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

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Post image for Diary of Gideon Welles.

Diary of Gideon Welles.

October 15, 2013

Diary of Gideon Welles

October 15, Thursday. News from the front vague and unsatisfactory. Our papers dwell on the masterly movements of Meade, and street rumor glorifies him, but I can get nothing to authenticate or justify this claim of wonderful strategy. Lee has made a demonstration, and our army has fallen back, — “changed its base,” they call it at the War Department; in the vernacular, retreated. This retreat may have been, and probably was, skillfully executed. It is well to make the most of it. It is claimed Meade has shown great tact in not permitting the enemy to outflank him. Perhaps so. I shall not controvert, if I doubt it. I would not decry our generals, nor speak my mind freely if unfavorably impressed concerning them, in public. Meade does the best he knows how; Halleck does nothing.

The election returns come in triumphantly for the Union. Woodward and Vallandigham, both Rebel sympathizers, have been defeated. General McClellan, whose reticence and caution have hitherto been well maintained, unwisely exposed himself. I am informed he refused to write a letter until assured by those in whom he had full trust that there was no doubt of Woodward’s election. I doubt if his letter helped Woodward to one vote, but it has effectually killed McClellan.

Post image for Diary of Ephraim Shelby Dodd

Diary of Ephraim Shelby Dodd

October 15, 2013

Diary of Ephraim Shelby Dodd, Co. D of Terry's Texas Rangers

Wednesday, 14th—Thursday, 15th—Nothing but rain, night and day.

Post image for An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

October 15, 2013

An Artilleryman's Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones, 6th Battery, Wisconsin Artillery.

Glendale, Thursday, Oct. 15. Rained nearly all night, but cleared off this morning and it was a very pleasant day. No feed for horses. Grazed them in a dry field for two hours. Train came in this afternoon with a little grain and hay for our Division. We drew half rations for five days. A large mail came in on same train. Eight letters for our Platoon, six of which were for Evans and myself, two of which bore dates of September 7. Where the deuce have they been? But one was a long letter from Sister Ellen of the 4th inst. How it stirred up my feelings. It seems as though I was once more restored to the peaceful paths of life after laying here in the wilderness for over a week without a word from anywhere save from the soldier boys. Evie had anxiously waited for a letter as his family were in a critical condition. He was growing pale and sick. But when the letters came with cheerful news, he looked like a new man.

Post image for War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney

War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney

October 15, 2013

War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

15th. Breakfasted and moved through Blountville towards Bristol. Rested at B. till noon, waiting for reports from Foster’s Brigade—gone to Bristol and 7th Ohio gone to Zollicoffer. Bristol very enterprising little town—thoroughly secesh. Girls all pouting. Sullivan County all rebel. Got a late rebel paper. Little news from Rosencrans. Not very encouraging. Passed through and camped at 8 miles, near Abington. Rained at 8 P. M. Aroused at 9 and returned to Bristol in Egyptian darkness.

Post image for Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

October 15, 2013

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

October 15 — It was nearly noon to-day when we left our bivouac. We moved in the direction of Manassas and marched rapidly. At two o’clock we were on the broad and almost level plain of Manassas. The plain of Manassas proper is about five miles long and some three miles wide, with scarcely anything on it to show or tell that it is an inhabitated section of count try; here and there I saw a few old deserted dwellings on which Time is busily and successfully plying its destroying hand.

At a few places I noticed some earthworks and field fortifications that were constructed by General Beauregard’s forces in the summer of 1861. The works, too, are in the hands of the great destroyer, their faces being deeply seamed, — the work and ravage of passing rains and winter’s frost,— the parapets thickly overgrown with weeds. I saw the house in which General Beauregard had his headquarters during the summer of 1861. It is a brick structure with a little grove in front, situated on a small eminence or swell that rises from the surrounding plain, about a mile north of Manassas Junction.

If it is true that the spirit of man loves to linger around the spot where the earth-imprisoned soul was released from its fetters of clay, then the gray gauzelike October haze that hung over the plains of Manassas this afternoon may have been full of invisible flitting spirits hovering over the scene of their last footsteps on earth and watching their own sleeping dust that is so thickly strewn over the silent plain where they shuffled off their mortal coil.

