War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

 

Letter From L. H. Tenney To His Mother And Sisters

Camp at Ray’s Mills, Arkansas, Dec. 1, 1862.

My Dear Friends:

I guess you wonder a little why you don’t hear from your soldier boy. Well, 1 presume you will wonder often if we stay in the field and keep up our scouts and marches. Since last Tuesday, my regular day for writing and the day I intended to write, I haven’t had a minute’s opportunity for writing until yesterday, and then I was busy till night, when I was too tired to write.

Tomorrow another train leaves for the Fort. Several sick boys return. I should have liked to go back for comfort, but after all as long as there is a man in the Regiment in the field, I want to be there, too, though there must be some suffering and sacrifices.

Today I had an opportunity to go into the Brigade Commissary as clerk and get $12 a month extra. Lt. Shattuck, brother of Nina, is acting Brigade Commissary and wanted me to help him. N. thought I hadn’t better go. I don’t care much. Should have liked the little spondulics though.

Sunday night when we arrived here I found six letters, three from home, two from Fannie, and one from Will. I guess I was happy that night and as usual dreamed of home. Thede, I thank you very much for your good long letter. You did me proud. Please do so more.

I see by the papers that Col. Ford has received his just deserts. I enjoy all the particulars of the home circle visits, calls and town gossip. It is always my Thanksgiving Day when my letters come. My letters both received and written have been quite irregular of late and I presume will be in future.

During the last week we have been on our horses most of the time. My ague left me just in time. Tuesday and Wednesday our detachment was out on a scout down below here a little. We had the pleasure of overtaking 400 of Quantrell’s men Tuesday night and turned their course from the north southward on double quick. The Major had 115 men. I had the pleasure of being in the advance and had two or three little skirmishes with the rear guard. None of us, how I don’t know, was hurt. Afterwards some of the 3rd Wis. were sent ahead of us and when a few rods in advance were fired into from the bushes and two of the men wounded.

I suppose you have heard by this time of the fight at Cane Hill and beyond.

Thursday our detachment went in advance of the whole division but Friday we were rear guard and the Brigade was left at Cane Hill as a reserve. It was aggravating to hear the roar of artillery and not partake. There will be some hard fighting if we go over the mountains.

I have no ambition to die immediately or anything of that sort. I guess life, real life, is precious to the most wicked, but I do long to have our armies hasten on to victory or defeat. If Schofield’s forces join ours, I believe our success will be sure, though earned by a good deal of sacrifice.

Lt. Shattuck has been acting Adj. but has gone now. So I have enough to do his duties and those of Sergt. Major.

I have just been out doors and I could see the “fire on the mountains” along our line of march over the hills from the North.

Tonight the air is cold and the fire in our little stove is comfortable and cozy enough. We are getting well used to bivouacking in the open air with few blankets and no fires. When out scouting we go without fires so as not to let the enemy know our movements. Sometimes we can’t get much sleep, though. Don’t you believe I occasionally long to creep into that soft bed at home and to sit down at our little supper table? Oh no, never!

Please excuse another hasty letter. The Independents have come as usual. I presume we will remain here a few days and then go over the mountains. I hope so.

The boys are all talking as loudly as can be and I can’t think overmuch straight.

With much love,

Luman.

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The Color Guard, A Corporal’s Notes, James Kendall Hosmer.

The Color Guard, A Corporal’s Notes, James Kendall Hosmer

Dec. 1.—Each man now has his place for the voyage assigned him: so, if you can climb well, let us go down, and see the men below. It is right through the damp, crowded passage at the side of the paddle-wheel first. Here is a fence and a gate, impervious to the private; but in his badge the corporal possesses the potent golden bough which gains him ingress through here into Hades. Just amidships, we go in through a door from the upper deck. This first large space is the hospital; already with thirty or forty in its rough, unplaned bunks. From this, what is half-stairway and half-ladder leads down the hatch. A lantern is burning here; and we see that the whole space between decks, not very great, is filled with bunks, —three rows of them between floor and ceiling, — stretching away into darkness on every hand, with two-feet passages winding among them. “Hullo!” from a familiar voice. I look up and down, and off into the darkness. “Hullo!” again. It is from overhead. Sile Dibble, sure.

