August 24—Was on guard this morning, but Sergeant Hugh Reid sent for me, and detailed me, with some men out of every regiment in our brigade, to hunt deserters. Si Wolf and myself, out of our company. We left camp at 3 this evening, marched two miles up the railroad, and took the cars to Gordonsville. Got there at 4. It is a small place, but one of importance, as all our supplies for the army from Richmond come from this station.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
August 24, Monday. Our advices from Charleston show progress, though slow. The monitors perform well their part. Few casualties have occurred. We hear of a sad one to-day however, in the death of George Rodger [1] one of the noblest spirits in the service. It is sad that among so many he, who has perhaps no superior in the best qualities of the man, the sailor, and the officer, should have been the victim. The President called on me in some anxiety this morning, and was relieved when he learned it was not John Rodgers of Atlantic fame. But without disparagement to bold John, no braver, purer spirit than gallant, generous, Christian George could have been sacrificed, andI so said to the President.
Am annoyed and vexed by a letter from Seward in relation to theMont Blanc. As usual, he has been meddlesome and has inconsiderately, I ought to say heedlessly and unwittingly, done a silly thing. Finding himself in difficulty, he tries to shift his errors on to the Navy Department. He assumes to talk wise without knowledge and to exercise authority without power.
The history of this case exemplifies the management of Mr. Seward. Collins in the Octorara captured the Mont Blanc on her way toPort Royal. The capture took place near Sand Key, a shoal or spit of land over which the English claim jurisdiction. I question their right to assume that these shoals, or Cays, belong toEngland, and that her jurisdiction extends a marine league from each, most of them being uninhabited, barren spots lying off our coast and used to annoy and injure us. I suggested the propriety of denying, or refusing to recognize, the British claim or title to the uninhabited spots; that the opportunity should not pass unimproved to bring the subject to an issue. But Mr. Seward flinched before Lord Lyons, and alarmed the President by representing that I raised new issues, and without investigating the merits of the case of the Mont Blanc, which was in the courts, he hastened to concede to the English not only jurisdiction, but an apology and damages. It was one of those cases alluded to by Sir Vernon Harcourt, when he admonished his government that “the fear was not that Americans would yield too little, but thatEnglandwould take too much.” Seward yielded everything, — so much as to embarrass Lord Lyons, who anticipated no such humiliation and concession on our part, and therefore asked time. The subject hung along without being disposed of. Seward, being occasionally pushed by Lord Lyons, would come to me. I therefore wrote him on the 31st of July a letter which drew from him a singular communication of the 4th inst., to which I have prepared a reply that will be likely to remain unanswered. [The correspondence follows.]
Eliza Woolsey Howland to Mother.
Fishkill., August 24.
We ought soon to hear from Charley, and if Mr. Hopkins’ rumor is true we may feel at ease about him for the present, for Meade won’t attempt a movement without the conscripts. Do you see that Charley himself is one, although in the service already? Let us know how he got down to camp after his furlough with all his traps, and send us all his letters. . . .
Charles Francis Adams to his son
London, August 24, 1863
I am sure I heartily join you in the wish that this fearful conflict was over. No more wanton and wicked struggle was ever initiated by profligate and desperate men than this against a government which had only been too lenient and generous to them. A terrible retribution has fallen upon them, it is true; but the mischief is that it has brought with it much of calamity to those who had no share of the responsibility for bringing it on. I cannot now see how the war can be safely ended until the motive which led to its commencement is made to vanish. I am made an abolitionist as earnest for immediate action as any one. The President can really effect the thing under the war power, as a condition of pacification in the ultimate resort. He can bring on that resort by a general arming of all the blacks. He has the power in his hands. There is no time to be lost, for he may be anticipated by a combination of the repentant class of slave owners with their old democratic allies of the north to attempt to re-establish the Union as it was. This is the last avenue of escape from the natural consequences of the war. I fancy these men will not have the shrewdness to avail themselves of it in season. Not that I doubt the fact that in any event slavery is doomed. The only difference will be that in dying it may cause us another sharp convulsion, which we might avoid by finishing it now. . . .
