August 12—We had a very severe storm to-day, which killed two men and hurt several of our brigade. It tore up trees and played smash in general.
Monday, August 12, 2013
August 12.—The One Hundred and Twenty-third Illinois regiment, mounted infantry, under command of Lieutenant-Colonel Biggs, returned to Winchester, Tenn., from a trip into Alabama, with the aim of disbanding a party of bandits, near the junction of Larkin’s Fork and Point Rock River. About three hundred of the Eleventh Texas regiment were encountered and driven back, being closely followed a considerable distance down Point Rock River. A number of prisoners were taken, and refugees, issuing from their hiding-places among the mountains, poured in continually until Colonel Biggs’s command withdrew toward Winchester.
—The United States steamer Wateree was launched at Chester, Pa., this morning.
August 12, Wednesday. The President addressed me a letter, directing additional instructions and of a more explicit character to our naval officers in relation to their conduct at neutral ports. In doing this, the President takes occasion to compliment the administration of the Navy in terms most commendatory and gratifying.
The proposed instructions are in language almost identical with certain letters which have passed between Mr. Seward and Lord Lyons, which the former submitted to me and requested me to adopt. My answer was not what the Secretary and Minister had agreed between themselves should be my policy and action. The President has therefore been privately interviewed and persuaded to write me, — an unusual course with him and which he was evidently reluctant to do. He earnestly desires to keep on terms of peace with England and, as he says to me in his letter, to sustain the present Ministry, which the Secretary of State assures him is a difficult matter, requiring all his dexterity and ability, — hence constant derogatory concessions.
In all of this Mr. Seward’s subservient policy, or want of a policy, is perceptible. He has no convictions, no fixed principles, no rule of action, but is governed and moved by impulse, fancied expediency, and temporary circumstances. We injure neither ourselves nor Great Britain by an honest and firm maintenance of our rights, but Mr. Seward is in constant trepidation lest the Navy Department or some naval officer shall embroil us in a war, or make trouble with England. Lord Lyons is cool and sagacious, and is well aware of our premier’s infirmities, who in his fears yields everything almost before it is asked. Hence the remark of Historicus (Sir Vernon Harcourt) that “the fear of England is not that the Americans will yield too little but that we shall take too much.” That able writer has the sagacity to see, and the frankness to say, that the time will come when England will have a war on her hands and Americans will be neutrals.
The President has a brief reply to Governor Seymour’s rejoinder, which is very well. Stanton said to me he wished the President would stop letter-writing, for which he has a liking and particularly when he feels he has facts and right [on his side]. I might not disagree with Stanton as regards some correspondence, but I think the President has been more successful with Seymour than some others. His own letters and writings are generally unpretending and abound in good sense.
Seward informs me in confidence that he has, through Mr. Adams, made an energetic protest to Great Britain against permitting the ironclads to leave England, distinctly informing the Ministry that it would be considered by us as a declaration of war. The result is, he says, the ironclads will not leave England. I have uniformly insisted that such would be the case if we took decided ground and the Ministry were satisfied we were in earnest.
Spain, Seward says, had been seduced with schemes to help the Rebels, and was to have taken an active part in intervention, or acknowledging the independence of the Confederates, but on learning the course of Roebuck, and after the discussion in the British Parliament, Spain had hastened to say she should not interfere in behalf of the Rebels. But Tassara, the Spanish Minister, under positive instructions, had on the 9th inst. given our government formal notice that after sixty days Spain would insist that her jurisdiction over Cuba extended six miles instead of the marine league from low-water mark. To this Seward said he replied we should not assent; that we could not submit to a menace, especially at such a time as this; that the subject of marine jurisdiction is a question of international law in which all maritime nations have an interest, and it was not for Spain or any one or two countries to set it aside.
He says Lord Lyons has been to him with a complaint that a British vessel having Rebel property on board had been seized in violation of the admitted principle that free ships made free goods. But he advised Lord L. to get all the facts and submit them, etc.
From some cause Seward sought this interview and was unusually communicative. Whether the President’s letter, which originated with him, as he must be aware I fully understand, had an influence in opening his mouth and heart I know not. His confidential communication to me should have been said in full Cabinet. In the course of our conversation, Seward said “some of the facts had leaked out through the President, who was apt to be communicative.”
The condition of the country and the future of the Rebel States and of slavery are rising questions on which there are floating opinions. No clear, distinct, and well-defined line of policy has as yet been indicated by the Administration. I have no doubt there is, and will be, diversity of views in the Cabinet whenever the subject is brought up. A letter from Whiting, Solicitor of the War Department, has been recently published, quite characteristic of the man. Not unlikely Stanton may have suggested, or assented to, this document, by which some are already swearing their political faith. Mr. Whiting is in high favor at the War and State Departments, and on one occasion the President endorsed him to me. I think little of him. He is ready with expedients but not profound in his opinions; is a plausible advocate rather than a correct thinker, more of a patent lawyer than a statesman. His elaborate letter does not in my estimation add one inch to his stature.
August 12 — On reserve picket till late this evening, then moved to the outpost and relieved the second section. I wish the Yanks would do something to break up this monotonous picket business.
