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

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.

Chattanooga, Tuesday, March 7. A gray, cheerless day, and my feelings were very much the same. Somehow or other a feeling of sadness and seriousness settled upon me, that in spite of all my efforts I could not shake. I am very severely troubled with such, and feel as though I ought not to, but I suppose the great cause is the non-arrival of mail, none having come in since Friday.

Bridges swept off north of Stevenson by the flood which is making sad work here also. The Tennessee has risen above its high and rocky banks, and throws its watery arm clear around Chattanooga, leaving us on an island. Inhabitants on the banks have to flee to the hills for safety. Where a week ago we could see four extensive saw mills erected and used by the government, throwing out thousands of feet of lumber and shingles per day, is now one watery waste, a turbid torrent rolling with relentless fury to form with the mighty Father of Waters. Work is plenty in camp. Policed ground for stables this afternoon, etc.

Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father

Newport, R.I., March 7, 1865

What do you think of the inaugural? That rail-splitting lawyer is one of the wonders of the day. Once at Gettysburg and now again on a greater occasion he has shown a capacity for rising to the demands of the hour which we should not expect from orators or men of the schools. This inaugural strikes me in its grand simplicity and directness as being for all time the historical keynote of this war; in it a people seemed to speak in the sublimely simple utterance of ruder times. What will Europe think of this utterance of the rude ruler, of whom they have nourished so lofty a contempt? Not a prince or minister in all Europe could have risen to such an equality with the occasion. . . .

Tuesday, 7th—Weather is still pleasant. We started at 9 a. m. and marching eight miles, went into bivouac for the night. This is a fine country and we found plenty of forage again today. Negroes are putting in the crops, mostly corn. We saw some fine fields of winter wheat. There is very little cotton put in here.

7th. Went into camp for breakfast at about 8 A. M. 22 miles from Charlottesville—beautiful day. Moved on different roads— still in rear of train. Passed through Lovingston or Nelson C. H. after dark. Camped six miles on picket.

March 7th.—Bright and frosty.

Yesterday we had no certain accounts of the movements of Sheridan. His force was said to be near Charlottesville—at Keswich. Fitz Lee’s cavalry and Pickett’s infantry were sent in that direction. Not a word has yet appeared in the Richmond papers concerning this movement from the Valley—the papers being read daily in the enemy’s camp below. We hear of no corresponding movement on the part of Grant; and perhaps there was none.

Preparations to evacuate the city are still being made with due diligence. If these indications do not suffice to bring the speculators into the ranks to defend their own property (they have no honor, of course), the city and the State are lost; and the property owners will deserve their fate. The extortioners ought to be hung, besides losing their property. This would be a very popular act on the part of the conquerors.

On the 4th inst., the day of inauguration at Washington, the troops (Federal) near Petersburg got drunk, and proposed an hour’s truce to have a friendly talk. It was refused.

I met my friend Brooks to-day, just from Georgia, in a pucker. He says the people there are for reunion. Mr. B. rented his house to Secretary Trenholm for $15,000—furnished. It would now bring $30,000. But he is now running after teams to save his tobacco—he a speculator!

A letter was received yesterday from ——, Selma, accusing the Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, his brother-in-law, Judge Goldthwait, and Judge Parsons, of Alabama, with disloyalty, and says Judge C. is about to issue passports for delegates to go to the Chicago Convention, soon to assemble, etc. etc. He says Judge C. is the Fouché of the South. The letter is dated August 23d, 1864, and the President now sends it to the Secretary “for his information.”

Judge Campbell has exercised almost exclusive control of the conscription and the passport business of the government since his appointment. The President and Secretary must attach some importance to the communication of Mr. ——, the first for sending over the letter at this juncture—the latter, for having just called in Lieut.-Col. Melton, A. A. G., who is assigned a position in his office, and is now superintending the business of passports. This arrangement also cuts the earth under the feet of Mr. Kean, Chief of the Bureau of War.

The raid of Sheridan has caused some speculators to send their surplus flour into the city for sale. Some sold for $700 per barrel to-day, a decline of $50.

D. H. London says the enemy captured the tobacco at Hamilton’s Crossing (near Fredericksburg) this morning. I doubt it, but would not deplore it, as it belongs to speculators, sent thither for barter with the enemy. No doubt many articles will decline in price—the owners fearing the coming of the enemy.

The packing up of the archives goes on, with directions to be as quiet as possible, so as “not to alarm the people.” A large per cent. of the population would behold the exodus with pleasure!

Wednesday, 8. — Busy replying to letters from divers office-seekers. They come by the dozens.

Tuesday, 7. — Sheridan whips Early near Staunton, takes eleven cannon and over one thousand prisoners. “The boy Jube ran away from the subscribers.”