Showing posts with label Mourning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mourning. Show all posts

Monday, February 26, 2024

Diary of Sergeant Daniel L. Ambrose: November 11, 1864

The grand armies are now moving, headed towards Atlanta. To-night we go into camp upon the Allatoona battle field. The brave General John M. Corse, though his wound is scarcely well, is with us commanding the Fourth Division. As we see him late to-night riding up to his headquarters (having refused to dismount until his division was all in camp), we thought to ourselves, "Brave Johnny, thou art a noble type of an American soldier.” As we said, this is Allatoona's great battle field; here brave men sleep; here noble warriors fought their last fight; here sleep those who stood with us when Allatoona's hills were rocking amid the awful din and clash of steel; stood with us until they fell.

We are now standing by their uncoffined graves. Boon companions lie here. How vividly the hour comes to us when they passed away under the shadow of the flag, the pride of their hearts. We cannot help but cast silent tears to their memory, and turning our faces towards the north star, we are wont to say: Oh! weep, heart of the North, for thy fallen dead who sleep here. The night is growing cold; we will now wend our way to where the weary Seventh lie sleeping.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 274-5

Thursday, February 1, 2024

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: October 6, 1864

The morning of the sixth dawns beautifully, but upon a field of death-a field of blood; but thanks be to God, it dawns with the old flag triumphant. We will again walk among the dead and wounded. The loss of the Seventh has been fearful. At Fort Donelson, Shiloh and Corinth our loss was heavy, but our loss in this battle exceeds our whole loss in those three great battles. The following list of the Seventh's casualties in this battle will speak for itself; will alone tell how fierce was the storm of battle that raged on these hills.

STAFF. Wounded: Colonel R. Rowett, in the head, severely; Adjutant J. S. Robinson, severely.

COMPANY A.—Killed: Corporal Henry C. Hasson. Wounded: Sergeant James O'Donnell.

COMPANY B.—Killed: Privates Philip Saules, Jonathan Bishop; Wounded: private John Hunter.

COMPANY C—Killed: Privates Andrew Hellgoth, John McAlpine; Corporal John B. Hubreht.

COMPANY D.—Company D was left at Rome on guard duty, therefore was not with the regiment at the Allatoona Pass.

COMPANY E.—Killed: Privates James F. Burk, George W. Eversole, Michael F. Galbraith, Marion R. Kampf, Francis Love, David Roberts, Lewis C. Stroud, Calvin A. Summers, John W. Watt, W. H. Burwell, Lewis J. Allman, Levi Allen, Ezra M. Miller, Elias Hainline, Leonidas Burkholder, Corporal William Smith. Wounded: Sergeant and Color Bearer Joseph Bordwell; Privates L. D. Barnes, George G. Brooks, Lewis A. Burk, Abner W. Burwell, Samuel H. Ewing, Angelo V. Faucett, Albert Gardner, Phillip J. Gossard, John F. Hainline, James A. Hedges, George Sullivan, Edwin R. Jones, Thomas Gardner, A. N. Roelofson, James M. Allman, John L. Forbes, Joseph Lancaster, Eli Mushrush, Samuel M. Watt. Corporal Henry C. Montjoy; Taken Prisoner: N. A. Bovee, Samuel H. Jones, William E. Verry, William H. Miller.

COMPANY F. —Killed: Privates Philip Hale, John Phillips, Henry M. Robbins, Eldridge Walton, Nathan D. Atchison. Wounded: Privates James Kelley, Robert B. Kelley, George Brenton; Sergeant John McTurk.

COMPANY G.—No separate record given—consolidated with Company I.

COMPAMY H.—Killed: Corporal Samuel Walker; Privates Henry Bigler, John Etterlain, William T. Taylor, John White, Timothy Hoblitt, James L. Parish. Wounded: Sergeant William P. Hackney, severely; Edward C. Nicholas, severely; Privates Oscar J. Hackney, slightly; John E. J. Wood, severely; Richard P. Graham, severely; James M. Halbert, slightly; Aaron Watkins, slightly; Ferdinand Capps, severely. Taken Prisoner: Thomas Caylor, William R. Skiver, George W. Ballard.

COMPANY I.—Killed: First Lieutenant John E. Sullivan, Sergeant Charles Myres, Corporal William Ecker, Privates John W. Johnson, Ira Carey. Wounded: Privates Daniel O'Keefe, Alfred Scott, James Andrews, George Harris, William Massey.

COMPANY K.—Killed: Privates E. Thompson, Martin V. Kelton, Jesse C. Botkins. Wounded: Corporals John W. Bowman, Walter Smith; Privates Grundy McClure, Thesbold Steinberg, Lewis P. Moore, Albert H. Duff, John P. Van Dyke, Julius Wolf. Total killed, 42, total wounded, 53.

