April 30th, 1865.—General Johnston, too, has surrendered and the last slender hope to which some of our people were clinging, has vanished. We have lost all save honor.

Louise Wigfall, from the book: “After General Johnston’s surrender, which followed on April 26th—and the capture of the President—it became necessary in order to escape arrest, that my father should make all possible effort to conceal his identity, and endeavor to make his way across the Mississippi river as speedily as might be, where Kirby Smith was still commanding the remnant of an army. To this end he donned the garb of a private soldier, shaved off his beard and procured a borrowed parole. I have it yet.”

“APPOMATTOX COURT HOUSE, VA.,
April 10th, 1865.

        “The Bearer, pri. J. A. White, of Co. M. First Regt. of Texas Vols., a paroled Prisoner of the Army of Northern Virginia, has permission to go to his home, and there remain undisturbed.

“JNO. N. WILSON, CAPT.
“commdg.”

April 30^th 1865

This has been a most eventful month. The most eventful in the History of our Country. We have seen during this month the complete crushing out of the “Great rebellion” by a series of masterly Military achievements. The occupation of the Rebel Capitol by our troops. The surrender of Gen^l Lee with his Army near Richmond, and the surrender of Gen^l Johnson and his Army in North Carolina, and above all in importance which has occured in the World during this month, The President of the United States has been assassinated. Abraham Lincoln, the good and kind hearted, was Shot while sitting in his Box at Fords Theatre on the night of the 14^th In^t at about half past ten O’clock. Mr Lincoln had been in the habit of attending the Theatre occasionaly, perhaps once in four or six weeks, as a relaxation from the arduous duties of his position and constant mental exertion. On this occasion he went rather reluctantly. But it had been published in the Bills that Himself and Gen^l Grant would be present, and Gen^l Grant having left the City in the evening train for Phil^a, the President said that he did not “wish the people to be disappointed” and so went with his Lady arriving about ½ past 8. Miss Harris (daughter of Hon Ira Harris) and Maj Rathbone of Albany were also in the same Box, which was a double one, two being thrown into one. This Box was in the 2^nd Tier and entered from the Dress circle through a narrow corridor some three feet wide and eight or ten long. There was a door at the dress circle end and at the other end there were two doors, one for each Box but now the two Boxes being thrown into one, one of the doors was closed. The other was open, and all of them unguarded. The assassin J Wilkes Booth had made his arrangements in the most deliberate manner (probably during that day). He had fixed a bar across the door leading into the dress circle and had cut a hole through the closed door leading to the Box, which enabled him to see the exact position of the President and others in the Box without being seen himself. At about ½ past 10, he entered the corridor from the Dress circle, bared the door to prevent any one from entering, examined the position of Mr Lincoln through the hole in the closed door. Then entered the Box behind all who were there (as they were looking toward the stage) and standing within three or four feet of Mr Lincoln, Shot him in the back of the head. The ball entering about two inches from the left ear near the base of the skull and lodging in the brain about two inches back of the right eye. His head was probably inclined forward at the time. The Murderer rushed to the front of the Box with a dagger in his hand. Major Rathbone caught his coat but Booth struck him on the arm with the dagger wounding him severely, which compelled him to let go his hold. Booth vaulted over the front of the Box and as he did so exclaimed “Sic Semper Tyranis” (Thus To Tyrants). As he Jumped from the box his spur cau[gh]t in the flag and as he struck the Stage he came to a crouching position from the effect of the concussion, his hands striking the floor but he recovered himself in a moment and flourishing his dagger he strode across the Stage some forty feet in sight of the spectators and past some of the actors, and reaching the back door which opens into a lane, he mounted a fleet horse and escaped. The lane enters F S^t betwen 9^th & 10 S^ts. The audience was paralized for some seconds, but rushed on to the Stage. A Surgeon was called for and Charles S Taft a Surgeon being present was lifted up from the Stage to the Box by those present. Before this the bar had been removed by Maj Rathbone and several men had reached the Box. When Cha^s reached the Box the President was lying upon the floor. Water and stimulants were used immediately but without avail in attempts to revive him. He was taken up and carried from the Theatre to the House opposite in about fifteen minutes after he was shot. A Dr Leale from Armory Square Hospital was the first Surgeon in the box. But Cha^s did not know that there was any Surgeon but himself present until the President was removed from the Theatre. Cha^s had charge of him until Dr Stone (the Presidents family Physician) arrived which was half an hour after he was placed on a bed at the House of Mr Peterson, opposite. When the shot was fired Mrs Lincoln was sitting near her husband with her hand on his knee. She says she saw the flash and heard the report of the