Bellefonte, Ala., Friday, Dec. 25. Christmas Night. Awoke, not to the chiming voices of happy children as they cried “Wish you Merry Christmas”, but to the notes of the bugle calling us to be ready to move. Struck tents at 8 A. M. Roads much better than those we have passed. Marched fast most of the time, having to go much out of the way to avoid swamps or bluffs. Marched quietly along, absorbed in thinking of home, and what they are doing this Christmas Day. Came into camp late at night near the county seat of Jackson County. The buildings burned and gone to ruin. I was very tired and foot-sore. No crackers for supper, so we made up the Christmas supper on parched corn and coffee. Tooth ached badly, had but little sleep. During the night rained very heavy.
December 2013
Sunday, 25th.—Shoal Creek is about two hundred yards wide, two feet deep, and runs very swiftly. Brigade ordered to wade through. As it is extremely cold, and am sick, I did not care for such a Christmas trick. Going up to the ford, after many times asking, one little fellow, who was hauling decking plank, allowed me to ride on one of his mules that was hauling the wagon. Found brigade crossing Tennessee River at Bainbridge Ferry, in pontoon boats. Crossed over at 3 P. M., and was ordered to go three miles to a Mr. Kellocks’ to press wagon and haul plank to floor pontoon bridge. The mud was simply awful and we got there some time in the night, and asked the man if we could not have an out-house that had a chimney, to stay in until morning. He gave us permission, and we soon had a roaring fire, by which we dried our clothes and warmed while we slept. The best night’s rest we have had for some time. Next morning we got his team and about a dozen short plank and started down to the river, all of us riding on the wagon. Got back to river about 9 a. m. Army had been crossing over all morning; so our plank was not needed, and we told the fellow that he might take them back home if he wanted to.
by John Beauchamp Jones
DECEMBER 25TH.—No war news to-day. But a letter, an impassioned one, from Gov. Vance, complains of outrages perpetrated by detached bodies of Confederate States cavalry, in certain counties, as being worse than any of the plagues of Egypt: and says that if any such scourge had been sent upon the land, the children of Israel would not have been followed to the Red Sea. In short, he informs the Secretary of War, if no other remedy be applied, he will collect his militia and levy war against the Confederate States troops! I placed that letter on the Secretary’s table, for his Christmas dinner. As I came out, I met Mr. Hunter, President of the Senate, to whom I mentioned the subject. He said, phlegmatically, that many in North Carolina were “prone to act in opposition to the Confederate States Government.”
Yesterday the President sent over a newspaper, from Alabama, containing an article marked by him, in which he was very severely castigated for hesitating to appoint Gen. J. E Johnston to the command of the western army. Why he sent this I can hardly conjecture, for I believe Johnston has been assigned to that command; but I placed the paper in the hands of the Secretary.
My son Custis, yesterday, distributed proposals for a night-school (classical), and has some applications already. He is resolved to do all he can to aid in the support of the family in these cruel times.
It is a sad Christmas; cold, and threatening snow. My two youngest children, however, have decked the parlor with evergreens, crosses, stars, etc. They have a cedar Christmas-tree, but it is not burdened. Candy is held at $8 per pound. My two sons rose at 5 A.M. and repaired to the canal to meet their sister Anne, who has been teaching Latin and French in the country; but she was not among the passengers, and this has cast a shade of disappointment over the family.
A few pistols and crackers are fired by the boys in the streets—and only a few. I am alone; all the rest being at church. It would not be safe to leave the house unoccupied. Robberies and murders are daily perpetrated.
I shall have no turkey to-day, and do not covet one. It is no time for feasting.
Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father
Warrenton, Va.
Christmas evening, 1863
This evening finds me in reality in winter quarters. To-night for the first time this year I feel comfortable in my new house, the admiration of all who see it, with a fire-place, candles, chairs and table. I must describe it even if I am verbose, for not even Mrs. John D. Bates, on moving into No. 1. Boston, experienced half the satisfaction I feel in this offspring of my undeveloped architectural talent. It cost me twelve dollars in money. I bought half of a roof of a building from which the soldiers had stripped the sides. This was divided at the ridge-pole and the two sides constitute the two sides of my house, six feet high by fourteen long, the front and rear logged up, with an open fireplace in the rear, the whole covered with an old hospital tent fly, and with a floor of boards — warm, roomy and convenient, two beds, three chairs and a table, and every thing snug. Don’t talk to me of comfort! Bah!! Everything is relative. I have more real, positive, healthy comfort here than ever I did in my cushioned and carpeted room at home! So much for my room and now for my letter.
My last was from here and a week ago last Monday. It was well I wrote then, for if I had n’t, you would n’t have heard from me yet. The truth is this Brigade is in an absurd position and doing most unnecessary work. We are here at Warrenton — one brigade of cavalry — the army is at Brandy Station and Rappahannock Bridge. We have nothing near us and seem to be here theoretically to cover the railroad, practically to tempt the enemy to attack us. It is wicked to put troops in such a position. Every day I thank God we are safe so far. Every day increases our danger and, as a natural consequence, we are being worn out with incessant picket and scout, scout and picket. The simple truth is we are wretchedly officered, Brigade, Division and Corps. Pleasonton is a perfect humbug and has and does, unnecessarily, cost the Government 20,000 horses a year. Gregg and Taylor are both — Pennsylvanians, and I — well, I suppose I’m a confirmed grumbler. . . .
