March 9th. All is quiet. Our regiment voted for governor today. Ballots sealed in envelopes, to be opened in Connecticut on the day of election. Commissioners here to receive the ballots. We hope our war governor, Buckingham, will be re-elected.
March 2015
March 9th.—Rained all night; clearing away this morning. Warm. Nothing positive from Sherman, Grant, or Sheridan. The enemy’s papers say Gen. Early and 18,000 men were captured—which is nonsense.
Yesterday the Senate passed the Negro troops bill—Mr. Hunter voting for it under instructions.
The enemy did capture or destroy the tobacco sent to Fredericksburg by the speculators to exchange for bacon—and 31 cars were burned. No one regrets this, so far as the speculators are concerned.
Letters from North Carolina state that the country is swarming with deserters—perhaps many supposed to be deserters are furloughed soldiers just exchanged. It is stated that there are 800 in Randolph County, committing depredations on the rich farmers, etc.; and that the quartermaster and commissary stores at Greensborough are threatened.
Meal is selling at $2 per pound, or $100 per bushel, to-day. Bacon, $13 per pound.
Two P.M. Cloudy, and prospect of more rain. It is quite warm.
A great many officers are here on leave from Lee’s army—all operations being, probably, interdicted by the mud and swollen streams. Sheridan failed to cross to the south side of James River, it being certainly his intention to cross and form a junction with Grant, cutting the Danville and South Side Roads on his way.
I saw Mr. Benjamin to-day without his usual smile. He is not at ease. The country demands a change of men in the cabinet, and he is the most obnoxious of all.
Again, there is a rumor of peace negotiations. All men know that no peace can be negotiated except for reconstruction—and, I suppose, emancipation.
Colonel Lyon’s Letters.
Huntsville, Ala., March 8, 1865.—We are in fine spirits today, for we have just heard that Sheridan has cleaned out Early in the Shenandoah valley, capturing him and nearly his whole army. We all believe this and rejoice, for it is by such blows as these, and these only, that this war will be ended.
I attended a review of the 4th Corps yesterday. There were 6,000 or 7,000 troops in line and they made a fine appearance. There are no signs of any movement of troops here yet. About 20,000 lie around here doing little or nothing.
Five miles north of Laurenburg, N. C., Laurel Hill,
March 8, 1865.
One hundred and twelve miles of steady rain, and the best country since we left Central Georgia. Looks real Northern like. Small farms and nice white, tidy dwellings. Wheat fields look very well. In the cornfields rows are five feet apart, and one stalk the size of a candle, in a hill. But at every house there were from 200 to 1,000 bushels of corn and an abundance of fodder. Sherman said yesterday that our campaign is over, and to-day Howard issued an order that all foraging for provisions shall cease, there being enough rations in the wagons to last us through. I dreamed last night of being at home on leave and seeing you all, and starting back to the army again. Only 90 miles yet to mail.
Chattanooga, Wednesday, March 8. Another dark day with considerable rain but not enough to keep us within doors. Have been shoveling hard all day leveling off stable grounds and am tired. Will say “no mail” and then good-night.
Wednesday, 8th—We started at 9 a. m. and marched seventeen miles, going into camp for the night at Floral College, North Carolina. It rained all day and the roads became very muddy. The First Brigade on guard with the supply trains is in camp about six miles in the rear. We entered the state of North Carolina about 10 a. m. and received orders that there should be no burning of property; that any soldier caught in the act of starting a fire should be shot on the spot.[1]
[1] This was a proper order, for the war was about over, and the order was generally respected.—A. G. D.
8th. In advance of train. Turned towards the river. Went by Arrington Station to New Market at the junction of the Tye and James rivers. Met the 1st Div. which went up the river from Charlottesville. Rainy night.
March 8th.—Damp and foggy. We have no military news yet—9 a.m.