Here is another corner, behind a post, where is the pock-marked face of little Hines. (The business of Hines has been that of a “gigger:” puzzle over that, as I did.) I hear the salutes of men, but cannot see their faces; for it is beyond the utmost efforts of the little lantern to show them up. Presently I go on through the narrow passage, with populous bunks, humming with men, on each side,—three layers between deck and deck. I can only hear them, and once in a while dimly see a face. At length we come to a railing, over which we climb, and descend another ladder, into regions still darker, — submarine, I believe, or, at any rate, on a level with the sea. Here swings another lantern. Up overhead, through deck after deck, is a skylight, which admits light, and wet too, from above. It is like looking from the bottom of a well; and pretty uncomfortable is the truth that lies at the bottom of this well.

As above, so here again, there are three tiers of bunks, with the narrow passages among them. The men lie side by side, with but two feet or so of space; but are in good spirits, though sepulchred after this fashion. I should know this gray, knit cap, with its blue button, —McGill, in the top row, his toes within easy reach of the beams above; and Silloway comes crawling over, from regions more remote, to shake hands. Gottlieb, our small German, is in the centre tier; and in the lower row, just above the bolts of the deck, is Gunn, the old campaigner. The air seems not bad. It is dark in the day-time, except right under the skylight. A fortnight or so from now, a poor, emaciated crowd, I fear, it will be proceeding from these lower deeps of the “Illinois.” I go back with an uneasy conscience to our six feet by eight up above, so infinitely preferable to these quarters of the privates, though five big sergeants with their luggage share it with me, and two waiters have no other home; so that we overflow through door and window, on to the deck and floor outside.

Ed. and I turn in at half-past eight, lying on our sides, and interrupting one another’s sleep with, “Look out for your elbow!” “I am going over the edge!” “You will press me through into the Company C bunks!” This morning I took breakfast in the berth, — dining-room, study, and parlor, as well. There is room enough, sitting Turk-fashion, and bending over. Sergt. Hannum carves the lump of boiled beef with my dirk. “Jest the thing, I van!” December spits at us with miserable rain, like a secession lady. The steam of the officers’ soup comes up; but the gong does not mean us.

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An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones.

An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones, 6th Battery, Wisconsin Artillery.

Lumpkin’s Mill, Monday, Dec. 1. Awoke to find it a muddy morning, it having rained very hard in the night, blowing the fifth tent to the ground. Our tent leaked considerably. Laid quiet all day. No firing heard. Evie went foraging, gone nearly all day. In the evening ordered to have two days’ rations ready to march at sunrise.

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‘Instructer’ of infantry tactics. –Diary of Josiah Marshall Favill.

Diary of a Young Officer–Josiah Marshall Favill (57th New York Infantry)

December 1st, 1862. Several new regiments have been assigned to us, among them the Twenty-seventh Connecticut Volunteers, a very large, nine-month regiment excellent material, but from the colonel down wholly inexperienced. The Second Delaware, a very well-drilled regiment, is a valuable addition. The Twenty-seventh is commanded by Colonel Bostwick, and the Second Delaware by Colonel Bailey. As the Twenty-seventh is entirely without drill officers, the colonel issued an order appointing me instructer of infantry tactics of the brigade, and I am now daily drilling the officers and sergeants. I find my staff duties have made me decidedly rusty on tactics, and so have to read up again.

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Through Some Eventful Years

Through Some Eventful Years by Susan Bradford Eppes

December 1st, 1862.—It seems strange to think of fun and gaiety again, when we have been through so much of grief and horror. So much nursing, too, watching through sleepless nights, trying to soothe through the days of wild delirium, making one cooling poultice after another and wondering all the while if anything would ever help the poor sufferer.

