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

Friday, July 5, 2013

Sunday, July 5.—Went to church this afternoon, and for the first time, I saw Rev. Dr. Quintard; knew him immediately, from a description I had read of him, written by Rev. Dr. Cross. I was introduced to him by Mr. E. Stickney. He inquired all about the hospitals; had heard of the time when Rev. Mr. Miller and the Mobile ladies had started on their mission; said he thought the reason it had proved a failure was because the ladies had not been educated in nursing, as are the Sisters of Charity, and he hoped some day we would have a sisterhood in the church as was in the day of the apostles, and is now in many parts of the old country.

He had been a surgeon in the army, and at one time had charge of a hospital, and had experienced a good deal of trouble with ladies in it.

He was much shocked at the state in which he found the church. The seats, floors, and every place else was covered with dust. He asked me if that was its usual condition. I answered, that I did not know, but the fact is, it is scarcely ever open, Mr. D. having duties to call him elsewhere.

Before preaching, Dr. Q. appointed a committee of men to raise funds, for the purpose of having the church cleaned and seats put in it, as at present the seats are rough planks.

Our army is coming in as fast as it can; we are near the river, and many of the men pass our hospital. Poor fellows, they look completely worn out, but very unlike what they were retreating from Corinth; camp life and hardships have improved them so much.

5th July (Sunday). — The night was very bad— thunder and lightning, torrents of rain—the road kneedeep in mud and water, and often blocked up with waggons “come to grief.” I pitied the wretched plight of the unfortunate soldiers who were to follow us. Our progress was naturally very slow indeed, and we took eight hours to go as many miles.

At 8 A.M. we halted a little beyond the village of Fairfield, near the entrance to a mountain-pass. No sooner had we done so and lit a fire, than an alarm was spread that Yankee cavalry were upon us. Several shots flew over our heads, but we never could discover from whence they came. News also arrived of the capture of the whole of Ewell’s beautiful waggons[1] These reports created a regular stampede amongst the waggoners, and Longstreet’s drivers started off as fast as they could go. Our medical trio, however, firmly declined to budge, and came to this wise conclusion, partly urged by the pangs of hunger, and partly from the consideration that, if the Yankee cavalry did come, the crowded state of the road in oar rear would prevent our escape. Soon afterwards, some Confederate cavalry were pushed to the front, who cleared the pass after a slight skirmish.

At noon, Generals Lee and Longstreet arrived, and halted close to us. Soon afterwards Ewell came up. This is the first time I ever saw him. He is rather a remarkable-looking old soldier, with a bald head, a prominent nose, and rather a haggard, sickly face: having so lately lost his leg above the knee, he is still a complete cripple, and falls off his horse occasionally. Directly he dismounts he has to be put on crutches. He was Stonewall Jackson’s coadjutor during the celebrated valley campaigns, and he used to be a great swearer—in fact, he is said to have been the only person who was unable to restrain that propensity before Jackson; but since his late (rather romantic) marriage, he has (to use the American expression) “joined the Church.” When I saw him he was in a great state of disgust in consequence of the supposed loss of his waggons, and refused to be comforted by General Lee.

I joined Longstreet again, and, mounted on Lawley’s venerable horse, started at 3 P.M. to ride through the pass. At 4 P.m. we stopped at a place where the roads fork, one leading to Emmetsburg, and the other to Hagerstown. Major Moses and I entered a farmhouse, in which we found several women, two wounded Yankees, and one dead one, the result of this morning’s skirmish. One of the sufferers was frightfully wounded in the head; the other was hit in the knee: the latter told me he was an Irishman, and had served in the Bengal Europeans during the Indian Mutiny. He now belonged to a Michigan cavalry regiment, and had already imbibed American ideas of Ireland’s wrongs, and all that sort of trash. He told me that his officers were very bad, and that the idea in the army was that McClellan had assumed the chief command.

The women in this house were great Abolitionists. When Major Fairfax rode up, he inquired of one of them whether the corpse was that of a Confederate or Yankee (the body was in the verandah, covered with a white sheet). The woman made a gesture with her foot, and replied,”If it was a rebel, do you think it would be here long?” Fairfax then said, “Is it a woman who speaks in such a manner of a dead body which can do no one any harm?” She thereupon coloured up, and said she wasn’t in earnest.