We did not sight any Yankees to-day until late this afternoon, about a mile north of Manassas Junction; they were retreating toward Centreville. We pursued them until they crossed Bull Run at Blackburn’s Ford, and then and there they said by actions, which sometimes speak louder than words, “This far you may drive us, but no farther.” On the north side of Bull Run at Blackburn’s Ford a wooded hill or bluff-like ridge rises abruptly from the bank of the little stream, and the hill affords a first-class position for artillery, as it thoroughly commands all the adjacent fields on the south side of the run.

Notwithstanding the impregnableness of the enemy’s position our cavalry assailed it from the south side of Bull Run, with a heavy line of dismounted sharpshooters in advance; but we soon learned by striking experience, and plenty of it, that all efforts to dislodge the enemy with our small force, however discreetly they might have been made, would have proved perfectly futile, for when our line of sharpshooters got within rifle range of the enemy’s position a line of infantry opened fire from the underbrush along the north bank of the run, and it seems that the whole hillside was full of infantry hidden among the trees and bushes. When we first heard the infantry fire and saw the puffs of white smoke rising from the underbrush we put our guns in battery and fired a few shell into the hillside just to ascertain what was hidden along the verdant slope. We soon found out, for we stirred up a brisk and lively fire from a Yankee battery that was concealed in the thick brush about halfway up the hill, and from the way their guns thundered and their shell howled, they were heavier than common field pieces. I saw one shell plunge through a little clump of oak sprouts near my gun, and it mowed them down like a young tornado armed with a scythe, and judging from the way projectiles tore up the ground around us, and threw clods and gravel, their battery was hurling something at us about the size of a nail-keg, and regular ditch diggers.

The field we were on was perfectly level and our position was wholly and openly exposed to a raking fire of the enemy’s battery, which was strongly posted on a higher and more advantageous commanding situation. Consequently after we had fired about half an hour and found that the enemy intended to remain on the defensive, we withdrew our guns under fire and fell back toward Manassas Junction. We are bivouacked to-night near the old headquarters of General Beauregard, and wood of every description is so scarce here that we could not find enough for stakes to make hitching places for our horses.

The position we occupied to-day when we were firing on the Yankee battery near Blackburn’s Ford is on the same field where General Beauregard fought and repulsed the Yanks on Thursday evening, July 18, 1861, just a few days before the battle of Manassas. Today as we were nearing Blackburn’s Ford I saw a man’s foot lying, with sole up, in the middle of the road. I have no idea of how it got there, or whether it was severed from its owner by a shell or the surgeon’s knife. All I know about the foot is that it was fresh, and its owner kept his feet much cleaner than I do mine, for it was the cleanest foot that I have seen since the war began.

Post image for Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

October 15, 2013

Diary of Alexander G. Downing; Company E, Eleventh Iowa Infantry

Thursday, 15th—The weather is quite cool and pleasant and we are enjoying the rest afforded us, for the duties here are not laborious; all we have to do is to keep the camp clean and serve on picket. We had regimental inspection this afternoon.

Post image for Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

October 15, 2013

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton (Eighty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers)

No. 374 North Capitol Street,
Washington, D. C, Oct. 15, 1863.

Dear Mother:—

My examination has not taken place yet and probably will not till next week. I have been here two weeks already, and I am not yet prepared. I am studying all I can. Today I have been up in the President’s room in the Capitol with another candidate for strapic honors, reviewing and cross-examining on the tactics. Imagine my feelings, transferred from my shelter tent on the Rapidan to the royal magnificence of our republican President’s private room in the Capitol. Pier mirrors twenty feet high on three sides of the room, marble top table, luxurious chairs, and, oh, such paintings!

It may be that I am very verdant, but a ramble through the Capitol puts me in mind of the fairy palaces of the Arabian Nights. The vaulted roofs, beautifully painted and frescoed, the marble columns (white and variegated) polished till they look as though they were covered with glass, the labyrinthine passages so puzzling it is almost impossible to enter and come out the same door, the glorious historical and portrait paintings, all make up a scene of wonder and grandeur to a plain republican like me, such as I never have seen and never expect to see again. In the Patent Office I saw Washington’s sword, the one he carried in the Revolution, his dress suit, his writing case, tent, cane, bureau, mirror, etc.

