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

Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

January 5, 1865.—Our hospitals have all been ordered to Tennessee. I am highly delighted at this new move, as it shows that our army is still triumphant. The Foard has changed surgeons. Dr. Hughes had several of his ribs fractured by a fall from the cars, while in Montgomery, he has resigned until he recruits in health. Dr. de Yampert of Alabama has taken his place.

At a party a short time ago I met a friend, Mrs. Payne, who had just come from Enterprise, Mississippi. She was there at the time of Sherman’s raid. As we do not know the moment when we may be honored by a visit from the enemy, we were all eager to know how she had done, as she fared much better than many others. She informed us that when the enemy came into the town, they commenced firing promiscuously, and her little daughter, who was in the yard at the time, came very near being shot. About twenty-five of these marauders entered her house at one time. She had no one with her but the children. The sight of such a mob of lawless men filled her with dismay, but she did not lose her presence of mind, and tried to appear perfectly collected. She remarked to them that in such a crowd there must be at least one or two gentlemen, and if there were any among them, she called on them to come forward and protect her. After this speech she burst into tears. These two appeals were too much for even these vandals, and she thinks they looked ashamed of themselves, and one stepped forward, saying he would protect her. He remained with her while the others ransacked her house, from the garret to the cellar. They broke open her trunks, drawers, and pantries. She offered them her keys, but they laughed at her, saying they had no use for them. They took every little trinket that they came across, and did not even leave her scissors and thimble.

The vandals remained at Enterprise some four or five days, but she was not further molested by them, as she had the protection of one of the officers. He called on her, and offered her his aid, as she had been very kind to a young lady cousin of his some few years before. The cousin had requested him, in case of their meeting, to protect her.

This lady’s negroes all deserted her in her hour of trial, with the exception of one, and told the enemy about some valuables she had hid away. Nearly the whole town was laid in ashes, but it only shared the fate of every other town in Mississippi which the vandals visited. I am told that nearly every house in Okolona is leveled with the ground.

Mobile is gayer than over; it seems as if the people have become reckless. I am told that there was as much visiting on New Year’s day as there usually is in peace times. The city is filled with military, which is one cause of the gayety.

There is no necessity of our discussing war or politics (I mean the ladies), as we have an all-absorbing topic in the matter of dress and “something to eat” “How do you manage to live?” or, “What have you got to wear?” is the first question on meeting a friend, no matter where. The answer as to the eating is usually, “We live on peas, corn meal, and bacon.” These are the staples, and the rule; the exceptions are flour, tea, coffee, and sugar, and they are all at famine prices.

The scarcity of coffee seems to affect the spirits of the people more than any thingelse. I have noticed that some who did not touch it before the war, talk as gravely about its loss as if their very existence depended upon it, and indeed they are quite melancholy about it. It is amusing to see how seriously it is discussed. I have said jestingly that I do believe it will yet be the means of subjugating us. When invited any place, if we are certain of getting a cup of pure coffee, or even a cup of that which “cheers,” there is no sending “regrets” to that invitation.

The enemy have deprived us of one great luxury since taking possession of the bay; that is, oysters. They are not to be had, unless at an exorbitant price. With all this “starving,” people look well. I am told that there is less dyspepsia than was ever known before. The poor do not suffer as much as one would think. Work of all kinds seems to be plentiful, and the Supply Association is still in operation.

In the matter of dress we are pretty “hard up,” and if the war lasts much longer, I for one will have “nothing to wear.” We have a good many kinds of homespun for dresses; but it makes a very expensive dress. I have heard many say that they would rather have one good calico than three homespuns.

We have a very excellent home-made cloth for gentlemen’s clothing. I have seen some, made with a mixture of cow’s hair and cotton, which was really nice, and I am told that it is water-proof. I had no idea our people were so ingenious.

A friend showed me a nice pair of gloves she had made from the ravelings of scraps of silk, worked in with a little cotton. The same lady makes all the shoes worn by her household.

Dyeing old clothes is about the most fashionable thing done; those who can not afford to pay for it do it themselves. The materials used are to be found in the woods.

Gentlemen’s and ladies’ hats are made out of saw palmetto. The ladies braid it, and use it to trim their dresses, and it makes a very pretty trimming.

