Diary of Judith W. McGuire: July 23, 1862

Letters and papers to-day. It is reported that Hindman has captured Curtis and his whole command in Arkansas. Delightful, if true. The army in Virginia. and our dear ones, well.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 128

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: July 28, 1862

The report of Hindman's having captured Curtis untrue; but our army is doing well in the West. Murfreesboro', in Tennessee, has been captured by Confederates — a brigade, two brigadiers, and other officers, taken. “Jack Morgan” is annoying and capturing the Kentucky Yankees.

The true Southerners there must endure an almost unbearable thraldom!

A long letter from S. S., describing graphically their troubles when in Federal lines. Now they are breathing freely again. A number of servants from W. and S. H., and indeed from the whole Pamunky River, went off with their Northern friends. I am sorry for them, taken from their comfortable homes to go they know not where, and to be treated they know not how. Our man Nat went, to whom I was very partial, because his mother was the maid and humble friend of my youth, and because I had brought him up. He was a comfort to us as a driver and hostler, but now that we have neither home, carriage, nor horses, it makes but little difference with us; but how, with his slow habits, he is to support himself, I can't imagine. The wish for freedom is natural, and if he prefers it, so far as I am concerned he is welcome to it. I shall be glad to hear that he is doing well. Mothers went off leaving children — in two instances infants. Lord have mercy upon these poor misguided creatures! I am so thankful that the scurf of the earth, of which the Federal army seems to be composed, has been driven away from Hanover. I would that "Clarke" were as free.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 128

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: July 29, 1862

No army news. In this quiet nook mail-day is looked forward to with the greatest anxiety, and the newspapers are read with avidity from beginning to end — embracing Southern rumours, official statements, army telegrams, Yankee extravaganzas, and the various et cœteras. The sick and wounded in the various hospitals are subjects for thought and action in every part of our State which is free to act for them; we all do what we can in our own little way; and surely if we have nothing but prayer to offer, great good must be effected. Yesterday evening, while walking out, a young woman with a baby in her arms passed us rapidly, weeping piteously, and with the wildest expressions of grief; we turned to follow her, but found that another woman was meeting her, whom we recognized as her mother; in another moment all was explained by her father, whom we met, slowly wending his way homeward. He had been to the hospital at Danville to see his son-in-law, whose name appeared among the wounded there. On reaching the place, he found that he had just been buried. On returning he met his daughter walking; in her impatience and anxiety about her husband, she could not sit still in the house; and in her ignorance, she supposed that her father would bring him home to be nursed. Poor thing! she is one of thousands. Oh that the enemy may be driven from our land, with a wholesome dread of encroaching upon our borders again! Our people are suffering too much; they cannot stand it. The family here suffers much anxiety as each battle approaches, about their young son, the pride and darling of the household. He is a lieutenant in the Regiment; but during the fights around Richmond, as his captain was unfit for duty, the first lieutenant killed in the first fight, the command of the company devolved on this dear, fair-haired boy, and many praises have they heard of his bravery during those terrible days. He writes most delightfully encouraging letters, and never seems to know that he is enduring hardships. His last letter, written on a stump near Charles City Court-House, whither they had followed the enemy, was most exultant; and, brave young Christian as he is, he gives the glory to God. He exults in having helped to drive them, and, as it were, pen them up on the river; and though they are now desecrating the fair homes of his ancestors, (Berkeley and Westover,) yet, as they dare not unfurl their once proud banner on any other spot in Lower Virginia, and only there because protected by their gun-boats, he seems to think that the proud spirits of the Byrds and Harrisons may submit when they reflect that though their ancestral trees may shelter the direst of all foes, yet their ancestral marshes are yielding their malaria and mosquitoes with an unstinting hand, and aiding unsparingly the sword of the South in relieving it of invaders. Dear B., like so many Southern boys, he was summoned by the tocsin of war from the class-room to the camp. His career was most successful in one of the first literary institutions in this country, and if he lives he will return to his studies less of a scholar, but more of a man, in the highest sense of the word, than any collegiate course could have made him. But we can't look forward, for what horrors may come upon us before our independence is achieved it makes my heart ache to dwell upon.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 129-30

