December 22nd. Detailed with twenty under the command of Lieutenant John Lilley, Company I, for a night’s scout and picket duty with four cavalry scouts from the list New York (Lincoln) Cavalry. Left late this P. M., marching across lots through woods. Ordered to keep very quiet as we went marching on, so that our presence might not be known. After a march of between seven or eight miles we came to a small town called Cabletown, at a ford in the Shenandoah River. The cavalry boys were good scouts, on the alert, keeping our Lieutenant well posted as we advanced. We reached the town just after dark, as it began to snow. Pickets were soon posted at the ford. Our quarters were a wagon shop, where we kept very comfortable when off picket. A few citizens spent a part of the night with us. A good fire was kept burning in the stove all night.
December 2013
En route, Tuesday, Dec. 22. Reveille called us before daylight. Breakfast over, tents struck by sunrise. All the horses still to be turned over to the 12th Battery with the exception of enough to draw the battery wagons and forges. The harness had to be hauled in the wagons, so all had to carry blankets, and at the appointed time we “fell in” in marching train, three days’ rations in haversacks. Blankets rolled up and slung over shoulder. Strict orders against straggling. A beautiful sunny day. We marched in rear of 12th Battery which advanced with difficulty. Camped at 4 P. M. in a grove, very beautiful and close to good water. Cooked suppers, and large fine blazing rail fires built, by which we sat till late.
by John Beauchamp Jones
DECEMBER 22D.—Averill has escaped, it is feared. But it is said one of his regiments and all his wagons will be lost.
Gen. Longstreet writes (16th instant) that he must suspend active operations for the want of shoes and clothing. The Quartermaster-General says he sent him 3500 blankets a few days since.
There are fifty-one quartermasters and assistant quartermasters stationed in this city
Pound cakes, size of a small Dutch oven, sell at $100. Turkeys, from $10 to $40.
December 22.—A fight occurred at Fayette, sixteen miles from Rodney, Miss., between a party of Nationals, belonging to General Ellet’s Marine Brigade, under the command of Colonel Curry, and about an equal number of rebels, attached to the forces under General Wirt Adams. After a brief skirmish, the rebels fled, leaving ten of their number in the hands of the Nationals.— The bark Saxon arrived at New-York last night, in charge of Acting Master E. S. Keyser. She was captured by the gunboat Vanderbilt, on the twenty-ninth of October, on the west coast of Africa, four hundred miles north of the Cape of Good Hope, and had on board part of the cargo of the bark Conrad which vessel was captured by the pirate Alabama, and afterward converted into the pirate Tuscaloosa.—Brigadier-General Averill, arrived at Edray, Va., having successfully accomplished his expedition to cut the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad.—(Doc. 25.)
—A squad of forty men, under Major White, of the First regiment of confederate cavalry, made a dash into Cleveland, Tenn., driving in the National pickets, killing one, wounding several, and capturing six, besides twelve horses, and some small-arms.—John Kelly was killed by a party of guerrillas, on the Arkansas shore of the Mississippi River, opposite Memphis, Tenn.— General Michael Corcoran died at Fairfax Court-House, Va., from injuries received from a fall from his horse.
—General Joseph E. Johnston, in command of the rebel department of Mississippi, relinquished it, by order of Jefferson Davis, to Lieutenant General Polk, and issued farewell orders, as follows: “Having felt great pride in this army, the undersigned leaves it with much regret. He assures his brave comrades of his full appreciation of the high soldierly qualities they have exhibited. Harmony of opinion and purpose has existed in all ranks. Amid events tending to produce gloom and despondency, they have presented the rare spectacle of the constant improvement of all arms in efficiency and discipline. He offers them his best wishes for their future success.
“In leaving this command, it is a source of great satisfaction to him that it devolves upon the distinguished General chosen for it by the President—one who, on each of so many bloody battle-fields, has proved himself worthy of such troops as constitute this command.”
December 21, Monday. Wrote Commodore Wilkes that his denial was not sufficiently explicit; that innocent parties were implicated in the publication of his letter, which was, he well knew, a breach of regulations as well as of faith, and the imputation resting upon them must be removed; that either the Department or he must have authorized or at least permitted the publication; that the Department or any connected with it would have no object in a surreptitious publication; that I was confident no one of the two or three clerks who were cognizant of the letter had been guilty, though his denial threw the act on them. If Wilkes, or some of his household avowed the act, it will relieve them. If shrewd he will do it or have it done, for he is in a dilemma; but no prompting of truth, or candor, or sense of right to the clerks or others will influence him.