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A Diary of American Events.

The Rebellion Record—A Diary of American Events; by Frank Moore

December 1.—Both Houses of the Congress of the United States met at Washington. The message of President Lincoln was received and read. Among the recommendations offered for adoption in the message, were the following resolution and articles emendatory to the Constitution of the United States:

Resolved, By the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, two thirds of both houses concurring, that the following articles be proposed to the Legislatures or Conventions of the several States, as amendments to the Constitution of the United States, all or any of which articles, when ratified by three fourths of the said Legislatures or Conventions, to be valid as part or parts of the said Constitution, namely:

Article —. Every State wherein slavery now exists, which shall abolish the same therein at anytime or times before the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred, shall receive compensation from the United States as follows, to wit:

The President of the United States shall deliver to every such State, bonds of the United States, bearing interest at the rate of —, for each slave shown to have been therein, by the eighth census of the United States; said bonds to be delivered to such State by instalments, or in one parcel at the completion of the abolishment, according as the same shall have been gradual or at one time within such State; and interest shall begin to run upon any such bond only from the proper time of its delivery as aforesaid, and afterward. Any State having received bonds as aforesaid, and afterward introducing or tolerating slavery therein, shall refund to the United States the bonds so received, or the value thereof, and all interest paid thereon.

Article—. All slaves who shall have enjoyed actual freedom, by the chances of the war at any time, before the end of the rebellion, shall be forever free; but all owners of such, who shall not have been disloyal, shall be compensated for them at the same rates as is provided for States adopting abolishment of slavery—but in such a way that no slave shall be twice accounted for.

Article —. Congress may appropriate money, and otherwise provide for colonizing free colored persons with their own consent, at any place or places without the United States.

—William W. Lunt, lately a private belonging to the Ninth regiment of Maine volunteers, was executed at Hilton Head, S. C, for desertion.— The National cavalry, belonging to the army of General Grant, under the command of Colonel Lee, took possession of the rebel forts on the Tallahatchie River. By a sudden descent, early in the morning, Colonel Lee captured a battery of six guns, with the horses attached thereto, on the north side of the river.—A slight skirmish took place in the vicinity of Horse Creek, Dade County, Mo., between a detachment of the Fourth Missouri cavalry, under the command of Major Kelly, and a small band of guerrillas, in which the rebels were routed, leaving five of their number in the hands of the Unionists.—Springfield Missourian.

—A Detachment of the Third Virginia National cavalry, under the command of Captain S. B. Cruger, entered Warrenton, Va., to-day, after routing the rebel cavalry, and capturing one prisoner, nine horses, and a wagon, without any Union loss.—T. R. Cressy, Chaplain Minnesota Second regiment, made a report of the operations of the regiment, from the first of August to this date.—(Doc. 56.)

—The British schooner George, from Nassau, K. P., laden with coffee, salt, etc., was captured off Indian River, Florida, by the United States gunboat Sagamore, Lieutenant Commanding Earle English.—Official confirmation of the hostile plans of “Little Crow,” and a portion of the northern Indians, was this day received by W. P. Dole, Commissioner of Indian Affairs for the United States.—St. Paul Press, January 1, 1863.

—A Union boat expedition, under the command of Acting Master Gordon, proceeded up Bell River, La., and captured an armed rebel launch, mounting a twelve-pounder brass howitzer.—This morning, Gen. Slocum, with a body of National troops, had a skirmish with the rebel cavalry, under White, Henderson, and Baylor, near Charlestown, Va., and succeeded in routing them. This evening he again attacked them at Berryville, killing five and wounding eighteen.— General Slocum’s Report.

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Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

Diary of a Southern Refugee During the War by Judith White McGuire

30th.—The Yankee army ravaging Stafford County dreadfully, but they do not cross the river. Burnside, with the “greatest army on the planet,” is quietly waiting and watching our little band on the opposite side. Is he afraid to venture over? His “On to Richmond” seems slow.