Monday, August 24th.
A letter from Captain Bradford to Miriam. My poor Adonis, that I used to ridicule so unmercifully, what misfortunes have befallen him! He writes that during the siege at Port Hudson he had the top of his ear shot off (wonder if he lost any of that beautiful golden fleece yclept his hair?), and had the cap of his knee removed by a shell, besides a third wound he does not specify. Fortunately he is with kind friends. And he gives news of Lydia, most acceptable since such a time has elapsed since we heard from her. . . . He says, “Tell Miss Sarah that the last I saw of John, he was crossing the Mississippi in a skiff, his parole in his pocket, his sweet little sister by his side,” (O you wretch! at it again!) “and Somebody else in his heart.” How considerate to volunteer the last statement! Then followed half a page of commendation for his bravery, daring, and skill during the siege (the only kind word he ever spoke of him, I dare say), all looking as though I was to take it as an especial compliment to myself, and was expected to look foolish, blush, and say “Thanky” for it. As though I care!
Monday night.
I consider myself outrageously imposed upon! I am so indignant that I have spent a whole evening making faces at myself. “Please, Miss Sarah, look natural!” William petitions. “I never saw you look cross before.” Good reason! I never had more cause! However, I stop in the midst of a hideous grimace, and join in a game of hide the switch with the children to forget my annoyance.
Of course a woman is at the bottom of it. Last night while Ada and Marie were here, a young lady whose name I decline to reveal for the sake of the sex, stopped at the door with an English officer, and asked to see me in the entry. I had met her once before. Remember this, for that is the chief cause of my anger. Of course they were invited in; but she declined, saying she had but a moment, and had a message to deliver to me alone, so led me apart. “Of course you know who it is from?” she began. I told a deliberate falsehood, and said no, though I guessed instantly. She told me the name then. She had visited the prison the day before, and there had met the individual whose name, joined to mine, has given me more trouble and annoyance during the last few months than it would be possible to mention. “And our entire conversation was about you,” she said, as though to flatter my vanity immensely. He told her then that he had written repeatedly to me, without receiving an answer, and at last had written again, in which he had used some expressions which he feared had offended my reserved disposition. Something had made me angry, for without returning letter or message to say I was not displeased, I had maintained a resolute silence, which had given him more pain and uneasiness than he could say. That during all this time he had had no opportunity of explaining it to me, and that now he begged her to tell me that he would not offend me for worlds — that he admired me more than any one he had ever met, that he could not help saying what he did, but was distressed at offending me, etc. The longest explanation! And she was directed to beg me to explain my silence, and let him know if I was really offended, and also leave no entreaty or argument untried to induce me to visit the prison; he must see me.
As to visiting the prison, I told her that was impossible. (O how glad I am that I never did!) But as to the letters, told her “to assure him that I had not thought of them in that light, and had passed over the expressions he referred to as idle words it would be ridiculous to take offense at; and that my only reason for persevering in this silence had been that Brother disapproved of my writing to gentlemen, and I had promised that I would not write to him. That I had feared he would misconstrue my silence, and had wished to explain it to him, but I had no means of doing so except by breaking my promise; and so had preferred leaving all explanation to time, and some future opportunity.”
“But you did not mean to pain him, did you?” the dear little creature coaxingly lisped, standing on tiptoe to kiss me as she spoke. I assured her that I had not. “He has been dangerously ill,” she continued, apologizingly, “and sickness has made him more morbid and more unhappy about it than he would otherwise have been. It has distressed him a great deal.”
I felt awkwardly. How was it that this girl, meeting him for the first and only time in her life, had contrived to learn so much that she had no right to know, and appeared here as mediator between two who were strangers to her, so far usurping a place she was not entitled to, as to apologize to me for his sensitiveness, and to entreat me to tell him he had not forfeited my esteem, as though she was his most intimate friend, and I a passing acquaintance? Failing to comprehend it, I deferred it to a leisure moment to think over, and in the mean time exerted myself to be affable.
