Chattanooga, Saturday, June 10. A cloudy sultry day. In vain did we await the coming of a cool refreshing shower which would settle the dust and make us all feel younger; “nary” a drop fell. Drew forage. On duty loading hay in the afternoon. Camp policed, etc. The exciting scenes of yesterday have furnished the subject of conversation to-day and happily “grapevine” is forgotten. The inebriated look very sheepish and ashamed to-day. Well they might. Seven thousand bales of hay were destroyed yesterday. $250,000 to $500,000 of property destroyed in all. Eight lives lost. One woman broke both arms, many soldiers wounded.
Saturday, 10th—We had a heavy thunderstorm and rain early this morning, which made it very disagreeable for us on our open coal cars. We arrived at Parkersburg on the Ohio at daylight and left the cars. We cooked and ate our breakfast and then at about 8 o’clock went aboard the transports, and at 4 o’clock in the afternoon we left for Louisville, Kentucky. The Eleventh Iowa and the Thirty-second Illinois Regiments are on board the transport “Empress.” We have a fleet of five boats, which besides the “Empress” are the “Nord,” “America,” “Revenue” and “Edinburgh,” the headquarters boat. All the boats are heavily loaded and we are crowded, but it is much more pleasant than in the open coal cars, and while the sun is hot, it is not so oppressive as on the railroad.
9th. Field officer of the day. Went to the city for Melissa. Had a good visit as we rode out. Took her to J. R. Davies’. Spent the evening with the two families, Davies and Bostwicks. Enjoyed myself first rate.
Chattanooga, Friday, June 9 This afternoon a terrible explosion and fire broke out in town about 1 P. M. The large building on the levee, filled with artillery ammunition, took fire from an engine standing by. The reports of bursting shell were heard continuously, and flames and smoke rolled up with great fearfulness. I went down in time to see giant flames envelop 400 feet of warehouses, filled with forage and rations, while the explosions of ammunition, with the fact that a still larger arsenal laid adjacent, liable to blow up at any moment, caused great consternation among the citizens, women and children fleeing in dismay. But the military were cool and on the ground. Guards spread all over town taking in all within their reach to work on the fire engines. Assembly sounded in all the camp, and the reserve artillery, as indeed all others needed, marched down en masse. I followed the 6th. We reached the river bank, one engine playing on one end of the military bridge, which was in imminent danger of taking fire, another working on the roof of the brick arsenal containing 750,000 tons of small ammunition. Strings of men passing buckets. We were double quicked under the fiery breath of the burning machine by Alby Sweet, and set to work on the double-decker water engine. We were playing on the arsenal not five rods distant, the heat so great that the water was dried before it ran off. Had the wind wavered a little, nothing could have saved it, and with all probability most of us would have been hurled into eternity. But luckily we were saved, notwithstanding the shells were still exploding over us. No one was hurt.
And now I come to another sorrowful page in my diary. When the imminent danger was over and the flames somewhat checked, some officers, prompted by the devil or some other demon, ordered whiskey barrels rolled out, and the heads knocked in around the engines. And oh, what a change. The strong arms of men working in sober earnestness were stopped by the deadly fires of poisonous drugs termed whiskey, the air rent with yells and oaths, fit only for pandemonium. This to me was heartsickening, and as soon as we could evade the guards, Milt. Hungerford and myself came to camp.
About 5 P. M. the others came, but oh, what a sight. Eight or ten raving maniacs. They were not habitual drunkards, many of them heretofore strictly temperate, but under the excitement and heat lost their discretion. Ah! what pain it would have given the loving mother to see her son, her pride, the youth of the family, staggering through our camp in this condition or filled with madness. What chagrin to the loving maiden to see her idol as I did to-night. What agony in the heart of the wife it would awaken to see the husband of her bosom and the father of her children, who but a few months ago only left home with the vow of fidelity to principle and home upon his lips, reeling along or being carried an insensible lump to his bed. Oh, ye Christian churches and temperance lodges, how have thy members disgraced thee to-day. Really, my faith in human nature becomes somewhat shaken by such scenes.
Late in the evening another explosion took place among the ruins. A fragment struck John Stewart in the head. Our Battery kept away.
June 9 — The authorities here commenced releasing prisoners to-day. The prisoners are released by taking the oath of allegiance to the United States. There were about eleven hundred released to-day.
Friday, 9th—Our train ran all night, except for two or three times when we were standing on some sidetrack. Arriving at the foot of the Cumberland mountains our train was divided and another engine put on to pull one-half the train up the mountains. The train moved up very slowly, which gave us a chance to get off and cut some sassafras bushes, which we nailed on the sides of the cars for shade, for the sun was terribly hot, and the weather was very sultry. By noon we reached the top of the mountains. At 4 p. m. we arrived at Grafton, Virginia, where we received hot coffee from the Sanitary Commission. Here we left the Baltimore & Ohio road for Parkersburg, Virginia, over the Ohio & Virginia Railroad. We passed through a great many tunnels between Grafton and Parkersburg, one being four thousand one hundred and thirty-eight feet long. The citizens along our route today seemed to be very loyal, cheering us all along the way. It reminded us of our home folks.
June 9th, 1865.—Nellie went away today and the parting between her and Sister Mag was pitiful. She has nursed Eddie all his life and for three weeks now, the three weeks Sister Mag has been so ill, she has been almost constantly at her side, while I took care of Eddie. He is sorely distressed but it is as nothing compared to his mother’s grief at giving her up.
Nellie knelt on the floor and put her arms about sister, both were sobbing and both faces were wet with tears.