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Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

November 30 — This afternoon I went through the fortifications, or rather earthworks, situated on the hills west and northwest of Winchester. The earthworks were constructed by the Yankees and are about half a mile from town, and thoroughly command the town and all the surrounding country. There are five or six separate works, all of an octagonal form, surrounded by a ditch ten feet wide and twelve feet deep. One of the works is constructed of bags filled with clay, and I suppose that there are about two hundred thousand bags in the one work. The walls are thick and built with a careful precision as to proportions and angles, and all of them are perfectly shell-proof — at least against field guns. In the center of each work is an earth-covered magazine for ammunition storage, and in one of the works is a cistern for water.

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Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

Diary of Alexander G. Downing; Company E, Eleventh Iowa Infantry

Sunday, 30th—We lay in camp here at Waterford all day and I wrote a letter to John Moore. I was on picket last night, but was relieved this morning. There was some skirmishing and cannonading out on the Tallahatchie river today. Several troops passed here going out to the front. The land in this part of the country is very rough and very poor. The soil is sandy and is easily worked.

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Reminiscences of the Civil War by William and Adelia Lyon.

Reminiscences of the Civil War, William and Adelia Lyon

To Mrs. Lyon.

Fort Henry, Sunday evening, Nov. 30, 1862.—The last day of each month is inspection day in the army, so I have been engaged all day in making a minute and thorough inspection of my command—not only of the dress, arms, accoutrements and appearance of the men, but of their tents, kitchens, cook-houses, shanties, cooking utensils, dishes, etc. Fancy me examining tin plates, dish kettles, coffee pots, knives, forks, spoons, tin cups, and the like; threatening to send dirty cooks to the guard house, praising the clean ones, ordering alterations, suggesting improvements, etc.; in which duty I was accompanied and assisted by the Major, Adjutant and two of the surgeons; and you will have a very good idea of inspection day. I give special and constant attention to the cleanliness of the camp, and it is now one of the cleanest I ever saw and is constantly improving, for the officers and men enter most cordially into the spirit of the thing.

I am still on a general Court-Martial. It is a great bore, too, much like practicing law. The day has been warm and cloudy. This evening it rains copiously, but my tent is warm and dry and as cozy as you could wish were you here to enjoy it with me, as I trust you will be before many weeks elapse. We shall live in the most approved style. Colonel Lowe still intends an expedition after Napier.

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War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

Sunday, 30th. Had to make out morning report and field report and details. Was kept quite busy all day. In the evening wrote to Fannie A.

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An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones.

An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones, 6th Battery, Wisconsin Artillery.

Lumpkin’s Mill, Miss., Sunday, Nov. 30. This was a dark and sultry morning, and about 8 A. M. while sitting upon the ground, I felt the earth shake a kind of a dull roll, which was felt by many. Firing with siege guns was commenced at about nine o’clock and kept up briskly through most of the day. While listening to the firing, expecting momentarily to be called upon, the orders came to hitch up, get two days’ rations in haversacks, and ready to march in half an hour. 11 A. M. At this time L. N. Keeler rode up for one man to go foraging. Sergeant Hamilton detailed me. We started with two teams and three men, Bowman, Leffart and myself. We went to the northeast one and one fourth miles, crossed the railroad, found our corn in an old log barn. We had to turn around before loading in order to be ready to leave in case of necessity, as the pickets close by were expecting an attack. We loaded our corn got three quarters of a barrel of salt from the smoke house and returned in a hurry. Found the Battery still there, unharnessed and cooled down. The firing gradually ceased, and by night was heard no more. We went to bed without knowing anything of the result in the front.

P. S. This place represented as Waterford proved to be called Lumpkin’s Mill.

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The Color Guard, A Corporal’s Notes, James Kendall Hosmer.