We have any amount of shoe establishments, and very nice boots and shoes are made in them. An excellent pair of ladies’ calf-skin bootees can be bought for one hundred dollars, and men’s are one hundred and fifty.

The gentlemen talk a good deal about the ladies dressing extravagantly, but I do not think they do so. We have learned the art of making “auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new.” All the rag-bags have been emptied, and dresses turned and cut into all kinds of shapes. Any and every thing is the fashion; nothing is lost. The old scraps of worsted and flannel are carefully unraveled, carded, and spun, for making capes and nubias. The fact is, it is a kind of disgrace to have plenty of clothes. If any one has on a new silk or calico dress, kid gloves, or any thing that is foreign, they have to give an account of how they came by it.

The Confederate oil is much improved; but we can only buy a very little at a time, as it becomes gummy by standing, and will not burn. Alabama abounds in coal, and yet we find it almost impossible to get any, and wood is from sixty to seventy dollars per cord.

There is nothing cheap. I sometimes think we will be charged for the light of heaven and the air we breathe. We expect after awhile to have to pay for merely asking for a sight of goods. Well, these are things that we can afford to laugh at, as we know they will not last forever.

I have been visiting in the suburbs, and really it is a sad sight to see how desolate every place is. The fine shrubbery, trees, and beautiful flower-gardens, once the boast of Mobile, are now laid waste by the military authorities in preparing for the defense of the city. Every tree, fruit and shade, has been demolished, and even rose-bushes have been destroyed. All houses near the intrenchments are ordered to be fired on the approach of the enemy.

We have excellent public schools, and, much to the gratification and surprise of many, they are still in operation. I was certain that the war would close them; but, as a rule, our citizens have been very energetic and liberal in money matters.

December 31.—The last day of ’64, and much coveted peace seemingly as distant as ever. If it were not for the knowledge that there is an end to all things, and that some day there will be an end to this, it would be unbearable. The past year has equaled any of its predecessors for carnage and bloodshed. Our land is drenched with the blood of martyrs! Her fair hills and valleys, lit by blazing homesteads, and echoing to the booming of artillery and the roar of musketry. The very air is rent with the groans of the wounded and dying, and the wail of the widow and orphan. Lord, turn not thy face from us, and save, O, save us from this terrible scourge! “Let not our sins now cry against us for vengeance! Hear us, Jehovah, for mercy imploring: from thy dread displeasure, O, bid us be free!”

Although woe and desolation stare at us every way we turn, the heart of the patriot is as firm as ever, and determined that, come what may, he will never yield. There is no doubt but we have some among us whose love of self forbids their minds to rise above the dank sod upon which they tread; men who have never known what it is to experience a thrill of pleasure, when listening to the “patriot’s moving story, shedding for freemen’s rights his generous blood.” Such we have among us; but, thank the Giver of all good, they are in the minority.

 

“Chains for the dastard knave,

Recreant limbs should wear them;

But blessings on the brave,

Whose valor will not bear them!”

 

The brave army of Virginia is defending Richmond as gallantly as ever.

Any news we hear from Tennessee is uncertain, as the railroad for many miles between Corinth and Nashville is destroyed. The last heard from there our army was besieging Nashville.

Charleston, heroic Charleston, has proved a very Charybdis to the invader. Our champions on the water are doing us good service by destroying the enemy’s commerce. Their very names strike terror to the heart of the foe. The army, with the valiant Kirby Smith at its head, is keeping the enemy in check in Louisiana.

But O, my heart sickens when I think of the many, many valiant heroes who have left us, never more to return.

 

“Their fame is alive, though their spirits have fled

On the wings of the year that’s awa’.”

 

God grant that their lives have not been offered up in vain, and that the time is not far distant when triumphant peace will spread her wings over this now distracted land.

December 25.—Christmas day—the nativity of our Lord and Savior; the day he left his throne on high, and came in his humility to dwell on earth, and on which was sung in heaven

 

“Gloria in excelsis! peace! to man

Good will!—thus, on night’s stillness, roll’d the song,

And through the high celestial portals ran,

Startling the rustic throng;

 

While soft the herald angel’s work of love

Breath’d hope to fallen souls, and a rich chain

Of lengthening mercy from the realms above

Bound earth to heaven again.”

 

“Good will to man!” Many of our enemies profess to believe these precious words, and yet how little of it they manifest for us.

