January 8th. Twenty new recruits arrived from old Connecticut. Welcomed as fresh fish. They were assigned to the different companies which are being filled up for the coming campaign.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Friday, 8th—I was on fatigue duty, hauling wood for the picket post out in an open field. General Hunter reviewed our brigade today and inspected Company E. It is reported that he is to take command of the Seventeenth Army Corps. All of us hope that it is a false report, for we do not wish to lose General McPherson.
8th. Lt. David relieved me. Went to company and returned. All busy at work. Got permission to remain at Dr. Peck’s till Sunday. Rode back very fast.
January 8th.—Snow of the deepest. Nobody can come to-day, I thought. But they did! My girls, first; then Constance Cary tripped in—the clever Conny. Hetty is the beauty, so called, though she is clever enough, too; but Constance is actually clever and has a classically perfect outline. Next came the four Kentuckians and Preston Hampton. He is as tall as the Kentuckians and ever so much better looking. Then we had egg-nog.
I was to take Miss Cary to the Semmes’s. My husband inquired the price of a carriage. It was twenty-five dollars an hour! He cursed by all his gods at such extravagance. The play was not worth the candle, or carriage, in this instance. In Confederate money it sounds so much worse than it is. I did not dream of asking him to go with me after that lively overture. “I did intend to go with you,” he said, “but you do not ask me.” “And I have been asking you for twenty years to go with me, in vain. Think of that!” I said, tragically. We could not wait for him to dress, so I sent the twenty-five-dollar-an-hour carriage back for him. We were behind time, as it was. When he came, the beautiful Hetty Cary and her friend, Captain Tucker, were with him. Major von Borcke and Preston Hampton were at the Cary’s, in the drawing-room when we called for Constance, who was dressing. I challenge the world to produce finer specimens of humanity than these three: the Prussian von Borcke, Preston Hampton, and Hetty Cary.
We spoke to the Prussian about the vote of thanks passed by Congress yesterday—” thanks of the country to Major von Borcke.” The poor man was as modest as a girl—in spite of his huge proportions. ”That is a compliment, indeed!” said Hetty. ”Yes. I saw it. And the happiest, the proudest day of my life as I read it. It was at the hotel breakfast-table. I try to hide my face with the newspaper, I feel it grow so red. But my friend he has his newspaper, too, and he sees the same thing. So he looks my way—he says, pointing to me—’Why does he grow so red? He has got something there!’ and he laughs. Then I try to read aloud the so kind compliments of the Congress —but—he—you—I can not—” He puts his hand to his throat. His broken English and the difficulty of his enunciation with that wound in his windpipe makes it all very touching—and very hard to understand.
The Semmes charade party was a perfect success. The play was charming. Sweet little Mrs. Lawson Clay had a seat for me banked up among women. The female part of the congregation, strictly segregated from the male, were placed all together in rows. They formed a gay parterre, edged by the men in their black coats and gray uniforms. Toward the back part of the room, the mass of black and gray was solid. Captain Tucker bewailed his fate. He was stranded out there with those forlorn men, but could see us laughing, and fancied what we were saying was worth a thousand charades. He preferred talking to a clever woman to any known way of passing a pleasant hour. “So do I,” somebody said.
On a sofa of state in front of all sat the President and Mrs. Davis. Little Maggie Davis was one of the child actresses. Her parents had a right to be proud of her; with her flashing black eyes, she was a marked figure on the stage. She is a handsome creature and she acted her part admirably. The shrine was beautiful beyond words. The Semmes and Ives families are Roman Catholics, and understand getting up that sort of thing. First came the “Palmers Gray,” then Mrs. Ives, a solitary figure, the loveliest of penitent women. The Eastern pilgrims were delightfully costumed; we could not understand how so much Christian piety could come clothed in such odalisque robes. Mrs. Ould, as a queen, was as handsome and regal as heart could wish for. She was accompanied by a very satisfactory king, whose name, if I ever knew, I have forgotten. There was a resplendent knight of St. John, and then an American Indian. After their orisons they all knelt and laid something on the altar as a votive gift.
Burton Harrison, the President’s handsome young secretary, was gotten up as a big brave in a dress presented to Mr. Davis by Indians for some kindness he showed them years ago. It was a complete warrior’s outfit, scant as that is. The feathers stuck in the back of Mr. Harrison’s head had a charmingly comic effect. He had to shave himself as clean as a baby or he could not act the beardless chief, Spotted Tail, Billy Bowlegs, Big Thunder, or whatever his character was. So he folded up his loved and lost mustache, the Christianized red Indian, and laid it on the altar, the most sacred treasure of his life, the witness of his most heroic sacrifice, on the shrine.