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Friday, May 15, 1863

General Jackson was buried today, amid the flowing tears of a vast concourse of people. By a strange coincidence, two cavalry companies happened to be passing through Lexington from the West, just at the hour of the ceremonies: they stopped, procured mourning for their colors, and joined the procession.  . . . The exercises were very appropriate; a touching voluntary was sung with subdued, sobbing voices; a prayer from Dr. Ramsay of most melting tenderness; very true and discriminating remarks from Dr. White, and a beautiful prayer from W. F. J. — The coffin was draped in the first Confederate flag ever made, and presented by Pres. Davis to Mrs. Jackson; it was wrapped around the coffin, and on it were laid multitudes of wreaths and flowers which had been piled upon it all along the sad journey to Richmond and thence to Lexington. The grave too was heaped with flowers. And now it is all over, and the hero is left “alone in his glory.” Not many better men have lived and died. His body-servant said to me, “I never knew a piouser gentleman.” Sincerer mourning was never manifested for any one, I do think.  . . . The dear little child is so like her father; she is a sweet thing, and will be a blessing, I trust, to the heart-wrung mother.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 165-6

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Friday, June 24, 1864

Our skirmish line was advanced late yesterday evening and the men worked all night building rifle pits to protect themselves today; I was on a detail that worked till 1 o'clock. The Fifteenth and Sixteenth furnished the skirmishers for the brigade, and the Fifteenth had two men killed. There was some skirmishing with heavy cannonading today. Our company with Companies F and G went out this evening after sundown to relieve the skirmishers, and we worked again most of the night throwing up rifle pits. Things are usually very quiet after night, though now and then skirmishing breaks out and arouses a little excitement.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 200-1

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, July 27, 1863

Centreville, July 27.

Will and I have been talking over the good fellows who have gone before in this war, — fellows whom Rob loved so much, many of them: there is none who has been so widely and so dearly loved as he. What comfort it is to think of this, — if “life is but a sum of love,” Rob had had his share, and had done his share.

When I think how Rob's usefulness had latterly been increasing, how the beauty of his character had been becoming a power, widely felt, how his life had become something more than a promise, I feel as if his father's loss were the heaviest: sometime perhaps we can make him feel that he has other sons, but now remember that in a man's grief for a son whose manhood had just opened, as Rob's had, there is something different from what any woman's grief can be.

That is the time to die when one is happiest, or rather I mean that is the time when we wish those we love to die: Rob was very happy too at the head of his regiment where he died: it is pleasant to remember that he never regretted the old Second for a moment.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 286-7

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Tuesday November 19, 1861

General Schenck and staff left today. General Schenck sick — not health enough for this work. We are rejoiced reading news of the naval expedition to Port Royal. It looks well. I hope the present anticipations will be fully realized.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 149

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, March 10, 1865

March 10, 1865

What think you we did yesterday? We had a “Matinee Musicale,” at the Chapel of the 50th New York Engineers. Nothing but high-toned amusements, now-a-day, you will perceive. In truth I was very glad to go to it, as good music always gives me pleasure. The band was the noted one of the New Jersey brigade, and consisted of over thirty pieces. But the great feature was Captain Halsted, aidede-camp to General Wright, in capacity of Max Maretzek, Carl Bergmann, Muzio, or any other musical director you please. It appears that the Captain is a fine musician, and that his ears are straight, though his eyes are not. There was a large assemblage of the fashion and nobility of the environs of Petersburg, though most of the first families of Virginia were unavoidably detained in the city. We had a batch of ladies, who, by the way, seem suddenly to have gone mad on visiting this army. No petticoat is allowed to stay within our lines, but they run up from City Point and return in the afternoon. Poor little Mrs. Webb accompanied the General to our monkish encampment and tried, in a winning way, to hint to General Meade that she ought to remain a day or two; but the Chief, though of a tender disposition towards the opposite sex, hath a god higher than a hooped skirt, to wit, orders, and his hooked nose became as a polite bit of flint unto any such propositions. And so, poor little Mrs. Webb, aforesaid, had to bid her Andrew adieu. The batch of ladies above mentioned were to me unknown! I was told, however, there was a daughter of Simon Cameron, a great speck in money, to whom Crawford was very devoted. Then there was Miss Something of Kentucky, who was a perfect flying battery, and melted the hearts of the swains in thim parts; particularly the heart of Lieutenant Wm. Worth, our companion-in-arms, to whom she gave a ring, before either was quite sure of the other's name! In fact, I think her parents must have given her a three-week vacation and a porte-monnaie and said: “Go! Get a husband; or give place to Maria Jane, your next younger sister.” The gallant Humphreys gave us a review of Miles's division, on top of the concert; whereat General Meade, followed by a bespattered crowd of generals, Staff officers and orderlies, galloped wildly down the line, to my great amusement, as the black mare could take care of herself, but some of the more heavy-legged went perilously floundering in mud-holes and soft sands.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 317-8

