Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes

Camp 3, Shady Spring, Tuesday, April 29, 1862. — Rain fell at intervals last night; falling in a “drizzling manner” this morning. Colonel Scammon says we have rifled muskets at Gauley. If good long-range pieces, this is good. We must have pieces that will carry half a mile, or we shall never hit these fellows in western Virginia. Sent Lieutenant Bottsford with Company C sixteen miles after Foley’s bushwhackers.

Monday, 28.— A fine, warm spring day. Drills as usual. . . . . Four of Company I, a sergeant, two corporals, and one private, left on Sunday to forage. They have not returned. Their leave of absence extended a few hours — not to [be] longer than the evening dress parade. They stayed last night with two of Company B near Flat Top and in the morning separated from the Company B men saying they would not return until they got something, but would be in by the Monday dress parade “which period has now expired.” I much fear that they are taken. Sergeant Abbott’s party of scouts were fired on last evening; “nobody hurt.” We must break up the gang (Foley’s) near Flat Top before we shall be rid of them.

Camp Number 3, Shady Spring, nine miles’ march from Raleigh. Sunday, April 27. — A shower during the night; clear and beautiful again this morning. Scrubbed all over; arrayed in the glories of clean duds!

Six fugitives from Wyoming [County] came in today. Major Comly returned. No enemy at the point where expected. Expedition a “water-haul.”

Camp Number 2, near Raleigh, Virginia, Saturday, April 26, 1862. — The sky is still overcast. We shall move on five miles today if it clears up.

At General Beckley’s residence are the females of three families. Mrs. Beckley and all cried when we left. One young lady, Miss Duncan, has a lover in Company F; Miss Kieffer, in hospital staff, and all the other damsels in the like category. They all speak of our regiment as such fine men! We burned all their rails! Will pay for them if General Beckley is discharged.

At 10 o’clock marched to Shady Spring; camped on a fine sandy piece of ground belonging to Dr. McNutt. The Secesh burned the dwelling, the doctor being a Union man. Floyd camped here also. A large spring gives the name to the place. The water gushes out copiously, runs on the surface a few rods and runs again into the earth. The grass is starting. The horses of the cavalry were turned loose on it and played their liveliest antics. The sun came out bright, a clear, bracing breeze blowing. Altogether a fine afternoon and a happy time.

Friday, April 25. Camp Number 2, Price’s Farm, four miles. — Rained in torrents all night. The windows of heaven were indeed opened. By midnight the streams we crossed with teams yesterday swum a courier’s horse. At 7:30 this morning they were impassable — swollen to rushing rivers. About seven this morning rain ceased to fall.

Received orders last evening to send party to New River to crush one hundred and twenty-five Rebels who crossed Monday evening. In view of the storm, order countermanded this A. M. Hereafter the camps of this detachment will be known by their number. This is Number 2. Men catch fish this morning — a species of chub. We have a corps of scouts organized, Sergeant Abbott commanding, composed chiefly of citizens — six or eight citizens. Names: Russell G. French, Mercer County farmer, and Thos. L. Bragg, Wm. C. Richmond, Maxwell, and Simpkins, all of Raleigh.

Prepared during the afternoon to send four companies, A, E, G, and H, to the junction of New River and Bluestone to “bag” (favorite phrase with officers) a party of one hundred and twenty-five Rebels supposed to be there on this side, shut in by the high water. They left in the night under Major Comly, Dr. Webb accompanying. Had a dress parade and a spirited little drill after it. The sun set bathing the western sky and its fleecy clouds in crimson. Said to indicate fair weather. I hope so. The streams still too high to be crossed.

Price’s Farm, four miles south of Raleigh, Virginia, April 24, 1862. Thursday. — Left camp at Beckley’s at 10:30 A. M. with Twenty-third, a section of McMullen’s Battery under Lieutenant Crome, twenty horse under Captain Gilmore and his first lieutenant, Abraham. Reached here at 1.30 P. M. A short march but crossed two streams somewhat difficult. Broke one whiffletree. All right, with this exception. Camp on fine ground, sandy, rolling and near to Beaver Creek. Floyd camped here on his retreat from Cotton Hill. The men carried their knapsacks; shall try to accustom them to it by easy marches at first. They are in fine spirits; looked well.

A hostile feeling exists toward the Twenty-third by the Thirtieth. Had a talk with Colonel Jones, Major Hildt, and Colonel Ewing. All agree that Major Comly and myself have treated them well, but the company officers of the Twenty-third have not behaved fraternally towards them. The immediate trouble now is some defilement of the quarters we left for the Thirtieth in Raleigh. This must be looked into and punished if possible.

This is one of the finest camping spots I have seen. Soil sandy, surface undulating, in the forks of two beautiful mountain streams; space enough for a brigade and very defensible. It began to rain within half an hour after our tents were pitched and was “falling weather” (west Virginia phrase for rainy weather) the rest of the day. This is the sixth day of falling weather, with only a few streaks of sunshine between.

Camp South Of Raleigh, Virginia, April 22, 1862.