Wednesday, 12th. Took breakfast at Loveland. Reached Cincinnati at 9:30. Went to Gibson House. Room with Eggleston. Got my horse. Rode to Gen. Cox’s and hospital, Covington, to see about Homer Johnson. Successful, I guess. Supper at Gibson. Saw Al Bushnell. Forgot letter from Ellen. Evening wrote to Dr. Johnson and Fannie.
August 12.—We arrived at Cherokee Springs, near Ringgold, Ga., this evening. We are both much fatigued and out of sorts. We are here among strangers and feel very lonely. I can not help looking back with regret on the days we spent at the Newsom Hospital. It seems to me that there was not a person in it, from the lowest to the highest, but greeted us with a smile of pleasure, and they were ready at any moment to do us a favor.
Well, when I went back to Kingston from Chattanooga, I found that Dr. A. had quarreled with Mrs. W.; so I felt I was justified in the step I had taken, as any one who could quarrel with good, patient Mrs. W. would quarrel with any one.
We regretted leaving Dr. H., as a brother could not have been kinder than he has been, and every one of his nurses were as kind as himself. On the cars coming here we met Dr. Quintard, Dr. P. Thornton, and General Hindman; the latter was on his way to rejoin the Tennessee army. He has not been with it in some time, having been in Mississippi, attending the trial of one of our generals. He saw some of the men of his old command at the different stations which we passed, who seemed much pleased at seeing him. He commented a good deal on the state of the country; I could not but think it a pity that a man who could arrange every thing so nicely, should not be at the head of affairs; but then our people are so blind!
He told me he was proud to say he was of Scotch descent; his forefathers had fought at the battle of Culloden, with the ill-fated Prince Charlie, and had been exiled to this country. His name is Thomas Culloden.
Dr. Quintard adverted to our having an order of sisterhood in the church; this he seems to have very much at heart. We had our sun-bonnets with us, and he wished to know if they were our uniform; we have never worn any, as we can not afford any clothes but what we may chance to have. We have always made a rule of wearing the simplest kind of dress, as we think any other kind sadly out of place in a hospital; calico or homespun is the only dress fit to wear, but to get the former is a rare treat.
We got out at Ringgold; Dr. Gamble, the post surgeon, and Dr. Gore, were at the depot to receive us; Dr. Q., being an old acquaintance of Dr. G., he introduced us.
Dr. Gore took us to the Bragg Hospital, of which he is surgeon, and introduced us to two very nice ladies—the matrons, Mrs. Byrom and Miss Burford—who received us very kindly.
We left there in a wagon, in company with Colonel Gaither, from Kentucky, a cousin of Dr. Bemiss, the surgeon of the hospital in which we now are.
From what little we have seen of Dr. Bemiss we think we will like him; we have a room in a house set apart for the officers; our stay here is temporary, as there is a house now being erected for our accommodation. Dr. B. told us we could either have our meals brought to our room or eat at the officers’ table.
A very polite young man came and asked us what we would have for supper, just as they do in hotels. I am afraid I have given him offense, as I could not keep from laughing at such a question, and told him I did not know there was any choice in a hospital. He said he meant whether we would have tea or coffee, as supper was over, and it would have to be prepared; he brought us some tea, without milk, very good bread and butter, and eggs, the latter boiled as hard as a stone.
August 12.—Lucilla Field was married in our church to-day to Rev. S. W. Pratt. I always thought she was cut out for a minister’s wife. Jennie Draper cried herself sick because Lucilla, her Sunday School teacher, is going away.
Cincinnati, Ohio, August 12th, 1863.
We arrived here at 9:30 this morning. My day’s work is, at last, completed, at 9 p. m. This has been a busy day. In fact, I have not been idle or had much rest, by day or night, since July fourth, and yet I am fresh and vigorous as in days of old.. The sick and wounded all removed—the worst cases to the General Hospital in this city, the convalescents to Camp Denison, eighteen miles out, while a few return to their regiments.
The Seventeenth passed through here today, and is now in camp near Covington, on the opposite bank of the river. I expect to join them in the morning, and look for a handful of letters.
People call the weather here very hot, but it is not Mississippi heat, and I enjoy it. The mornings and evenings are delightfully cool, while there it is constant, relentless heat both day and night. Here a coat is comfortable in the morning—there one needs no cover day or night.
Wednesday.—We are all pursuing the even tenor of our way, as if there were no war. An order from General Lee is in to-day’s paper, exhorting officers and soldiers to a strict observance of fast-day, which is on Friday. In the mean time the enemy is storming Charleston with unprecedented fury. It is an object of peculiar vengeance. Sumter has literally fallen, but it has not yielded; its battered walls bid defiance to the whole power of the North.
An Inspection.
August 12. A few days ago orders came to get ready for inspection the next afternoon. All was now hurry and bustle, cleaning up camp, arms, equipments and clothing, and putting everything in order. The artillerists worked like beavers, cleaning up the gun carriages and limbers, using all the grease in the kitchen to brighten them up. The old brass guns were polished up and shone like mirrors and we were congratulating ourselves on being highly complimented.