Though the Union loss is heavy, though Illinois, Iowa and Minnesota, offered a fearful sacrifice; we behold in looking around us a great many more of the traitors weltering in their gore. Six hundred rebels poured out their life blood—poured it out upon these hills for naught-six hundred lie still in death, and as many more are wounded. Ah! what an ill-fated field Allatoona has been to them. "They came for bread; Corse gave them war and lead." Their wounded tell us they never fought such men. Says a rebel officer, "I believe those Illinois and Iowa boys who were in yonder fort (pointing to the fort General Corse, Colonel Rowett and his Third Brigade occupied,) would have all died before they would have surrendered." All day the 6th we are engaged caring for the wounded and burying the dead. On the hill the Seventh bury their fellow-heroes. The regiment is now small, the survivors look sorrowful; now and then we see tears steal down the bronzed cheeks to fall and perish upon the lonely graves. Praises for Colonel Rowett are on every tongue. Allatoona tells us that no braver warrior ever drew a sword in battle. In the thickest of the conflict he was ever found, cheering his men when disaster threatened, leading amid dire confusion. In Allatoona's great battle he stood by the flag, and around him and it his men rallied; rallied to fall and die; rallied to see it victorious. But how sad were his men when they saw him fall; when they saw him bleeding; when they saw him fainting from loss of blood. But remembering his words of cheer; remembering his command to die rather than let the flag be lowered; his men struggled on and proved themselves true to their Colonel and their flag, and the sun went down with the fifteen-hundred triumphant, and that evening the Union's proud banner looked more beautiful than it had ever before looked—more beautiful because it stood upon another victorious field.

Lieutenant John E. Sullivan, of Company I, fell fighting like a Spartan. Heroically he braved the frightful tempest and went down crowned all over with laurels of glory. He fell mortally wounded in the early part of the day, and died .about ten o'clock the next morning. We were called to his side as his last moments of life were drawing nigh. Says he, "Give my sword to the gallant William Hackney of Company H," (which company he commanded until he fell.) "Brave men, I will soon leave you,—will soon pass the river of death." We stood by his side again, but his spirit had departed, and the noble warrior was free from the angry strife of men.

Lieutenant John S. Robinson, A. A. A. G. on Colonel Rowett's staff, was severely wounded during the last charge of the rebels, and no one performed his part more gallantly in this great battle than did this officer. Where the battle raged fiercest there he was ever found. He was standing by the side of Colonel Rowett, struggling against the wild tide of battle as but few men have ever struggled in this terrible war, until the scales began to show signs favorable to the fifteen-hundred, when he was stricken down, (which was but a short time before the battle closed.) He is dangerously wounded and we fear his days will soon be numbered. Courageous soldier! we can only say of him he was true; that he did his duty, and did it well.

Colonel Hanna, the dashing commander of the Fifteenth Illinois, was among the most conspicuous in this battle. With his impetuous and irresistible regiment he stood as firm as a gigantic rock, and against his front of bristling steel French's hungry rebels hurled themselves, but in vain did they attempt to crush the gallant "half-hundred," for when the fearless Hanna threw himself into the most dangerous ordeal, making his clarion voice heard above the loud din of battle, the eyes of his brave men grew brighter and each heart was kindled with the fire that ever warms the patriot's heart. We remember when the very air was red with flame, when the earth was strewn with the mangled dead, when the sun seemed to be hid behind an awful sheet of fire; how anxiously we watched Colonel Hanna moving with his regiment from beyond the railroad to the support of Colonel Rowett. Oh! that was a trying hour; the leaden hail flew thick and fast; it was a march of death, for ere they reached Colonel Rowett's fort many of their number had fallen. But how glad were the men of the Seventh Illinois when that grand old regiment rushed into the fort and waved over the ramparts their shattered battle flag. It was a glorious hour, glorious because we felt encouraged and strengthened. We will never forget that period in the battle; will never forget Colonel Hanna and his noble men who made that memorable charge across the railroad and cut their way through to Colonel Rowett's fort, a work which for fierceness has, we believe, never been surpassed in this war.

