Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

February 2015

February 8.—More woe and sorrow in store for us! The Egyptian will not let us go! Our commissioners have returned unsuccessful! No peace for us without going back to the Union!

 

“Unite! how will you gather up

The fragments of our broken laws?

Their hands have filled the bitter cup

Of hate; the arm of vengeance draws

Its sword, with a convulsive start,

To smite submission to the heart.

 

Reunion! yes, when you can raise

Pale thousands from their sleep of death;

When light from sightless eyes shall blaze,

And rotting forms rejoice in breath;

When blood, that flecked a hundred plains,

Shall leap again through living veins.

 

Submit! to wrongs that needs must send

A shudder through a tyrant’s frame?

To deeds of reeking crime that blend

Their lurid glare, beclouding fame?

Connive at outrage, shame and guilt?

Ignore the blood that freemen spilt?

 

No! Heaven! like a thunder shout,

Burst from each clotted battle plain,

From every wound mouth gushes out,

A curse that throbs through every vein,

Of timid caitiff who would frame

That fabric of eternal shame!”

 

What castle-building we have had in the last few days! The thought of such a thing as our enemy asking us back to the Union never once entered our heads. I really did think that they had come to their senses, and resolved to let us go. Well,

 

“We’ll but to prouder pitch wind up our souls,”

 

and commence again.

 

Wednesday, 8th—Our division started out on the railroad at 7 o’clock this morning and destroyed about ten miles of track. We then returned to camp for the rest of the day and night. All is quiet in front.

Nashville, Wednesday, Feb. 8. “Weather still continues cold. Orderly asked me to-day if I was fit for duty. I told him I was too weak for much duty, but would do all I could. Feel quite bad to-night. Bones and head ache, could eat but little supper. Wrote several letters.

February 8th. While everything is quiet with us, time goes on. This is my birthday, twenty years old. Weather cold at this time.

8th. Wednesday. Weather rather mild. Good sleighing. Wrote home. Shoveled the snow from the parade ground. Read in National Magazine. In evening attended school. Interesting time. Capt. Easton called to inquire into certain reports he had heard circulated by me. We had a plain talk. Sorry the thing came up.

February 8th.—Rained all day yesterday—slush—bright this morning and cool—ground still covered with snow. It is reported by Gen. Lee that the losses on both sides on Monday were light, but the enemy have established themselves on Hatcher’s Run, and intrenched; still menacing the South Side Railroad. It is also said fighting was going on yesterday afternoon, when the dreadful snow and sleet were enough to subdue an army!

We have nothing from Charleston or Branchville, but the wires are said to be working to Augusta.

A deficiency of between $300,000,000 and $400,000,000 has been discovered in the amount of our indebtedness! the present Secretary being led into the error by the estimates of his predecessor, Memminger. Congress is elaborating a bill, increasing taxation 100 per cent! An acquaintance, who has 16 acres near the city, says he will sell, to escape a tax of $5000.

Senator Brown, of Mississippi, has introduced a resolution for the employment of 200,000 negroes, giving them their freedom.

Gen. Kemper is strongly recommended as Assistant Secretary of War.

The wounded are still coming in from the fight beyond Petersburg. Horrible weather, yesterday, for fighting—and yet it is said much of it was done.

Vice-President Stephens was in the department to-day. He has a ghostly appearance. He is announced to speak in Richmond to-morrow; but I believe he starts for Georgia to-day. He may publish a letter. He had a long interview with Judge Campbell—with locked doors.

Twelve M. The sun is melting the snow rapidly.

The Legislature of Virginia has passed resolutions in favor of the restoration of Gen. J. E. Johnston to a command. What will the President do, after saying he should never have another command?

Intelligence was received to-day of the sudden death of Brig.Gen. Winder, in Georgia; from apoplexy, it is supposed. He was in command of the prisons, with his staff of “Plug Uglies” around him, and Cashmeyer, their sutler.

“Headquarters Army Of Northern Virginia,

“February 6th, 1865.

“General S. Cooper.

“The enemy moved in strong force yesterday to Hatcher’s Run. Part of his infantry, with Gregg’s cavalry, crossed and proceeded on the Vaughan Road—the infantry to Cattail Creek, the cavalry to Dinwiddie Court House, when its advance encountered a portion of our cavalry, and retreated.

“In the afternoon, parts of Hill’s and Gordon’s troops demonstrated against the enemy on the left of Hatcher’s Run, near Armstrong’s Mill. Finding him intrenched, they were withdrawn after dark. During the night, the force that had advanced beyond the creek retired to it, and were reported to be recrossing.