I visited the Smithsonian. I won’t try to tell what I saw there. It set my brain in a whirl that I have not got over yet. It is near supper time and I must close. I will say that nothing but my eyes will keep me from a commission. If I can convince the board that they are right, I shall be all right. If they throw me out on that, I have half a mind to demand a discharge on that ground. I cannot see why my eyes should disqualify me for an officer and not for a private.

Post image for Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

October 15, 2013

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton (Eighty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers)

Home of the Sanitary Commission,
Washington, D. C., Oct. 15, 1863.

Dear Sister L:—.

My mind has been in such a muddle since I came to Washington that I cannot remember whether I have written to you since I came here or not. I know I have answered your last letter, but I believe I did that in camp, and though I have not heard from you since, it seems time to write again, so here it is.

First, what I am doing here. If you have not heard, you are wondering if I have at last got into a hospital. Not very, at least I am not under medical treatment.

You know that, with my restless disposition, I could not be contented as brigade bugler while there was a possibility of doing better. As long ago as last May I began to work for a commission in a colored regiment. I wrote to Galusha A. Grow for advice. (I presume you noticed the record of that in my diary and wondered what that was about.) I heard nothing from him till this fall, when I received a letter recommending me to the notice of C. W. Foster, Major and Assistant Adjutant General. Chief of Colored Bureau, and requesting that I might be examined. It was dated September 21st. I immediately made an application to Major Foster, enclosing this letter, and in due time received an order from the War Department permitting me to appear for examination before the board of which Major General Casey is president. I reported to the board on the 1st of October and was informed that I could not be examined for a week or two yet, and was sent to this place to stay in the meantime.

Second, my prospects. When I first came here I had a very poor idea of the qualifications requisite to pass a successful examination. I knew I was as well qualified as half the officers of my regiment and I hoped to get through. Now I find that none are commissioned who are not qualified to hold the same rank in the regular army, and I begin to feel very small indeed. A man is required to show, first, a thorough knowledge of Casey’s Tactics (and the examination is very severe in this), then a good knowledge of geography and history, arithmetic, algebra and geometry. Then the “Army Regulations,” ”Articles of War.” muster and pay rolls, etc., etc., in fact be fully as well posted for second lieutenant as colonel of volunteers. Since I have been here two lieutenant colonels and many line officers have been rejected as unfit for second lieutenants.

After all this comes a searching physical examination, and no matter how well a person is posted, if the surgeon does not pronounce him sound in every respect, he is rejected. Knowing all this you may believe that my hopes of success are very small indeed. However, I shall try, and if I succeed shall be very agreeably disappointed, and I shall consider it no small honor, either. I am studying all I can, but I cannot fix my mind to study as I once could. Two years and a half in the army vetoes that.

I left the army at Culpeper. To-day they are reported at Bull Run, and the air is full of rumors of another great battle on that already famous field. For the first time, if so, the “Third Brigade” has been in a fight without me. I confess to no little anxiety for the result. Our army, I know, is weakened. The Eleventh and Twelfth corps have been sent to Rosecrans, and the First, Second, Third, Fifth and Sixth comprise the whole of our army. The papers say that “Meade is only falling back to seek a field,” but I don’t believe it. If he had the force, the fields at Culpeper are just as good as those at Bull Run, where the rebels have the memory of two victories. However, I will not croak, but hope for the best.

From Pennsylvania and Ohio we have glorious news. Curtin is re-elected by 30,000 majority and Brough has beat Vallandigham 100,000. That is a greater victory for Pennsylvania than the battle of Gettysburg. It is a victory for the country. Copperheads are nowhere and the elections speak in unmistakable terms the determination of the people to support the administration. It cannot but have its influence on the South and on the war.

Post image for (Soldiers) have but one desire and that is to vote against those who delay the progress of the war at home…,

(Soldiers) have but one desire and that is to vote against those who delay the progress of the war at home…,

October 15, 2013

Adams Family Civil War letters; US Minister to the UK and his sons.