Speaking of the war, do you see the “Army and Navy Journal,” a new weekly publication in New York. If you do not, you had best at once subscribe for it. It is the only American paper which treats calmly and intelligibly of military questions. It would afford you in England immense information and insight into things which newspapers only muddle. It would furnish you as Minister many solutions of problems over which you must puzzle, and before which the English stand amazed. As to Meade, be assured he has the confidence of this army. He is a brave, reliable, conscientious soldier and under him we need fear no heavy disaster, and may hope for all reasonable success. He is not Grant or Rosecrans, but he is ten times Hooker and twice McClellan. He is an able and formidable General of the Fabian school, more of the Marshal Daun than the Frederick the Great. My great wish is for no more changes.
Thursday, 24th—I went on picket again this morning. Late in the evening the Eleventh and the Fifteenth Regiments were ordered out to a little town called Redstone, as it was reported that a strong force of the rebels was there. At 10 o’clock at night a detail of sixty men from the Thirteenth and Sixteenth Regiments was sent out to reinforce our pickets, as it was feared the rebels’ cavalry would make an attack upon Vicksburg in the early morning.
Thursday, 24th.—L. B. Smith elected orderly sergeant today in place of J. J. Harmon, absent without leave.
Christmas Eve, 1863.—Sarah Gibson Howell was married to Major Foster this evening. She invited all the society and many others. It was a beautiful wedding and we all enjoyed it. Some time ago I asked her to write in my album and she sewed a lock of her black curling hair on the page and in the center of it wrote, “Forget not Gippie.”
Painting by Conrad Wise Chapman.
“This shows the whole harbor, and is an exact reproduction. There can be seen Castle Pinckney; Fort Moultrie; Fort Sumter; Fort Johnson; and the Yankee batteries off Johnson Island; also a wooden fort, somewhat resembling a ship, in the harbor. General Beauregard may be seen, with one of the Engineers going over the plans. Two big guns were brought to Charleston, at great expense, from England; one exploded, and is shown in the picture; it was always referred to as ‘the big gun,’ and although it often ploughed up the water, the damage done by it, if any, was very slight. This painting is a copy of a large study of the same subject made by the artist for Mrs. Slocum of New Orleans, one of Louisiana’s ante-bellum governors; it was a very successful picture.” – Conrad Wise Chapman, 1898
Fort Whipple, Va., Dec. 24, 1863.
Dear Father:
Yours of Sunday last was perused with great care and contents noted. You wanted to know my mind about matters! I should make a very poor judge, as I do not know how things look now. But I should say stick to it, if there is any chance at all, because we have put already work enough into it to make three farms. I know nothing out this way for you to do. About being discharged; when the regiment is to be has not been decided yet; some of the recruits have written Gov. Andrew and he says that they “will be discharged with the rest,” so I take it for granted we shall be. As to the matter of a choice of regiments when re-enlisting? If I understand it right, a man can choose, provided the reg’t he is in is not kept up, and the reg’t he chooses is not full; but it must be a reg’t from the state he belongs to. He must also keep in the old reg’t until its three years are up and then they have the choice. Write me what your intentions are of doing, as soon as warm weather comes.
Do you have rheumatism to trouble you again? Last night I slept terribly cold. The barracks are not as good as a barn, boards only one inch thick and layed on like clapboards; besides the barracks are on piles about four feet long, so as to give a clean sweep underneath.
They are very strict about the barracks, will allow no shelves or anything of that kind. The bunks are all moveable. In fact everything has a place here. Shall begin on muster rolls tomorrow. Yours &c.
Lev.
December 24th.—As we walked, Brewster reported a row he had had with General Hood. Brewster had told those six young ladies at the Prestons’ that “old Sam” was in the habit of saying he would not marry if he could any silly, sentimental girl, who would throw herself away upon a maimed creature such as he was. When Brewster went home he took pleasure in telling Sam, how the ladies had complimented his good sense, whereupon the General rose in his wrath and threatened to break his crutch over Brewster’s head. To think he could be such a fool—to go about repeating to everybody his whimperings.
I was taking my seat at the head of the table when the door opened and Brewster walked in unannounced. He took his stand in front of the open door, with his hands in his pockets and his small hat pushed back as far as it could get from his forehead.
“What!” said he, “you are not ready yet? The generals are below. Did you get my note?” I begged my husband to excuse me and rushed off to put on my bonnet and furs. I met the girls coming up with a strange man. The flurry of two major-generals had been too much for me and I forgot to ask the new one’s name. They went up to dine in my place with my husband, who sat eating his dinner, with Lawrence’s undivided attention given to him, amid this whirling and eddying in and out of the world militant. Mary Preston and I then went to drive with the generals. The new one proved to be Buckner,[1] who is also a Kentuckian. The two men told us they had slept together the night before Chickamauga. It is useless to try: legs can’t any longer be kept out of the conversation. So General Buckner said: “Once before I slept with a man and he lost his leg next day.” He had made a vow never to do so again. “When Sam and I parted that morning, we said: ‘You or I may be killed, but the cause will be safe all the same.'”
After the drive everybody came in to tea, my husband in famous good humor, we had an unusually gay evening. It was very nice of my husband to take no notice of my conduct at dinner, which had been open to criticism. All the comfort of my life depends upon his being in good humor.
[1] Simon B. Buckner was a graduate of West Point and had served in the Mexican War. In 1887 he was elected Governor of Kentucky and, at the funeral of General Grant, acted as one of the pall-bearers.