What visions of cheer does not the sound of “Merry Christmas” bring in review— happiness, plenty, and a forgetting for a few short hours the cares of this weary world! This one has been any thing but merry to us; a gloom has hung over all, that, do what we will, we can not dispel. Our thoughts, whether we will or no, wander to where our armies are struggling to maintain our rights against fearful odds. Alas! when will this strife and bloodshed cease? When will we have peace? “Sweet peace is in her grave!”

The weather is very inclement; too much so for us to attend the services of the sanctuary. Last evening I visited St. John’s Church. It was very beautifully dressed with evergreens, I thought more so than I had ever seen it before. I am told that all the Episcopal Churches in the city are decorated the same.

December 20.—We have heard rumor after rumor about the battle in Tennessee, which was fought last month at Franklin. It is now confirmed that we have gained a victory, and that our army is closely investing Nashville. As usual with our victories, a darkened shadow hangs over them, that vails their brightness. It is the vision of the terrible carnage, and the spirits of the mighty dead, but

 

“Is’t death to fall for freedom’s right?

He’s dead alone that lacks her right!”

 

We have been told that at the battle our dead lay in heaps; our men stormed and took every breastwork that the foe had. Many a brave spirit has winged its flight to regions above. The gallant Cleiburne is among the slain, General Strahl, and many others of our best men. Mobile, as usual, is a loser. In a letter received from my brother, he informs me of the death of two members of his company, Mr. N. Leonard and Mr. M. Kavanaugh, and of many being wounded.

The battle was fought on the 30th November, commencing at 3 P. M., and raging until 3 next morning. It is said that the scene presented when day dawned was appalling; rider and horse lay in the trenches, one lifeless mass. Well, God alone knows what is best. We can but say, “Thy will be done.”

Sunday, September 11.[1]—The alarm-bell rang early this morning—a sure sign that the enemy had come this time.” All the home guards turned out, with them the “burly British Guard,” and their “venerable” Captain Wheeler. In the guard are a few more “venerables,” one being a paternal relative of mine. The women folks went to church, but I know that their thoughts often wandered to the intrenchments.

It has been one of the coldest days we have experienced this season. About 10 P. M. one of the “venerables” came from the intrenchments, and informed us that it was another “wolf” alarm. So “Richard is himself again”—”till next time.”


[1] Note: This entry is dated Sunday, September 11 in the book, but appears after the December 12 entry. December 11 and September 11 were both on a Sunday. To preserve the book sequencing in the blog, the entry appears on the 12th of December 2014, after the entry for December 12, 1864. – Mike Goad, September 30, 2013.

December 12, 1864.—Left Americus on Sunday, the 27th ult . We had a very nice box-car. Mrs. W., not being very well, had a bunk put up in one corner, and we had a curtain hung across, making quite a snug little room. In the afternoon we stopped at a place called Butler, where we were detained all night. It was bleak and barren-looking, and had very deep sand. Dr. Hughes and myself went to service, which was held in a small building. We heard a very good sermon preached by a chaplain. There were numbers of soldiers there; and, as usual, all listened with profound attention. The preacher told us that the war would not cease until Christians lived more up to what they professed than they did now, and that they had much to answer for in this matter. The Bragg Hospital was on the train with us. Miss Burford and Mrs. Byrom, the matrons, and Dr. Cross’s family were with it, which made the trip much pleasanter for us. Dr. Cross was a man of wealth, and when he joined the army left his family well provided for. They lived near Tuscumbia, in the northern portion of Alabama. When the enemy went there they took every thing that Mrs. Cross had: upward of seventy negroes, twenty-five thousand pounds of meat, all her live stock, and a large amount of grain, and a large supply of groceries for family use. After they took all of these things, they politely asked Mrs. Cross to leave the house, as they intended burning it. They would not give her time to get a change of clothes for her children. Her old father was an invalid, and had to hobble out on crutches. After getting through with her house, they went to a neighbor’s and did the same. The officer in command made a great fuss talking; but, as usual, did nothing to restore what was lost. I have been intimate with this amiable family some time, and their uncomplaining endurance of their wrongs has excited my unbounded admiration. I have never heard a complaint from any of them. Mrs. C. tells me that, since she has lost every thing, nothing annoys her. Miss C. is a highly educated and refined young lady, and has traveled in Europe.