The Color Guard, A Corporal’s Notes, James Kendall Hosmer

Nov. 30. —We woke up the morning after we came aboard, — Warriner, Bias, and I. Company D woke up generally on the cabin-floor. Poor Companies H and F woke up down in the hold. What to do for breakfast? Through the hatchway opposite our stateroom-door, we could see the waiters in the lower cabin setting tables for the commissioned officers. Presently there was a steam of coffee and steaks; then a long row of shoulder-straps, and a clatter of knives and forks; we, meanwhile, breakfastless, and undergoing the torments of Tantalus.

But we cannot make out a very strong case of hardship. Beef, hard-bread, and coffee were soon ready. Bill Hilson, in a marvellous cap of pink and blue, cut up the big joints on a gun-box. The “non-coms,” whose chevrons take them past the guard amidships, went out loaded with the tin cups of the men to Hen. Hilson, — out through cabin-door, through greasy, crowded passage-way, behind the wheel, to the galley, where, over a mammoth, steaming caldron, Hen., through the vapor, pours out coffee by the pailful. Hen. looks like a beneficent genius, — one of the “Arabian Nights” sort,—just being condensed from the smoke and mist of these blessed hot kettles. He drips, and almost simmers, with perspiration, as if he had hardly gone half-way yet from vapor to flesh.

I have been down the brass-plated staircase, into the splendors of the commissioned-officers’ cabin,—really nothing great at all; but luxurious as compared with our quarters, already greasy from rations, and stained with tobacco-juice; and sumptuous beyond words, as compared with the unplaned boards and tarry odors of the quarters of the privates. Have I mentioned that now our places are assigned? The “non-coms”— noncommissioned, meaning, not non compos; though evil-minded high privates declare it might well mean that — have assigned to them an upper cabin, with staterooms, over the quarters of the officers, in the after-part of the ship. The privates are in front, on the lower decks, and in the hold. I promise, in a day or two, to play Virgil, and conduct you through the dismal circles of this Malebolge. Now I speak of the cabin of the officers. The hatches are open above and below, to the upper deck and into the hold. Down the hatch goes a dirty stream of commissary-stores, gun-carriages, rifled-cannon, and pressed hay, within an inch or two of cut-glass, gilt-mouldings, and mahogany. The third mate, with voice coarse and deep as the grating of ten-ton packages along the skids, orders this and that, or bays inarticulately in a growl at a shirking sailor.

Five sergeants of our company, and two corporals of us, have a stateroom together,—perhaps six feet by eight. Besides us, two officers’ servants consider that they have a right here. Did any one say, “Elbowroom”?

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“…a decaying country finally ruined by war.”–Adams Family Letters, Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father.

Adams Family Civil War letters; US Minister to the UK and his sons.

Potomac Bridge, near Falmouth, Va.
November 30, 1862

Here we are once more with the army, but not on the move. We passed six days in Washington and it stormed the whole time, varying from a heavy Scotch mist to a drenching rain. Our camp was deep in mud, at times a brook was running through my tent, and altogether we were most unfortunate as regarded weather. Still we succeeded in completing our equipment and I started out on our new campaign tolerably prepared to be comfortable in future. Nor did I, I am glad to say, waste my time while there, but I fed on the fat of the land, feasting daily, without regard to expense, at Buhler’s. I no longer wonder at sailors’ runs on shore. Months of abstinence and coarse fare, cooked anyhow and eaten anywhere off anything, certainly lead to an acute appreciation of the luxuries of city life. It seems to me now as if I could n’t enjoy them enough. While here I saw Aunt Mary repeatedly and she seems much the same as ever. She was very kind and hospitable. I also saw Governor Seward for an instant. He invited me to dinner and was very cordial; but he looks pale, old and careworn, and it distressed me to see him.

