greyson! Many an hour’s amusement did she afford me.[1]
A ride of twenty-six miles bolt upright in the carriage, over such bad roads, had almost used me up; I retired to bed in a state of collapse, leaving Miriam to entertain Mr. Halsey alone. After supper, though, I managed to put on my prettiest dress, and be carried down to the parlor where I rejoined the rest. Several strange ladies were present, one of whom has since afforded me a hearty laugh. She was a horrid-looking woman, and ten minutes after I entered, crossing the room with a most laughable look of vulgarity attempting to ape righteous scorn, jerked some articles of personal property from the table and retired with the sweep of a small hurricane. I thought her an eccentric female; but what was my amazement yesterday to hear that she sought Mrs. Greyson, told her it was impossible for her to stay among so many elegantly dressed ladies, and that she preferred keeping her room. Next day, she told her that she was entirely too attentive to us, and rather than be neglected in that way for other people, would leave the house, which she did instantly.
There was a singular assembly of odd characters in the parlor Saturday night, six of whom looked as though they were but so many reflections of the same individual in different glasses, and the seventh differed from the rest only in playing exquisitely on the banjo — “Too well to be a gentleman,” I fear. These were soldiers, come to “call” on us. Half an hour after we arrived, a dozen of them took possession of the bench on the bank of the river, one with his banjo who played and sang delightfully. Old Mrs. Greyson, who is rather eccentric, called, “Ah, Mr. J—! Have you heard already of the arrival of the young ladies? You never serenaded me!” The young man naturally looked foolish; so she went out and asked him to come around after dark and play for the young ladies. So after a while he came, “ bringing six devils yet worse than himself,” as the old Scriptural phrase has it, all of whom sat on the same side of the room, and looked at us steadily when they thought we were not looking. All had the same voice, the same bow, the same manner — that is to say none at all of the latter; one introduced an agreeable variety, saying as he bowed to each separately, “Happy to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” Mr. Halsey just managed to keep his face straight, while I longed for a Dickens to put them all together and make one amusing picture out of the seven. I troubled myself very little about them, preferring Mr. Halsey’s company, not knowing when we would meet again. It would not have been quite fair to leave him to himself after he had ridden such a distance for us; so I generously left the seven to Miriam, content with one, and rather think I had the best of the bargain. The one with the banjo suggested that we should sing for them before he played for us, so Miriam played on the piano, and sang with me on the guitar half a dozen songs, and then the other commenced. I don’t know when I have been more amused. There was an odd, piney-woods dash about him that was exceedingly diverting, and he went through comic, sentimental, and original songs with an air that showed his whole heart was in it. Judging from the number of youth too timid to venture in, who peeped at us from the windows, I should say that young ladies are curiosities just now in Madisonville.
[1] This paragraph, which occurs retrospectively in the Diary under date of New Orleans, Sunday, May 24th, 1863, is inserted here for the sake of clearness. — W. D.
April 13.—There has been a skirmish at the front, and a battle is expected there daily. I have just been looking at loads of wounded coming in.
There are numbers dying in our hospital every day, and scarcely any note is taken of them.
At home, when a member of a family is about to go to his last resting-place, loving friends are around the couch of the sufferer, and by kind words and acts rob King Death of half his terrors, and smooth the pathway to the valley and shadow of death. But here a man near dissolution is usually in a ward with perhaps twenty more. To wait on that number a single nurse keeps vigil. He knows the man will likely die during the night, but he can not spend time by his bedside, as others need his care. The ward is dimly lighted, as candles are scarce; the patient is perhaps in a dark corner; the death-rattle is heard; when that ceases the nurse knows that all is over. He then wakes some of the other nurses up, and in the silent hour of night these men prepare their comrade for the tomb, and bear him to the dead-house. The surgeon, when going his rounds the next morning, is not at all startled when he finds an empty bunk where the evening before was one occupied. He knows without asking what has become of the inmate, and that “somebody’s darling” has gone to his long home. It is sad to see so many dying with no kindred near them to soothe their last moments and close their eyes. What a sacred duty is here left undone by our women! I do not say that all are guilty of this neglect, for I know there are many good women who have their home duties to attend to, and others who have not strength physically; but how many are there, at this moment, who do not know how to pass their time—rich, refined, intellectual, and will I say Christian? They are so called, and I have no doubt would be much shocked were they called any thing else, and yet they not only neglect this Christian and sacred duty, but look on it as beneath them. How can we expect to succeed when there is such a gross disregard of our Savior’s own words, “In that ye did it unto the least of these, ye did it unto me?”