We left Butler on the 28th, and arrived at Columbus the same day. There we met some of our Newnan friends, who had gone there for fear of the enemy.

Columbus is quite a pretty place; the streets are very wide, and the houses handsome; many of them had very beautiful flower-gardens around them. I noticed some very magnificent public buildings. It is on the Chattahooche River, ninety miles west south-west of Macon, one hundred and twenty-eight miles west southwest of Milledgeville, and two hundred and ninety miles west of Savannah. The river is the dividing state line; a handsome bridge extends across it to the village of Gerad, in Alabama, which is well fortified in case of raids. At this point it is navigable for steamboats to the Gulf of Mexico during eight months of the year. Large quantities of cotton were shipped from here annually, and at this time it is filled with that staple, sent from various points, to be out of the way of the enemy. It is the terminus of the Moscogee Railroad, and a branch of the West Point.

We left Columbus on the 30th, about 8 A. M.; arrived in Montgomery the same day. I learned that the trains were not running to Mobile, as something had happened to the railroad; and as I had no money to pay my passage on the boat, I was compelled to remain in Montgomery, with the hope of soon getting on with the hospital. Montgomery was filled with hospitals, moving in the same direction as ourselves; so there was a prospect of a lengthy sojourn at that place.

We were given possession of an empty car that had been set aside for refugees, which I named “Refugee Hall.” We did very well, considering every thing. We had our cooking done outside, and the weather was very fine. I shall not have so much sympathy for refugees I see in cars again. But we were not in it long enough for the novelty to wear off.

On Sunday, the 4th inst., I went to the church of the “Holy Comforter.” The rector, Dr. Scott, preached an excellent sermon. The Bragg Hospital had left to go to Gainesville, by the way of Selma.

On Monday, the 5th, I called to see Dr. Scott on business, and he very kindly gave me aid. He introduced me to a friend, Judge Jordan (another refugee from Florida), who transacted my business with dispatch. I am much indebted to him for his kindness.

I saw little prospect of the hospital getting away from Montgomery, as the boats were busy and so few. I concluded to come on by myself, and pay my way, as we were told that if we went at government expense we would have to take a deck passage. Dr. Hughes very kindly loaned me $200; so on Tuesday, the 6th, I left Montgomery on a steamer for Selma. On the boat I met Bishop Wilmer of Alabama; with him, a highly accomplished lady, Mrs. Irwin, who was on her way to Tuscaloosa, Alabama, to become a deaconess.

I have no doubt that this order in the church, will be the means of accomplishing much good. Since the war we have felt the necessity of such an organization, to teach our women the art of nursing.

There are to be church homes for the benefit of the aged and helpless, orphan asylums, and schools, under their supervision. Bishop Wilmer is fortunate in having an excellent lady. Miss Hewitt of Baltimore, as chief deaconess. She is a woman of energy, intelligence, and devout piety.

Bishop Wilmer has been but a few years bishop of Alabama. He is a Virginian. He is the youngest-looking bishop I ever saw; he has nothing of the “venerable” in his appearance. He is very fine-looking—is a man of energy and ability, and is much beloved in his diocese.

We arrived at Selma on the 7th; there I saw Dr. Jackson, and learned that the Bragg Hospital was still in Selma. He sent a telegram for ours to come and go the same route. I had a little girl with me, for whom the clerk of the boat had charged full price. I sent for the captain (Finnigan); informed him of the circumstance, and that the child was a soldier’s orphan. He immediately refunded all the money.

We took another boat at 12 A. M., and started en route for Mobile. We had a very pleasant party on board; among them many of the citizens of Mobile returning home, who had refugeed from fear of an attack. I heard many say that they did not care what might happen, they would not run again.

Captain Curran, whom I little expected to see alive at this time, was on board. He is still helpless from his wound. There was also a very sick doctor, by the name of Holmes, whom I visited. Poor fellow! he did not look as if he was long for this world. He had been on duty with my friend, Dr. Devine, at Macon.

A young lady, Miss M., one of the handsomest women in Mobile, sat near me at table, and when I told her how I had been employed since the war, she said she had often wished to do the same. I wondered what hindered her.