Here we remained till Friday evening, on which day the two Majors and myself succeeded in getting paid off, after immense exertion and many refusals, when we had our last dinner at Buhler’s and on Saturday, when we saw the sun for the first time for a week, we struck camp and moved over to Alexandria, on our way to join the brigade. We got into Alexandria by two o’clock and went into camp on a cold, windy hill-side. We were under orders to join our brigade at Manassas, but when we got to Alexandria we found Manassas in the possession of the enemy and we did not care to report to them. Accordingly we sent back for orders and passed Sunday in camp, a cold, blustering, raw November day, overcast and disagreeable. The damp and wet, combined with the high living at Washington, had started my previous health, and now I not only was n’t well, but was decidedly sick and lived on opium and brandy. In fact I am hardly well yet and my disorder followed me all through our coming march. Sunday afternoon we got our orders to press on and join the brigade at the earliest possible moment near Falmouth, so Monday morning we again struck camp and set forth for Falmouth. It was a very fine day indeed, but the weather is not what it was and the country through which we passed is sadly war-smitten. The sun was bright, but the long rains had reduced the roads almost to a mire and a sharp cold wind all day made overcoats pleasant and reminded us how near we were to winter. Our road lay along in sight of Mt. Vernon and was a picture of desolation — the inhabitants few, primitive and ignorant, houses deserted and going to ruin, fences down, plantations overgrown, and everything indicating a decaying country finally ruined by war. On our second day’s march we passed through Dumfries, once a flourishing town and port of entry, now the most God-forsaken village I ever saw. There were large houses with tumbled down stairways, public buildings completely in ruins, more than half the houses deserted and tumbling to pieces, not one in repair and even the inhabitants, as dirty, lazy and rough they stared at us with a sort of apathetic hate, seemed relapsing into barbarism. It maybe the season, or it may be the war; but for some reason this part of Virginia impresses me with a sense of hopeless decadence, a spiritless decay both of land and people, such as I never experienced before. The very dogs are curs and the women and children, with their long, blousy, uncombed hair, seem the proper inmates of the delapidated log cabins which they hold in common with the long-nosed, lank Virginia swine.

To go back to our march however. Our wagons toiled wearily along and sunset found us only sixteen miles from Alexandria, and there we camped. During the latter part of the day I was all alone riding to and fro between the baggage train and the column. I felt by no means well and cross with opium. It was a cold, clear, November evening, with a cold, red, western sky and, chilled through, with a prospect of only a supperless bivouac, a stronger home feeling came over me than I have often felt before, and I did sadly dwell in my imagination on the intense comfort there is in a thoroughly warm, well-lighted room and well-spread table after a long cold ride. However I got into camp before it was dark and here things were not so bad. The wind was all down, the fires were blazing and we had the elements of comfort. The soup Lou sent me supplied me with a hot supper — in fact I don’t know what I should have done if it had not been for that, through this dreary march; and after that I spread my blankets on a bed of fir-branches close to the fire and slept as serenely as man could desire to sleep.

The next morning the weather changed and it gradually grew warmer and more cloudy all day. Our road lay through Dumfries and became worse and worse as we pushed along, until after making only eight miles, we despaired of our train getting along and turned into an orchard in front of a deserted plantation house and there camped. Our wagons in fact did get stuck and passed the night two miles back on the road, while we built our fires and made haste to stretch our blankets against the rain. It rained hard all night, but we had firewood and straw in plenty, and again I slept as well as I wish to. Next day the wagons did not get up until noon and it was two o’clock before we started. Then we pushed forward until nearly dark. An hour before sunset we came up with the flank of the army resting on Acquia Creek. We floundered along through the deep red-mud roads till nearly dark and then, having made some five miles, turned into a beautiful camping ground, where we once more bivouacked. One thing surprises me very much and that is the very slight hardship and exposure of the bivouac. Except in rains tents are wholly unnecessary — articles of luxury. Here, the night before Thanksgiving and cold at that, I slept as soundly and warmly before our fire as I could have done in bed at home. The reason is plain. In a tent one, more or less, tries to undress; in the bivouac one rolls himself, boots, overcoat and all, with the cape thrown over his head, in his blankets with his feet to the fire, which keeps them warm and dry, and then the rest will not trouble him. A tent is usually equally cold and also very damp.