I received a large budget of Rebel letters captured on board the Ceres. Faxon examined and arranged them for publication. An exposure of some which I have read will have a good effect.
Returning from an early evening walk, I learned Stanton had called for me, and I went at once to the War Department. Seward and Chase were with him. Stanton read to me a letter which had been written in cipher, but which after two days’ labor the experts had unlocked with the exception of a few words. Mention was made of “carrying out the programme” and the intention to seize two steamers. Certain allusions to Briggs, Cavnach, with a conviction on the part of Stanton that the letter was from Trowbridge (N. C. Trowbridge, of New York.), and also other points and names struck me as not entirely unfamiliar. The trio had become puzzled, and Stanton called on me to assist, or hear my suggestions. They had come to the conclusion and were confident the “programme” was to seize one or more of the California steamers, and asked about gunboats. I did not entirely concur in their conclusions and told them the letters captured on the Ceres would furnish some light in regard to the persons alluded to, especially Trowbridge, Briggs, and C.; that I had not read the letters, but parts of several had been read to me and their publication would have a good effect; that they were with the Chief Clerk of the Navy Department, who was to copy and publish portions of them. If, however, Trowbridge was to be arrested, it might be best to suspend publication for the present.
There was a general wish to see the correspondence, and we agreed to meet at 8 P.M. for that purpose. In the mean time I was to send to Faxon to be on hand with the letters. When we met at eight, Faxon proceeded to read them. Those from Trowbridge to young Lamar (Col. C. A. L. Lamar, who had been a Confederate agent in England.) made some singular disclosures, and one of them made mention of a nephew of William H. Seward as being concerned in a cargo for running the blockade. This disturbed Seward more than I should have supposed, — for it was not asserted as a fact, — and if, as he remarked, there were among twenty or thirty nephews one traitor it would not be strange. It was thought best to stop the publication. I proposed that a portion — all, indeed, but the letters of Trowbridge and one of Frank Smith of Memphis — should be made public, confident the effect would be good. But I was overruled by the others, and Faxon was sent off to stop the publication. He was too late, however, for a portion of them had already been printed.
Telegrams were sent to Marshal Murray at New York to arrest Trowbridge forthwith, and hold him in close custody, and to Admiral Paulding to place a gunboat in the Narrows and at Throg’s Neck to stop all outward-bound steamers that have not a pass.
21st. Remaining troops paid off. About noon went down to the 2nd Ohio and to my unspeakable joy found a letter from Fannie. How long I have suffered from anxiety and suspense. I love the dear child more than ever, if such a thing be possible. I answered it during the evening. Col. Purington got a leave of absence through Corps Hdqrs. Signed my “final statements.” Henry Drake, Houghton, Parish and Anderson were singing “Annie Laurie,” “One Vacant Chair,” and other pleasing songs.
Monday, 21st—The Eleventh Iowa furnished the provost guard for the city, though I had to go with a picket squad.
December 21 — This morning we were ordered to Charlottesville, to go into regular winter quarters, sure enough. We left our house and chimney on the Rapidan and marched to Orange Court House; there we fell in with the remainder of the battalion of horse artillery, and struck out for Charlottesville. The roads are in a bad condition, the hills are rough, and the low places are deep with mud.
Some of our artillery horses are weak, worn out, worthless or false; they stalled several times during the day, and we had to push, pull, and start the pieces by man motor. Beautiful work and very desirable for an artillery man on a cold day, to push at a wheel thickly covered with two kinds of freezing mud. We passed through Summerset, Barboursville, and Stony Point. The latter place is merely a post office in Albemarle County, ten miles northeast of Charlottesville. We marched till ten o’clock to-night, and camped one mile west of Stony Point and near the North Rivanna River. The country along the Rivanna is very hilly.
December 21st.—Joe Johnston has been made Commander-in-chief of the Army of the West. General Lee had this done, ’tis said. Miss Agnes Lee and “little Robert ” (as they fondly call General Lee’s youngest son in this hero-worshiping community) called. They told us the President, General Lee, and General Elzey had gone out to look at the fortifications around Richmond. My husband came home saying he had been with them, and lent General Lee his gray horse.