I made the acquaintance of Rev. Dr. Hamilton of the Methodist Church; his wife and daughter were with him. I knew him well by reputation as an eminent preacher, and a particular friend of Mrs. W.’s.

I was introduced to Major Hester of the Twenty-second Alabama Regiment. We had a long talk about the times. He was on his way to the army; had been in the service ever since the commencement of the war. He said, when he saw so many men as there are at home making fortunes, who had never been in the service, that his patriotism cooled a little. He informed me that Montgomery was full of such. He has a relative, a Scotchman, who had run the blockade, and was daily expected back. I believe he was on government business. Scotland was a theme of conversation with us. Major H. was an enthusiastic admirer of “Auld Scotia,” as nearly all I have met in the South are.

I met an old friend, who was going to Mobile, in company with a bridal party, as even in these war times people “marry and are given in marriage.” The groom is a soldier. The bride was pretty, as all brides are, and we were much indebted to her for helping to while away the time, by discoursing “sweet music,” although the time did not hang heavy on my hands, as I had a copy of Joseph the Second—a charming work, by Muhlbach, translated from the German by one of our literary stars—Mrs. Chaudron.

We arrived at Mobile on the 9th, and found every thing pretty much as usual, and the enemy still expected.

November 26.—We are all ready to make another move. Our hospitals are ordered to Gainesville, Alabama. The base of our army is changed. This will be a long, tedious trip, as we have to change cars very often. Well, there is no use in grumbling.

We have been packed up for some time. We are leaving a nice bake-house, the best the baker has yet put up, a new dining-room and kitchen, and the nicest kind of a distributing-room. I knew when I saw them going up that our doom was sealed as to remaining here.

There has been quite a battle near Macon, and we have had some wounded from it; but I have not seen them. They are militia.

I hear the men telling a good many jokes on them. One poor boy, when he came to the hospital, said the battle was the most terrible of the war. It was quite a severe fight. The enemy set a trap, and the unsophisticated militia were caught in it. I believe there were at least one hundred killed and many wounded, and I am told they were nearly all old men. The veterans whom I have heard speak of the fight say that old soldiers never would have rushed in as the militia did.

“Joe Brown’s Pets” have done much better than any one expected; they have fought well when they have had it to do.

We have some wounded men, who were with General Early in his late disastrous campaign. I have heard some of them blame General Early for not marching right up to Washington, as they think he could have taken it.

November 20.—Paper is scarce, and money is scarcer; and, having neither, I have been unable to keep a record of past events; so I will sum up all I can recollect.

I paid five dollars for ten common hairpins, and three dollars for a ball of common homespun thread.

I do not feel well, and have been taking horseback rides for my health, as I did in Chattanooga. I have been twice on foraging expeditions, with Mr. Yerby. Ho has a little wagon in which he drives out every day, and procures butter, buttermilk, and eggs. The days I went with him he took Sallie and Mrs. Smith’s two children. I rode horseback, and we had quite a delightful time.

We visited the country people; they all seemed pleased to see us, and had a smile of welcome for Mr. Y. One lady gave me some nice cake and home-made wine.

Sorghum grows very plentifully in these regions; we saw fields of it, and the process of making the molasses.

Mr. Y. gets quantities of buttermilk; butter and eggs are not quite so plentiful, ns the foragers from Andersonville buy up every thing of that kind for the hospitals there. We use at least ten gallons of buttermilk per day.

I had another ride, in company with one of Dr. Cross’s daughters and Mr. Moore. Wc visited Mrs. General Anderson, who is now here with her husband.

Many of our nurses have been sent to the army by an examining board. I know few of them are fit for field service. A Mr. Chandler could scarcely walk, from his wound; he was one of our best nurses. One hand of Mr. Holt, who had charge of the linen department, was useless, from the same cause. Many others have been sent off in like condition. If we can not do without such men, I think the country is badly off indeed.

I have made several nice acquaintances, and as we have few patients, I have spent two or three evenings in their company, practicing for our church choir. There is an Episcopal parish here, although there is no church. We have the use of the Presbyterian Church in the afternoons. Rev. Mr. Staley, an excellent preacher, officiates once a month. When he is not here, Dr. Adams has prayers, and sometimes preaches.

The ladies do not feed the men now, as we are doing very well in that respect ourselves. I told them they could do much good by mending the men’s clothes, which they did once or twice; they also made a number of haversacks for the men, who have gone to the front.

