Sunday, August 7. — The navy officers and the old army residents moved downstairs. Ensign Porter gave me his bedstead, and we moved upstairs to their old rooms. We formed messes and tried to regulate things so as to live decently. Everything so far has been in confusion. No decent man could get anything to eat, and the place has been a perfect pig-stye. Colonel Marshall has now taken command with Charlie Amory as his assistant adjutant-general and Captain Fay as commissary. We had nine officers in our mess, — Colonel Marshall, Lieutenant Colonel Buffum, Major Filler, Captain Fay, Captain Amory, Lieutenant Sterling, Captain Stuart, Colonel White, 31st Maine. We all have a room together. Bedbugs tormented me as usual.
August 2014
Aug. 7th. Have been working on papers; in the same position. Almost starved to death, but fun if the boys have any grub on hand.
Colonel Lyon’s Letters.
Decatur, Ala., Sun., Aug. 7, 1864.—I am on an expedition. I left Claysville yesterday morning, reached Huntsville last night, and came here this morning. I rode part of the way to Woodville in an ambulance and part of the way on horseback. My trip is doing me lots of good. Captain Hart is with me.
The 32d Wisconsin (Colonel Howe’s regiment), which has been here several months, left two or three days since for the front . Colonel Howe has resigned. I have been here with General Granger all the morning. He told me that our brigade, before we came down here, was ordered to the front and the order was countermanded. There seems to be no prospect now of our moving anywhere very soon. I go back to Huntsville tonight and shall probably go to Whitesburg (10 miles) tomorrow. I thought some of going to Nashville, but found I could transact all my business here and was glad to get rid of the trip.
August 7th. A very hot morning. Early in the Potomac River for a good swim. Nothing like it. At the Quartermaster’s I drew an army hat. The first I ever had. They are worn by the western boys. Much better than caps. Trying to keep cool during this hot day. Wrote a few letters. Mountains on all sides. Turkey buzzards in the air.
Etowah Bridge, Sunday, Aug. 7. Very heavy rains last night, river raised two feet this morning in a very few hours. Company inspection at 7 A. M. Took sick man’s team to graze. Wrote letters in the afternoon. Very warm.
by John Beauchamp Jones
AUGUST 7TH.—Hot and dry; but heavy rains in other parts of the State.
The 1st Army Corps moved through the city last night, via the Central and Fredericksburg Railroads, and this morning Fitzhugh Lee’s cavalry corps is passing in the same direction—9 A.M.
All this indicates a transferrence of the scene of operations nearer the enemy’s country—the relief ofRichmond—the failure of Grant’s MAD BULL campaign, prompted by President Lincoln, who is no general.
Honor to Lee!—the savior of his country! and the noble band of heroes whom he has led to victory!—but first to God.
Saturday, August 6th.
Four hundred men from the regiment were ordered on fatigue on the line of the Second Corps, and were employed to change a mortar battery into a gun battery. While wandering around through a camp near our own, I met Dr. Hoyt, whom I knew in Canandaigua, N. Y., when I was a law student in that village, and who is Surgeon of the 126th and now attached to one of the Division hospitals of the Second Corps. Noticing my generally dilapidated appearance and deliberate movements, he inquired what the matter was, and upon my telling him of my experience at City Point, and of one or two similar though less profound and protracted fainting spells, he said that I had undoubtedly had a light or partial sunstroke, and advised me to be very careful about exposing myself to heat or exertion, and thought I had better at once come to his hospital where he would have me admitted and could himself treat me. This was the first time that I had received any intimation that I was a victim of sun-stroke, and no suspicion of it had ever entered my mind for I had supposed that such a visitation meant instant death, having once seen a man fall forward out of the ranks and never move after he struck the ground and been informed that it was a case of sun-stroke, but from the symptoms which the doctor mentioned I was impressed with the possible accuracy of his diagnosis. However, I declined his kind offer to take me under his care and went back to camp.
August 6th.—Archer came, a classmate of my husband’s at Princeton; they called him Sally Archer then, he was so girlish and pretty. No trace of feminine beauty about this grim soldier now. He has a hard face, black-bearded and sallow, with the saddest black eyes. His hands are small, white, and well-shaped; his manners quiet. He is abstracted and weary-looking, his mind and body having been deadened by long imprisonment. He seemed glad to be here, and James Chesnut was charmed. “Dear Sally Archer,” he calls him cheerily, and the other responds in a far-off, faded kind of way.
Hood and Archer were given the two Texas regiments at the beginning of the war. They were colonels and Wigfall was their general. Archer’s comments on Hood are: “He does not compare intellectually with General Johnston, who is decidedly a man of culture and literary attainments, with much experience in military matters. Hood, however, has youth and energy to help counterbalance all this. He has a simple-minded directness of purpose always. He is awfully shy, and he has suffered terribly, but then he has had consolations—such a rapid rise in his profession, and then his luck to be engaged to the beautiful Miss ——.”
