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

May 2015

Chattanooga, Tuesday, May 2. The sun arose in all its majesty, promising a splendid day. After breakfast Landen and George Spencer were going on top of Lookout. They had a pass for three, and invited me to go along. Having a great desire to visit, I was soon before the officer of the day, thence to Captain Hood, and the request granted. With a loaf of bread and tin cup in my haversack, we started.

Delayed till 8 A. M. waiting for pass to go through picket lines. Two miles brisk walking brought us to the base of the mountain which looked much more formidable there than from camp. We made the ascent on the military road which has been blasted and macadamized by Uncle Sam. It ran zigzag along the east slope of the hill, and not too steep to drive a team quite readily. Patiently we trudged along around massive piles of eternal rocks and past beautiful rustic springs of pure cold water, gushing from solid rocks, partly fixed by the hand of man for the accommodation of man and beast. The road was lined on both sides with heavy foliage of living green, with an occasional opening, through which we could look back on the map-like plat of Chattanooga, with its well-laid camps, and cool our heated brows with the cool refreshing breezes.

Up and up we go, ever and anon we pass a notice by the engineer, giving the elevation above the Tennessee and the distance up to the top. For over two hours we tugged upwards, our enthusiasm somewhat abated by the fatigue, but finally we reached the summit. A sentinel with white gloves and glistening brass, a “true regular” demanded to see our pass. We were now two miles or more from the point which overlooks the town. Here was quite a town called Summer Town with a large tavern, stables, etc. Evidently this was once a great pleasure resort in the summer season for the aristocracy. Here also were extensive hospital buildings erected by the U.S., accommodating I should judge, over 5,000 sick. Also the camp of the Regular Brigade quartered here for over a year.

But time was precious and we pushed on toward the west side of the mountain which is about a mile and a half across, through a heavy growth of timber with a beautiful variety of wild flowers. Before noon we stood on the grounds where Hooker and his men won immortal fame in November, 1863. Directly beneath us we could see the remains of the camp in Lookout Valley. On the further side of the valley was a train of cars leaving Sequatchie Station, looking very diminutive like a child’s plaything. On the parapet we walked around the craggy points towards the Point, passing several heavy lines of rebel earthworks. ‘Tis astounding how men could ever fight on such precipitous rocks. By a most lovely spring gushing over the very brink we seated ourselves in the refreshing shade of a sycamore, and ate our dinner with keen relish.

Now we stood on the veritable point, 1600 feet above high water mark of the Tennessee, 200 feet straight down the rocks. The scene from this place was the grandest I have ever seen, and may be the most extensive I may ever see again. Chattanooga looked very regular and flat, Mission Ridge dwindled down to an apparent flat, and miles beyond it was but one flat ocean of green timber. Off to the east the eye could distinguish four distinct ranges of mountains beyond the Mission Ridge, the last being the obscure Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, undoubtedly sixty miles distant. To the northeast the view was much further, nothing to intercept the vision as far as the naked eye could reach. We could look over into Western Virginia and East Tennessee, and imagine all kinds of things of the human beings scattered along. To the west and north the eye had not as wide a range, the Cumberland Mountains being as high, if not higher, but could easily see Alabama in that way. Five different states of our now almost happy Union from one place. Watered by the creek-like Tennessee River, which made a double slant, to the foot of the mountain, leaving the point of land on the opposite side in the exact shape of a huge foot, hence the name “Moccasin Point”, where Thomas’s batteries were so hotly engaged with Lookout during Bragg’s siege.

Here we found a photograph gallery erected on the jut of a rock—takes pictures of objects on an adjoining point, $6.00 per dozen. He has many very beautiful plates of the mountain scenery, prominent among them is the Lula Falls and Lake about six miles south of the summit; but one day’s furlough would not grant us the pleasure of visiting it, so we commenced the descent in the nearest direction, which appeared but a short distance. For a while we went directly downward through the seam in the rock, then by aid of trees and shrubs we kept up with ourselves. Down, down we went, but yet no bottom, often obliged to rest. An hour’s walk brought us to the bottom, and thankful for it. We wended our way to camp, tired but well satisfied with our excursion.

We reached camp by 5 P. M. Found everything quiet. Nobody mustered out as yet but much talk of it. 18th Ohio Battery and brigade of infantry taken to Dalton to-day by Steedman. I understand he has made several attempts at negotiations with rebel General Wofford, but failed. He is now to resort to strenuous measures.

Tuesday, 2d—Weather pleasant. We started at 6:30 a. m. and marched seventeen miles today. We crossed the Tar river at 10 this morning, and passed through some very fine country this afternoon. There is nothing new.

2nd. Cloudy in the morning. Went to depot for Minnie Newhall. Spent a part of the day at Minnie’s with the girls. The rest of the time at home. Little time to read. Cleveland pictures came.