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: August 3, 1861

Conversed with some Yankees to-day who are to be released to-morrow. It appears that when young Lamar lost his horse on the plains of Manassas, the 4th Alabama Regiment had to fall back a few hundred yards, and it was impossible to bear Col. Jones, wounded, from the field, as he was large and unwieldy. When the enemy came up, some half dozen of their men volunteered to convey him to a house in the vicinity. They were permitted to do this, and to remain with him as a guard. Soon after our line advanced, and with such impetuosity as to sweep everything before it. Col. Jones was rescued, and his guard made prisoners. But, for their attention to him, he asked their release, which was granted. They say their curiosity to see a battle-field has been gratified, and they shall be contented to remain at home in safety hereafter. They regarded us as rebels, and believed us divided among ourselves. If this should be true, the rebellion would yet be crushed; but if we were unanimous and continued to fight as we did at Manassas, it would be revolution, and our independence must some day be acknowledged by the United States. But, they say, a great many Northern men remain to be gratified as they had been; and the war will be a terrible one before they can be convinced that a reduction of the rebellion is not a practicable thing.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 69-70

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: June 9, 1862

When we read of the battles in India, in Italy, in the Crimea, what did we care? Only an interesting topic, like any other, to look for in the paper. Now you hear of a battle with a thrill and a shudder. It has come home to us; half the people that we know in the world are under the enemy's guns. A telegram reaches you, and you leave it on your lap. You are pale with fright. You handle it, or you dread to touch it, as you would a rattlesnake; worse, worse, a snake could only strike you. How many, many will this scrap of paper tell you have gone to their death?

When you meet people, sad and sorrowful is the greeting; they press your hand; tears stand in their eyes or roll down their cheeks, as they happen to possess more or less self-control. They have brother, father, or sons as the case may be, in battle. And now this thing seems never to stop. We have no breathing time given us. It can not be so at the North, for the papers say gentlemen do not go into the ranks there, but are officers, or clerks of departments. Then we see so many members of foreign regiments among our prisoners — Germans, Irish, Scotch. The proportion of trouble is awfully against us. Every company on the field, rank and file, is filled with our nearest and dearest, who are common soldiers.

Mem Cohen's story to-day. A woman she knew heard her son was killed, and had hardly taken in the horror of it when they came to say it was all a mistake in the name. She fell on her knees with a shout of joy. “Praise the Lord, O my soul!” she cried, in her wild delight. The household was totally upset, the swing-back of the pendulum from the scene of weeping and wailing of a few moments before was very exciting. In the midst of this hubbub the hearse drove up with the poor boy in his metallic coffin. Does anybody wonder so many women die? Grief and constant anxiety kill nearly as many women at home as men are killed on the battle-field. Mem's friend is at the point of death with brain fever; the sudden changes from grief to joy and joy to grief were more than she could bear.