At 6 o’clock we rode on again (by the Hagerstown road) and came up with General Longstreet at 7.30. The road was full of soldiers marching in a particularly lively manner—the wet and mud seemed to have produced no effect whatever on their spirits, which were as boisterous as ever. They had got hold of coloured prints of Mr Lincoln, which they were passing about from company to company with many remarks upon the personal beauty of Uncle Abe. The same old chaff was going on of “Come out of that hat—I know you’re in it—I sees your legs a-dangling down,” &c. When we halted for the night, skirmishing was going on in front and rear—Stuart in front and Ewell in rear. Our bivouac being near a large tavern, General Longstreet had ordered some supper there for himself and his Staff; but when we went to devour it, we discovered General McLaws and his officers rapidly finishing it. We, however, soon got more, the Pennsylvanian proprietors being particularly anxious to propitiate the General, in hopes that he would spare their live stock, which had been condemned to death by the ruthless Moses.

During supper women came rushing in at intervals, saying—”Oh, good heavens, now they’re killing our fat hogs. Which is the General? which is the Great Officer? Our milch cows are now going.” To all which expressions Longstreet replied, shaking his head in a melancholy manner—” Yes, madam, it’s very sad —very sad; and this sort of thing has been going on in Virginia more than two years—very sad.”

We all slept in the open, and the heavy rain produced no effect upon our slumbers.

I understand it is impossible to cross the lines by flag of truce. I therefore find myself in a dilemma about the expiration of my leave.


[1] It afterwards turned out that all escaped but thirty-eight.

July 5th. Left camp very early this morning. A heavy downpour of rain. Passed through Georgetown, on through Washington. The mud in Pennsylvania Avenue was ankle deep. Marching very hard and disagreeable, so much so that we were obliged to take off our leggins and throw them away. Our first time in Washington. Boarded a train at the B. & O. R. R. station, going north. Nothing important taken place. At the Relay House, near Baltimore, train switched to the west bound track. After a long tedious ride we reached the Monocacy Junction, thence to Frederick City, where we left the train and began a march out on the South Mountain Road, passing New York’s crack regiment, the 7th, on picket duty. Stopped at the top of South Mountain.

Sunday, 5th—We came in this morning at 10 o’clock from an all night picket along the Big Black river. We were relieved by General Tuttle’s Brigade. Our brigade then fell back a mile and went into bivouac in heavy timber. The rebels all left last night, it is thought, for Jackson, Mississippi, with the forces of Sherman and Ord in pursuit of them. Sherman passed us, crossing the Big Black at Messenger’s ford, while Ord’s army crossed the river over the railroad bridge. There is great rejoicing in camp over the fall of Vicksburg and the boys are singing songs and celebrating.

5th. Aroused at daylight. Marched very soon, roads quite muddy. Crossed Green River about 7:30 and camped one mile out. Fed and breakfasted. Got a good meal at a large white house. Passed through a now almost wilderness till reaching the Green River. Some day this will be a rich country, good pine timber. Several little showers. Moved on to Dan Tucker’s, 22 miles from Lebanon. Got supper and ordered to unsaddle ready to start again at daylight. Rained and all got wet through. Great time getting supper.

July 5, Sunday. A Cabinet-meeting to-day at 11 A.M. The principal topic was the mission of Alexander H. Stephens. The President read a letter from Colonel Ludlow, United States Agent for exchange of prisoners, to Secretary Stanton, stating that Stephens had made a communication to Admiral Lee, which the Admiral had sent to the Secretary of the Navy. After reading them, the President said he was at first disposed to put this matter aside without many words, or much thought, but a night’s reflection and some remarks yesterday had modified his views. While he was opposed to having Stephens and his vessel come here, he thought it would be well to send some one —perhaps go himself — to Fortress Monroe. Both Seward and Stanton were startled when this remark was made.

