Friday, 13th—I came over to Mr. Hatcher’s.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Lenoir, Tenn., November 13th, 1863.
As the men are confined to camp, they busy themselves by cleaning up the accumulated rubbish. Our camp begins to put on airs. The men must get some clothing before they can do so. I see no prospect of it yet. The day has been most delightful—warm, bright and mellow. The weather here, as with us at this season of the year, is subject to sudden changes. Today it may be warm as summer; tomorrow the wind may change to the north and be cold as winter. Wood is abundant and of good quality—mostly white oak and hickory. But should we stay here all winter, there will not be a tree left within five miles of here. We have already cleared about fifty acres.
Spite of appearances, I cannot think we will remain here until spring. I cannot see—perhaps I have no right to try to see—where our supplies are to come from, or, rather, how they are to come. We have only six weeks quarter rations on hand, and the roads over the mountains are nearly impassable. There is some wheat and corn in the valley, which is being gathered in for the use of the army, but this cannot last long. Such an army, like the locusts of Egypt, will soon “devour every green thing.” Even now hundreds of citizens are leaving for the North to escape the impending famine. In view of these facts, which are fully understood by every man in the regiment, one would expect them to be down-hearted and discouraged. Such is not the fact. The few men who are left are resolute, determined men, ready to suffer privation, to endure hardship, anything to advance the cause for which they are contending. An order is given to prepare for inspection. The Assistant Secretary of War is here to inspect the Ninth Corps. This may be an exception, but, as a rule, inspection means move.
I happened to get hold of a copy of the Detroit Free Press dated October 25th. From it I learn conscription has been postponed in Michigan until the 5th of November. By that time they hope to fill the quota by volunteers. I would like to see the North exhibit the energy and ability displayed by the South, but one-half seems to be asleep, the other half —mad.
Charles Francis Adams to his son, Charles
London, November 13, 1863
In the meanwhile the interest centres around Chattanooga. Mr. Jeff. Davis tells us the possession of that point is a vital question. So last year, he announced that the possession of Vicksburg was equally vital. Yet he now tells us that the state of his affairs is better now than it was a year ago, in spite of the loss of Vicksburg in the interval. Should he fail in recovering Chattanooga, he may find that his condition has after all been equally improved by that loss. There is nothing like keeping up a good heart. All hopes of the division of the Free States are gone. All hope of recognition from Europe is gone. All hope of any restoration of the currency is gone. All hope of ruling through the agency of King Cotton is gone. Yet Mr. Davis persists in believing his affairs improved. Well, if that be the kind of encouragement he wants, I only wish that he may continue to enjoy it in large measure. . . .
The only movement that has roused attention has been the speech of the Emperor of the French, proposing a fresh Congress to be held at Paris, for the purpose of devising some new arrangement of the balance of power that may prevent a war in the spring. In reality, he has got himself mounted on so high a horse that he finds he cannot get down, and he fears he may be thrown. If his friends will only build him a ladder he will try to change his seat to a smaller and more manageable pony. This seems to be the substance of the case. We now wait to see what answer he will get. It is pretty plain that the British Lion will not put out a paw to help, if it can be avoided. Neither will the Russian bear move far from his lair, unless he can see something to be gained by it. The German race seem to think it all means mischief, particularly to themselves. Thus stands the matter at this moment. Yet there may be a Congress in Paris after all. . . .
13th. Drew flour for the brigade. Set the butchers to killing hogs, 20. Some talk of moving. Wrote a short letter to the “blue eyed bonnie” I once called mine. No particular news. Wrote to Delos. Long time since I wrote to him. Weather pleasant. Got “Spike” shod. Oh my heart is sad and weary. Issued clothing.
Friday, 13th—My same old duty again—picket. There was no fatigue detail today, as the fortifications are almost completed. Two or three forts, however, are yet to be built just outside of the rifle pits.