And what an opportunity this is to exercise the greatest of all Christian virtues— charity? Yet it is not charity in the sense in which it is commonly used, but a sacred duty we owe to our own people and country; practicing which has made the most uncouth seem lovely, and the beauteous more beautiful.
“No radiant pearl which crested fortune wears,
No gem that sparkling hangs from beauteous cars,
Not the bright stars which night’s blue arch adorn,
Nor rising sun that gilds the vernal morn,
Shines with such luster as the tears that break
For other’s woos down virtue’s lovely cheek.”
O, that the women of the South may wake from their dream ere it is too late; when remorse will bring in retrospect before them, as it did in “that awful dream,”
“Each pleading look, that long ago
I scanned with heedless eye;
Each face was gazing as plainly there
As when I passed it by;
Woe, woe for me, if the past should be
Thus present when I die.”
13th. Ordered to remain here at present. Prospect of staying in “Sturges’s” division in east Ky. Don’t like him on account of Mo. notoriety. After breakfast cleaned up my revolvers and loaded them. After noon, wrote home and went down town. Pitched quoits over at Co. H. Charlie came over and we reviewed old letters of mine. Saw the boys gamble. One little 15-year-old had $120 won.
April 13, Monday. Wrote Seward a letter on the subject of captured mails, growing out of the prize Peterhoff. On the 18th of August last I prepared a set of instructions embracing the mails, on which Seward had unwittingly got committed. The President requested that this should be done in conformity with certain arrangements which Seward had made with the foreign ministers. I objected that the instructions which Mr. Seward had prepared in consultation with the foreigners were unjust to ourselves and contrary to usage and to law, but to get clear of the difficulty they were so far modified as to not directly violate the statutes, though there remained something invidious towards naval officers which I did not like. The budget of concessions was, indeed, wholly against ourselves, and the covenants were made without any accurate knowledge on the part of the Secretary of State when they were given of what he was yielding. But the whole, in the shape in which the instructions were finally put, passed off very well. Ultimately, however, the circular containing among other matters these instructions by some instrumentality got into the papers, and the concessions were, even after they were cut down, so great that the Englishmen complimented the Secretary of State for his liberal views. The incense was so pleasant that Mr. Seward on the 30th of October wrote me a supercilious letter stating it was expedient our naval officers should forward the mails captured on blockade-runners, etc., to their destination as speedily as possible, without their being searched or opened. The tone and manner of the letter were supercilious and offensive, the concession disreputable and unwarrantable, the surrender of our indisputable rights disgraceful, and the whole thing unstatesmanlike and illegal, unjust to the Navy and the country, and discourteous to the Secretary of the Navy and the President, who had not been consulted. I said to Mr. Seward at the time, last November, that the circular of the 18th of August had gone far enough, and was yielding more than was authorized, except by legislation or treaty. He said his object was to keep the peace, to soothe and calm the English and French for a few weeks.
Lord Lyons now writes very adroitly that the seizure of the Peterhoff mails was in violation of the order of our Government as “communicated to the Secretary of the Navy on the 31st of October.” He makes no claim for surrender by right, or usage, or the law of nations, but it was by the order of our Government to the Secretary of the Navy. No such order was ever given by the Government. None could be given but by law of Congress. The Secretary of the Navy does not receive orders from the Secretary of State, and though I doubt not Mr. Seward in an excitable and inflated moment promised and penned his absurd note, which he called an order when conversing with them, — gave it to them as such, — yet I never deemed it of sufficient consequence to even answer or notice further than in a conversation to tell him it was illegal.