A story from New Orleans. As some Yankees passed two boys playing in the street, one of the boys threw a handful of burned cotton at them, saying, “I keep this for you.” The other, not to be outdone, spit at the Yankees, and said, “I keep this for you.” The Yankees marked the house. Afterward, a corporal's guard came. Madam was affably conversing with a friend, and in vain, the friend, who was a mere morning caller, protested he was not the master of the house; he was marched off to prison.

Mr. Moise got his money out of New Orleans. He went to a station with his two sons, who were quite small boys. When he got there, the carriage that he expected was not to be seen. He had brought no money with him, knowing he might be searched. Some friend called out, “I will lend you my horse, but then you will be obliged to leave the children.” This offer was accepted, and, as he rode off, one of the boys called out, “Papa, here is your tobacco, which you have forgotten.” Mr. Moise turned back and the boy handed up a roll of tobacco, which he had held openly in his hand all the time. Mr. Moise took it, and galloped off, waving his hat to them. In that roll of tobacco was encased twenty-five thousand dollars.

Now, the Mississippi is virtually open to the Yankees. Beauregard has evacuated Corinth.¹

Henry Nott was killed at Shiloh; Mrs. Auze wrote to tell us. She had no hope. To be conquered and ruined had always been her fate, strive as she might, and now she knew it would be through her country that she would be made to feel. She had had more than most women to endure, and the battle of life she had tried to fight with courage, patience, faith. Long years ago, when she was young, her lover died. Afterward, she married another. Then her husband died, and next her only son. When New Orleans fell, her only daughter was there and Mrs. Auze went to her. Well may she say that she has bravely borne her burden till now.²

Stonewall said, in his quaint way: “I like strong drink, so I never touch it.” May heaven, who sent him to help us, save him from all harm!

My husband traced Stonewall's triumphal career on the map. He has defeated Fremont and taken all his cannon; now he is after Shields. The language of the telegram is vague: “Stonewall has taken plenty of prisoners” — plenty, no doubt, and enough and to spare. We can't feed our own soldiers, and how are we to feed prisoners?

They denounce Toombs in some Georgia paper, which I saw to-day, for planting a full crop of cotton. They say he ought to plant provisions for soldiers.

And now every man in Virginia, and the eastern part of South Carolina is in revolt, because old men and boys are ordered out as a reserve corps, and worst of all, sacred property, that is, negroes, have been seized and sent out to work on the fortifications along the coast line. We are in a fine condition to fortify Columbia!

_______________

¹ Corinth was besieged by the Federals, under General Halleck, in May, 1862, and was evacuated by the Confederates under Beauregard on May 29th.

² She lost her life in the Windsor Hotel fire in New York.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 177-80

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: June 28, 1862

The casualties among our friends, so far, not very numerous. My dear Raleigh T. Colston is here, slightly wounded; he hopes to return to his command in a few days. Colonel Allen, of the Second Virginia, killed. Major Jones, of the same regiment, desperately wounded. Wood McDonald killed. But what touches me most nearly is the death of my young friend, Clarence Warwick, of this city. Dearly have I loved that warm-hearted, high-minded, brave boy, since his early childhood. To-night I have been indulging sad memories of his earnest manner and affectionate tones, from his boyhood up; and now what must be the shock to his father and brothers, and to those tender sisters, when to-morrow the telegraph shall tell them of their loss! His cousin, Lieutenant-Colonel Warwick, is desperately wounded. Oh, I pray that his life may be spared to his poor father and mother! He is so brave and skilful an officer that we cannot spare him, and how can they? The booming of cannon still heard distinctly, but the sound is more distant.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 126