Captain Rattrey of the Fifty-seventh, aid to Col. Rowett, excited the admiration of every one for his bravery, accompanied with so much coolness and judgment. He was found constantly by Colonel Rowett's side, executing his orders with a promptness that was indeed remarkable. When the crushing tide of battle bore down Colonel Rowett, Captain Rattrey could not find a field officer in the brigade to report to; every one down to his rank having fallen as victims—either dead or wounded. The gallant defenders of the Pass who had been struggling through long weary hours, were now making their last desperate struggle, and signs were appearing that seemed to tell of a turning point in the battle, seemed to tell that the boys in blue were about to gain the mastery, were about to hurl back from the pass Hood's insane legions. There was no time to lose, and Captain Rattrey fearing that the men who had fought so long, and so well, who had seen so many of their comrades fall and die, would soon become exhausted, leaped like a giant from where lay the bleeding and seemingly lifeless Rowett, and with the robust courage of an angel in his soul assumed command of the gallant old Third Brigade and conducted the battle to its glorious consummation. There seemed to be no post of danger that Captain Rattrey did not wish to occupy.

In looking around us we miss many noble men who are now sleeping in death's cold embrace, Liberty in its great trial claimed them as sacrifices on its altar; but not for naught, as history will declare when this generation shall have long passed away. Private soldiers though they were, they performed their part, and hence are as worthy the country's gratitude as those in higher positions, who offered up their lives in this battle.

We cannot pass without alluding to the gallantry of Corporal Samuel Walker of Company H. He was standing with Colonel Rowett, and while fighting bravely in one of the desperate rebel charges the flag comes falling down over his head, and ere it reaches the blood stained earth, Corporal Walker is seen to grasp its shot-riven staff, and with its silken shreds falling around him, he mounted the works and there in one of the wildest battle storms that ever left blood in its wake, he waved it defiantly in the face of arch-treason,—waved it until a minie went crashing through his brain,—waved it until he fell, and there in blood under that grand old flag, the pride of his heart, the glory of his manhood, he died—died for the flag, died for his country, died for liberty. Glorious spirit! may his name ever shine bright in the book of perpetual remembrance as one of the boldest who helped to defend this second Thermopylae!

But all were brave, and like the legions of Bruce and the lovers of Sparta, they struggled against an adverse tide; for four fearful hours they held it in check; at last they turned it, and above streams of blood, the groans of the dying and the shouts of victors, light from the Union's proud banner seemed to flash against the sky. How proud were the Illinois and Iowa boys when the noble Corse, wounded and bleeding, said there was not a coward in the great battle of the Allatoona Pass; and prouder still were the men of the Seventh, when he said, "Colonel, your regiment sustained the heaviest loss; I will give it the post of honor." Before leaving the battle-field, Sergeant Major S. F. Flint writes:

Winds that sweep the southern mountain,

And the leafy river shore,

Bear ye not a prouder burden

Than ye ever learned before?

And the hot blood fills

The heart till it thrills,

At the story of the terror and the glory of the battle

Of the Allatoona hills.

Echo from the purple mountains,

To the dull surrounding shore;

'Tis as sad and proud a burden,

As ye ever learned before.

How they fell like grass

When the mowers pass,

And the dying, when the foe was flying, swelled the cheering

Of the heroes of the pass.

Sweep it o'er the hills of Georgia

To the mountains of the north;

Teach the coward and the doubter,

What the blood of man is worth.

Toss the flag as you pass,

Let their stained and tattered mass

Tell the story of the terror and the glory of the battle

Of the Allatoona Pass.

After burying the dead and caring for the wounded, which are placed on the cars to be sent to Rome, we return to our old camp on the Etawah. At no time during the war have we seen so much of sadness depicted upon the faces of the men as we have seen since our return to Rome. The men stand around in the camp lonely and silent, without a word to say to each other. There is indeed sorrow in the Seventh; sorrow for their brave comrades whom they left wrapped in death's pale sheet on the Allatoona hills. The Seventh felt sad when they stood on Shiloh's field and gazed upon their dead and wounded companions; their hearts were moved when they saw so many of their number who had perished on Corinth's plain, but the blood that flowed from the heroes of the Allatoona Pass has completely unnerved these strong men; and will our readers call it weakness when we tell them that after that work of blood at the Pass, while standing around the camp fires near the banks of the Etawah, we saw stalwart soldiers weep; saw tears sparkle in their eyes for those brave boys who had surrendered their lives in the great war for human liberty?

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 261-70

Monday, May 13, 2019

Diary of Captain Luman Harris Tenney: April 18, 1865

Had a very good night's rest. Up early. Pleasant visit with an Indiana man. Several Southern ladies on board the boat. Great gloom in Washington. Excitement very high. Went to White House and viewed the President's remains in state. Everybody on the alert to discover the conspirators. Drew pay for January and February. Took the evening train via Harrisburg. Read papers and slept. The whole nation in mourning. All business places draped.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 161

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Captain Charles Wright Wills: April 3, 1864

Huntsville, Ala., April 3, 1864.