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his brother, John Quincy

H.Q. 5th Mass. Cav’y
May 2, 1865

Now about my arrest and release, as I presume the whole family will desire the story I will send the facts to you and you can send my letter to the Governor. The subject is too disagreeable and too much of a bore to write many letters about it. Here is the whole story. At three o’clock in the morning of the 16th I received an order from General Ord, dated 13th, placing me “in arrest for neglect of duty in allowing my command to straggle and maraud,” and ordering me to Fort Monroe for trial. I reported at the Fort at five o’clock that afternoon and remained there, apparently utterly forgotten and unnoticed until the 27th. I was well enough satisfied that nothing could come of it, for I knew what my orders were and what had been done by me; but it was both vexatious and annoying. I was, in fact, buried alive and could get no replies to any of my letters or communications. At last tired of waiting, on the 22d I resolved to force the fighting somehow and sent in an application to be allowed to go to Richmond. Not waiting for an answer to that on the 24th I sent in another to be released, and, before I heard from either, on the 26th, General Ord came down to see his family at the Fort and I then requested a personal interview. This I obtained. At last, then, in the thirteenth day of my arrest, I had got my hand in. Whether I played it out or not, you will now judge.

As the result of my interview I was released from arrest and, the same evening, joined the General and his family on his boat to Richmond. General Ord treated me with marked attention and civility, though, of course, I did not refer to any matters of business, and, on getting to Richmond, he at once gave me an order exonerating me from all blame and directing me to resume command of my regiment. This I had n’t the slightest idea of doing under the circumstances, and now the farce began. They had all gone off at half-cock on a parcel of verbal complaints of citizens against my regiment, and now they only had blind wrath to show, and lots of it, but neither facts nor evidence. Meanwhile it was my innings. My course was, not to defend my regiment, but, allowing all they said, simply to demand facts on which to punish officers and men. They had n’t one to give. Gradually a noticeable change took place in my position. I became an ill-used, injured man to whom redress was due. Meanwhile, before my release, an inspection of my regiment, with a view to smashing it and me generally, had been ordered and had taken place the very day before my release. I had the Inspector’s report hunted up at once and submitted to General Ord. The Inspector submitted facts and the General in command asked for orders. That report was at once referred to ME by General Ord to recommend what orders should be given. This grew ludicrous. The next day I sent back the report endorsed, recommending simply that all questions and complaints in relation to the regiment be referred to me for investigation and settlement, and that no future complaints be received, except in writing, and all such be at once referred to me. The same day orders in accordance with my recommendation were issued. I was told to put the regiment in camp wherever I chose, and they promised me that I should n’t be troubled any more. The deliciously ludicrous result was thus arrived at, that, after being under arrest a fortnight, the Inspector’s report on the very facts on which I was to stand a trial was referred to me, and finally the facts themselves sent back to me to do what I saw fit about them. They had gone off at H.Q. on the half-cock and with just the usual result.

The whole difficulty seemed to arise from certain horse-stealing propensities of my men. They stole horses at just the wrong time and place. Meanwhile, in other respects, I must confess they are as hard a pack to manage as any I ever had to handle and a most inveterate set of stragglers and pilferers. They can only understand the sternest discipline and must be punished to enforce discipline in a way I never heard of in my old regiment. I no longer wonder slave-drivers were cruel. I am. I no longer have any bowels of mercy…

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Postscript
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In May orders came for an expedition large enough to crush out all resistance in Texas. Colonel Adams, though reluctantly, determined to remain with his regiment, believing that he owed something to his position and that “it would not do for a Colonel to set the example of resignation in the face of a distant and dangerous expedition.” A large cavalry force, under the command of Sheridan, was to reduce to submission or destroy General Kirby Smith’s army. The regiment prepared for transportation and only awaited final orders, when Colonel Adams’ health again broke down, through exposure, and on June 1st he set out for Quincy. After five days of trying experience he reached that place, much reduced in weight, wretchedly weak, unable to take up any work or project, mentally depressed and quite broken in spirit. For more than a month he remained in this state when a stay at St. Johns and the Isles of Shoals quite restored him. His military career was ended by his discharge, August 1, after an active service of three years, seven months and twelve days. He turned to civil occupations, practically beginning life anew. The rest is characteristically related in the “Autobiography.”

Tuesday, May 2d, 1865.

While praying for the return of those who have fought so nobly for us, how I have dreaded their first days at home! Since the boys died, I have constantly thought of what pain it would bring to see their comrades return without them — to see families reunited, and know that ours never could be again, save in heaven. Last Saturday, the 29th of April, seven hundred and fifty paroled Louisianians from Lee’s army were brought here — the sole survivors of ten regiments who left four years ago so full of hope and determination. On the 29th of April, 1861, George left New Orleans with his regiment. On the fourth anniversary of that day, they came back; but George and Gibbes have long been lying in their graves. . . .

Camden, S. C., May 2, 1865.—Since we left Chester nothing but solitude, nothing but tall blackened chimneys, to show that any man has ever trod this road before. This is Sherman’s track. It is hard not to curse him. I wept incessantly at first. The roses of the gardens are already hiding the ruins. My husband said Nature is a wonderful renovator. He tried to say something else and then I shut my eyes and made a vow that if we were a crushed people, crushed by weight, I would never be a whimpering, pining slave.

