Monday, April 18.— Court met at 9 o’clock and finished Porter’s case. Then began on Jones of F Company. Weather pleasant. Major Chamberlain took tea with us. Sent home my pipe by Adams Express. Three negro regiments came in this afternoon. The corps was organized into brigades and divisions yesterday, but for some reason General Burnside, who went on to Washington last evening, countermanded the order. There are the usual number of camp rumors afloat. One is that the corps is to rendezvous at Newport News. Another that five regiments have received marching orders. None of them are true, I think. By the way, the chief quartermaster says no wagons will be issued to us here. That looks like transportation by water from here.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Scottsboro, Ala., April 18, 1864.
No changes to note in the military situation of our portion of Dixie, but the note of preparation is heard on every side. All making ready for the Spring campaign, which every one prophesies will be the bloodiest one of the war. Johnston is undoubtedly collecting all the Rebel troops in the West, on the Georgia Central R. R. and will have a large force. But ours will be perfectly enormous. Not one of our regiments but is stronger to-day than a year ago, and many divisions number from one-third to three-quarters more than then. Our division when we marched through from Memphis last fall was hardly 4,500 (for duty) strong. Now ’tis 7,000, and growing every day. We have no doubt of our ability to whip Johnston most completely, but if he can raise 70,000 men, and we think he can, of course somebody will stand a remarkably good chance for being hurt in the proceedings. He has crossed a division of infantry, away off on our right, beyond Elk river. ‘Tis hard to tell what for. Maybe to cooperate with Forrest. Certainly to forage some, and some think possibly to attract our attention in that direction while he makes a dash on our lines east of Huntsville. This latter would, to my idea, be akin to the action of that youth Harper represents in his “April,” standing on his head on the railroad track, six feet before the locomotive under way: “Rash.” Twenty-four years old yesterday, and three years in the service. Celebrated the day by calling on a good looking “mountain ewe,” and dining therewith. Made arrangements to have a deer and turkey hunt with her papa and some of his friends, Colonel Cobb, (formerly of United States Congress) among others. To give you an idea of the Southern love for titles, I’ll name part of the citizens who help to form our party next Wednesday. Colonel Cobb, Colonel Provinse, Colonel Young, and Majors Hall and Hust. Every man who owns as many as two negroes is at least a colonel. None of them rank as low as captains. Spring is coming very slowly. At least four weeks behind time. Trees are becoming quite verdant, and many of the flowers are up. I would like to send you a few haunches of nice venison after my hunt, but expect, all things considered, ‘twould hardly be worth while to try. Heard to-day of the wedding of one of my most particularest friends, a young lady of Decatur. Was sensible enough to marry a soldier; but am not certain she got the right one. Heaven help her.
Monday, April 18th.
Weather warm and pleasant. Private Hastings died suddenly to-day in a fit brought on by dissipation. I learn that he was a dentist of considerable skill and reputation at home, and belonged to a highly respectable family, and I have directed his body to be sent to Washington to be embalmed, and have written to his friends, forwarding his few personal effects.
I called this afternoon on the ladies occupying the old brick house, with a view of polishing up my manners a little, which I fear have suffered materially from long absence from the “elevating and refining influences of female society,” and also for the purpose of purchasing a pie, the consumption of which would appear to be the highest type of physical beatitude just at this time. I found the ladies occupying a corner room on the first floor, having deserted the rest of the premises, and engaged in entertaining Capt. Jones of Co. D of our battalion, and vigorously rocking a miniature canal boat wherein unconsciously reposed a scion of the noble house. Jones being a handsome young man, and versed in all the little arts that kill or captivate, in which particulars he ranks me, I leave conversation pretty much to him, except on the pie question, and occupying a primitive cane-bottomed chair, listen attentively to the stories of war, privation and suffering which “we uns” have brought upon “they uns” in the pure and unadulterated Virginia vernacular. The elder lady is a woman of perhaps sixty years of age, and the younger, the mother of the cradle-full, is a stout masculine creature of about thirty. Both are clad in the plainest and scantiest homespun, and the few articles of furniture and clothing that are scattered about the room are of the meanest and dirtiest description. In one corner of the room is an old bed, with a dilapidated hoopskirt and other articles of female wearing apparel scattered about upon it to the best advantage apparently. Two or three old chairs adorn the next corner and side of the room, together with a lounge of antique structure. Then comes another hoopskirt on a nail, a door and three or four dresses “and things” hanging to as many nails. Then alongside of a primitive table, in a tub stuffed with straw, sits an old hen endeavoring to