“This morning, Pegram’s division moved down the right bank of the creek to reconnoiter, when it was vigorously attacked. The battle was obstinately contested several hours, but Gen. Pegram being killed while bravely encouraging his men, and Col. Hoffman wounded, some confusion occurred, and the division was pressed back to its original position. Evans’s division, ordered by Gen. Gordon to support Pegram’s, charged the enemy and forced him back, but was, in turn, compelled to retire. Mahone’s division arriving, the enemy was driven rapidly to his defenses on Hatcher’s Run.

“Our loss is reported to be small; that of the enemy not supposed great.

“R. E. Lee.”

February 8.—I feel more and more anxious about Richmond. I can’t believe that it will be given up; yet so many persons are doubtful that it makes me very unhappy. I can’t keep a regular diary now because I do not like to write all that I feel and hear. I am constantly expecting the blessing of God in a way that we know not. I believe that all of our difficulties are to be overruled for good. A croaker accuses me of expecting a miracle to be wrought in our favour, which I do not; but we have been so often led on in a manner so wonderful, that we have no right to doubt the mercy of God towards us. Our troops, too, are standing np under such hardships and trials, which require the most sublime moral as well as personal courage to endure, that I cannot avoid expecting a blessing upon them!

Sherman moves on in his desolating path. Oh for men to oppose and crush him!

In the midst of our trials, Hymen still comes in to assert his claims, and to amuse and interest us. We have lately seen our beautiful young friend, M. G., led to his altar; and two of our young office associates are bidding us farewell for the same sacrifice. One of them, Miss T. W., has sat by my side for more than a year, with her bright face and sweet manners. She will be a real loss to me, but I caunot find it in my heart to regret that she will bless with her sweetness one of our brave Confederate officers.

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father

Boston, February 7, 1865

Reconstruction is looming rapidly up here and public opinion in New England stands in great need of guidance. The old Puritan vindictiveness is beginning to stick out strongly. Among Sumner’s friends I should expect this, but I find it among those not his friends. Dana, Hoar and many others profess doctrines which, if they are carried out, will make an aggravated Vendee, Hungary or Poland of the South and will ruin us as sure as shooting. I find myself and my doctrines, of yielding any terms involving simply property and life but not principle, for the sake of good feeling after Peace, in a sad minority. I know that the mass of the people are neither vindictive nor lawyers and I am sure that they will go with me; but they’ve got to sweep over all the talent and standing of Massachusetts. On that point will Charles Sumner meet shipwreck, and it will be well if many better men do not go with him. However, people seem to me as ugly and vindictive as possible. They really don’t want peace, unless with it comes the hangman. They will insist upon it that this mighty revolution was, after all, only a murderous riot and that the police court and the constable are just about what it needs to quiet it. To this I can’t assent, but public opinion is floating round very loose. I wish you were here to influence. Seward, I think, can be depended upon to be moderate, but the New England influences are all against him. He needs you in Massachusetts more than in London, and I think he can hardly fail to see that himself. If this be so, the time of your return is not far distant.

The only item since my last has been the episode of the Peace Commissioners, an episode which has met with no favor in these parts, in fact it seems to have met with universal condemnation. To this I cannot agree. I regard it as a step forward, an indispensable first step which had to be taken. As for dignity, I do not look to President Lincoln for that. I do look to him for honesty and shrewdness and I see no evidence that in this matter he has been wanting in these respects. . . .

Tuesday, 7th—We had another all day, cold, drizzling rain. We left our bivouac at 7 o’clock and after marching fourteen miles stopped for the night. With every mile the road got better as we moved upon higher ground, and the forage also became more plentiful. Just after we had stacked arms to go into bivouac, our regiment was ordered to fall in again. We marched out on the Augusta and Charleston railroad to burn the bridge over the Edisto river, but the pickets, on hearing our approach, for it was too dark to see anything, all hastened across the bridge and set fire to it themselves. This saved us the trouble and we went back, reaching our bivouac about midnight, after marching in all about ten miles.

Nashville, Tuesday, Feb. 7. The ground is covered with two inches of snow and everything frozen hard, very cold. Feel very well except a severe cold that has been on me for a week. Our boys are doing guard duty with muskets in town, that they drew the day I left. Twelve men go to town every day. They do it with ill grace. Half of them return to camp ere their tour is half out.