Senator Hill, of Georgia, took me in to supper, where were ices, chicken salad, oysters, and champagne. The President came in alone, I suppose, for while we were talking after supper and your humble servant was standing between Mrs. Randolph and Mrs. Stanard, he approached, offered me his arm and we walked off, oblivious of Mr. Senator Hill. Remember this, ladies, and forgive me for recording it, but Mrs. Stanard and Mrs. Randolph are the handsomest women in Richmond; I am no older than they are, or younger, either, sad to say. Now, the President walked with me slowly up and down that long room, and our conversation was of the saddest. Nobody knows so well as he the difficulties which beset this hard-driven Confederacy. He has a voice which is perfectly modulated, a comfort in this loud and rough soldier world. I think there is a melancholy cadence in his voice at times, of which he is unconscious when he talks of things as they are now.
My husband was so intensely charmed with Hetty Cary that he declined at the first call to accompany his wife home in the twenty-five-dollar-an-hour carriage. He ordered it to return. When it came, his wife (a good manager) packed the Carys and him in with herself, leaving the other two men who came with the party, when it was divided into ”trips,” to make their way home in the cold. At our door, near daylight of that bitter cold morning, I had the pleasure to see my husband, like a man, stand and pay for that carriage! To-day he is pleased with himself, with me, and with all the world; says if there was no such word as ”fascinating” you would have to invent one to describe Hetty Cary.
Diary And Memoranda, 1864
Jan. 8th. The Potomac has frozen over, consequently un-navigable. Today is the anniversary of the battle of New Orleans.
The Co rec’d 22 recruits, none that I knew. Steamers passed down the river today; but it was hard work.
Brownsboro, Ala., Friday, Jan. 8. Arose in good time, while it was broad daylight, and found that one of the party had his hat burned up during the night. An inch of snow on the ground, and it was chillingly cold. But a small portion of the train came up last night, therefore did not move until nearly noon. The roads were slippery and hard to travel. E. W. E. and I took the R. R. After a hard march of ten miles we reached Brownsboro at 4 P. M. on Flint River, the terminus of the R. R. communications as yet. Here we found the boys that had come through on the cars. Cooked our supper by their fires and went in search of shelter for the night. Seven of us in the squad found a cotton patch in the middle of a dense forest with a cotton pen. Built a crib of rails, crammed a foot of cotton into it and covered with the rubbers. The wagon road seen on the opposite side of a range of mountains, and the Brigade had not yet come up. Nigger Henry had kindly taken my blankets on his horse in the morning and was now with the Battery. We could hear the rattle of the wagons coming in from a distance, and as I was in much need of my blankets I started to meet them, but found they had camped three-quarters of a mile back. Climbed a little hill and the hundreds of fires burned brightly in the distance, whither I turned myself. Wandered through the city of lights some time before I found the Battery, found my blankets, thanked Henry for carrying them, and turned my steps towards my bedfellow in the woods. Taking a bee line, I thought to find them there. I tugged through a dense thicket of briar and underbrush, scratched my face, tearing my clothes, and in water to the tops of my boots most of the time. It was very dark, but still I kept on certain of finding them. Suddenly the light blazed up before me and I found them going to bed at 9 P. M. I was tired out and footsore.
January 8. At Seward’s last night, who gave a party to the scientific men of the Academy now here. The Cabinet, heads of the foreign missions, the learned gentlemen and the committees on foreign relations of the two houses were present, with a goodly number of ladies. Agassiz, Silliman, Professors Story and Caswell, etc., etc., were present.
To-day at the Executive Mansion. Only Usher with myself was present, and no business transacted. Mr. Hudson of Massachusetts, formerly Member of Congress, was with the President. Conversation was general, with anecdotes as usual. These are usually very appropriate and instructive, conveying much truth in few words, well, if not always elegantly, told. The President’s estimate of character is usually very correct, and he frequently divests himself of partiality with a readiness that has surprised me. In the course of conversation to-day, which was desultory, he mentioned that he was selected by the people of Springfield to deliver a eulogy on the death of Mr. Clay, of whom he had been a warm admirer. This, he said, he found to be difficult writing so as to make an address of fifty minutes. In casting about for the material, he had directed his attention to what Mr. Clay had himself done in the line of eulogy and was struck with the fact that though renowned as an orator and speaker, he had never made any effort of the sort, and the only specimen he could find was embraced in a few lines on the death of Mr. Calhoun. Referring to the subject and this fact on one occasion when Seward was present, that gentleman remarked that the failure was characteristic and easily accounted for, — Mr. Clay’s self-esteem was so great, that he could tolerate no commendation of others, eulogized none but the dead, and would never himself speak in laudatory terms of a contemporary.
