May 8. Sunday. — Rocky Gap to Poplar Hill (Sharmon’s), twenty-four miles. — Ten from Giles; ten and one-half from Dublin. Rebels probably ahead of us getting ready.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
May 8, 1864, 1:30 a.m.
Have about given up the train before daylight, so will curl down and take a cool snooze, minus blankets. Made 11 miles to-day.
Fifteen miles southwest of Dalton, May 8, 1864.
We traveled to-day over a better country than I have seen for five months; the Yanks were never seen here before. All the negroes and stock have been run off. A little shooting commenced in the front to-day, and we passed a deserted signal station and picket post. Saw some Rebels on a mountain south of us just before we went into camp. Dispatch came to Sherman this p.m. that Grant had whipped Lee three successive days. Our fight will come off to-morrow. I entertain no doubt as to the result. They have cut us down to three-quarter rations of bread and one-fourth rations of meat.
Sunday, 8th—All is quiet. We had dress parade this evening and an order was read to the effect that the troops should drill two hours a day in company or skirmish drill, and besides that, the recruits should drill four hours a day; also that there are to be four roll calls a day, and company inspection every morning at 8 o’clock. There are about five thousand men in camp under command of Brig. Gen. F. M. Force, and all are in fine spirits and well fitted for a fight. The general quartermaster has large quantities of rations and ammunition here, and there are some three or four thousand beef cattle for our meat supply. This camp puts us in mind of our camp at Pittsburg Landing, two years ago, but I do not think that we will have such a battle as we had then, although the rebels’ cavalry is quite active.
Camden, S. C., May 8, 1864 – My friends crowded around me so in those last days in Richmond, I forgot the affairs of this nation utterly; though I did show faith in my Confederate country by buying poor Bones’s (my English maid’s) Confederate bonds. I gave her gold thimbles, bracelets; whatever was gold and would sell in New York or London, I gave.
My friends in Richmond grieved that I had to leave them—not half so much; however, as I did that I must come away. Those last weeks were so pleasant. No battle, no murder, no sudden death, all went merry as a marriage bell. Clever, cordial, kind, brave friends rallied around me.
Maggie Howell and I went down the river to see an exchange of prisoners. Our party were the Lees, Mallorys, Mrs. Buck Allan, Mrs. Ould. We picked up Judge Ould and Buck Allan at Curl’s Neck. I had seen no genuine Yankees before; prisoners, well or wounded, had been German, Scotch, or Irish. Among our men coming ashore was an officer, who had charge of some letters for a friend of mine whose fiancé had died; I gave him her address. One other man showed me some wonderfully ingenious things he had made while a prisoner. One said they gave him rations for a week; he always devoured them in three days, he could not help it; and then he had to blear the inevitable agony of those four remaining days! Many were wounded, some were maimed for life. They were very cheerful. We had supper—or some nondescript meal—with ice-cream on board. The band played Home, Sweet Home.
One man tapped another on the shoulder: “Well, how do you feel, old fellow?” “Never was so near crying in my life—for very comfort.”
Governor Cummings, a Georgian, late Governor of Utah, was among the returned prisoners. He had been in prison two years. His wife was with him. He was a striking-looking person, huge in size, and with snow-white hair, fat as a prize ox, with no sign of Yankee barbarity or starvation about him.
That evening, as we walked up to Mrs. Davis’s carriage, which was waiting for us at the landing, Dr. Garnett with Maggie Howell, Major Hall with me, suddenly I heard her scream, and some one stepped back in the dark and said in a whisper. “Little Joe! he has killed himself!” I felt reeling, faint, bewildered. A chattering woman clutched my arm: “Mrs. Davis’s son? Impossible. Whom did you say? Was he an interesting child? How old was he?” The shock was terrible, and unnerved as I was I cried, “For God’s sake take her away!”
Then Maggie and I drove two long miles in silence except for Maggie’s hysterical sobs. She was wild with terror. The news was broken to her in that abrupt way at the carriage door so that at first she thought it had all happened there, and that poor little Joe was in the carriage.