hatch a brood of chickens from a nest full of eggs. The older woman is sharp featured, rather large, dark-haired and wears high-heeled shoes, and as she sits in the cradle while rocking it, she frequently addresses the dirty little occupant as “little lady,” from which fact I gather that the infant also belongs to the female persuasion. In conversation with Jones, and doubtless to impress us both with the fact that her family was “some pumpkins” “befo’ the wa’,” the old lady said that when her husband died some years ago he left her “Wal, sar, I couldn’t say, sar, how much land, but it goes down to the run (all streams are called “runs” here), then over thar and thar and thar,” etc., indicating not less than a thousand acres. That she had three sons “on the line” (i. e., in the Reb army), and that her granddaughter there present lost her husband at “Anti-eat-urn.” That she was “born and raised right thar, and was never further north than Warrenton” (eight or ten miles). That “Virginians used to think the north a splendid country, but didn’t think so much of it now.” That “thar used to be lots o’ niggers about here (there isn’t one now); they’s the cause of the war and I wish thar wasn’t one on earth, and a good many Virginians wish so, too.” She thought it wicked to make soldiers of the negroes, but that colonization was just the thing. She believed heartily in the Southern Confederacy, and would not take the Yankee oath of allegiance for “a million o’ dollars.” She was willing to take both greenbacks and Confederate scrip at par for her pies, and rejoiced that she had been able to save six chickens and five guinea hens from the ravages of war. She pointed out a house where a Yankee shell had killed two Rebs and wounded four or five others, and told us that a Yankee Captain was killed right by the spring from which we got all our water, and that a Reb was killed just where our camp is located, and wound up by showing us some houses two or three miles away where she said some very pretty “Secesh” girls resided, and I couldn’t but hope that their surroundings were more attractive than those of this old woman and her grand-daughter. No northern family, however poor, could live amid such surroundings, and yet these people speak with loftiest contempt of the “dirty niggers” and the “mean whites,” and anathematize the uncivilized “Yanks,” not excepting their present company, just as if the commissariat of those same “Yanks” was not all that stands between them and starvation. My cravings for “polite society” having been fully satisfied I withdrew, not, however, until I had secured a fair specimen of a “secesh” pie for which I paid the moderate price of forty cents in greenbacks, but which I soon discovered, by analytical mastication, was apparently composed of saw-dust and cider “bound in calf.”
April 18.—Grandfather returned home today, unexpectedly to us. I knew he was sick when I met him at the door. He had traveled all night alone from New York, although he said that a stranger, a fellow passenger, from Ann Arbor, Mich., on the train noticed that he was suffering and was very kind to him. He said he fell in his room at Gramercy Park Hotel, in the night, and his knee was very painful. We sent for old Dr Cheney and he said the hurt was a serious one and needed most careful attention. I was invited to a spelling school at Abbie Clark’s in the evening and Grandmother said that she and Anna would take care of Grandfather till I got back, and then I could sit up by him the rest of the night. We spelled down and had quite a merry time. Major C. S. Aldrich had escaped from prison and was there. He came home with me, as my soldier is down in Virginia.
Monday 18th—I stayed at home all day. Father finished sowing his wheat today. John D. Moore with Henry Clark left this morning for Davenport to go into Camp McClellan—Clark is a veteran of my company, while John is a recruit for the company. Jason Sparks could not go with them on account of having the measles. Dr. Clark went to see him and certified that he was not fit for duty.
Guerrilla Hunting.
April 18. The country above here and that part of it lying between the Suffolk and James rivers is a good deal infected with guerrilla bands. It was thought best to send out in different directions three or four regiments to stir them up. In accordance with that arrangement we left our mud hole early in the morning of the 13th going aboard a big double-ender steamer at Portsmouth. In company with a small gunboat we steamed up the James river some 20 miles, when turning to the left we entered a small creek; following this a few miles we came to a village called Smithfield.
We landed here about noon and marched up into the street. The village seemed to be deserted, scarcely any one in sight. We had not been here many minutes before Col. Pickett was met by a good-looking elderly gentleman, who seemed to be considerably agitated about something. He wished the colonel to send a guard to his house, as he feared the negroes would take too many liberties with him during our stay. The colonel inquired if there were many Confederates about here. The old gentleman replied that he had seen none recently, and just then the report of rifles was heard up the creek. At this the colonel in a very abrupt and ungentlemanly manner, said: “D—n you and your house! Forward, march!” The old gentleman turned away sorrowfully, and started for home. This man’s name was Atkinson and he was formerly a member of Congress.