We have two wounded officers from General Strahl’s staff; one is Lieutenant Kelly, the other Lieutenant Dupree. The latter is wounded in his leg and foot; he has suffered much from neuralgia. I gave him some of though lotion we had received from Mrs. Dr. Pierce, and it relieved him almost instantly. Mrs. P. has sent as a donation a dozen bottles of it, and we find it invaluable.

We have had a call from Dr. Hunter. The Newsom Hospital has been here, along with many others; all are moving in this direction. The Newsom has gone on to Mississippi.

A number of hospitals from North Georgia are encamped near the depot; the ladies with them are in tents, and I am told that they are more comfortable than our rooms. This I can well believe, as our sitting-room has so many openings that the wind rushes through it in every direction, and in the evenings we find it impossible to prevent our lights being blown out.

A clerk of one of the hospitals called on me the other day, and told me that the steward of his hospital was a young Scotchman, named Ross. He had been but six weeks in the country when the war broke out, and he enlisted in a Louisiana regiment, and lately has been a hospital steward. My friend lauded him very highly, and told me he had had it in his power to make at least fifty thousand dollars in the hospital, but he would not do it. I asked how this could be done, as I had often heard of stewards making fortunes, but could not exactly understand how they managed it. He informed me that men were sent out foraging; the country people, thinking they were giving it to the suffering, and for the cause, let them have their produce at a much lower rate than they sell it to the citizens. The stewards buy the food in this way, and speculate on it.

We have had several days of terror, to be long remembered. It was rumored that a raid had taken Columbus and Macon, and were marching down to free the prisoners at Andersonville, and set them loose to do their worst on us, but it was merely a rumor. I hear the prisoners are being moved away from Andersonville, which news has rejoiced us not a little. There is a good deal of talk about their treatment.

Dr. Hughes informed me that a friend of his— Lieutenant Allen—who is stationed there, and a young man of undoubted veracity, told him that in general the treatment of the prisoners was as good as our means would admit of. There is much suffering among them, but we can expect nothing else; it would be the same if as many of our own men were thrown together where supplies were exhausted. They get the same rations as our own men. The scurvy has broken out among them, but I am told that the country people around here are sending them quantities of vegetables.

I see by the papers, that some who were exchanged, and sent to Atlanta, told their sufferings to their comrades, and they were about to wreak their vengeance on the prisoners in their hands.

Dr. Abernethy, one of our surgeons, asked them to hear him, and they did. He told them they must not blame our people, but their own, who would not have them exchanged. The crowd quietly dispersed, evidently fully convinced that we were not to blame.

How can they expect us to feed their people, when we can scarcely feed our own? They have destroyed our provisions whenever they have had an opportunity. Sherman, and many of their generals, have issued orders not only to destroy food, but garden implements. And then only think that no entreaties will make them exchange them! Lincoln and his minions have this sin on their consciences.

Some of the exchanged prisoners have held a meeting in Savannah, and denounced their own government for leaving them with us, and fully exonerate ours from all blame.

Dr. Hughes’s youngest son has been to see him, and paid us a visit. He is a fine-looking young man, and a true southerner. He was at school when the clarion of war was sounded through the land; he cast aside his books and entered the army, determined to battle for the right. He is now with General Wheeler, and is very hopeful of our success. He told us that the army had gone into Tennessee, and that ere long we would hear of brilliant exploits being done by it in that quarter. I asked him what was to be done with Sherman, as he is not disposed of? He answered, that if he attempted to march through Georgia, our cavalry was to march before him, and destroy all the food, and his army would be starved out.

I do not know any thing about military matters, but it does seem to me that there might be a better plan adopted than that to rid the country of this marauder.

We hear little or nothing of what is being done in the rest of the Confederacy. I remarked this to a friend in Macon, who said he would like to live here, as he was wearied with listening to war stories. But we hear plenty of reports. Dame Rumor, with her many tongues, is ever on the go.

We have been told that Forrest and Wheeler have Sherman hemmed in, and numerous other things that we can place no dependence upon.

We attended the wedding of Miss Kate Furlough, one of the elite of the town, which took place in the Methodist Church. There were about eighteen young ladies who stood up with the bride, but no gentleman with the groom, as there are none scarcely in the town. The wedding-party was quite a pretty sight.