pistol, thinking it was in some way connected with the the Play. She leaned forward to see what it was, and then looked to Mr Lincoln to see where he was looking. He was sitting with his head droped down and eyes shut. She was not alarmed at this, he sometimes held his head in that way when in deep thought, but she put her hand on his forehead and he not stirring she put it on the back of his head and feeling it wet she immediately withdrew it covered with blood. She then screamed and that is the last she remembered that took place in the Theatre. She says, as she put her hand on his head she recollects that something suddenly brushed past her and rubbing off her Shawl. It was Booth as he jumped from the Box. The President made no noise, nor attempted to speak, nor Stirred a limb after he was shot, nor was he conscious for one moment from that time until he died. When his skin was touched or his hand was taken, there was a slight quiver or tremor of the muscles, but that was all. Mustard paste was applied nearly all over the body and stimulants were given as long as he could swallow in hopes to revive him but entirely without avail. His pulse ceased to beat at 22 minutes past Seven. Cha^s had his hand on his heart, he said it fluttered or trilled for 10 seconds longer. It was the opinion of the Surgeons that the wound would have killed most men instantly, or in a very few minutes. But Mr Lincoln had so much vitality that he lived nearly nine hours. There were four Surgeons in immediate or active attendance. Dr Stone, The Surgeon Gen^l Dr Barnes, The Assistant Surgeon Gen^l Dr Crane and Charles. Some others were present whose services were not required. Most of the members of the Cabinet were there all night. Chief Justice Chase and other distinguished men. Mr Senator Sumner with Robert Lincoln leaning on his shoulder near the head of the bed. Sec’y Stanton was active in giving directions and writing dispatches all night. Gen^l Meigs Stood at the door to keep out all who were not wanted or to see that the room was not crowded. The room is at the end of the entrance Hall about 9 feet by 15, with two windows and three doors, one door entering from the Hall, one at the left as you enter, opening to an open porch or piazza, and the other at the farther end of the room, opening into another small room from which stairs decended to to [sic] the Basement. Some few individuals came in to the room through that door clandestinely. Mrs Lincoln occupied a room near by with some of her friends who were there. She went in frequently to see the President with Doct Gurley (The family Pastor) who had been sent for about 3 O’clock. She was not in the room when he died. Robert Lincoln was there and Dr Gurley, the two private Secretaries of the President Nicolay and Hay. Upon one occasion when Mrs L went in and saw her husband she fainted and was carried out insensible. It was thought best for her not to be there when he died. Dr Gurley prayed by the bedside of the President when he first arrived (at 3 o’clock). Then went into the room where Mrs Lincoln was and prayed with her, and remained with her most of the time, accompanying her and supporting her into the room of the dying President when she visited it. After the death Dr Gurley who was standing near Mr Stanton said shall we have any religious exercises here or elsewhere now? Yes said Mr Stanton offer Prayer ________ now and here. For the last half hour before the death, the utmost stillness had prevailed in the room, not a word, not a whisper was heard. The President of the United States dying, surrounded by his Cabinet and many of the first men in the Nation standing like statues around the bed presented a scene for an artist seldom equaled for solemn grandeur. It is to be hoped that it will yet be transfered to Canvass. After the President died Dr Gurley went to Mrs L and told her “the President is dead.” O – why did you not let me know? Why did you not tell me? “Your friends thought it was not best. You must be resigned to the will of God. You must be calm and trust in God and in your friends.” She soon after left, with Dr G for her Home. She was asked during the night if her son “Tad” (Thaddeus) (a boy about twelve years old) should be sent for. “O, my poor “Taddy” what will become of him? O do not send for him, his violent grief would disturb the House.” When they reached the Presidents house “Tad” met them on the Portico. “Where is my Pa? Where is my Pa? He kept repeating the question till they got into the room of Mrs Lincoln. He had heard that his Pa had been shot but evidently expected him when his mother came. He was very much excited and alarmed but had not thought that his Pa could be dead. “Taddy” your Pa is dead” said Dr Gurley. He was not prepared for this. He screamed in an agony of grief “O what shall I do? What shall I do? My Brother is dead. My Father is dead. O what shall I do? What will become of me? O what shall I do? O mother you will not die will you. O don’t you die Ma. You wont die will you Mother? If you die I shall be all alone. O dont die Ma.” Dr Gurley said that up to that time he himself had not shed a tear, but he could not witness “Tads” grief unmoved and the Tears flowed freely. He said, when I got back to my own house at about 10 o’clock that morning, “I felt as though I had been engaged all night in a terrible Battle and had but just strength enough left to drag myself off the field.” 