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father

H.Q. 5th Mass. Cav’y
Point Lookout, Md., October 15, 1864

When I should have written last Sunday I was away. Major Adams of this regiment was sick and I took him for a change of air up to Leonardtown and stayed with him a few days to nurse him. Leonardtown is a small dead-alive one-horse town, located on the Potomac some thirty miles from here. After three days experience of it I am prepared to say that its inhabitants love cards, hate the Union and drink whiskey even as is becoming in the constituents of the great Harris — the “high-toned” pugilist of Chicago. There is a small military station at this interesting place, and here I tarried in a regular Maryland tavern, and through two hideous nights was utterly consumed by bedbugs. Around this tavern congregate the loafers of Leonard-town throughout the day, and in this happy region no white man does any work. I speedily found that these denizens easily and naturally divided themselves into two classes — those who were always sick and those who were never sober — and this division gave to all conversation a pleasing variety, the subject of discussion with the first class being as to the time of the last “chill,” that with the second the expediency of the next drink. Here I went to one evening entertainment, besides various oyster bakes, cider-presses and other excuses for the consumption of whiskey, and was complimented by one lady on my resemblance to my grandfather — “the brow, he was so bald.” Here I talked rum, horse and politics, and, unlike the rest, having a higher rank to sustain, confined myself strictly to a gallon of whiskey a day. Contriving thus to preserve a sober dignity about me, I tarried three days, and, on my return to camp, found waiting for me your letters. Beyond this I believe nothing has occurred to mark the time since I last wrote. Point Lookout is not an exciting place, nor does the routine life of a regiment in garrison furnish much material for letters. . . .

Meanwhile Wednesday’s steamer carried out to you the great October elections. Pennsylvania might have been better, but I presume the result, as a whole, may be considered as decisive of the Presidential struggle. At any rate a gain of twenty members of Congress in three States would formerly have been considered significant. As to this soldiers’ vote, I see McClellan’s organs count greatly on his popularity in the Army to lessen there the Union majority. They may be right, but I have never seen any signs of it. At present my means of information are not very good and I cannot tell how the Army feels, but my impression is that the October vote will foreshadow exactly the November vote. Soldiers don’t vote for individuals; they don’t vote for the war; they have but one desire and that is to vote against those who delay the progress of the war at home; they want to vote down the copperheads. The vote just taken reflects this feeling and this only, and in November, you will see a repetition of the same thing. McClellan has no popularity in the Army except among a few officers in his old Army, and these are now growing surprisingly few. In the West he has no friends. In November I do not think he will poll one vote out of six. So the election according to all precedent may be considered as no longer an open question. If this be really so, for me, I draw a long breath and say, thank God! Is it not wonderful! One after another how miraculously we have been tided over the shadows and piloted through the rapids. Now the end of a Presidential election sees our enemy downcast, and only in sweat and agony anywhere holding his own, while we, flushed with success, find ourselves more firmly pledged to war than at any previous time. Thus the very Presidential election which we all dreaded so greatly and deplored as an unmitigated evil, bids fair to turn out the most opportune of occurrences. Before your answer to this reaches me the whole struggle will be over and our course for the next two years made clear. Before that time, too, Grant says he will have Richmond. Truly, we live in great times and, for one, I thank God that it has been given to me to see such things. . . .

Post image for Rutherford B. Hayes.

Rutherford B. Hayes.

October 15, 2013

Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes

October 15, [1863]. — No rise of water on account of the rain of the 7th. — A fine time, election day (13th). The Twenty-third — five hundred and fourteen — unanimous for Brough. I went to bed like a Christian at 9 P. M. McKinley waked me at eleven with the first news — all good and conclusive. My brigade unanimous for Brough; Twelfth Regiment, ditto. A few traitors in [the] Thirty-fourth. McMullen’s Battery, one for Vallandigham. State forty or fifty thousand on home vote. A victory equal to a triumph of arms in an important battle. It shows persistent determination, willingness to pay taxes, to wait, to be patient.

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