Dr. Estell, an assistant surgeon in the Bragg Hospital, died lately. He was in his seventy-fifth year, and a most princely-looking man. He was attended by his bosom friends, Drs. Cross and Hughes, who resorted to every means that experienced skill could bring to bear to restore him to health and usefulness, but all in vain; he sank under his disease, and departed this life beloved and regretted by all who knew him.

Colonel Colyer, whom I met in Newnan, is his son-in-law. His daughter, Mrs. C., and his son, Colonel F. Estell, were with him during his illness.

He was from Tennessee, and joined the army at the outbreak of the war, and had served in it ever since. His home is in the hands of the enemy, and his invalid wife was turned out of doors, and has since died. He was a member of the Presbyterian Church in his youth, and, like many others, had forfeited all claim to membership by living for the world.

For some time before his death he had been thinking deeply on the subject of religion, and he died a Christian. After he partook of the Lord’s Supper, he arranged all his worldly affairs, and then told his friends he wished to hear of but one subject—that of the world beyond the grave. He besought his fellow-surgeons not to put off that important subject till the last, and said that he bitterly repented the wasted hours and days of his past life, when he should have been serving the Lord.

I went to see him, but he could scareely speak, he pressed my hand, and murmured faintly, “I am happy.” He was a man of highly cultivated mind and polished address.

One of the ladies, Mrs. Byrom, in the same hospital, lost her husband. He lived a Christian, and died one. He was from Tennessee, and was in that army through the late campaign. After he came here, all thought he only required rest; but not so: he sank under the disease, and death claimed him as his own.

His wife has been in the hospital service for some time. She came out from Tennessee with her parents, who are now living in North Georgia, so she is again separated from them.

A little while ago I met a brother of hers, Dr. Powell, who had just come from Atlanta. He told us that in some instances the Federal soldiers had behaved shamefully to the inhabitants, and he did not think Sherman had it in his power to restrain them.

I suppose, as we have had so little to do, that we have had a better chance of hearing what “they say” than we had before. The good people of this place have fallen into an error that we poor mortals are very apt to commit; that is, talking thoughtlessly about what we are totally ignorant of, and thus doing gross injustice to persons’ characters, and hurting their feelings without ever intending it. Scarcely a day passes that we do not hear some slander against the attachees of the hospitals: all suffer.

We are told that the surgeons had better be at the front, as they kill more than they cure; and that they drink all the liquor and eat all the good things provided for the soldiers.

I can not keep from laughing at all this, although we ladies come in for a share of the scandal. But I am like the Quaker whom the man called a liar. He said, “Friend, prove it; if thee can, I am one; if thee can not, then thee is one.”

Dr. Gore, formerly surgeon of the Bragg Hospital, was an eminent physician in Bloomfield, Kentucky. He gave up every thing for the cause, and since his entering the army has been devoted to his country. Dr. Cross, his successor, was one of the wealthiest men in North Alabama, and is a high-toned gentleman. He joined the army at the outbreak of the war, and has nobly done his duty.

One of his assistant surgeons was Dr, Estell, of whom I have already made mention. Dr. Redwine, another of his assistant surgeons, is a refined gentleman, and was also a man of wealth. Dr. Adams is the third assistant surgeon; of his worldly goods, I am unable to give an account, but I can say that he is rich in all that constitutes true riches. He is a Christian, and an humble and devout one. I feel confident that he never had a patient who would not gladly give him all of his “good things” any day, just to see him eat them, as his health is so bad.

I have already spoken of the surgeons in the Foard; they are on a par with those of the Bragg.

I wonder if it ever strikes these good people, who give such open expression to their views, that surely these gentlemen did not sacrifice so much to come into a hospital, just for the purpose of drinking the liquors and eating the poor diet of the patients.

The first is so bad that I do not believe any of our surgeons could be paid to drink it. And do not these good people know that the surgeons, with the exception of Dr. Adams, who is a patient, all board away from the hospital, and get plenty to eat at their boarding-houses.

Our post chaplain, when we first came here, requested me to see if some of the citizens would not take him to board.