Mr. Burton Harrison met us at the door of the Executive Mansion. Mrs. Semmes and Mrs. Barksdale were there, too. Every window and door of the house seemed wide open, and the wind was blowing the curtains. It was lighted, even in the third story. As I sat in the drawing-room, I could hear the tramp of Mr. Davis’s step as he walked up and down the room above. Not another sound. The whole house as silent as death. It was then twelve o’clock; so I went home and waked General Chesnut, who had gone to bed. We went immediately back to the President’s, found Mrs. Semmes still there, but saw no one but her. We thought some friends of the family ought to be in the house.
Mrs. Semmes said when she got there that little Jeff was kneeling down by his brother, and he called out to her in great distress: “Mrs. Semmes, I have said all the prayers I know how, but God will not wake Joe.”
Poor little Joe, the good child of the family, was so gentle and affectionate. He used to run in to say his prayers at his father’s knee. Now he was laid out somewhere above us, crushed and killed. Mrs. Semmes, describing the accident, said he fell from the high north piazza upon a brick pavement. Before I left the house I saw him lying there, white and beautiful as an angel, covered with flowers; Catherine, his nurse, flat on the floor by his side, was weeping and wailing as only an Irishwoman can.
Immense crowds came to the funeral, everybody sympathetic, but some shoving and pushing rudely. There were thousands of children, and each child had a green bough or a bunch of flowers to throw on little Joe’s grave, which was already a mass of white flowers, crosses, and evergreens. The morning I came away from Mrs. Davis’s, early as it was, I met a little child with a handful of snow drops. “Put these on little Joe,” she said; “I knew him so well,” and then she turned and fled without another word. I did not know who she was then or now.
As I walked home I met Mr. Reagan, then Wade Hampton. But I could see nothing but little Joe and his brokenhearted mother. And Mr. Davis’s step still sounded in my ears as he walked that floor the livelong night.
General Lee was to have a grand review the very day we left Richmond. Great numbers of people were to go up by rail to see it. Miss Turner McFarland writes: “They did go, but they came back faster than they went. They found the army drawn up in battle array.” Many of the brave and gay spirits that we saw so lately have taken flight, the only flight they know, and their bodies are left dead upon the battle-field. Poor old Edward Johnston is wounded again, and a prisoner. Jones’s brigade broke first; he was wounded the day before.
At Wilmington we met General Whiting. He sent us to the station in his carriage, and bestowed upon us a bottle of brandy, which had run the blockade. They say Beauregard has taken his sword from Whiting. Never! I will not believe it. At the capture of Fort Sumter they said Whiting was the brains, Beauregard only the hand. Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou fallen! That they should even say such a thing!
My husband and Mr. Covey got out at Florence to procure for Mrs. Miles a cup of coffee. They were slow about it and they got left. I did not mind this so very much, for I remembered that we were to remain all day at Kingsville, and that my husband could overtake me there by the next train. My maid belonged to the Prestons. She was only traveling home with me, and would go straight on to Columbia. So without fear I stepped off at Kingsville. My old Confederate silk, like most Confederate dresses, had seen better days, and I noticed that, like Oliver Wendell Holmes’s famous “one-hoss shay,” it had gone to pieces suddenly, and all over. It was literally in strips. I became painfully aware of my forlorn aspect when I asked the telegraph man the way to the hotel, and he was by no means respectful to me. I was, indeed, alone—an old and not too respectable-looking woman. It was my first appearance in the character, and I laughed aloud.
A very haughty and highly painted dame greeted me at the hotel. “No room,” said she, “Who are you?” I gave my name. “Try something else,” said she. “Mrs. Chesnut don’t travel round by herself with no servants and no nothing.” I looked down. There I was, dirty, tired, tattered, and torn. “Where do you come from?” said she. “My home is in Camden.” “Come, now, I know everybody in Camden.” I sat down meekly on a bench in the piazza, that was free to all wayfarers.
“Which Mrs. Chesnut?” said she (sharply). “I know both.” “I am now the only one. And now what is the matter with you? Do you take me for a spy? I know you perfectly well. I went to school with you at Miss Henrietta de Leon’s, and my name was Mary Miller.” “The Lord sakes alive! and to think you are her! Now I see. Dear! dear me! Heaven sakes, woman, but you are broke!” “And tore,” I added, holding up my dress. “But I had had no idea it was so difficult to effect an entry into a railroad wayside hotel.” I picked up a long strip of my old black dress, torn off by a man’s spur as I passed him getting off the train.