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Tuesday, May 12, 1863

Last night I sat at this desk writing a letter to General Jackson, urging him to come up and stay with us, as soon as his wound would permit him to move. I went down stairs this morning early, with the letter in my hand, and was met by the overwhelming news that Jackson was dead! A telegram had been sent to Colonel Smith by a courier from Staunton. Doubt was soon thrown upon this by the arrival of some one from Richmond, who said he had left when the telegram did, and there was no such rumor in Richmond. So, between alternate hope and fear, the day passed. It was saddened by the bringing home of General Paxton's remains, and by his funeral. At five this evening the startling confirmation comes — Jackson is indeed dead! My heart overflows with sorrow. The grief in this community is intense; everybody is in tears. What a release from his weary two years' warfare! To be released into the blessedness and peace of heaven!  . . . How fearful the loss to the Confederacy! The people made an idol of him, and God has rebuked them. No more ready soul has ascended to the throne than was his. Never have I known a holier man. Never have I seen a human being as thoroughly governed by duty. He lived only to please God; his daily life was a daily offering up of himself. All his letters to Mr. F. and to me since the war began, have breathed the spirit of a saint. In his last letter to me he spoke of our precious Ellie, and of the blessedness of being with her in heaven. And now he has rejoined her, and together they unite in ascribing praises to Him who has redeemed them by his blood. Oh, the havoc death is making! The beautiful sky and the rich, perfumed spring air seemed darkened by oppressive sorrow. Who thinks or speaks of victory? The word is scarcely ever heard. Alas! Alas! When is the end to be?

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 164-5

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, June 23, 1864

We were up all night throwing up breastworks, finishing them about noon today. The rebels opened up their battery on Little Kenesaw mountain, but did no harm. General Leggett on the right made a demonstration before the rebel lines, but was not engaged and soon fell back again.¹ All is quiet on the right. The Sixteenth Corps was ordered out on an expedition with fifteen days' rations, but we do not know their destination. We received orders to be ready to march at a moment's warning, with two days' rations. William Cross of Company E returned from the hospital after an absence of ten months.

_______________

¹ I remember quite distinctly seeing General Sherman with his staff officers riding along our lines, taking in the lay of the country. They had just passed by where I was stationed, when they halted near one of our batteries and began using their field glasses, taking a view of the enemy's lines. At that same time a Confederate general with his staff rode out of the timber upon an open knoll to take a view of our lines with their glasses. This was too good a chance for our battery, so the gunners, taking good aim, fired five or six shots at the mark, and one of them hit and killed the Confederate general, who the signal corps reported was a General Pope. Our signal corps had learned the signs of the Confederate signal service and at once reported the facts. The Confederates claimed that General Sherman himself had aimed the shot which killed their general, but such is not the case. — A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 200

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, Sunday July 26, 1863

Centreville, Sunday, July 26.

Cousin John has just sent me the report about dear Rob. It does not seem to me possible this should be true about Rob. Was not he preeminently what “Every man in arms should wish to be?”¹

The manliness and patriotism and high courage of such a soldier never die with him; they live in his comrades, — it should be the same with the gentleness and thoughtfulness which made him so loveable a son and brother and friend. As you once wrote, he never let the sun go down upon an unkind or thoughtless word.²

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¹ From Wordsworth's “Character of the Happy Warrior,” a poem that Lowell in his youth had greatly cared for, and which was strangely descriptive of his later career.

² The story, in brief, of the gallant but unsuccessful assault upon Battery Wagner in Charleston harbour is this: The Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts Regiment (coloured), after some six weeks’ service in Georgia and South Carolina, where it won respect and praise, even from original scoffers, had, at Colonel Shaw's request, been transferred to General Strong's brigade. The colonel asked “that they might fight alongside of white soldiers, and show to somebody else than their officers what stuff they were made of.” Therefore, at six o'clock on the evening of Saturday, July 18, the regiment reported at General Strong's headquarters on Morris Island, after forty-eight hours of marching, or waiting, without shelter in rain and thunder, for boat transportation, or stewing in tropical heat, with little to eat or drink. They were worn and weary. General Strong told Colonel Shaw that he believed in his regiment, and wished to assign them, in an immediate assault on the enemy's strong works, the post where the most severe work was to be done and the highest honour won. “They were at once marched to within 600 yards of Fort Wagner and formed in line of battle, the Colonel heading the first, and the Major the second battalion.