Our last march. Near Rolesville. N. G,
April 29, 1865.

Left Raleigh at 7 this morning on my way home, via Richmond and Washington. Made about 11 miles. Rather too warm for such fast marching as we always do. If we would just make 15 miles a day, say 10 of it between sunrise and 10 a. m., and the remainder after 2 p. m., it would not hurt a man or an animal, but we move when we do move at three or three and a half miles an hour, and not all even Sherman’s men can stand it in as warm weather as this. I saw a number laid out this morning by the roadside looking as if they had been boiled. The 50 pounds of equipments is what uses them up. Well settled country, and it looks beautiful. The leaves are all out nearly full size; ?ne oak, elm and pine strips of woodland between farms is such an addition of comfort to citizens and cattle, and of beauty to scenery. The undergrowth is mostly dogwood and holly. We are on our good behavior this trip. No foraging, no bumming rails, or houses, and nothing naughty whatever. We have the best set of men in the world. When it is in order to raise h___ they have no equals in destructiveness and ability to hate and worry, or superiors as to ?ghting Rebels, but now they have none, and they are perfect lambs. Not a hand laid on a rail this evening with intent to burn, not a motion toward a chicken or smoke-house, not a thing in their actions that even a Havelock would object to. They don’t pretend to love our “erring brethren” yet, but no conquered foe could ask kinder treatment than all our men seem disposed to give these Rebels. We camped about 3 p. m. in a pretty piece of woods. Artillery has been booming all day at Raleigh.

Saturday, 29th—Reveille sounded shortly after midnight and we had our knapsacks packed long before daylight. Some of the boys were so happy and excited that they did not sleep much during the night. At 7 o’clock we took up the march, stepping to music as we left our camp. We crossed the Neuse river about noon and after marching twelve miles for the day, went into bivouac. By order of General Howard we are to lay over here until Monday, when we will continue our journey. The Fifteenth Corps is taking a road to our right. General Sherman’s headquarters wagons are going through with the Seventeenth Corps. The Thirty-second Illinois Regiment was taken from the Iowa Brigade and was brigaded with the First Brigade of the Second Division of the Seventeenth Corps. Our brigade is the First Brigade of the Fourth Division of the Seventeenth Corps.

April 29, 1865.

Boys plowing in old house field. We are needing rain. Everything looks pleasant, but the state of our country is very gloomy. General Lee has surrendered to the victorious Grant. Well, if it will only hasten the conclusion of this war, I am satisfied. There has been something very strange in the whole affair to me, and I can attribute it to nothing but the hand of Providence working out some problem that has not yet been revealed to us poor, erring mortals. At the beginning of the struggle the minds of men, their wills, their self-control, seemed to be all taken from them in a passionate antagonism to the coming-in President, Abraham Lincoln. Our leaders, to whom the people looked for wisdom, led us into this, perhaps the greatest error of the age. “We will not have this man to rule over us!” was their cry. For years it has been stirring in the hearts of Southern politicians that the North was enriched and built up by Southern labor and wealth. Men’s pockets were always appealed to and appealed to so constantly that an antagonism was excited which it has been impossible to allay. They did not believe that the North would fight. Said Robert Toombes: “I will drink every drop of blood they will shed.” Oh, blinded men! Rivers deep and strong have been shed, and where are we now?—a ruined, subjugated people! What will be our future? is the question which now rests heavily upon the hearts of all.

This has been a month never to be forgotten. Two armies have surrendered. The President of the United States has been assassinated, Richmond evacuated, and Davis, President of the Confederacy, put to grief, to flight. The old flag has been raised again upon Sumter and an armistice accepted.

Friday, 28th—The weather continues fine. We spent the day in washing and cleaning our clothing. We received orders to start for Washington at 8 o’clock in the morning, going by way of Richmond, Virginia. Great rejoicing in camp at the thought of going home—to come back no more. The report is that the four corps under Sherman, with Kilpatrick’s cavalry, are going North, while the Twenty-third Corps under Schofield will remain at Raleigh until all of Johnston’s men leave for their homes. He will take over the munitions of war surrendered by Johnston.