It is sad enough at Mulberry without old Mrs. Chesnut, who was the good genius of the place. It is so lovely here in spring. The giants of the forest—the primeval oaks, water-oaks, live-oaks, willow-oaks, such as I have not seen since I left here—with opopanax, violets, roses, and yellow jessamine, the air is laden with perfume. Araby the Blest was never sweeter.
Inside, are creature comforts of all kinds—green peas, strawberries, asparagus, spring lamb, spring chicken, fresh eggs, rich, yellow butter, clean white linen for one’s beds, dazzling white damask for one’s table. It is such a contrast to Richmond, where I wish I were.
Fighting is going on. Hampton is frantic, for his laggard new regiments fall in slowly; no fault of the soldiers; they are as disgusted as he is. Bragg, Bragg, the head of the War Office, can not organize in time.
John Boykin has died in a Yankee prison. He had on a heavy flannel shirt when lying in an open platform car on the way to a cold prison on the lakes. A Federal soldier wanted John’s shirt. Prisoners have no rights; so John had to strip off and hand his shirt to him. That caused his death. In two days he was dead of pneumonia—may be frozen to death. One man said: “They are taking us there to freeze.” But then their men will find our hot sun in August and July as deadly as our men find their cold Decembers. Their snow and ice finish our prisoners at a rapid rate, they say. Napoleon’s soldiers found out all that in the Russian campaign.
Have brought my houseless, homeless friends, refugees here, to luxuriate in Mulberry’s plenty. I can but remember the lavish kindness of the Virginia people when I was there and in a similar condition. The Virginia people do the rarest acts of hospitality and never seem to know it is not in the ordinary course of events.
The President’s man, Stephen, bringing his master’s Arabian to Mulberry for safe-keeping, said: “Why, Missis, your niggers down here are well off. I call this Mulberry place heaven, with plenty to eat, little to do, warm house to sleep in, a good church.”
John L. Miller, my cousin, has been killed at the head of his regiment. The blows now fall so fast on our heads they are bewildering. The Secretary of War authorizes General Chesnut to reorganize the men who have been hitherto detailed for special duty, and also those who have been exempt. He says General Chesnut originated the plan and organized the corps of clerks which saved Richmond in the Dahlgren raid.
Sunday, 8th.—Everything quiet this morning, except an occasional picket shot. Everything in readiness. Later some skirmishing on Rocky Face Mountain. P.M., some cannonading towards Mill Creek Gap. Indications that they will attack mountain; re-inforcements sent.
May 8 — This morning we went back to the same position we left at dusk yesterday evening, but the Yankees seem to be getting very uneasy in the Wilderness and are trying to back out or flank out, and in their maneuvering to-day they flanked around our right and compelled us to abandon our position. Consequently we fell back and moved to our right too, in order to intercept and if possible rebut their flanking advance. We pierced their flank and had a spirited little engagement early in the day, but the enemy proved too strong for our force, as their cavalry advanced in conjunction with their ever present infantry, and we had nothing but cavalry and our battery. We retired about a mile and took a good commanding position at the Dobbins house, and awaited the approach of the huge wriggling war machine that was trying to extricate itself from the intricacies of the Wilderness by stealthily gliding around the bristling bayonets of General Lee’ infantry.
The enemy did not advance on our new position until late this evening, when they came with a very heavy line of infantry skirmishers in front; I fired about forty shell from my gun at the slowly and cautiously advancing line, which at last yielded to my fire and fell back, and soon after made a flank movement on our position. We held our ground until their sharpshooters advanced to within three hundred yards of our guns, and were still coming on; then I fired one charge of canister at their line, after which the battery was ordered to limber up and fall back. When we started back from our position the Yankee line halted and did not advance any farther this evening. I suppose that they were afraid of some hocus-pocus, spider, fly, and parlor business, and fell back. This evening at dusk we fell back a little distance from the Dobbins house and bivouacked. The whole country in our front is full of Yankees.