“At this point, the regiment, together with the next supporting regiment, the Sixth Maine, the Ninth Connecticut, and others, remained half an hour. Then, at half-past seven, the order for the charge was given. The regiment advanced at quick time, changing to double-quick at some distance on. When about one hundred yards from the fort, the Rebel musketry opened with such terrible effect that for an instant the first battalion hesitated; but only for an instant, for Colonel Shaw, springing to the front and waving his sword, shouted, ‘Forward, Fifty-Fourth!’ and with another cheer and a shout they rushed through the ditch, and gained the parapet on the right. Colonel Shaw was one of the first to scale the walls. He stood erect to urge forward his men, and while shouting for them to press on was shot dead, and fell into the fort.”

The attempt to take the fort was a desperate one, and failed. The Fifty-Fourth did nobly, and suffered terribly. Little quarter was given. In that furious fight in the last twilight, lit only by gun-flashes, it is said that the firing from our own ships was, for a time, disastrous to the regiment.

Emerson, in his poem called "Voluntaries," commemorates the sacrifice of Robert Shaw and his men : —

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man,

When Duty whispers low, Thou must,

The youth replies, I can.

       *   *   *   *   *   *   *

     Best befriended of the God

He who, in evil times,

Warned by an inward voice,

Heeds not the darkness and the dread,

Biding by his rule and choice,

Feeling only the fiery thread

Leading over heroic ground,

Walled with mortal terror round,

To the aim which him allures,

And the sweet Heaven his deed secures.

Peril around, all else appalling,

Cannon in front and leaden rain,

Him Duty through the clarion calling

To the van called not in vain.

     Stainless soldier on the walls,

Knowing this, — and knows no more, —

Whoever rights, whoever falls,

Justice conquers evermore,

Justice after as before, —

And he who battles on her side,

God, though he were ten times slain,

Crowns him victor glorified,

Victor over death and pain.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 285-6, 431-3

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Monday November 18, 1861

No signs of Jenkins last night. Heard cannon firing down Kanawha and got ready some rail barricades under direction of Colonel Ewing — rather shabby affairs; could see it gave confidence to men. Ordered back to Fayetteville; returned at dark.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 149