We heard loud explosions of gunpowder in the direction of Camden. Destroyers were at it there. Met William Walker, whom Mr. Preston left in charge of a car-load of his valuables. General Preston was hardly out of sight before poor helpless William had to stand by and see the car plundered. “My dear Missis! they have cleaned me out, nothing left,” moaned William the faithful. We have nine armed couriers with us. Can they protect us?

Bade adieu to the staff at Chester. No general ever had so remarkable a staff, so accomplished, so agreeable, so well bred, and, I must say, so handsome, and can add so brave and efficient.

Alexandria, Va., May 1, 1865.

Dear Hannah, — We arrived here last Thursday and are now encamped about two miles from the city. We have quite a pretty camping ground on a hillside, directly south of Fairfax Seminary, and in sight of the different forts. We are on a Mr. Fowle’s place, whose house is quite a pretty one, more like our modern country residences around Boston than any I have seen.

We had quite a pleasant passage up from City Point on the steamer Montauk, a propeller. We had only our regiment on board, all of whom behaved themselves and gave us no trouble. We had the most delightful weather. I was quite unwell all the way, and until yesterday did not feel like myself again. I had a sort of bilious fever, something like what I had three years ago at Yorktown. I am perfectly well now.

In regard to losing my valise, I will tell you all I know. When I got off the cars at Meade’s Station, I gave my valise and bedding to an ambulance driver to take to General Willcox’s headquarters at Petersburg. When I sent for my things, my valise was not to be found, and no one knew where it was. The first thing I heard of it, was a note from a captain in the 1st Massachusetts Cavalry, saying that it had been picked up in the woods near City Point by some of his men, rifled of its contents. He has since sent it to me. My scarf-pins were taken, amongst other things.

I spent part of Sunday in Washington with Father. He starts for home this morning.

From all that I can learn, we shall be mustered out of service in a few weeks. We shall probably remain here until that takes place.

I saw Lane Brandon, one of my classmates, among those prisoners captured with Ewell. I think I did not write you of this. He seemed quite pleasant although rather blue. . . .

We are having a cold chilly day here.

Johnny Hayden came to see me day before yesterday. He is stationed at Alexandria.

Near Davis’ Cross Roads, five miles north of Tar river.

May 1, 1865, 4:30 p.m.

We are 35 miles from Raleigh to-night, which makes 24 miles to-day over Tar river, which is here about 50 yards wide and runs through a fine rolling, high country. The march was splendidly conducted, no straggling, and the peace orders were faithfully lived up to. It seems like the early days of my soldiering to see the citizens all at home, their horses and mules in the stables, and gardens full of vegetables passed untouched. When a man can pass an onion bed without going for them, and they did a number of them to-day, no one need talk to me of total depravity. The soldier goes more on onions than any other luxury. The citizens have all “war’s over” news, and seem to feel good over it. At three different places there were groups of very healthy looking young ladies, well dressed, by the roadside, waving their handkerchiefs at us, and one told the boys she wished them to come back after they were mustered out, for “you have killed all our young men off.” The virtuous indignation welled up in my bosom like a new strike of oil. I’ll venture that these same women coaxed their beaux off to the war, and now that “Yank” is ahead, they shake their handkerchiefs at us and cry, “bully Yanks.” The devil take them and he’ll be sure to do it. You have heard of woodticks? The man who don’t catch his pint a day is in awful luck. They have a tick picking twice a day in this country, regularly as eating. Saw a wild turnip in bloom to-day.

Chattanooga, Monday, May 1. May Day, and I begin another book in good health and splendid spirits. Went out on brigade drill this morning 8 A. M. Four horse batteries drilled under Major Mendenhall, our chief. Maneuvered on the nice green flat south of Fort Phelps. The loud voices of command and the clamor of the bugles, attracted many spectators. The drill passed off pleasantly and instructive. The 6th Battery under Lieutenant Sweet did as well as the best. Reached camp by dinner time.

Never was our camp fuller of grape-vine rumors than now, and I never knew soldiers under greater excitement. The vague orders of the War Department in relation to reducing expenses and mustering out the army, gives all the ground of believing in a speedy discharge, consequently a hundred different speculations exist. I don’t feel any peculiar exhilaration, but like the rest, I cannot stay long in a place but go about to hear and talk. Ed Hayes and I procured a section of the mine laid in bottom of the Tennessee River to Bridgeport during Bragg’s siege, this afternoon. Quite a curiosity.

Monday, 1st—Our corps, the Seventeenth, took up the line of march at 6 a. m. and marched fifteen miles, going into bivouac at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. No foraging parties are allowed on this march, and no railroad or any kind of property is to be destroyed. The army, by divisions, is to go into bivouac when convenient about 3 p. m. each day, and about three miles apart, so that the trains and artillery can get into their corrals before dark. We passed through Forestville and Wake Forest, towns a mile apart, at about noon today. We have good roads and fine weather for marching.