13th.—My appointment to a clerkship in the Commissary Department has been received, with a salary of $125 per month. The rooms are not ready for us to begin our duties, and Colonel R. has just called to tell me one of the requirements. As our duties are those of accountants, we are to go through a formal examination in arithmetic. If we do not, as the University boys say, “pass,” we are considered incompetent, and of course are dropped from the list of appointees. This requirement may be right, but it certainly seems to me both provoking and absurd that I must be examined in arithmetic by a commissary major young enough to be my son. If I could afford it, I would give up the appointment, but, as it is, must submit with the best grace possible, particularly as other ladies of my age have to submit to it.
November 13 — Remained in camp. This camp is nine miles southwest of Fredericksburg and right in a clearing full of dry pine brush piles and rabbits. In attempting to smoke out a rabbit some of our boys set the clearing on fire, and the whole company had to turn out and fight the roaring flames in order to save our pieces and harness from the ravages of the devouring conflagration. After the fire was subdued we took an invoice of our stock to ascertain the damages sustained, and found that we lost nothing but a few bridles and one or two horse collars.
Thursday, November 13th.—Having recovered from my sickness, left home 8 A. M.; at Chickamauga Station, 11 A. M. Left my blanket and went one hundred yards and returned, but it was gone, and I never saw it again. Found regiment at foot of Lookout Mountain. After dark, marched up on the mountain at Summertown.
Kelly’s Ford, Va,, Nov. 13, 1863.
Dear Sister L.:—
I received your and Charlie’s letter. Your expressed wish to see me will not yet be gratified, I fear. I have heard nothing yet from Washington and I would take about ten cents for my chance of a commission. I do not entirely give it up yet, but my expectations are dwindling fast. One of the Forty-fourth New York, who was examined the day after I was, got First Lieutenant, First Class. That I am morally certain of, and he has not got his appointment yet. Until he gets his I shall not entirely give it up.
I copy a portion of the last “General Order” in relation to the fight at Rappahannock Station:
“The enemy was attacked in an entrenched position of great strength in enclosed works, defended by artillery and infantry, and compelled to surrender, after a sharp conflict, to an assaulting column actually inferior in numbers to the force defending the works.
Four pieces of artillery, four caissons filled with ammunition, the enemy’s pontoon bridge, eight battle flags, two thousand stand of small arms, one thousand six hundred prisoners, including two brigade commanders and one hundred and thirty commissioned officers, are the fruits of the victory.”
November 13.—Dr. Bemiss left to-day. He is going to assist Dr. Stout . We all regret his leaving. To use the phrase of a friend, “he is a gentleman and scholar, with his heart in the right place.” A more devoted patriot we have not in the cause.
Dr. J. N. Hughes of Kentucky is his successor, and I am told is a true patriot and a high-toned southern gentleman.
Our wounded are doing badly; gangrene in its worst form has broken out among them. Those whom we thought were almost well are now suffering severely. A wound which a few days ago was not the size of a silver dime is now eight or ten inches in diameter.
The surgeons are doing all in their power to stop its progress. Nearly every man in the room where they were so full of jokes has taken it; there is very little laughing among them now. It is a most painful disease, and plays sad havoc with the men every way. We can not tempt them to eat, and we have very little sweet milk, and that is the cry with them all. Many a day I have felt as if I would walk any distance to get it for them. It is distressing to go into the wards for I hear but the one cry— milk!
I have told every body that I have met about it, but with no effect. If all would give a very little, there is no end to the amount of good of which it would be productive.
The people say that they use it for their negroes and children, as they have no fresh meat; but I expect they could spare a little for these wounded patriots.
Mrs. Johnston’s little boy, my talkative friend, comes every day with milk. His mother tolls mo that she can not get him to taste it himself, for he desires to bring his share to the soldiers.
We have had a number of ladies from the country visiting the wounded; many of them have come twenty miles. They bring baskets full of all kinds of eatables. It does me good to see them come, as the very best we can give wounded men is not enough. And another thing: the diet is a change; they bring ham, biscuits, chickens, pies, cakes, etc.