A little farther up the street we made another halt to fix on some plan of action. While waiting here I went into a house. There was no one at home, but from some books and papers lying around, I learned that its occupant was a namesake of mine, a Mr. Day, a lawyer by profession. I was disappointed in not finding the ‘squire at home. Mrs. Day had just finished ironing and her clothes lay on a table nice and clean. I noticed among them some towels, and being short of these, I borrowed a pair. I left my card expressing regrets at the ‘squire’s absence and said if he would send me his address, I should like to correspond with him.
Just out the village the roads forked. We halted a minute to determine which one to take, and while waiting a darky came along driving a pair of bulls hitched to a cart. Not being accustomed to seeing so grand a display, the animals became frightened and balked. The darky standing in the cart applied the whip and yelled at them. They began to bellow, and sticking their tails straight up in the air, went bellowing down the road at a gait which would have shamed a locomotive. We went out on the Suffolk road about five miles, where we met some scouts who said there was a regiment ahead of us. We then returned to Smithfield and soon after we were joined by the 9th New Jersey, who informed us that the 23d Massachusetts had had a brush with a party of guerrillas and had driven them towards Suffolk; those were the troops who were ahead of us when we met the scouts. The next morning on going down to the boats we saw a flag spread over something on the deck of the gunboat, and learned that it covered the body of a lieutenant of marines who was shot while going in a boat up the creek; those were the shots we heard. We arrived back to Camp Wellington in the afternoon.
Huntsville, Monday, April 18. Rained very heavy all night Dark heavy clouds hung over us this morning which slowly dispersed as the day advanced. Windy in the evening and chilly, uncommon in this country. 18th Wisconsin Infantry broke camp at the public square and came up on our left. The 17th Iowa relieved them from provost duty. News reached us of the horrible massacre of our troops at Fort Pillow, heart sickening. How long will such things last? Preparations were made to turn the fourth and first pieces over, but we have no horses to draw them.
April 18—Our corps of sharpshooters went out today target practising. We shoot a distance of 500 yards offhand. Some very good shooting was done.
April 18, Monday. The steamer Chenango exploded her boilers in New York Harbor, and I feared there might have been mischief, such as [an] incendiary shell in the coal, but the reports indicate that such was not the case.
I am gratified to find so many sagacious and able naval officers sustaining me and my course in relation to Du Pont. There is no man in the service who is so skillful and successful at intrigue as S. F. Du Pont. He has his cliques and has laid his plans adroitly, and may, for a time, be successful in deceiving the public by artful means, but it cannot last. Truth is mighty and will prevail.
Stocks have had a heavy fall to-day in New York, and there are reported failures. It is a temporary check, I apprehend, a reaction or pause resulting from some action of Mr. Chase in New York. He has doubtless effected a loan with the banks, and they have closed on some of their customers. Money, or investments, are tending to government securities, rather than railroad and other like investments, for the moment.
April 18.—This day at noon, three guerrillas were discovered in the town of Hunnevillc, on the Hannibal and St. Joseph Railroad, forty miles west of Hannibal, Mo. A dozen of the citizens, some armed, mustered to capture them. They had been purchasing stores, and were then at the saloon of a Union citizen, Mr. Dieman. On the approach of the squad, the guerrillas drew in defence, closed doors, and fired upon the citizens, wounding a militia captain, but not dangerously. They also fired upon Dieman, inflicting a severe wound. The citizens fired, killing two of the guerrillas, and wounding the third, who succeeded in escaping from the house and the vicinity. —The Maryland State Fair, for the benefit of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, was opened with appropriate ceremonies at Baltimore. A speech was made by President Lincoln, in which he referred to the changes that had taken place in Baltimore during the past three years, and to the Fort Pillow massacre, which he said should be amply retaliated.—The rebel schooner Good Hope was captured and destroyed at sea, by the schooner Fox, tender to the National steamer San Jacinto.—The rebel schooner Oramoneta, with a cargo of munitions of war, was captured off St. Augustine, Fla., by the Beauregard.
—An attempt to blow up the United States frigate Wabash, was made off Charleston Harbor this night.