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, March 8, 1865

March 8, 1865

Yesterday, as I hinted in my last, we had a toot, of much duration. At ten A.M. the General got a telegraph (one of those charming City Point surprises) saying that a train was just then starting, holding a dozen of women-kind and a certain force of the male sex; that they would arrive in an hour or so, and that we would please rather to entertain them pretty well! We telegraphed to the 5th Corps to turn out some troops, and to General Wright, to say we were coming that way, and ordered out ambulances to go to the station, and turned out officers to go over also. Your hub, not without growls of a private sort, girded hisself with a sash and ordered the charger saddled. In due time they kim: Colonels Badeau and Babcock to guide them. As sort of chief of the honorable committee of reception, I took off my cap and was solemnly introduced to twelve distinct ladies, whose names I instantly forgot (ditto those of distinguished gentlemen accompanying), all except Mrs. General Grant, who was, of course, too well known to slip from memory. However, at the end of the day, I began to have a flickering and vague idea who some of them were. . . . Then Miss Stanton — of course I was brilliant about her. After I had more or less helped her over puddles and into ambulances for an hour or two, it occurred to me that the name of the Secretary of War was also Stanton. Then, after a period of rest, my mind roused itself to the brilliant hypothesis that this young lady might be the daughter of the Stanton who was Secretary of War. Once on this track, it did not take me over thirty minutes to satisfy myself that I actually had been rendering civilities to the offspring of him who holds the leash of the dogs of war! She is not a roarer, like her paternal, but very subdued and modest, and reminded me of the ci-devant Newport belle, Miss L–– C––.  . . . Likewise, may we here mention Bradlee père, a dried-up lawyer of New Jersey, after the fashion of the countenance of Professor Rogers. He was valiant and stuffed his trousers in his boots and clomb an exceeding tall horse, which so pleased another old party, Judge Woodruff, that he did likewise, and subsequently confessed to me that his last equestrian excursion was in 1834; from which I infer, that, at this present writing, Judge Woodruff's legs are more or less totally useless to him as instruments of progression. He had a complement, his daughter, to whom I did not say much, as she had somebody, I forget who it was. Then we must mention, in a front place, the Lady Patroness, Mrs. H––, and the Noble Patron, Mr. H––. These two seemed to take us all under their protection, and, so to speak, to run the machine. Mrs. was plump, fair, and getting towards forty. Mr. was of suitable age, stout, looked as if fond of good dinners, and apparently very tender on Mrs., for he continually smiled sweetly at her. Also he is a large legal gun and part proprietor of the Philadelphia Enquirer. Then there was a pale, no-account couple, Dr. and Mrs. G––. The Doctor's sister was Mrs. Smith, to whom Rosie attached himself with devotion that threatened the tranquillity of the absent S. All these, and more, were carted over to the Headquarters, where the General bowed them into his tent and cried out very actively: “Now Lyman, where are all my young men? I want all of them.” So I hunted all that were not already on hand, and they were introduced and were expected to make themselves as agreeable as possible. Without delay we were again en voyage (I, being sharp, got on a horse, which tended much to my physical comfort, prevented my conversation from being prematurely played out) and took the party to see the glories of the engineer camp and the chapel thereof; after which, to the model hospitals of the 6th Corps, of which Dr. Holman is the Medical Director, who prides himself on doing everything without aid from the Sanitary, which he doubtless can do, when in winter quarters. It was like packing and unpacking so many boxes, to “aussteigen” and “einsteigen” all the females. We descended them, for the third time, at Fort Fisher, whence we showed them the Reb line and the big guns, and the signal tower of trestle work, 140 feet high. The next pilgrimage was a long one, as far as the 5th Corps Headquarters, on the left of the line. General Warren issued forth and welcomed the ladies to oranges, apples, grapes, crackers, cheese, ale, and cider, into the which the visitors walked with a vigor most commendable. By the time the males had made a considerable vacuum in the barrel of ale, Griffin's division was ready for review, and thither we all went and found the gallant Humphreys, whom I carefully introduced to the prettiest young lady there, and expect to be remembered in his will for that same favor! A review of Crawford's division followed, very beautiful, with the setting sun on the bayonets; and so home to an evening lunch, so to speak, whereat I opened my “pickles,” to the great delectation of both sexes. All this was dreamland novelty concentrated to the visitors, who departed with vehement thanks to us, well expressed by Mrs. Grant: “General Meade, I would far rather command an army, as you do, than live at City Point and have the position of Mr. Grant!” They were to have a dance that night on their boat at City Point, and politely and earnestly asked me to go down with them; but the point was not noticed by your loving hub.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 314-6

Private James Robert Montgomery to Allen Varner Montgomery Sr., May 10, 1864

Spotsylvania County, Va.

May 10, 1864.

Dear Father:

This is my last letter to you. I went into battle this evening as courier for Gen'l Heth. I have been struck by a piece of shell and my right shoulder is horribly mangled & I know death is inevitable. I am very weak but I write to you because I know you would be delighted to read a word from your dying son. I know death is near, that I will die far from home and friends of my early youth, but I have friends here, too, who are kind to me. My Friend Fairfax will write you at my request and give you the particulars of my death. My grave will be marked so that you may visit it if you desire to do so, but it is optionary with you whether you let my remains rest here or in Mississippi. I would like to rest in the graveyard with my dear mother and brothers, but it is a matter of minor importance. Let us all try to reunite in heaven. I pray my God to forgive my sins & I feel that his promises are true, that he will forgive me and save me. Give my love to all my friends. My strength fails me. My horse & my equipments will be left for you. Again a long farewell to you. May we meet in heaven.

Your Dying Son,

J. R. Montgomery.

SOURCE:  Julian Street, American Adventures: A Second Trip “Abroad at Home,” p. 232

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: July 30, 1861

Nothing of importance to-day.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 68

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: July 31, 1861

Nothing worthy of note.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 68

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: August 1, 1861

Col. Bledsoe again threatens to resign, and again declares he will get the President to appoint me to his place. It would not suit me.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 69