Seward did not think it advisable the President should go, nor any one else; he considered Stephens a dangerous man, who would make mischief anywhere. The most he (Seward) would do would be to allow Stephens to forward any communication through General Dix. Seward passes by Admiral Lee and the Navy Department, through whom the communication originally came. Stanton was earnest and emphatic against having anything to do with Stephens, or Jeff Davis, or their communication. Chase was decided against having any intercourse with them. Blair took a different view. He would not permit Stephens to come here with his staff, but would receive any communication he bore, and in such a case as this, he would not cavil about words. Something more important was involved.

While this discussion was going on, I wrote a brief answer to Lee, and said to the President I knew not why Colonel Ludlow was intruded as the medium of communication, or General Dix, — that neither of them was in any way connected with this transaction. Admiral Lee, in command of the blockading force, received a communication from Mr. Stephens, and had made known to the Navy Department, under whose orders he is acting, the application of the gentleman who had a mission to perform, and was now with Admiral Lee waiting an answer. In this stage of the proceeding, the Secretary of State proposes that Admiral Lee should be ignored, and the subject transferred from the Navy to some military officer, or one of his staff. Was it because Admiral Lee was incompetent, or not to be trusted? Admiral Lee has informed Stephens he cannot be permitted to pass until he has instructions from the Navy Department. Nothing definite has yet been suggested in reply. He and the parties are waiting to hear from me, and I propose to take some notice of his application, and, unless the President objects, send an answer as follows to Admiral Lee: —

“The object of the communication borne by Mr. Stephens is not stated or intimated. It is not expedient from this indefinite information that you should permit that gentleman to pass the blockade with the Torpedo.”

None of the gentlemen adopted or assented to this, nor did they approximate to unity or anything definite on any point. After half an hour’s discussion and disagreement, I read what I had pencilled to the President, who sat by me on the sofa. Under the impression that I took the same view as Chase and Stanton, he did not adopt it. Seward, in the mean time, had reconsidered his proposition that the communication should be received, and thought with Stanton it would be best to have nothing to do with the mission in any way. The President was apprehensive my letter had that tendency. Mr. Blair thought my suggestion the most practical of anything submitted. Chase said he should be satisfied with it. Stanton the same. Seward thought that both Stanton and myself had better write, each separate answers, Stanton to Ludlow and I to Lee, but to pretty much the same effect.

The President said my letter did not dispose of the communication which Stephens bore. I told him the dispatch did not exclude it. Though objection was made to any communication, an answer must be sent Admiral Lee. Everything was purposely left open, so that Stephens could, if he chose, state or intimate his object. I left the dispatch indefinite in consequence of the diversity of opinion among ourselves, but that I had not the least objection, and should for myself prefer to add, “I am directed by the President to say that any communication which Mr. Stephens may have can be forwarded.”

This addendum did not, as I knew it would not, meet the views entertained by some of the gentlemen. The President prefers that a special messenger should be sent to meet Stephens, to which I see no serious objection, but which no one favors. I do not anticipate anything frank, manly, or practical in this mission, though I do not think Stephens so dangerous a man as Mr. Seward represents him. It is a scheme without doubt, — possibly for good, perhaps for evil, — but I would meet it in a manner not offensive, nor by a rude refusal would I give the Rebels and their sympathizers an opportunity to make friends at our expense or to our injury. This, I think, is the President’s purpose. Mr. Blair would perhaps go farther than myself, the others not so far. We must not put ourselves in the wrong by refusing to communicate with these people. On the other hand, there is difficulty in meeting and treating with men who have violated their duty, disregarded their obligations, and who lack sincerity.

I ought to answer Lee, and, because I have not, Ludlow and Dix have been applied to. Seward will make the Secretary of War or himself the medium and not the Secretary of the Navy, — Ludlow or Dix, not Admiral Lee. I proposed to inform Admiral Lee that his communication should be answered to-morrow, it having been decided we would not reply to-day. Seward said the subject would not spoil by keeping. The President thought it best to send no word until we gave a conclusive answer to-morrow.

At 5 P.M. I received a telegram that the Torpedo with Mr. Stephens had gone up the river. Another telegram at eight said she had returned.