I can’t say half she spoke of, but as she was going she said, “Then will you give me permission to say as many sweet things for you as I can think of? I ‘m going there to-morrow.” I told her I would be afraid to give her carte blanche on such a subject; but that she would really oblige me by explaining about the letters. She promised, and after another kiss, and a few whispered words, left me.
Maybe she exaggerated, though! Uncharitable as the supposition was, it was a consolation. I was unwilling to believe that any one who professed to esteem me would make me the subject of conversation with a stranger—and such a conversation! So my comfort was only in hoping that she had related a combination of truth and fiction, and that he had not been guilty of such folly.
Presently it grew clearer to me. I must be growing in wickedness, to fathom that of others, I who so short a time ago disbelieved in the very existence of such a thing. I remembered having heard that the young lady and her family were extremely anxious to form his acquaintance, and that her cousin had coolly informed Ada that she had selected him among all others, and meant to have him for a “beau” as soon as she could be introduced to him; I remembered that the young lady herself had been very anxious to discover whether the reputation common report had given me had any foundation.
As soon as we were alone, I told mother of our conversation in the entry, and said, “And now I am certain that this girl has made use of my name to become acquainted with him.”
24th. Aroused at 4. Got breakfast and off between 5 and 6. Good many boys didn’t wake in time to get their breakfast finished. Quite a time with 2nd Tenn.—passing and repassing. Moved along at very good pace. Crossed the Cumberland about 9 and camped near Williamsburg. Went out for forage. Rained some. Chilly. Wrote to Fannie.
August 24th, 1863.
We have nearly the same regulations here as at Newport News, everything being regulated by bugle call. Of course, we drill; it would be hard to imagine a military camp without drill; but it would make a horse laugh to see us do it. We fall in line, march to the parade ground and halt under the shade of a big tree. A Sergeant puts us through the manual of arms about five minutes; then stack arms and rest. The remainder of the time is spent in lounging on the grass until the bugle sounds recall.
We are under marching orders again; that is, we are ordered to be ready, an order altogether superfluous, for we are always ready. The general impression among the officers is, this division is to be broken up and scattered over the State, a regiment in a place. Our old brigade commander. General Poe, is here. He is now Chief Engineer in the regular service. He is working, I am told, to get our brigade attached to the engineer corps. I hope he will not succeed, as I do not fancy that branch of the service. If he does succeed, I think I will resign. There has been much talk of mounting this brigade and sending us to fight guerillas. That would suit me to a fraction. Give me a “bounding steed” and a “God speed you” from my “lady love,” and never did “armed knight” grasp spear and shield with greater enthusiasm and devotion than I would experience as I hastened to the field of bloody strife. But I do not believe Burnside will send us from the State at present. He has already sent away most of the troops in this vicinity, and is sending the rest fast as he can mount them, and probably we will take their places.
Vicksburg, Monday, Aug. 24. Health very good to-day. Very warm and dull until it was broken at noon by the intelligence that “the furloughs were coming”, and sure enough, they did come direct from home. Everybody rushed out to meet them, anxious to speak to one that was from home. “Did you see any of our folks?” “Have you got anything for me?”, etc. were heaped upon them. Many of the boys were the recipients of packages from their folks, but I was not one of the lucky ones.
Monday, 24th—Spending the night here we started early this morning and moved on to Bayou Mason only seven miles further on. Here we remained during the balance of the day and for the night. There being no bridge, we had to wade the bayou to enter the town. Our cavalry routed about one hundred and fifty of the rebels in a camp on the west bank of the bayou. Most of our way today was shaded by forest trees. The country here is low and heavily timbered with cypress and the ground is covered with masses of palm leaf. We noticed driftwood high up in the trees, some forty or fifty feet, and were told by the natives that it was carried there last winter when the “Yanks” cut the levee up at Lake Providence, flooding the whole country. So we were permitted to see some of the results of our attempt at directing the waters of the Mississippi.
August 24th.—Ordered into parole camp at Dalton. Camp half-mile from town; nothing to do; went to preaching.
