April 14th. Nothing has occurred or come under my notice this day worthy of especial mention. After the rain and thunder storm of last evening, the air is quite cool and agreeable—quite a relief from that of yesterday, so close, &c.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Tuesday, April 14th.
Left Palestine about 5 o’clock a. m., in a two-horse wagon; same company, with the addition of Mr. Mathus of the First Texas. The ride to Rusk would have been insupportably dull but for good company; nothing but red clay hills and deep gullies, ornamented with pine and oak. It, however, brought up some pleasing reminiscences of old South Carolina and my boyhood days—the season when ambitious hopes, burned in my breast and I determined I would be a man—little dreaming then that I would have the satisfaction of striking a blow in the holiest cause that ever fired the breast of man, and illustrating by action the feelings which glowed and burned in my little heart, on reading the stories of Wallace and of Tell.
We reached Rusk about 4 o’clock in the afternoon without an incident of interest, and found W. G. Thomas to be the quartermaster there. He appears to be an accommodating and clever officer and refunded our transportation which we had paid out at Palestine.
To-day is the fifth anniversary of my wedding day, and I have thought often of my dear wife and little ones and wished I could be with them, but I am resolved not to remain quietly at home another moment while a foe is on our soil.
April 14. — This day I have seen a bloody battle fought, and now write sitting among furrows cut up by the wheels of the batteries. A little way to the right, in the edge of the wood, lie the unburied dead. There, too, lie the castaway guns and all the wreck and waste of such a field. A few rods to the left, the surgeons, all this forenoon, have been dressing wounds. The pursuit of the enemy is going forward. We only wait the order to advance. Occasionally the strong, fresh south wind brings to us the crash of a volley, or an explosion in the advance. A huge vapory column builds itself up into the air; then the breeze dissipates the unsubstantial tower from base to cornice.
April 14 — Turned over all our tents to-day, which means that we are to take the weather raw all through the campaign, with nothing to shelter us from storm and rain, sunshine and dew.
Tuesday, April 14th.
Ah! another delightful glimpse of society has been offered to our charmed view. Such a treat has not often fallen to our lot. Good Mrs. Greyson, in her anxiety to make all around her happy, determined we should have a dance. I should say “Miriam”; for Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy never indulge in such amusements, and I can’t; so it must have been for Miriam alone. Such a crew! The two ladies above mentioned and I almost laughed ourselves into hysterics. Poor Miriam, with a tall, slender Texan who looked as though he had chopped wood all his life, moved through the dance like the lady in “Comus”; only, now and then a burst of laughter at the odd mistakes threatened to overcome her dignity. We who were fortunately exempt from the ordeal, laughed unrestrainedly at the mêlée. One danced entirely with his arms; his feet had very little to do with the time. One hopped through with a most dolorous expression of intense absorption in the arduous task. Another never changed a benign smile that had appeared on entering, but preserved it unimpaired through every accident. One female, apparently of the tender age of thirty, wore a yellow muslin, with her hair combed rigidly à la chinoise, and tightly fastened at the back of her head in a knot whose circumference must have been fully equal to that of a dollar. In addition to other charms, she bore her neck and chin in a very peculiar manner, as though she were looking over the fence, Mr. Christmas remarked. Mr. Christmas had ridden all the way from Ponchatoula to see us, and if it had not been for him, Mr. Worthington, and Dr. Capdevielle, who came in after a while, I think I should have expired, and even Miriam would have given up in despair. The Doctor was an old friend of Harry’s, though we never met him before.
Kentucky
14th. Ordered on to Stanford. Started right away after breakfast. Passed many large massive residences along the road. Excellent fences and beautiful farms. Saw a great many negroes, generally well dressed, but very wishful. Drew and issued rations at Lexington in the evening. Saw West Hospital. Rode through the city, twelve or fifteen thousand. H. Clay’s monument, 150 ft. high.
April 14, Tuesday.
Little of interest to-day at council.
The War Department, which early in the War claimed that the armed force on the Western rivers should be subject to military control, became involved in difficulty. Naval officers, naval guns, naval men, and naval discipline were wanted and so far as could be done were given, but Congress merely ordered that the armed vessels should be transferred to the Navy. This law had given offense to the War Department, and when the transfer was made, the “ram fleet,” as it was called, was withheld. This was, as I said to Stanton, in disregard of the law and would be likely to lead to difficulty, for, while there might be cooperation, there could not be separate commands without conflict.