At the appointed time, Lieut. Col. Moulton and Capt. Rawlston of somebody’s staff put in an appearance. The captain was the inspecting officer; a very airy, pompous young gentleman, with a remarkable faculty of making his weak points conspicuous. When the companies fell in, he noticed the artillery detail did not fall in and inquired the reason. Col. Moulton replied that they were expecting to be inspected as artillery. The captain said he knew nothing about that, he was sent here to inspect this detachment as infantry and every man must fall in. Now that was all right enough, only it placed me at a disadvantage, for I had taken no thought or care of Spitfire since my promotion and it was looking pretty bad. But I had no time to clean it up, and I must say it was a sorry looking piece to take out for a show. But as bad as it looked, I had the utmost confidence in its shooting qualities, in fact I have never lost confidence in Spitfire but once, that was when I dropped it in the creek at Goldsboro.
We were marched out and paraded, and after the inspecting officer had “sassed” Col. Moulton and nearly all the other officers, he commenced his job. He found right smart of fault, but didn’t find a really good subject until he came to me. He looked me over, and taking Spitfire gave it a very careful and thorough inspection. Handing it back he very gravely informed me that he had inspected the whole army of the Potomac and had never before seen a rifle looking so bad as Spitfire, and still further complimenting me by saying I was about the roughest looking sergeant he had ever seen. I nodded assent, venturing the remark that I had been in the artillery detail while here and my rifle had been somewhat neglected, but I had a gun on the Malakoff that could knock the spots off the sun. He allowed that that was insolence and any more of it would subject me to arrest. Imagine the indignation of the chief of artillery on being threatened with arrest by an infantry captain. My first impulse was to call my command, lash him to the muzzle of the gun on the Malakoff and give him rapid transit over the tops of the pines, but better thoughts soon succeeded and I forgave him, thinking that perhaps he was doing as well as he knew how. The inspection over, he had not long to stay, as the boat was waiting for him. I noticed the officers didn’t pet him very much and I don’t believe he got more than one drink.
Miss Carroll.
Three or four miles out here, through the woods, lives a Mr. Carroll. He has two sons in the 1st North Carolina union volunteers, stationed up in Washington. He makes frequent visits up there to see the boys and is often accompanied by his daughter, a rather good-looking young lady of about 20 years of age. It sometimes happens that they get here early in the morning and have to wait an hour or so for the boat, and will sometimes stop an hour on their return before going home. At these times they are guests at headquarters and a few of us, without the fear of the captain before our eyes, will happen in to have a chat with the old gentleman and his daughter. She expressed a great fondness for literature and claims to be “the only really literary young lady in these yere parts.” We occasionally fit her out with such story papers and magazines as we may have lying around, for which she expresses great pleasure.
She one day inquired if we had read a certain piece of poetry in one of the magazines we had given her. She was told we had and thought it very nice. We inquired if she was pleased with it. She replied she thought it was “Splendid! beautiful!” ‘We asked if she was fond of poetry. She said, she was excessively fond of it and read a great deal; in a sly, blushing kind, of way, she hinted that she sometimes tried her hand at composing. “Ah, indeed; would you favor us with a few specimens, some day when you come over? We should be pleased to look at them.” She promised she would, and the next time she came she brought a composition entitled “Lines to the Union Boys.” They were the merest doggerel, but we were loud in their praise and told her that by reading poetry and practising composing she would excel; that when the cruel war was over and we had retired to the peaceful pursuits of life in our far northern homes, we hoped to be reminded of her occasionally, by seeing some of her productions in print. She seemed a good deal pleased with such flattering encomiums, but thought she would hardly attain to that distinction. I thought so too. I asked if she would allow me to take a copy of the lines during her absence up town, and she kindly consented. Below is the copy:
I suppose you have herd of Swift creek
An the victory there was won
The yankee boys was wide awake
An they made them rebels run.
Chorus—Farewell Father an Mother
An a true sweetheart
An the girls we leave in pain
Oh dont forget those yankee bys they are coming back again.
An when the yankees did come in
The guerrillas took to flight
An tore down the bonna blue flag
An hoisted the stars an stripes.
When South Carolina did secede
An surely did go out
The yankee boys must have bin asleep
They had not whipt her back
I take my stand in Richmond
An Swift creek Il persue
Nor none of his cowardly crew
The gurrillas hates the Buffalows[2]
But they dont care for that
If they dont shut their mouths an let them alone
They will make them clere the track
There is good many men in this war
By the names of Hill
An if the yankees dus get them
They will larn them how to drill
There is good many men here
By the name of Whitford two
An when the Yankees does get them
They will put them rebels through
The secesh girls look mighty loansum
Walking the road in there homemade homespun
The Union girls dont look sad
Walking the road in there yankee plad
An when the war is ended
The guerrillas they will say
They rather fight the devil
Than the boys that gains the day
Hold your toungs you secesh ones
An see what will be don
The yankees boys are bound to go
The whole hog or none
The Union men looks mighty grand
With there cork heel boots an their gloves on their hands
The secesh men looks mighty mean
Going through the woods an never are seen. Chorus, &c.
Now whatever fault can he found with the above lines, there can certainly no fault he found with their loyalty.