Thunder, lightning and rain are having a little time by themselves outdoors to-night. No audience, but guards and government mules, but that don't seem to affect the show. We have a right good hotel here, a rather lively party, and have spent a pleasant, highly gaseous evening, Colonel Oglesby, Dr. Morris and Captain Wilkinson of our division. We came down on two days' leave, principally to see the place, but all having more or less business. Found Will Trites this a. m.; dined with him, and this afternoon four of us have been riding. I enjoyed it very much. Had good horses, and 'tis a beautiful town. I think the finest I have seen South; but nothing near what Decatur, Bloomington, Quincy and a dozen other Illinois towns promise to be when they have half its age. In the cemetery there are as many really fine monuments as there were in the Chicago cemetery in 1859, and should think it not more than half the size of the new Canton graveyard. Our soldiers have been registering their names on the finest of the monuments. It looks so sacrilegious, and fully as ridiculous. They have a beautiful custom here of placing wreaths of flowers and bouquets upon the graves. This p. m. (Sabbath) nearly every grave had one or more such offerings. I attended the Presbyterian church this a. m., and certainly never heard the English language so abused before. The minister was a citizen. Did not by a word allude to the war in sermon or prayers. Most of the ladies wore mourning. Very full attendance of them. All who refused the “oath” here, have been sent across the river. Saw General McPherson at breakfast this morning looking as of old. We were paid four months last Thursday.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 222-3

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: Sunday, April 16, 1865

No inspection. All is quiet in camp. After breakfast, cleaned up, ready for service in the log chapel. Sermon by our Chaplain. A good attendance, with several visitors from town. A good sermon on the sad event. All is quiet, and a very sad day in our camp. All duties suspended for the day. Went for a walk. Evidence of mourning on many houses and public buildings, by placing crape on them.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 149

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: April 19, 1865

All duty except guard and picket suspended since the assassination of Mr. Lincoln. These are days of mourning. Officers wear crape on the left arm and on the hilts of swords for thirty days. The funeral takes place today in Washington. The towns-people have arranged for a funeral parade and service to be held in the Court House. Our regimental band is engaged to furnish the music for the procession. On the march a coffin was carried, making a solemn appearance as the funeral procession marched to the cemetery where the coffin was buried. The whole thing was in charge of the towns-people. It was a very strange proceeding in the eyes of down-east Yankees. It was a very solemn occasion all through, to the burial of the coffin.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 149-50

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: April 20, 1865

Weather fine. Real spring. All is quiet in camp. The body of the martyr President is being carried across the country to his home town, Springfield, Illinois. These are days of mourning. The sudden taking off of Mr. Lincoln is the topic of conversation in our camp. It is generally believed there was a conspiracy among the leaders of the rebellion to murder Mr. Lincoln, so the cry is that the leaders must be punished.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 150

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Diary of Sarah Morgan: April 19, 1865

No. 211 Camp St.

“All things are taken from us, and become portions and parcels of the dreadful pasts.” . . .

Thursday the 13th came the dreadful tidings of the surrender of Lee and his army on the 9th. Everybody cried, but I would not, satisfied that God will still save us, even though all should apparently be lost. Followed at intervals of two or three hours by the announcement of the capture of Richmond, Selma, Mobile, and Johnston's army, even the stanchest Southerners were hopeless. Every one proclaimed Peace, and the only matter under consideration was whether Jeff Davis, all politicians, every man above the rank of Captain in the army and above that of Lieutenant in the navy, should be hanged immediately, or some graciously pardoned. Henry Ward Beecher humanely pleaded mercy for us, supported by a small minority. Davis and all leading men must be executed; the blood of the others would serve to irrigate the country. Under this lively prospect, Peace, blessed Peace! was the cry. I whispered, “Never! Let a great earthquake swallow us up first! Let us leave our land and emigrate to any desert spot of the earth, rather than return to the Union, even as it Was!”

Six days this has lasted. Blessed with the silently obstinate disposition, I would not dispute, but felt my heart swell, repeating, “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble,” and could not for an instant believe this could end in an overthrow.

This morning, when I went down to breakfast at seven, Brother read the announcement of the assassination of Lincoln and Secretary Seward.

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” This is murder! God have mercy on those who did it!

Charlotte Corday killed Marat in his bath, and is held up in history as one of Liberty's martyrs, and one of the heroines of her country. To me, it is all murder. Let historians extol blood-shedding; it is woman's place to abhor it. And because I know that they would have apotheosized any man who had crucified Jeff Davis, I abhor this, and call it foul murder, unworthy of our cause — and God grant it was only the temporary insanity of a desperate man that committed this crime! Let not his blood be visited on our nation, Lord!