President Lincoln’s short inaugural message, or homily, or sermon, has been received. It is filled with texts from the Bible. He says both sides pray to the same God for aid—one upholding and the other destroying African slavery. If slavery be an offense,— and woe shall fall upon those by whom offenses come,—perhaps not only all the slaves will be lost, but all the accumulated products of their labor be swept away. In short, he “quotes Scripture for the deed” quite as fluently as our President; and since both Presidents resort to religious justification, it may be feared the war is about to assume a more sanguinary aspect and a more cruel nature than ever before. God help us! The history of man, even in the Bible, is but a series of bloody wars. It must be thus to make us appreciate the blessings of peace, and to bow in humble adoration of the great Father of all. The Garden of Eden could not yield contentment to man, nor heaven satisfy all the angels.
It is said the enemy have left Fredericksburg—bought all the tobacco, I suppose.
To-day the State made distribution in this city of cotton cloth, three yards to each member of a family, at $5.50 for 7-8 and $6.25 for 4-4 width. The State paid about $3 per yard for it, and the profits make a portion of its revenue, or, perhaps, the revenue of its officers and agents. Nevertheless, there was a large crowd, and one man fainted. The shops sell at $12 to $15 per yard.
Raining at 12 M. All quiet below.
Another report of the defeat of Sherman is current to-day, and believed by many.
March 8th.—Colonel Childs came with a letter from my husband and a newspaper containing a full account of Sherman’s cold-blooded brutality in Columbia. Then we walked three miles to return the call of my benefactress, Mrs. McDaniel. They were kind and hospitable at her house, but my heart was like lead; my head ached, and my legs were worse than my head, and then I had a nervous chill. So I came home, went to bed and stayed there until the Fants brought me a letter saying my husband would be here today. Then I got up and made ready to give him a cheerful reception. Soon a man called, Troy by name, the same who kept the little corner shop so near my house in Columbia, and of whom we bought things so often. We had fraternized. He now shook hands with me and looked in my face pitifully. We seemed to have been friends all our lives. He says they stopped the fire at the Methodist College, perhaps to save old Mr. McCartha’s house. Mr. Sheriff Dent, being burned out, took refuge in our house. He contrived to find favor in Yankee eyes. Troy relates that a Yankee officer snatched a watch from Mrs. McCord’s bosom. The soldiers tore the bundles of clothes that the poor wretches tried to save from their burning homes, and dashed them back into the flames. They meant to make a clean sweep. They were howling round the fires like demons, these Yankees in their joy and triumph at our destruction. Well, we have given them a big scare and kept them miserable for four years—the little handful of us.
A woman we met on the street stopped to tell us a painful coincidence. A general was married but he could not stay at home very long after the wedding. When his baby was born they telegraphed him, and he sent back a rejoicing answer with an inquiry, “Is it a boy or a girl?” He was killed before he got the reply. Was it not sad? His poor young wife says, “He did not live to hear that his son lived.” The kind woman added, sorrowfully, “Died and did not know the secret of his child.” “Let us hope it will be a Methodist,” said Isabella, the irrepressible.
At the venison feast Isabella heard a good word for me and one for General Chesnut’s air of distinction, a thing people can not give themselves, try as ever they may. Lord Byron says, Everybody knows a gentleman when he sees one, and nobody can tell what it is that makes a gentleman. He knows the thing, but he can’t describe it. Now there are some French words that can not be translated, and we all know the thing they mean—gracieuse and svelte, for instance, as applied to a woman. Not that anything was said of me like that—far from it. I am fair, fat, forty, and jolly, and in my unbroken jollity, as far as they know, they found my charm. “You see, she doesn’t howl; she doesn’t cry; she never, never tells anybody about what she was used to at home and what she has lost.” High praise, and I intend to try and deserve it ever after.
Goodwin’s Mills, 16 miles northwest of Cheraw,
March 7, 1865.
About 11 miles to-day and in camp at noon. The 14th and 20th had come down and cross at Cheraw. We are waiting on them. That expedition to Florence was a failure. Our men got the town but were driven out before they destroyed a thing. I am inclined to think the officers did not do their whole duty. They should have succeeded or lost more blood. Our loss amounted to nothing. One of the best foraging days of the whole trip. Our foragers to-day captured some negroes and horses. The negroes say they were running them over here to get away from General “Schofield’s company.” We are about on the State line now, and will leave S. C. to-morrow. I think she has her “rights” now. I don’t hate her any more.