The next day was Thanksgiving Day — 27th November. It was a fine clear day, with a sharp chill in the little wind which was stirring. I left the column and rode forward to General Hooker’s Head Quarters through the worst roads I ever saw, in which our empty wagons could hardly make two miles an hour. I saw General Hooker and learnt the situation of our brigade, and here too we came up with our other battalion. We passed them however and came over here to our present camp, where we have pitched our tents and made ourselves as comfortable as we can while we await the course of events.

As to the future, you can judge better than I. I have no idea that a winter campaign is possible in Virginia. The mud is measured already by feet, and the rains have hardly begun. The country is thoroughly exhausted and while horses can scarcely get along alone, they can hardly succeed in drawing the immense supply and ammunition trains necessary for so large an army, to say nothing of the artillery which will be stuck fast. The country may demand activity on our part, but mud is more obdurate than popular opinion, and active operations here I cannot but consider as closed for the season. As to the army, I see little of my part of it but my own regiment. I think myself it is tired of motion and wants to go to sleep until the spring. The autumn is depressing and winter hardships are severe enough in the most comfortable of camps. Winter campaigns may be possible in Europe, a thickly peopled country of fine roads, but in this region of mud, desolation and immense distances, it is another matter.

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Rebel War Clerk

A Rebel War Clerk’s Diary at the Confederate States Capital, By John Beauchamp Jones

NOVEMBER 30TH.—It is said there is more concern manifested in the government here on the indications that the States mean to organize armies of non-conscripts for their own defense, than for any demonstration of the enemy. The election of Graham Confederate States Senator in North Carolina, and of H. V. Johnson in Georgia, causes some uneasiness. These men were not original secessionists, and have been the objects of aversion, if not of proscription, by the men who secured position in the Confederate States Government. Nevertheless, they are able men, and as true to Southern independence as any. But they are opposed to despotic usurpation—and their election seems like a rebuke and condemnation of military usurpation.

From all sections of the Confederacy complaints are coming in that the military agents of the bureaus are oppressing the people; and the belief is expressed by many, that a sentiment is prevailing inimical to the government itself.

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Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

Sunday, November 30. [Chattanooga] —Called on Mrs. Newsom this afternoon; had a long talk over our hospital trials. She related some of the hospital scenes at Bowling Green, which were truly awful—Corinth was heaven in comparison. I met Major Richmond there, one of General Polk’s aids. He is a fine-looking man, and very intelligent, with all the suavity of manner characteristic of the southern gentleman. He has traveled much, and related a number of anecdotes of scenes on the continent of Europe; told some few of England and Englishmen, and seemed to judge the whole, as many others have done, both in this country and the old, by the little he had seen, a mistake we are all liable to fall into. On the whole, his conversation was very interesting.

Dr. Hunter has gone on a visit to Mississippi; Dr. Abernethy of Tennessee has taken his place. We have a nice old negro man belonging to the latter, who cooks for us. We get a good deal of money now, as the hospitals are out of debt. Some days we have as many as seven hundred patients; not more than one half of them are confined to bed.

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A Diary of American Events.

The Rebellion Record—A Diary of American Events; by Frank Moore

November 30.—A skirmish took place near Abbeville, Miss., between a reconnoitring force of Union troops under the command of Colonel Lee, and the strong body of rebels, resulting in a retreat of the latter to their fortifications at Abbeville, with some loss. Not a man of the Union party was injured.

—An expedition to Yellville, Ark., by the First Iowa, Tenth Illinois, and Second Wisconsin regiments, under command of Colonel Dudley Wickersham, returned to General Herron’s camp, having been successful in destroying portions of the rebel saltpetre-works, arsenal, and store-houses, with about five hundred shot-guns and rifles.— General Curtis’s Detpatch.