Across the way, a large building, undoubtedly inhabited by officers, is being draped in black. Immense streamers of black and white hang from the balcony. Downtown, I understand, all shops are closed, and all wrapped in mourning. And I hardly dare pray God to bless us, with the crape hanging over the way. It would have been banners, if our President had been killed, though!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 435-7

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Saturday, April 22, 1865

To see a whole city draped in mourning is certainly an imposing spectacle, and becomes almost grand when it is considered as an expression of universal affliction. So it is, in one sense. For the more violently “Secesh” the inmates, the more thankful they are for Lincoln's death, the more profusely the houses are decked with the emblems of woe. They all look to me like “not sorry for him, but dreadfully grieved to be forced to this demonstration.” So all things have indeed assumed a funereal aspect. Men who have hated Lincoln with all their souls, under terror of confiscation and imprisonment which they understand is the alternative, tie black crape from every practicable knob and point to save their homes. Last evening the B–––s were all in tears, preparing their mourning. What sensibility! What patriotism! a stranger would have exclaimed. But Bella's first remark was: “Is it not horrible? This vile, vile old crape! Think of hanging it out when —” Tears of rage finished the sentence. One would have thought pity for the murdered man had very little to do with it.

Coming back in the cars, I had a rencontre that makes me gnash my teeth yet. It was after dark, and I was the only lady in a car crowded with gentlemen. I placed little Miriam on my lap to make room for some of them, when a great, dark man, all in black, entered, and took the seat and my left hand at the same instant, saying, “Good-evening, Miss Sarah.” Frightened beyond measure to recognize Captain Todd1 of the Yankee army in my interlocutor, I, however, preserved a quiet exterior, and without the slightest demonstration answered, as though replying to an internal question. “Mr. Todd.” “It is a long while since we met,” he ventured. “Four years,” I returned mechanically. “You have been well?” “My health has been bad.” “I have been ill myself”; and determined to break the ice he diverged with “Baton Rouge has changed sadly.” “I hope I shall never see it again. We have suffered too much to recall home with any pleasure.” “I understand you have suffered severely,” he said, glancing at my black dress. “We have yet one left in the army, though,” I could not help saying. He, too, had a brother there, he said.

He pulled the check-string as we reached the house, adding, “This is it,” and absurdly correcting himself with “Where do you live?” — “211. I thank you. Good-evening”; the last with emphasis as he prepared to follow. He returned the salutation, and I hurriedly regained the house. Monsieur stood over the way. A look through the blinds showed him returning to his domicile, several doors below.

I returned to my own painful reflections. The Mr. Todd who was my “sweetheart” when I was twelve and he twenty-four, who was my brother's friend, and daily at our home, was put away from among our acquaintance at the beginning of the war. This one, I should not know. Cords of candy and mountains of bouquets bestowed in childish days will not make my country's enemy my friend now that I am a woman.
_______________

1 A cousin of Mrs. Lincoln.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 437-9

Monday, November 23, 2015

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: January 3, 1864

Entered on the duties of my office on the 30th of December. So far I like it well. “The Major” is very kind, and considerate of our comfort; the duties of the office are not very onerous, but rather confining for one who left school thirty-four years ago, and has had no restraint of the kind during the interim. The ladies, thirty-five in number, are of all ages, and representing various parts of Virginia, also Maryland and Louisiana. Many of them are refugees. It is melancholy to see how many wear mourning for brothers or other relatives, the victims of war. One sad young girl sits near me, whose two brothers have fallen on the field, but she is too poor to buy mourning. I found many acquaintances, and when I learned the history of others, it was often that of fallen fortunes and destroyed homes. One young lady, of high-sounding Maryland name, was banished from Baltimore, because of her zeal in going to the assistance of our Gettysburg wounded. The society is pleasant, and we hope to get along very agreeably. I am now obliged to visit the hospital in the afternoon, and I give it two evenings in the week. It is a cross to me not to be able to give it more time; but we have very few patients just now, so that it makes very little difference.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 250-1

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: March 15, 1864

Old Mrs. Chesnut is dead. A saint is gone and James Chesnut is broken-hearted. He adored his mother. I gave $375 for my mourning, which consists of a black alpaca dress and a crape veil. With bonnet, gloves, and all it came to $500. Before the blockade such things as I have would not have been thought fit for a chamber-maid.

Everybody is in trouble. Mrs. Davis says paper money has depreciated so much in value that they can not live within their income; so they are going to dispense with their carriage and horses.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 299-300