July 5. — I went out to see Rosengarten and his family. Their country house is at Germantown, where there are a great many country residences of the Philadelphians. R.’s house is quite a pretty stone cottage surrounded by a lawn, and with pretty shrubbery, etc. I spent two or three hours there, and then took a drive through Schoolhouse Lane, which they were fortifying, and then to the right on a road running along Wissahickon Creek. The scenery was beautiful and reminded me very much of the suburbs of Boston.

After spending a few hours here very pleasantly, I went back to Philadelphia, and on leaving the cars, heard the news about Meade,[1] etc. It literally poured, and in the midst of this rain I drove to Frank Haseltine’s, arriving there at two o’clock, just at dinner-time. I saw Mrs. Haseltine, looking as young and pretty as ever. Mr. Haseltine I saw last night. Parkman Blake was present, and we had a very pleasant dinner indeed. After dinner we adjourned to Frank’s room, and looked over his old college papers, and talked over old times. I really passed a most pleasant afternoon. From Frank’s we went to Mr. Field’s, and took tea there, meeting Mr. Newhall, Mr. Furness, and Clem Barclay. Mrs. Field was very kind, as was Mr. F. Philadelphia people are much more hospitable than Boston people.


[1] That is, of the final victory at Gettysburg.

Vicksburg, Sunday, July 5. We were momentarily expecting marching orders, while I wrote two letters, but at last we were told to prepare to march at 4 P. M., and at the appointed hour all was packed up, horses hitched up and ready. We entered Vicksburg in front of Carr’s original line, and after many halts among the broken ravines, amongst butternuts swarming on every side, we came into battery of five yards intervals in a little knoll, after dark.

July 5 — We were on the march nearly all last night, and most of the time we were mixed up in an ambulance train. Our march was very slow, and seemed more like a dead march than anything we have done in the marching business since the war. The surroundings were about as cheerful as a tomb.

The cannon we heard in the forepart of the night belonged to the Yanks, and they were shelling some of our wagon trains on top of the mountain. This morning just before day Colonel Thockmorton, commanding the Sixth Virginia Cavalry, came down the mountain with his regiment in a rather stirred-up condition, as if something wild and very dangerous had been seen in front. Captain Chew asked Colonel Thockmorton where he was going. He replied, “Down the mountain. A Yankee battery fired canister into the head of my command, and I am not going up there again until daylight.” Captain Chew then remarked, “Colonel, my battery was ordered up here to support your regiment, and if you go back, I will too.” Accordingly we went back down the mountain a short distance, fed our horses and waited for day. Immediately after daylight we renewed our march up the mountain, and when we arrived on top the Yankee destroyers had vanished from the scene of their last night’s destructive operations, and all was still and quiet on the mountain highlands. From all accounts and appearances the Yankee force that struck the wagon train on top of the mountain last night was considerable and overwhelming, as we had but few men to protect the train at that point in particular. It was not the train that we were guarding that was destroyed. The Yanks destroyed about ninety wagons, and they did their work well. Some of the wagons were chopped to pieces and others were burned. I saw the debris, such as skillets, frying pans, camp kettles, and all sorts of camp furniture scattered all along the road.

I made a little tour of inspection this morning where the Yankee raiders attacked the wagon train last night, merely to see whether I could find any evidence or trace of the resistance our few wagon train guards offered to the overwhelming force of Yankee cavalry that swept along the road. I found very few battle scars or marks on the trees and bushes, but behind a rock in a thick clump of trees lay one of our sharpshooters, still and silent in the bivouac of the dead, and no earthly reveille will ever wake him again. He was shot through the brain, and no doubt was killed by his adversary firing at the flash of the sharpshooter’s gun, which still lay by the dead body and pointed to the front.

After we were on the summit of the mountain about two hours we went down a mile on the Emmitsburg road on picket. We had about five hundred infantry of McLaw’s division with us for support. The infantrymen threw up breastworks along the front of our position. We remained on picket all day, and this evening we moved back a mile and camped at Monterey Springs on the summit of the Blue Ridge, sixteen miles east of Hagerstown. General Longstreet’s infantry came up the Emmitsburg road this evening.

July 5—Left this morning at 5 o’clock. Only marched ten miles to-day. The enemy being in our rear, and skirmishing very strong.