28th.—We have no mail communication, and can hear nothing from General Johnston. We go on as usual, but are almost despairing. Dear M., in her sadness, has put some Confederate money and postage stamps into a Confederate envelope, sealed it up, and endorsed it, “In memory of our beloved Confederacy.” I feel like doing the same, and treasuring up the buttons, and the stars, and the dear gray coats, faded and worn as they are, with the soiled and tattered banner, which has no dishonouring blot, the untarnished sword, and other arms, though defeated, still crowned with glory. But not yet—I cannot feel that all is over yet.

Thursday, 27th—We returned to our old camp just vacated and put our shelter tents over the old “ranches” again. By 1 p. m. the tents were all filled, we were at home once more and enjoying ourselves. The boys are now waiting for orders to start for their homes, but we are wondering which way we will go. Some think we will have to go back to the coast and take ship for New Orleans; but I guess we will leave that to General Sherman—he has never yet made a mistake in leading us.

Wednesday, 26th—The weather is pleasant. We remained in camp all day. Lieutenant-General Grant and Major-General Sherman went to the front early this morning. The report came late this afternoon that Johnston had surrendered his entire army to Sherman. Great rejoicing in camp! Johnston is to retain one-seventh of his small arms until his men start for their homes.

April 9 (Sunday)—Heard Brother Willson preach During this week heard that Lee had surrendered!

Sad news. Johnston’s Army passed through Chapel Hill We knew Sherman would soon be in. I did not wish to meet him. I told some of my friends I was going with Gen. Johnston’s Army. Rev. Dr. Charles Phillips tenderly told me to go on and my friends would take care of my family. After midnight I kissed my wife and children and mounted a mule and rode away, thinking I might not see them in months or years. I rode all night, crossing Haw river, overtook Johnston’s Army and reported to Brig. Gen. Hoke, who assigned me to duty as Chaplain to 17th N. C. Regt. We camped a few miles from Greensboro for two or three days till we heard we were to be surrendered. I rode to Greensboro one day and met Rev. Dr. John B. McFerrin of Nashville, Tenn., at the home of good Mrs. F. M. Bumpass. The night following the tidings of our contemplated surrender was a still, sad night in our camp. Rev. W. C. Willson, the Chapel Hill pastor, was with us. We had preached a few times in that camp; but that night we made no effort to get the men together. In little, sad groups they softly talked of the past, the present and the future. Old men were there, who would have cheerfully gone on, enduring the hardship of war, and protracted absence from their families, for the freedom of their country. Middle aged men were there, who had been away from wives and children for years, had gone through many battles, had lost much on their farms or stores or factories or professional business; but would that night have been glad to shoulder the gun and march forward for the defense of their “native land”. Young men and boys were there, who loved their country and were unspeakably sad at the thought of the failure to secure Southern Independence.

Rev. W. C. Willson and I walked out of the camp and talked and wept together. As I started back to my tent—to my mule and saddle, I should say, for I had no tent—I passed three lads sitting close together, talking softly and sadly. I paused and listened. One said, “It makes me very sad, to think of our surrendering.” Another said, “It hurts me worse than the thought of battle ever did.” The third raised his arm, clenched his fist and seemed to grate his teeth as he said, “I would rather know we had to go into battle tomorrow morning.” There was patriotism! There may have been in that camp that night generals, colonels and other officers who had been moved by a desire for worldly honor. Owners of slaves and of lands may have hoped for financial benefit from Confederate success. But these boys felt they had a country that ought to be free! I wish I had taken their names. And I wonder if they still live. They are good citizens, I am sure.

Next day I mounted my mule and started to Chapel Hill, intending to surrender there. I took along a negro servant and horse for a friend. At sunset we met an old man at his spring near his house. I politely asked to be permitted to spend the night on his land. He objected. I said, “Boy, take off our saddles and halter our horses.” The farmer quickly said, “If you will stay, come up to the house.” I slept on his porch.

MY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH A FEDERAL SOLDIER ON DUTY.

I had seen many of them dead, wounded, or prisoners. Near Chapel Hill one rode up to my side. The Blue Coat and the Grey chatted softly and sparingly. He kindly offered to show me the way to headquarters. I thanked him and told him I would ride to my house and see my family and report myself later. The town was full of Federals. Each home had a guard detailed by the commanding General. My guard was a faithful, modest fellow. In due time I called at headquarters and was paroled.

