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

Thursday, August 15, 2013

August 15, Saturday. Certain persons in Boston have an innate conviction that they can improve the administration of the Navy Department. They are never united among themselves as to how this is to be effected, but all are fond of criticism. They always claim that they expected this thing would fail or that would succeed after the event occurred. I must do them the justice to say, however, that with all their grumbling and faultfinding they have generally given me a fair support. In special cases, where I have been lectured, I have invariably found there was an axe to grind, a purpose to be accomplished. Some one, or more, important personage has had suggestions to make, and for a consideration — never omitting that—would consent to help along the work of putting down the Rebellion. These have been the captious ones.

A man by the name of Weld has written a long letter to Governor Andrew. He wants the Governor to aid the Navy Department by writing to the President to form a Naval Board in Massachusetts, with authority to build vessels, fast steamers, such as Massachusetts can build, steamers which will capture or destroy the Alabama, and allow the Massachusetts Board to commission the officers. If there is no appropriation, says good Mr. Weld, take the necessary funds from the Secret Service money. Mr. Weld informs Governor Andrew he is ready to be employed. Governor Andrew indorses over the letter. He also indorses Mr. Weld, who is, he says, one of the most eminent shipbuilders in Massachusetts, and he (Governor A.) is ready to cooperate with Mr. Weld in his patriotic suggestions, etc., etc., etc. This is Boston all over. I have had it from the beginning and periodically. The Welds, etc., from the commencement of hostilities, have prompted and promised almost anything, only requiring the Government to give them power and foot the bills.

I had to-day a very full and interesting account of the campaign and fall of Vicksburg from General F. P. Blair, who has done good service in the field and in politics also. He was a fearless pioneer in the great cause of the Union and breasted the storm in stormy Missouri with a bold front. Of the factions and feuds in St. Louis I pretend to no accurate knowledge, and am no partisan of or for either. Frank is as bold in words as in deeds, fearless in his utterances as in his fights; is uncalculating, — impolitic, it would be said, — rash, without doubt, but sincere and patriotic to the core. I detect in his conversation to-day a determination to free himself from personal and local complications, and if possible to reconcile differences. It is honorable on his part, but I apprehend he has materials to deal with that he cannot master.

G. W. Blunt came to see me. Ridicules Barney and all the government officials in New York but Wakeman. Says old General Wool made himself ridiculous in the mob difficulties. Calls him a weak old man. If weak, it is from age, for there is no one more patriotic. At eighty he was not the proper man to quell an outbreak. Blunt and others are sore over the removal of General Harvey Brown.. He is earnest to have the draft go forward, but says it will be followed by incendiarism. It may be so. Blunt is ardent, impulsive, earnest, and one-sided.

Colonel Lyons.

 

Fort Donelson, Aug. 15, 1863.—We are scouting and chasing guerillas pretty lively now. A party of mounted infantry, which I sent out last Saturday, had several skirmishes with them; wounded some of them and made some captures. None of our men were hurt. I sent out a whole battalion for an extensive scout.

August 15 — Late this evening the first section went on outpost duty. I, being on the sick list, remained at the reserve.

15th. After morning duties went with wagon and three men to Camp Nelson for rations. Had returned to within half a mile of the place when we met the boys in wagons. Turned back again. Camped near the 86th Ohio. Saw Capt. Lindsley and Lieut. Steele of our old regiment. Drew some horses. Had the blue sky for our covering, the first time for a long while.

Waiting to be Relieved.

We keep a small camp guard during the night and this duty is assigned to the artillery detail, each gun’s company taking its turn, which brings us on every third night. There are only four posts, the guns and magazine, and as they only go on at tattoo and come off at reveille, the duty is not very arduous. The guard is divided into two reliefs, one going on the first part of the night and the other the latter part; the duty is simply to keep their ears open for any disturbance among the pickets out in the woods and alarm the camp. The reliefs sleep in their quarters and are called when wanted. The sergeant or corporal on duty occupies a small wall tent, in which a candle is kept burning through the night. Having my choice of time and it not making any difference to the corporal, I take the latter part, as I prefer sleeping the first part. I have a splendid corporal, I think the best in the service; we go along together, and agree first rate. He is willing to do all the work and I am willing he should. He posts the first relief and then keeps his eyes open until it is time to post the second relief, when he posts them and then comes and calls me, when I relieve him. My work is now all done; all I have to do is to lie down and go to sleep or busy myself with my reading or writing, and call off the relief at reveille. If I am too busy to attend to that duty (which I generally am), they take the responsibility of relieving themselves, which is a great help to me and relieves me of a great burden of care.

One night while on this duty the officer of the day came in and inquired if I would like to take a stroll and make a round of the pickets. I replied that I should. We started out making the round and not being in a hurry did not get back till daylight. I laid down and went to sleep, feeling that everything was all safe and quiet on the Pamlico. About 7 o’clock I was called up and told I was wanted at the magazine. I went out and there stood Charley, a Roman sentinel amid the wreck of worlds. I admired his fidelity, but I really couldn’t commend his judgment and no explanation or excuses of mine availed in the least; he was going to he relieved officially, and after he had got through with me I don’t think there were many more cuss words left in him. I certainly felt relieved if he didn’t.

The Rover.