Dear Uncle: — The ugly chap on the enclosed bill is Governor Letcher of Virginia. He is entitled to our lasting gratitude. He is doing more for us in this State than any two brigadiers I can think of. He has in all the counties, not occupied by our troops, little squads of volunteers busily engaged in hunting up and “squadding in,” as they call it, all persons capable of military duty. Thousands who wish to escape this draft are now hiding in the mountains or seeking refuge in our lines. Meantime the rascals are plundering and burning in all directions, making friends for the Union wherever they go. The defeat of the enemy in eastern Virginia sends this cobhouse tumbling very fast.

We left Raleigh last week and have been struggling against storms and freshets ever since. Today it has snowed, rained, sleeted, and turned off bright but gusty a dozen times. Camp muddy, tents wet, but all glad to be started.

I have for the present an independent command of the Twenty-third Regiment, a section of McMullen’s Battery, and a small body of horse. We are the advance of Fremont’s column. We are directed to move by “easy marches” forward south. The design being, I suppose, to overtake us in force by the time we meet any considerable body of the enemy. We meet and hear of small bodies of enemy now constantly, but as yet nothing capable of serious resistance.

I see that Buckland’s Seventy-second was in the great battle at Pittsburg. Glad they are not reported as sharing the disgrace which seems to attach to some of the other new regiments. There was shocking neglect there, I should guess. Generals, not the regiments, ought to be disgraced. A sudden surprise by a great army with cavalry and artillery can’t be had without gross negligence. The regiments surprised ought not [to] be held up to scorn if they are stricken with a panic in such a case. A few thousand men can slip up unperceived sometimes, but for an army of fifty or sixty thousand men to do it — pshaw! it’s absurd. What happened to Buckland’s regiment? Send your newspapers of Fremont giving letters from the regiment.

I see that your friend McPherson[1] is one of the distinguished. Good.

Colonel Scammon is back with the brigade, Thirtieth, Thirtyfourth, and a regiment of cavalry.

Good-bye,

R. B. Hayes.

April 23. — Since writing the foregoing I have received Commercials of 17th and 18th containing the doings of Buckland and the Seventy-second. They did well. It is absurd to find fault with men for breaking away under such circumstances. The guilty officers ought to be punished — probably Grant or Prentiss, or both. — H.

S. Birchard.

[1] James B. McPherson, a native of Sandusky County. He was at that time chief engineer on General Grant’s staff. A brilliant and able officer who rose to the position of corps commander. He was killed in battle at Atlanta, July 22, 1864, — the officer highest in rank and command killed during the war. His grave is at Clyde, Ohio, marked by an imposing monument. One of the entrances to Spiegel Grove bears his name.

Beckley’s farm near Raleigh, Virginia, Monday, April 21.— A. M. All night a high wind and driving cold rain; mud in camp deep. Like the Mount Sewell storm of September last. All day rain, rain — cold, cold rain. Rode to Raleigh, called on Colonel Scammon and Lieutenant-Colonel Jones and Major Hildt of Thirtieth. Talked over the troubles between the men of the Twenty-third and the men of [the] Thirtieth. The talk very satisfactory.

Camp Near Beckley’s, Easter Sunday, April 20, 1862.

Dearest: — We left Raleigh the day before yesterday and came here intending to continue our march at least as far south as Flat Top Mountain. But just as we had got our tents up the rain began to fall and by morning all movement was out of the question. It has rained ever since. The streets of the camp are trodden into mortar-beds, the weather is getting cold, and you would naturally think that a gloomier set of fellows could hardly be found. But we are jolly enough. A year ago we used to read of these things and sympathize with the suffering soldiers. But a year of use has changed all that. Like sailors in a storm, the soldiers seem stimulated to unnatural mirth by the gloomy circumstances. We are guessing as to when it will stop. We hope this is the last day of the storm, but there is no trusting to experience in the Virginia mountains. Every new storm has a new set of phenomena. The men sing a great deal, play fiddle, banjo, etc. At the stated calls, the fifer, buglers, and band exert themselves to play their liveliest airs, and so we manage to get on.

I (when alone) get out your two pictures and have a quiet talk with you. Joe is in the next tent with Major Comly and Dr. McCurdy singing sacred music. I am alone in a tall Sibley tent writing this on a book on my knee, my ink on my trunk. The mess-chest open is before me; next to it, saddle, etc., then India-rubber cloth and leggings, old hat, haversack, glass, and saddle-bags; by my side, trunk; behind me cot with overcoat and duds, and on the other side of the tent Avery’s truck in similar disorder. We have a sheet-iron stove in the centre — no fire now. So you see us on a muddy side-hill. I can’t find time to write often now. If we are resting I don’t feel like writing; when going, of course I can’t.

Send this to Mother Hayes. She is seventy years old this month, about these days. She will think I am forgetting her if I don’t send her some “scrabble” (western Virginia for “scribbling”) of mine. — Love to all at home.

Affectionately, your

R.

Mrs. Hayes.