Mrs. Howell, Mrs. Davis’s mother, says a year ago on the cars a man said, “We want a Dictator.” She replied, “Jeff Davis will never consent to be a Dictator.” The man turned sharply toward her “And, pray, who asks him? Joe Johnston will be made Dictator by the Army of the West.” “Imperator” was suggested. Of late the Army of the West has not been in a condition to dictate to friend or foe. Certainly Jeff Davis did hate to put Joe Johnston at the head of what is left of it. Detached from General Lee, what a horrible failure is Longstreet! Oh, for a day of Albert Sidney Johnston out West! And Stonewall, could he come back to us here!
General Hood, the wounded knight, came for me to drive. I felt that I would soon find myself chaperoning some girls, but I asked no questions. He improved the time between Franklin and Cary Streets by saying, “I do like your husband so much.” “So do I,” I replied simply. Buck was ill in bed, so William said at the door, but she recovered her health and came down for the drive in black velvet and ermine, looking queenly. And then, with the top of the landau thrown back, wrapped in furs and rugs, we had a long drive that bitter cold day.
One day as we were hieing us home from the Fair Grounds, Sam, the wounded knight, asked Brewster what are the symptoms of a man’s being in love. Sam (Hood is called Sam entirely, but why I do not know) said for his part he did not know; at seventeen he had fancied himself in love, but that was “a long time ago.” Brewster spoke on the symptoms of love: ”When you see her, your breath is apt to come short. If it amounts to mild strangulation, you have got it bad. You are stupidly jealous, glowering with jealousy, and have a gloomy fixed conviction that she likes every fool you meet better than she does you, especially people that you know she has a thorough contempt for; that is, you knew it before you lost your head, I mean, before you fell in love. The last stages of unmitigated spooniness, I will spare you,” said Brewster, with a giggle and a wave of the hand. ”Well,” said Sam, drawing a breath of relief, “I have felt none of these things so far, and yet they say I am engaged to four young ladies, a liberal allowance, you will admit, for a man who can not walk without help.”
Another day (the Sabbath) we called on our way from church to see Mrs. Wigfall. She was ill, but Mr. Wigfall insisted upon taking me into the drawing-room to rest a while. He said Louly was there; so she was, and so was Sam Hood, the wounded knight, stretched at full length on a sofa and a rug thrown over him. Louis Wigfall said to me: “Do you know General Hood?” “Yes,” said I, and the General laughed with his eyes as I looked at him; but he did not say a word. I felt it a curious commentary upon the reports he had spoken of the day before. Louly Wigfall is a very handsome girl.
Knoxville, Tenn., December 21st, 1863.
I have been three weeks “head nurse” in the first ward of the First Brigade hospital. Dr. Crosby is with the regiment at Blains Cross Roads, about eighteen miles from here. Most of my patients are from my own regiment, and were wounded at Campbell’s Station or during the siege of Knoxville. The building we occupy was once a court house. The room is about thirty feet by forty. There are two large fireplaces, one on each side of the room. There are now thirty-three patients. All but six of the wounded can walk about the room with or without the aid of crutches. Around each fireplace is a group of men, eagerly discussing the probability of being sent to Washington or Baltimore. At one end of the room, resting one arm on the railing that surrounds the “judgment seat,” stands the “ward boss,” trying to write to the loved ones at home.
I am not on duty, but my patients ignore the fact, and frequently interrupt me with: “Mr. Lane, please step here a minute;” or, “Please give me a drink of water.” I return and try to shut out all sights, all sounds, all thoughts but those of home. Vain effort. The voice of my favorite, Fred Byron, faintly strikes my ear: “Davie; oh, Davie!” Involuntarily I drop my pen and hasten to his side. “What is it, Fred? What can I do for you, my boy?” “Oh, I’m so tired, and nobody cares but you. That man with black whiskers handles me as though I am made of wood.” I tum him gently over, adjust his bed and pillow, moisten his hot, feverish brow, and give him a sup of cool water. “There, Fred, now go to sleep, and when you wake you will feel better.” As I turn to leave him, after bidding him good-night, he grasps my hand in both of his. “Oh, Davie, you are so kind; nobody can do for me as you can.”
He is a German, from Massachusetts, nineteen years old, fair as Adonis—brave as a hero—which he is.
I have many strong attachments here, and cannot well forsake them to return to the regiment .