We Leave Yorktown.
May 8. On the afternoon of the 4th we went aboard the boats and dropped anchor at Fortress Monroe at dusk. The next morning we started up the James river. The river was alive with boats, schooners, tugs, gunboats, monitors and everything that could float, all loaded to their fullest capacity with troops, horses, artillery and all the paraphernalia of war. We passed Jamestown in the afternoon. Nothing now remains to mark the spot where the first settlement in Virginia was made, but a pile of bricks which composed a part of one of the buildings. We reached City Point just before night. Gen. Heckman’s brigade landed on the Bermuda Hundred side and bivouacked a short distance from the landing, all the other troops remaining aboard the boats. The gunboats and monitors commenced fishing for torpedoes and working their way up the James and Appomatox rivers.
The next morning, the 6th, the troops commenced to land and Heckman’s brigade was ordered to advance. We marched up the country six or seven miles, getting on to high ground and what is called Cobb’s Hill. From here the spires of the churches, in Petersburg can be seen, while in front of us is a kind of valley. At this point the Appomatax river turns in a southwesterly direction. On the banks between us and Petersburg was a battery. This is called a good position and here we halted. We sat here under a burning sun, watching the long lines of troops come up and file off to the right into the woods towards the James river until past the middle of the afternoon, at which time the whole of the 18th and 10th corps., comprising the army of the James, under Gen. B. F. Butler, had arrived.
Heckman’s Brigade Leads Off The Dance.
About 4 p. m., Gen. Heckman is ordered to make a reconnoisance towards the Petersburg and Richmond railroad. We moved down the valley in a southwesterly direction, and when about three miles out the 27th Massachusetts were advanced as skirmishers. A mile or two farther on we began to hear scattering shots, indicating that our skirmishers had found game. We hurried on and found the enemy in a shallow cut, on a branch railroad running from Port Walthal to the Petersburg and Richmond road. A sharp skirmish ensued, lasting till near dark, when Heckman withdrew, having accomplished his purpose of finding the enemy. In this skirmish the 25th lost four killed and several wounded.
The next morning, the 7th, we moved on them in force, Gen. Brooks’ division moving directly on the Petersburg and Richmond railroad. Heckman’s brigade, with a section of a battery, were ordered to occupy the ground of the night before. The enemy were in strong force and opened on us with artillery. Heckman paid no attention to that, but moved his battalions into line on the field in columns by division, and ordered them to lie down. The 25th were partially covered by a slight roll of ground in our front, while the 27th Massachusetts on our left were badly exposed to the enemy’s fire and were suffering severely. Heckman saw the situation and ordered Col. Lee to move his regiment to the rear of us. He then ordered forward his artillery, placing them in battery in our front and set them to work. They made the rail fences and dust fly right smart. After a few shots had been fired a loud explosion was heard, followed by a big cloud of smoke, dust and debris in the enemy’s line. One of their caissons had blown up, and our boys rose up and gave rousing cheers. Our guns continued shelling them, but got no return fire, their ammunition was probably exhausted and their guns perhaps disabled.
There was no infantry firing on either side, we simply holding our line and watching events. Heavy firing was heard over on the railroad. Brooks was at them and a fight for the railroad was going on. We were masters of the situation here and were able to protect his flank. About noon the enemy got an old gun into position and commenced throwing chunks of railroad iron at us. This caused considerable sport among the boys and they would cheer them lustily every time they fired, but a few shots from our guns, put a quietus on that sport. I have often read and heard of that kind of practice, but never saw any of it until now.
In the afternoon a battery of four 20-pounder parrott guns drove up, taking positions on a roll of ground some 20 rods in our rear and commenced firing. I at first thought they were shelling the enemy in front of us, and was a little surprised at it as all was quiet on both sides. But I soon noticed they were not. I got permission from Capt. Emery and went up there. Here was a signal officer, and nearly half a mile away to the northwest was a group of men signaling to this battery. The guns were at quite an elevation, and they would train them a little to the right or left, as directed by the signal officer. They were throwing. shells over the woods and dropping them among the enemy over on the railroad, some two miles away. Those shells were reported to be very annoying to the enemy and of great service to Brooks. It was splendid artillery practice and I was greatly interested in it. While watching them shy those shells over the woods I wondered where those devils over there thought they came from.