“I wouldn’t leave you Miss Mag,” she gasped out, “but my husband says I got ter go. He says if I don’t go with him now I shant never come and he says I b’longs ter him now an’ so I’ll have ter go.”
“Can’t you persuade him to stay here with you, Nellie?” pleaded the almost heart-broken mistress, but no, he did not like country life, he had work in the iron foundry and would not give it up.
From the porch, just outside, Emperor Dulan’s loud voice was heard, “Come on, Nellie—I shore is tired waiting.”
He was evidently impatient and she could stay no longer.
“God bless you, Miss Mag, God bless Marse Amos an’ de sweet chillun an’, over everything else, may the Lord bless Marse Ned an’ Mis’ Patsey.”
Another link broken and it is only the beginning of the end. I hope Emperor will be kinder than he sounds. I love Nellie, myself. She has been Sister Mag’s maid for years, they grew up together, she has nursed the children and has been friend as well as servant.
I wonder what Aunt Harriet Beecher Stowe would think of the farewell of this morning? We were afraid the excitement would be too much for our dear invalid, but she is sleeping quietly; has been ever since she ate her very light luncheon at twelve o’clock. Adeline does not give us dinner until three o’clock, sometimes later, but she is such a good cook that nobody feels like finding fault with the hour.
8th. About 8 o’clock started for Benton Barracks. One lady ran out with flag and said “Welcome home.” Learn that we are not to go to Texas. Went out on foot. Got a pleasant boarding place near camp. Chet and I near together.
U. S. Steamer Illinois, off Fort Morgan, Mobile Bay,
Thursday, June 8, 1865.
Dear Sister L.:—
I’ve just time to write a line to say we are so far on our voyage in safety. I was transferred from the Warrior the day we started. Had a lovely trip—couldn’t be better. Shall disembark here to clean the ship—and coal and water again—and then—ho! for Texas or elsewhere.
U. S. Steamer Illinois, off Ft. Morgan, Mobile Bay,
Thursday, June 8, 1865.
Dear Sister L.:—
I wrote you a line this afternoon just in time to get it off by the New Orleans boat. I could not write much in the few minutes of time I had before the boat left, and so to-night I will write a little more extended account of our voyage.
I wrote you from the Warrior expecting to go down in her, but on arriving at Fortress Monroe, the general concluded he couldn’t dispense with my company, and ordered me to the Illinois. I was not sorry to make the change, as my regiment was there with the general and staff, and the Illinois is a floating palace.
I spent a day in Norfolk and then removed my traps to the Illinois, and on the 31st we weighed anchor and steamed out past Cape Henry lighthouse and off to sea. The next morning we were out of sight of land, and steaming southeast to cross the Gulf Stream; our ship drew nineteen feet of water, and we could not go next the coast, so as it would not pay to go against the current all the way, we were forced to go outside. The time passed merrily away. A few were sick enough to make amusement for the others, but none enough to be thoroughly wretched. We had plenty of books, and in the evening we gathered in the spacious saloon and had whist parties and quartettes of euchre or old sledge, and such like abominations.
On Sunday morning we came to the Bahama Banks, where the waters changed from their indigo blue color to azure, light green, purple and almost all the colors of the rainbow. The water was so clear we could see the bottom at thirty feet, and the finny monsters were disporting themselves regardless of the curious eyes that looked at them for the first time. At noon Memory Rock rose in bold relief against the horizon, lone, stern and grim, a sentinel of the sea. In the afternoon we passed the Bahamas, a line of long, low, sandy islands, uninhabited except by a few wreckers, and not very inviting situations for a cottage by the sea. But at dark we saw the cottage by the sea, indeed. It was a little hut on a lonely rock, where dwells the keeper of the Isaac Island Light, an English lighthouse. He has a spice of solitude, he has. State’s prison is nothing to it. I mused on the pleasures of solitude, as I watched his lonely light flash and fade in the darkness, and I concluded that it must be very sweet to have someone to whom you can say—”how sweet is solitude?”
On Tuesday we sighted, away off in the dim distance, the heights of Cuba, and that afternoon passed the Florida Keys and the Dry Tortugas. The last is the penitentiary of the army, where mutinous and other desperate criminals have been sent. It rises like a great castle in the sea, and is a lonely place enough.
This afternoon we sighted the land off Mobile Bay, and at three o’clock we dropped anchor off Fort Morgan, and now I am writing on deck, with my portfolio on my knee, and the scene of the greatest naval battle of the world spread out before me. Within a stone’s throw, I can see the ripple in the current which marks the spot where the ill-fated Tecumseh went down, right under the guns of Fort Morgan, and a little to the left the ribs of the rebel ram are rising above the water. Here the “gallant, grim old Admiral.” ran the gauntlet of the terrible batteries. My words are too tame—I will not attempt to describe it. Read “Our Battle Laureate” in the April or May Atlantic, and you will get some idea of the inspiring scene.
Well, the sun has disappeared in a blaze of glory behind Fort Gaines, and I must bring my letter to a close for want of light and room for more.
To-morrow we disembark, and I hope before we reembark to see how Mobile looks, but I may not make it out. The rumor to-night is that we are to go to Brazos Santiago, at the mouth of the Rio Grande.
Chattanooga, Thursday, June 8. A very hot day. Health very good. Nothing new, one way or another. Received a letter from Thomas which he called “last.” Expects me home in a few days. All those whose terms of service expire prior to October 1, are being mustered out at this post except artillery reserve. We are treated with silent contempt or provoking indifference, at least no orders touching us appear.