April 25th. Weather good. Regular routine of duty is now on again. Drill, dress parade, picket, and guard. Not much interest taken in these duties at this time. No danger now from the enemy. The only real interest is taken in our dress parades, as we have many visitors from town. Confederate soldiers are now on their way home, all having been paroled. Halt them at the outposts, send a guard with them to the Provost Marshal, when they are allowed to proceed to their homes in Virginia and Maryland. Many were glad the war was over. Some were very bitter. Would not admit they were beaten. We laughed at the poor fellows. Many having tramped for miles to reach home. Some shed tears when they were forced to admit that the war was over, and their cause was lost.

25th.—J. P. arrived to-day direct from Mosby’s command, which is disbanded, but has not surrendered. He is full of enthusiasm and visions of coming success, and is bent on joining Johnston. Dear boy, his hopeful spirit has infected me, and aroused a hope which I am afraid to indulge.

Tuesday, 25th—We broke camp again and at 7 a. m. started to move forward, our division, the Fourth, taking up the rear. We marched six miles and went into camp for the night. All is quiet in the front. Deserters from Johnston’s army are still coming in from the front. They declare that they do not want to do any more fighting, for they know that their cause is lost. They also expressed the belief that Johnston would surrender without fighting.

24th. Spent the morning at home. In the P. M. went with the girls to Monthly Rhetoricals. Charley Fairchild had an exercise entitled, “One Year with Red Tape.” Good. After his exercise we walked about town.

W., 24th.—On Saturday evening my brother’s wagon met us at the depot and brought us to this place, beautiful in its ruins. We have not been here since the besom of destruction swept over it, and to us, who have been in the habit of enjoying its hospitality when all was bright and cheerful, the change is very depressing. We miss the respectful and respectable servants, born in the family and brought up with an affection for the household which seemed a part of their nature, and which so largely contributed to the happiness both of master and servant. Even the nurse of our precious little J., the sole child of the house, whose heart seemed bound up in her happiness, has gone. It is touching to hear the sweet child’s account of the shock she experienced when she found that her “mammy,” deceived and misled by the minions who followed Grant’s army, had left her; and to see how her affection still clings to her, showing itself in the ardent hope that her “mammy” has found a comfortable home. The army had respected the interior of the house, because of the protection of the officers. Only one ornament was missing, and that was the likeness of this dear child. Since the fall of Richmond, a servant of the estate, who had been living in Washington, told me that it was in the possession of a maid-servant of the house, who showed it to him, saying that she “looked at it every day.” We all try to be cheerful and to find a bright side; and we occupy the time as cheerfully as we can. The governess having returned to her home in Norfolk, I shall employ myself in teaching my bright little niece here and the dear children at S. H., and feel blessed to have so pleasant a duty.

April 24.–Fannie Gaylord and Kate Lapham have returned from their eastern trip and told us of attending the President’s funeral in Albany, and I had a letter from Bessie Seymour, who is in New York, saying that she walked in the procession until half past two in the morning, in order to see his face. They say that they never saw him in life, but in death he looked just as all the pictures represent him. We all wear Lincoln badges now, with pin attached. They are pictures of Lincoln upon a tiny flag, bordered with crape. Susie Daggett has just made herself a flag, six feet by four. It was a lot of work. Mrs. Noah T. Clarke gave one to her husband upon his birthday, April 8. I think everybody ought to own a flag.

Monday, 24th—The Seventeenth Army Corps marched to Raleigh this afternoon and was reviewed by Lieutenant-General Grant and Major-General Sherman. Their reviewing stand was in front of the governor’s mansion. The army was glad to see their old commander once more. We received orders to move forward in the morning, since the terms of the surrender of Johnston’s army were not approved by the War Department at Washington. This is not good news for us, but we are hoping that Johnston will surrender without more fighting.

Sunday, 23d–We had regimental inspection at 10 a. m. and this afternoon at 2 o’clock our division was reviewed by General Smith. The division came out in good style.

23rd. Was unable to get out on account of my neck. Read Thede’s diaries to Ma and Melissa, and talked about him. Minnie in a short time. Read Atlantic. Melissa went to church in P. M. Played with Carrie. Quite a wintry day. Prof. Peck very kind to the family.

April 23rd, 1865.—I ought to be ashamed of myself and yet I am afraid I am not. For the first time in all my life I have laid hands in violence upon a negro.

It happened in this way. We were sitting last night in the back parlor, the two tallow candles did little more than to make the darkness visible, but it was moon-light outside. Since we have been in the enemy’s lines, we feel suspicious of all unusual sounds at night and often we have discovered listeners, under the windows or the servants, employed about the house, have “toted news” to the camp at Centreville. So when footsteps were heard approaching, I looked out and saw some twenty or more half-grown negro boys and girls. When they reached the house they began to sing, to the tune of “John Brown’s Body,” these words:

“We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,

We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,

We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,

As we go marching on.”