NAVY DEPARTMENT, 13 April, 1863.
Sir,
I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your communication of the 11th inst., enclosing a note of Lord Lyons and correspondence relative to the mail of the Peterhoff.
His Lordship complains that the Peterhoff’s mails were dealt with, “both at Key Westand at New Yorkin a manner which is not in accordance with the views of the Government of the United States, as stated in your letter to the Secretary of the Navy, of the 31st Oct. last.”
Acting Rear Admiral Bailey, an extract from whose letter is enclosed, in the correspondence transmitted on the 14th ulto., gave Her Majesty’s Consul atKey Westan authenticated copy of the law of theUnited States, and of the instructions based thereon, on the subject of papers which strictly belong to the captured vessels and the mails.
By special direction of the President, unusual courtesy and concession were made to neutrals in the instructions of the 18th August last to Naval Officers, who themselves were restricted and prohibited from examining or breaking the seals of the mail bags, parcels, &c. which they might find on board of captured vessels, under any pretext, but were authorized at their discretion to deliver them to the Consul, commanding naval officer, or the legation of the foreign government to be opened, upon the understanding that whatever is contraband, or important as evidence concerning the character of a captured vessel, will be remitted to the prize court, &c.
On the 31st of October last, I had the honor to receive from you a note suggesting the expediency of instructing naval officers that, in case of capture of merchant vessels suspected or found to be vessels of insurgents, or contraband, the public mails of every friendly or neutral power, duly certified or authenticated as such, shall not be searched or opened, but be put as speedily as may be convenient on the way to their designated destination. As I did not concur in the propriety or “expediency” of issuing instructions so manifestly in conflict with all usage and practice, and the law itself, and so detrimental to the legal rights of captors, who would thereby be frequently deprived of the best, if not the only, evidence that would insure condemnation of the captured vessel, no action was taken on the suggestions of the letter of the 31st October, as Lord Lyons seems erroneously to have supposed.
In the only brief conversation that I ever remember to have had with you, I expressed my opinion that we had in the instructions of the 18th of August gone to the utmost justifiable limit on this subject. The idea that our Naval officers should be compelled to forward the mails found on board the vessels of the insurgents — that foreign officials would have the sanction of this government in confiding their mails to blockade runners and vessels contraband, and that without judicial or other investigation, the officers of our service should hasten such mails, without examination, to their destination, was so repugnant to my own convictions that I came to the conclusion it was only a passing suggestion, and the subject was therefore dropped. Until the receipt of your note of Saturday, I was not aware that Lord Lyons was cognizant such a note had been written.
Acting Rear Admiral Bailey has acted strictly in accordance with the law and his instructions in the matter of the Peterhoff’s mail.
The dispatch of Lord Lyons is herewith returned.
I am, respectfully,
Your Obd’t Serv’t,
GIDEON WELLES,
Secty. of Navy.
HON. Wm. H. SEWARD, Secty. of State.
Letter from Colonel Lyon.
Fort Donelson, April 13, 1863.—We have had a little expedition. One Woodward, a rebel, has a force of about 2,000 men with artillery up the river, harrassing boats. We had a force up about twelve miles in the country, and hearing that Woodward was intending to try and cut it off, I was sent out early Saturday morning with reinforcements to give him a fight if he came around; but he did not come, so we returned last night —without a fight, as usual.
On the Mississippi, Monday, April 13. Got all on board once more and at 12 A. M. started up to Helena, unloaded the cotton taken in the Pass, and returned to find the boats all gone except the “Tempest” (commissary boat) and at about 3 P. M., we started down the river. Detained most of the night in extricating the “Duke of Argyle.”