Towards night it was signaled that Brooks had accomplished his purpose, tearing up several miles of road and was drawing back to our line. The day’s work was over and we drew back to Cobb’s Hill. In this day’s fight the 27th Massachusetts sustained its greatest loss, while the 25th suffered the worst in last night’s affair. The heat was intense, and the men suffered severely, many of them being prostrated and carried back in ambulances.
Sunday, May 8. — Reached Chancellorsville about noon, where we found all the trains of the army and the Reserve Artillery. It seems that the enemy retreated during the night (?). We are making for Richmond as fast as we can. Our loss in the late fight [of the 5th and 6th] is from 10,000 to 11,000. The battle is to be called Battle of the Wilderness. Camped for the night about two miles from Chancellorsville. Weather warm and pleasant. Saw Captain Ladd, and dined in his tent with General Stevenson.
Huntsville, Sunday, May 8. On guard detail again. Would rather it was on some other day, as I wished to attend meeting. Was orderly of the day, easier than on post. Had to stay round headquarters during the day. Grazed horses in the afternoon near a negro meeting, which I attended. After an earnest discourse from an old gray-haired negro, and a prayer which would compare favorably with many a white man’s, several of the sisters “got happy”, which was truly amusing, and I could but laugh, although I should not have. Their exercise was composed mostly of chanting scraps of every hymn they ever heard, in a gay, dancing tune style, with all jerks and hops for variations. Poor ignorant souls. They greedily grasp at the most mysterious dogmas, as their judgment and reasoning faculties have never been developed or cultivated.
Sunday, May 8.—By the blessing of God, I now record that, as far as heard from, our arms have been signally victorious. On Thursday and Friday the enemy were driven off, and the telegram of yesterday from General Lee spoke of our cause as going on prosperously, and with comparatively little loss to us. Grant had been driven back, and 10,000 prisoners taken, but how far he has gone is not yet known. General Lee’s telegram last night was very encouraging; he speaks of having captured two major-generals and killed three brigadiers. We have not yet heard of our casualties, except in one or two instances. We have been dreadfully shocked by the death of Colonel William Randolph, of Clarke County. He fell on the 6th of May. The country has lost no more devoted patriot, the army no more gallant officer, and society no more brilliant member. It was but last Sunday that his sister-in-law, Miss M. S., said to me with natural pride and pleasure: “William Randolph has been promoted; he is now colonel of the Second.” I expressed the pleasure which I then felt; but as she passed out of the room, and my thoughts again turned to the subject, a superstitious horror came over me, and I said to those around me, “This is a fatal honour conferred upon W. R.,” and I could not get rid of the impression. The Second Regiment has invariably lost its field officers. It is one of the most gallant regiments of the Stonewall Brigade, and! has frequently had what is called the post of honour. Colonel Allen, Colonel Botts, Lieutenant-Colonel Lackland, Lieutenant-Colonel Colston, Major Jones, and now Colonel Randolph, have fallen! and Colonel Nadenboush, of the same regiment, has been so mutilated by wounds, as to be obliged to retire from the service.
The fleet upon James River has landed about 30,000 or 40,000 troops. One of their gunboats ran upon a torpedo, which blew it to atoms. We repulsed them near Port Walthall. Yesterday they came with a very strong force upon the Petersburg Railroad. They were too strong for us, and we had to fall back; the enemy consequently took the road, and, of course, injured it very much; but they have fallen back; why, we do not know, unless they have heard of Grant’s failure. The alarm-bell is constantly ringing, making us nervous and anxious. The militia have been called out, and have left the city, but where they have gone I know not. It is strange how little apprehension seems to be felt in the city. Our trust is first in God, and, under Him, in our brave men. At this moment Yankee prisoners are passing by. I do not know where they were captured. Those taken at the battle of “The Wilderness” were sent South. I went to the Monumental Church this morning. Mr. —— read the service, and Mr. Johnston, of Alexandria, preached.