None that I spoke to would do so. After awhile a rich man, and one of his own persuasion, took him. The first month’s board was, I believe, two hundred dollars; the next was to be three hundred. I think his pay from the government is eighty dollars per month, and he does not get all of that, unless he is more fortunate than the rest of us.

As we know him to be a man who, like ourselves, does not care what kind of food he gets, so it is eatable, we asked him to come and board with us. Besides giving his rations, he could pay his board, and that could go into the hospital fund. Dr. Hughes would not give his consent to this arrangement. He said it would be a breach of the hospital regulations.

Mr. M. found a boarding-house with a family, I believe refugees, where he has his rations cooked, and pays what he can afford.

The term “hospital rat” I have often heard applied to our hospital attendants. When I hear men, whom I have known suffer so much as many of our men have done, called by such an odious name, I can not help being indignant .

Mr. Dyson from Kentucky, was severely wounded in battle, and is in bad health. He is one of our head nurses. Mr. Catlet, our baggage-master, is from Kentucky. I believe he served under Morgan, and received a severe wound in battle, from the effects of which I fear he will never recover.

Mr. Williams of Tennessee, our commissary, from all appearances, is a stout, hearty man; but he was wounded badly at Murfreesboro; a ball entered his lungs, and is still lodged there. He can not walk any distance without suffering.

Mr. Bohannon from Georgia assists me in giving the men their meals, and is as good as any lady in that respect. He has little or no use of one of his hands, from a wound.

I could give many more just such examples of our “hospital rats.” Have these men not endured enough, and are they not serving their country now? They are gentlemen, and have not been used to the menial labor they do here; but they do it cheerfully, knowing it is for their country’s good.

“O, many a shaft, at random sent,

Finds mark the archer little meant;

And many a word, at random spoken,

May soothe or wound a heart that’s broken;”

As a whole, the people have been very kind. We have received more assistance from them than at any other place where we have been. Several ladies send us a pitcher of sweet milk daily. A lady, on my telling her that one of our men could not go to church for want of clothes, gave him a nice new suit. And the ladies’ society had a pair of shoes made for a soldier who was barefooted. We are living in a part of a small cottage; the owner, Mrs. Smith, a very nice lady, in the other: her husband has gone to the army. The house is a poor one, clapboarded inside, with daylight peeping through portions of it. The floors of our sleeping-rooms have seams in them at least an inch in width. We have nothing of which to complain in the way of ventilation.

There is a Baptist, Methodist, and Presbyterian Church here, and on last fast-day they all united and had prayers, but no preaching. Many a solemn prayer was offered up to Him who sitteth in the heavens, in behalf of our foes. The Presbyterian and Methodist ministers have been to call on us. The former has service very often in the hospital, and the men like him very much.

October 9.—Mr. Alexander Nixon died last night. He was a member of the Third Mississippi Regiment. He died perfectly happy, and intended to have joined the Methodist Church if he had lived till today. Mrs. W. was very attentive to him. She intends writing to his wife. His death is the only one we have had here, except that of a man who died the night of the fire. His father being with him, I took no pains to learn his name.

We have few dishes, knives, forks, or spoons, which annoys me not a little. We have two officers who eat with knives and forks which they have made themselves, out of wood. The last time I was at Macon I tried to procure some of those articles, but my efforts were fruitless.

September 24.—Newnan is now the head-quarters of the army. Hood is moving West. No one can tell what will be done next. Sherman is still in Atlanta. Every thing is quiet.

I have received a letter from my friend, Dr. Burt, who is now at Cuthbert, twenty miles below this place. The way the hospitals move from place to place puts me in mind of the contra-dance, where the head couple are always taking a jump to the foot. Some time ago I wished to go to the hospital which Dr. B. is in, because it was so near the army, but now he is way below me. He gives an account of two raids which visited Oxford, near Covington, while he was there. He says the enemy infested the place twice; but, thanks to high weeds and green grass, he was not captured. He also says he is completely demoralized with what he has gone through and the fear of other raids, and that any thing blue, even the blue of heaven, gives him an unpleasant feeling.

We are getting the hospital put to rights again. On the square where the fire was new buildings are being erected. The latter is one of the things I do not like to see; for, like Dr. B. and the blue, the sight of new lumber gives me an unpleasant feeling, as it is always a sure sign of our exodus. We are having a fine bakery built—I believe the eighth one our baker has had to put up since the war.