Both the President and Seward consider Clay and Webster to have been hard and selfish leaders, whose private personal ambition had contributed to the ruin of their party. The people of New England were proud of the great mind of Webster, his great intellect, but he had no magnetism, there was not intense personal devotion for him such as manifested itself for Clay. For years the Whig cause consisted in adulation of these two men, rather than in support of any well-established principles. In fact, principles were always made secondary to them.
I see by the papers that John P. Hale made an assault on the Navy Department, and tried to secure the adoption of a drag-net resolution, placing the Department on the defensive for the residue of the session. Under pretense of great regard for the country, he is really reckless and indifferent to its interests. Instead of encouraging and aiding the Department in its labors, he would divert it into a defense against groundless attacks from interested persons.
January 8—It has been snowing, and is very cold. Some of the boys have formed a dramatic company, and I went to see them play “Toodles.” There were two men shot in our brigade for desertion to-day. Nothing of interest until 11th.
January 8th. General Hancock, who rejoined the corps a few weeks ago, went home to-day, not being able to stand the worry and fatigue of camp life. Warren takes over the command again and is likely to remain with us all winter; compared to Hancock, he is decidedly a light weight, although a good soldier and engineer officer, but lacks dignity and force of character. He is a great card player, and with certain of his staff spends most of his leisure time in playing. He is slight, dark, good looking, but dull and uninteresting. General Hancock, being an ideal looking soldier, any one almost succeeding him must suffer, at least in our eyes, and this is to be remembered.
I received my commission as captain to-day with rank from September 23, 1863. We are all enthusiasm, preparing for a brilliant social season; amongst other ventures we have started a newspaper; “Our Camp Journal,” edited by Lieutenant L. D. Burch, Twenty-sixth Michigan, and it is to appear every week. Local matters, of course, will be its chief resource, but the lieutenant is bright and proposes to review the general situation whenever in the mood. To show the ability of the writer and the range of subjects, I shall transcribe a few of the leading articles. Here is his first gun, “Speaking of the army of the Potomac. If there is one army of this half century, to which posterity will accord greater honor than to any other it is the army of the Potomac. There is not an army of history even that may produce a record of so many great battles, so much loss of life and limb, so many rapid, extended and fatiguing marches, and such extreme trials of human endurance as this same Potomac army. The Potomac army has been opposed from first to last by the choicest troops of the confederacy, under command of men confessedly its ablest generals, and indeed among the best of their time.”
“It is generally conceded that Virginia troops have given the most stubborn resistance to our advance of any in the rebel service. Besides this, the Potomac army has fought an army always its equal; generally, its superior in numbers, with the vast advantage of a defensive warfare in a region made up of the strongest natural defenses to be found upon the continent.
“An officer of high rank recently from the Western army, on a visit to the Second corps, remarked in our hearing: ‘I am only surprised that an army invading such a country has not been wholly destroyed. These jungles of pines, cedars, and brambles, bottomless roads, interminable ranges of hills, with an endless succession of rivers and “runs,” which make up the topography of Virginia, render even ordinary military resistance hard to be overcome; and then, too, it has repeatedly been forced by the inexorable demands of an excited, half frenzied, and exacting public opinion, to fight the enemy in his stronghold, against the judgment of its commanders.
“‘Their first movements have resulted in unfortunate failures, out of which came many criticisms, calumnies, and indignities from the press, the rostrum, and the public, not to say the people, but in the midst of which the noble army has marched on, fought on, and suffered on, through a succession of campaigns, such as would blot from the map of Europe half its old principalities and powers, still unshaken in its faith in the final triumph of our arms, still unshorn of its strength to fight and win the battles of other campaigns.
“‘Fighting on the vast plains of the West, with the advantages equally distributed, is quite a different thing from dislodging an enemy from a chain of continuous natural and artificial defenses, covering an area of sixty thousand square miles. For the present, we are content to believe in the men and their leaders, who upon the plain of Gettysburg fought and won the grandest battle of the century, saved the fortunes of the republic, and are calmly watching and waiting by the Rapidan the coming of their last campaign.'”
by John Beauchamp Jones
JANUARY 8TH.—Dispatches from both Beauregard and Whiting indicate a belief of an intention on the part of the enemy to attempt the capture of Charleston and Wilmington this winter. The President directs the Secretary to keep another brigade near Petersburg, that it may be available in an emergency.
It snowed again last night, but cleared off to-day, and is bitter cold.
A memorial was received to-day from the officers of Gen. Longstreet’s army, asking that all men capable of performing military service, including those who have hired substitutes, be placed in the army.
To-day I bought a barrel of good potatoes (Irish) for $25, and one of superior quality and size for $30. This is providing for an anticipated season of famine.
Gen. Morgan received the congratulations of a vast multitude to-day. One woman kissed his hand. Gov. Smith advertises a reception to-night.
Yesterday a committee was appointed to investigate the report that a certain member of Congress obtained passports for several absconding Jews, for a bribe.