Capt. Foss somewhere picked up an old boat and with Jed’s assistance put it in good repair, rigged up a sail, rated it A 1, and named it the Rover. The captain is skipper and Jed sailing master. She is a long, clipper-built craft, with a large spread of canvas and a carrying capacity of ten or twelve persons. With a spanking breeze she walks up and down the river like a thing of life and makes nothing of sailing right around the little steamer Undine. She makes frequent trips to Rodman’s and occasionally to town. The captain selects the party he wants to take out and I am sometimes honored with an invitation. We usually run alongside the gunboat that lays here and take aboard the second assistant engineer, who is a genial, good-natured old fellow, full of his fun and stories, and then put for Rodman’s. We stop there an hour and start for home. On the return trip, the old engineer’s inventive powers will be a good deal quickened and he will suggest various alterations in the rig and sail of the craft, which will improve her sailing qualities, all of which Jed readily accepts and is going to forthwith adopt, but the next day the improvements are all forgotten and never thought of again until another return trip from Rodman’s. A few days ago a small party of us made a halt at Rodman’s and found Sergeant Martin in command. He did the honors, showing us about the camp and extending hospitalities in a manner that would have done credit to a prince. To my notion Sergeant Martin has got the correct idea of holding a command, not to go dry himself nor let his friends.

Big Jim.

Big Jim, as he is called, is a character; genial, charitable, good-natured, humorous and generous to a fault. He is quite a theatrical character and loves to deal in romance and tragedy, and he caters to the mirthful and fun-loving among the boys. He does not amount to much as a soldier, but that is more his misfortune than from any unwillingness. He is of enormous proportions and very fat, tipping the scale at 250 pounds. He is sorely troubled with chafing when drilling or on the march, and for that reason is excused from pretty much all duty. He is a sort of independent corps, doing duty when he feels like it; he will often go out in the woods and relieve a man on picket who happens to be taken sick. He sometimes has a feeling come over him that he would like to get away from the noise and bustle of the camp, and be alone by himself. At such times he takes his rifle and goes to the little point, some 100 rods down the river, where there is a picket post. Here he will stay two or three days at a time, caring for no company except at night, and amuses himself with fishing, reading and writing. He has become so enamoured of this kind of life, that he has taken the contract to do the picket duty at that post and has made it his permanent residence, coming up to camp only two or three times a week to see the boys and get his rations. He has opened a trading post down there, and trades with the natives who touch there as they come in their boats from up the bay or cove which sets back from there. He has built himself a log house, and a sign over the door reads “Cash paid for coon skins,” of which and other peltries he has collected quite a quantity, and intends sending them to Boston, markets.

Saturday, 15th—This is my birthday—twenty-one years old today. I was detailed to help dig a grave for the body of Rufus C. Walter, of Company G, who died last night. He had been wounded and lived here in camp in a hammock which was tied to trees, or to posts set in the ground when there were no trees.

Vicksburg, Saturday, Aug. 15. Evie and I did our washing before breakfast. Swam my horse in the pond this morning with fifty others. Good fun. David Evans and myself rode over to the hospital in the afternoon; most of the boys doing well with the exception of G. R. Jones. He is very low, weak and emaciated. I am afraid he will not live long. Poor boy, he is very anxious to go home. After supper sent by Sergeant Dixon in search of my off horse, having strayed while I was sick. Had a pleasant ride over the hills and through gorges, but no event.

August 15th, 1863. So hot to-day that none but necessary duties have been ordered. Palm leaf fans were in demand, and most of the day we lay upon our beds under the awnings, in very primitive attire, making industrious use of them. There is little of military interest to note. Lee apparently is resting from his labors, and we are doing the same, besides trying to do something to fill up the old regiments. Several of them have been ordered home to see if their renown will not be an inducement for men to join them. Crosses’s old regiment, the Fifth New Hampshire, is amongst them. Volunteers are not to be had now in any number, and these big bounty men and substitutes are not worth having, as they very generally desert the first chance they get. It is too bad the enthusiasm should have waned so seriously. Our armies in the last two months have won great victories. Gettysburg with nearly twenty thousand loss to the enemy. Vicksburg said to be thirty thousand, and two hundred guns, Port Hudson a couple of thousand men, besides minor affairs, aggregating a tremenduous reduction in the enemy’s force, and immense loss of territory. If we could just get enough men to bring the old regiments up to their original strength, the war would soon be ended.

About 12 M. orders came from corps headquarters to issue three days’ rations, and have the troops in readiness for an immediate movement.

Unidentified soldier in Union uniform in photo caseUnidentified soldier in Union uniform.

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Gem plate tintype, hand-colored ; 3.3 x 2.7 cm (case)

Deposit by Tom Liljenquist; 2012

Liljenquist Family Collection of Civil War Photographs; Ambrotype/Tintype photograph filing series; Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.

Record page for image is here.

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digital file from original item Note – This image has been digitally adjusted for one or more of the following:

  • fade correction,
  • color, contrast, and/or saturation enhancement
  • selected spot and/or scratch removal
  • cropped for composition and/or to accentuate subject matter
  • straighten image

Civil War Portrait 059

Camp White, August 15 (Saturday afternoon), 1863.

Dearest: — Hottest day yet. All busy trying to keep cool. A dead failure all such attempts. A year ago today we set out for Maryland and east Virginia. A swift year.

You don’t write often these days. You don’t love me so much as you did. Is that it? Not much! You are as loving as ever, I know, only it is a bore to write. I know that. So it’s all right and I am as fond of you as I was when you were only my sweetheart. Yes, more too. Well, write when you can comfortably.

I am going to inspect the Thirteenth at Coal’s Mouth tomorrow; take the band along for the fun of it.

I ride about, read novels, newspapers, and military books, and sleep a power. We shall go up to Lewisburg, I guess, in two or three weeks to see after the Rebels in that quarter. All quiet in our borders now. . . . Love to all.

Yours, with great warmth,

R.

Mrs. Hayes.