The ram fleet was commanded by the family of Ellett, brave, venturous, intelligent engineers, not always discreet or wise, but with many daring and excellent qualities. They had under them a set of courageous and picked men, furnished by the military, styled the Marine Brigade, and did some dashing service, but refused to come under naval orders, or to recognize the Admiral in command of the Mississippi Squadron. The result was, as I anticipated might be the case, an arrest and suspension of Brigadier-General H. W. Ellett from the command of the ram fleet.
Stanton is very laudatory of the Elletts, and violent in his denunciations of Porter, whom he ridicules as a “gas bag and fussy fellow, blowing his own trumpet and stealing credit which belongs to others.” There is some truth in what he says of the Elletts and also of Porter, but the latter with all his verbosity has courage and energy as well as the Elletts.
Providence, La., Tuesday, April 14. Cold and rainy all day, making it rather disagreeable. Spent the day in our quarters over the horses. Read the Covenant, mused and slept most of the day. At about 9 P. M. we neared what appeared like a city with its hundreds of lamps, but proved to be Providence with the lighted steamboats tied close.
Tuesday, 14th—Another rainy day. I went to town two miles up the river this morning in a canoe, with the cook of Company K (I am taking cooking lessons from him) to buy provisions. I bought ten pounds of ham and other things for $3.95. I wrote a letter home to Albert Downing and enclosed $10.00 in it. General Quimby’s Division landed at Lake Providence this afternoon. It is reported that the expedition that was trying to find a way to get the army past Haines’s Bluff on the Yazoo river has been forced to give it up on account of the floods. The river is flooded for a hundred miles up from the mouth, and four miles on either side. It is thought that they will have to run the fleet past the batteries at Vicksburg and march the army down the Louisiana side and then across the river on high ground below Vicksburg.
14th April (Tuesday).—When we roused up at 4 A.M. we found our clothes saturated with the heavy dew; also that, notwithstanding our exertions, the hogs had devoured the greatest part of our pet kid, our only fresh meat.
After feeding our mules upon the Indian corn we had brought with us, and drinking a little more saltwater coffee, the Judge “hitched in,” and we got under way at 5.30 A.M. The country just the same as yesterday — a dead level of sand, mosquite trees, and prickly pears.
At 7.30 A.M. we reached “Leatham’s ranch,” and watered our mules. As the water was tolerable, we refilled our water-barrels. I also washed my face, during which operation Mr Sargent expressed great astonishment, not unmingled with contempt.
At Leatham’s we met a wealthy Texan speculator and contractor called Major or Judge Hart.
I find that our Judge is also an M.P., and that, in his capacity as a member of the Texan legislature, he is entitled to be styled the Honourable.
At 9 A.M. we halted in the middle of a prairie, on which there was a little grass for the mules, and we prepared to eat. In the midst of our cooking, two deer came up quite close to us, and could easily have been killed with rifles.
We saw quantities of rat-ranches, which are big sort of mole-hills, composed of cow-dung, sticks, and earth, built by the rats.
Mr Sargent, our conductor, is a very rough customer—a fat, middle-aged man, who never opens his mouth without an oath, strictly American in its character. He and the judge are always snarling at one another, and both are much addicted to liquor.
We live principally on bacon and coffee, but as the water and the bacon are both very salt, this is very inconvenient. We have, however, got some claret, and plenty of brandy.
During the mid-day halts Mr Sargent is in the habit of cooling himself by removing his trousers (or pants), and, having gorged himself, he lies down and issues his edicts to the judge as to the treatment of the mules.
At 2.30 the M.P. hitched in again, and at 2.45 we reached a salt-water arm of the sea called the “Aroyo del Colorado,” about eighty yards broad, which we crossed in a ferry-boat. Half an hour later we “struck water” again, which, being superior to Leatham’s, we filled up.
We are continually passing cotton trains going to Brownsville, also government waggons with stores for the interior. Near every well is a small farm or ranch, a miserable little wooden edifice surrounded by a little cultivation. The natives all speak Spanish, and wear the Mexican dress.
McCarthy is very proud of his knowledge of the country, in spite of which he is often out in his calculations. The different tracks are so similar to one another, they are easily mistaken.
At 4.45 P.M. we halted at a much better place than yesterday. We are obliged to halt where a little grass can be found for our mules.
Soon after we had unpacked for the night, six Texan Rangers, of “Wood’s ” regiment, rode up to us. They were very picturesque fellows; tall, thin, and ragged, but quite gentlemanlike in their manners.
We are always to sleep in the open until we arrive at San Antonio, and I find my Turkish lantern most useful at night.[1]
[1] A lantern for a candle, made of white linen and wire, which collapses when not in use. They are always used in the streets of Constantinople. The Texans admired it immensely.