They tried Archer again and again on the heated controversy of the day, but he stuck to his text. Joe Johnston is a fine military critic, a capital writer, an accomplished soldier, as brave as Caesar in his own person, but cautious to a fault in manipulating an army. Hood has all the dash and fire of a reckless young soldier, and his Texans would follow him to the death. Too much caution might be followed easily by too much headlong rush. That is where the swing-back of the pendulum might ruin us.
August 6.—The prisoners still continue to come in. A few days ago I saw about sixty in a crowd, and a more deplorable sight I never beheld; they were barefooted and bareheaded.
Mr. Holt, who has charge of the linen-room, gave them all the hats and shoes he could collect.
We sent them about two gallons of nice soup and what bread we could procure. Many of the men told me they would do without, and give their share to the prisoners. It would be some time before they could get food cooked at the prison.
On looking at these poor creatures, I thought what a pity it was that the men in Washington could not be made to take their places; if this was done, I think we should have peace.
A few days ago I visited the wounded prisoners, in company with Mrs. Bigby and Mrs. Berry. In one of the wards nearly all were men from the southern states— Kentucky, Tennessee, North Alabama, and North Mississippi, were there represented. I have far less respect for these men than I have for a real Yankee. To me it has always been a mystery how any man born on southern soil can have any affinity with the enemy.
We had a little boy with us, about two years old, whom the men tried to get to speak to them, but he would not go near them. One of them said he thought it strange. I told him I did not, as instinct had taught the child who its worst enemies were. He said, “Why, we never hurt children!” I answered, that burning their homes and destroying their food was not hurting them! Many of them answered, “We never do these things, and would shoot a man as soon as you would, who would do so.” I asked them if any one had been shot for setting fire to Palmetto? They answered no; they could not find out who had done it. I told them that I expected they never would.
They told us a good deal about how well the women of Georgia had treated them; they said they had given them food, and been very kind in every way. At this they need not feel at all flattered, as doubtless news had reached those ladies of the inhumanity with which many had been treated in North Georgia, and they thought it but wisdom, when in the lion’s jaw, to extricate themselves as easily as possible.
I know of many in this place who, as soon as they heard of the enemy coming, went to work to cook for them. We all know that this was not for love.
There was a Captain Shortz of Iowa, who had one of his hands cut off, and the other badly wounded. He was a pitiful sight. I told him I had more sympathy for him than I had for our own men. He asked me why. I answered, his conscience could not be at rest, like theirs. He said that was a difference of opinion. All the men there told us the same old story—they were fighting for the Union.
In another ward one of them, from New York, but a native of Cornwall, England, was nursing. I told him I was perfectly astonished to see one of his nation aiding the oppressor. He answered, that he was ashamed of his native country for sympathizing with us as it had done. He was an abolitionist, and the first I had met.
He said the main thing he disliked in being a prisoner was, that his time had expired, and had he been free he would have been home. I asked him if all went home when their time was up. He said yes; there was nothing for them to do, as they had three reserves, and we had only been fighting the first.
We have certainly a bright prospect ahead of us, if we have the other two reserves yet to fight!
I think the Federal government very inhuman. Why do they not send all the reserves to fight us at once, and not have their men killed by piecemeal, as they are now doing? The prisoners, one and all, told us that they could not be better treated.
Some of our wounded have died lately. Mr. Hull, a fine-looking lad, was one. I think he was a member of Ross’s Texas Cavalry. His brother was with him. A lieutenant, whose name I have forgotten, told me that Captain Haily is really killed. This gentleman was a particular friend of Captain H.; they had been school-boys together. He says a nobler or better man never lived.
Knives, forks, and spoons are still scarce. I do dislike to see the men eat, as many are compelled to eat, with their fingers. Some few have knives and forks of their own. We have cups, plates, bowls, and pitchers made at a factory near; they are common brown earthen-ware, but we are glad to get them.
We have heard that Mobile has been attacked in reality this time. I shall be anxious till I hear from there.
I have made the acquaintance of an excellent family by the name of Taylor, refugees from the northern portion of this state. A member of their family died lately. He had been captured some time ago, at one of the battles in Virginia. His mother, hearing that he was in the last stage of consumption, sent a letter by flag of truce to Stanton, or some of the other leading men of the North, stating his case, and begging his release—which request was granted. He came home in a dying condition; but it was a great consolation to both himself and family to breathe his last amid the endearments of home. I went to see him, but he was too far gone to speak to me.
Saturday, 6th—It is warm and pleasant again. This is general scrub-day for all the hospitals; the floors are scrubbed, clean sheets and pillow slips put on the cots, and clean underclothes are dealt out for the sick.