In the corner of the dining-room stood a new carriage whip, purchased that day by Jordan, who considered himself a judge of carriage whips. His mistress had given him money that morning to buy it and this is what he said when he brought it in, “Miss Patsy, here’s de whup, its a rale sure nuf whale-bone whup and de lash is twisted silk.”

I seized it as I passed through the dining room to get out in the yard. The negroes were evidently expecting to make us angry but they had not counted on the reception they received. I rushed in their midst and, laying the whip about me with all the strength I could muster, I soon had the whole crowd flying toward the Quarter, screaming as they went. One of them screeching loudly, “She dun outen my eye,” another, “Oh, Lordy—Mammy ain’t nuver laid it on me lak

I would have followed up the victory but behind the magnolia tree a dark figure was visible and I did not know how many more there might be. It was over so quickly that no one realized what was taking place until the screams broke on the air. It amused the family to think for nineteen years I had lived on the plantation and never before had I struck a negro.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

April 23d.–My silver wedding-day, and I am sure the unhappiest day of my life. Mr. Portman came with Christopher Hampton. Portman told of Miss Kate Hampton, who is perhaps the most thoroughly ladylike person in the world. When he told her that Lee had surrendered she started up from her seat and said, “That is a lie.” “Well, Miss Hampton, I tell the tale as it was told me. I can do no more.”

No wonder John Chesnut is bitter. They say Mulberry has been destroyed by a corps commanded by General Logan. Some one asked coolly, “Will General Chesnut be shot as a soldier, or hung as a senator?” “I am not of sufficient consequence,” answered he. “They will stop short of brigadiers. I resigned my seat in the United States Senate weeks before there was any secession. So I can not be hung as a senator. But after all it is only a choice between drumhead court martial, short shrift, and a lingering death at home from starvation.”

These negroes are unchanged. The shining black mask they wear does not show a ripple of change; they are sphinxes. Ellen has had my diamonds to keep for a week or so. When the danger was over she handed them back to me with as little apparent interest in the matter as if they had been garden peas.

Mrs. Huger was in church in Richmond when the news of the surrender came. Worshipers were in the midst of the communion service. Mr. McFarland was called out to send away the gold from his bank. Mr. Minnegerode’s English grew confused. Then the President was summoned, and distress of mind showed itself in every face. The night before one of General Lee’s aides, Walter Taylor, was married, and was off to the wars immediately after the ceremony.

One year ago we left Richmond. The Confederacy has double-quicked down hill since then. One year since I stood in that beautiful Hollywood by little Joe Davis’s grave. Now we have burned towns, deserted plantations, sacked villages. “You seem resolute to look the worst in the face,” said General Chesnut, wearily. “Yes, poverty, with no future and no hope.” “But no slaves, thank God!” cried Buck. “We would be the scorn of the world if the world thought of us at all. You see, we are exiles and paupers.” “Pile on the agony.” “How does our famous captain, the great Lee, bear the Yankees’ galling chain?” I asked. “He knows how to possess his soul in patience,” answered my husband. “If there were no such word as subjugation, no debts, no poverty, no negro mobs backed by Yankees; if all things were well, you would shiver and feel benumbed,” he went on, pointing at me in an oratorical attitude. “Your sentence is pronounced–Camden for life.”

Saturday, 22d–It is quite pleasant today. I went out with a team after a load of lumber for our company. We pulled down an old, vacant barn. No property is being burned and destroyed in this state, and only vacant buildings are torn down to get lumber with which to build “ranches.” There is a large amount of land lying idle around here. The field where we have our camp has not been farmed for two or three years. But there are some fine wheat fields here and the wheat is just heading out. We have a fine camp; all of the tents are raised now, and our brigade has shade trees set in rows throughout our camp. There being no trees, we went to the timber and cut down small bushy pine trees for the purpose, setting them in the ground. Our camp looked so fine that the staff artist of Harper’s Weekly took a picture of it for the paper.

22nd. Went to town in the morning to market. Will Hudson came out. We boys got together and had a jolly time. Floy and George came out. Good visit. Chester came home. Walked with Will to the river, too late for train. A lame stiff neck. Spent a part of evening at Minnie’s. Saw the Hudson family. F. Henderson and Will Keep. Hurrah!