—A rumor was prevalent in Washington, that a proposition for an armistice of thirty days was made by the rebel government, and that General Robert E. Lee was in that place negotiating the terms.—The Forty-seventh regiment of Massachusetts troops, under the command of Colonel Marsh, left Boston for the seat of war.—An expedition to Hyde County, N. C, under the command of Major Garrard of the Third New-York cavalry, returned to Newbern, having thoroughly destroyed all the bridges in that vicinity, besides capturing Colonel Carter, of the Thirteenth North Carolina volunteers, and a rebel sergeant belonging to the Fourth North-Carolina confederate troops.—George P. Kane, late Marshal of Baltimore, Md., issued an address to his fellow-citizens of the State of Maryland, setting forth a statement relative to his incarceration at Fort Warren, Mass. —The schooner Levi Rowe, while attempting to run the blockade of Wilmington, N. C, was captured by the steamer Mount Vernon.—The bark Parker Cook was captured and destroyed, in the Mona Passage, by the rebel steamer Alabama.

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Extortion.

Civil War

Dallas Herald (Texas), November 29, 1862

We are informed by a reliable gentleman direct from Kemper’s Bluff, Victoria county, that Messrs. Graves and Milton, of that place, are selling goods of every description brought from Mexico, at from 100 to 300 per cent. cheaper than the merchants of this city. Fine Casimer for pantaloons sells there for ten dollars a pattern—here at $22. Calico at 60 cents there—at $1 25 here. Ladies hoops at six dollars there—here at $25, and boots and shoes at the same comparative rates. One establishment in particular in this city, that is selling for the above extortionary prices, procured their goods and started with them at the same time with Messrs. Graves & Milton, and there is no reason why the former should sell higher than the latter. Let them be gratefully remembered!—Ibid. (S. A. Herald)

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Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

Diary of a Southern Refugee During the War by Judith White McGuire

29th.—Nothing of importance from the army. The people of Fredericksburg suffering greatly from the sudden move. I know a family, accustomed to every luxury at home, now in a damp basement-room in Richmond. The mother and three young daughters cooking, washing, etc.; the father, a merchant, is sick and cut off from business, friends, and every thing else. Another family, consisting of mother and four daughters, in one room, supported by the work of one of the daughters who has an office in the Note-Signing Department. To keep starvation from the house is all that they can do; their supplies in Fredericksburg can’t be brought to them—no transportation. I cannot mention the numbers who are similarly situated; the country is filled with them. Country houses, as usual, show a marvellous degree of elasticity. A small house accommodating any number who may apply; pallets spread on the floor; every sofa and couch sheeted for visitors of whom they never heard before. If the city people would do more in that way, there would be less suffering. Every cottage in this village is full; and now families are looking with wistful eyes at the ball-room belonging to the hotel, which, it seems to me, might be partitioned off to accommodate several families. The billiard-rooms are taken, it is said, though not yet occupied. But how everybody is to be supported is a difficult question to decide. Luxuries have been given up long ago, by many persons. Coffee is $4 per pound, and good tea from $18 to $20; butter ranges from $1.50 to $2 per pound; lard 50 cents; corn $15 per barrel; and wheat $4.50 per bushel. We can’t get a muslin dress for less than $6 or $8 per yard; calico $1.15, etc. This last is no great hardship, for we will all resort to homespun. We are knitting our own stockings, and regret that we did not learn to spin and weave. The North Carolina homespun is exceedingly pretty, and makes a genteel dress; the only difficulty is in the dye; the colours are pretty, but we have not learned the art of setting the wood colours; but we are improving in that art too, and when the first dye fades, we can dip them again in the dye.

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Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

November 29 — I had some Yankee prisoners in charge last night. This afternoon an alarm reached camp that the Yankees were advancing on Winchester. We were immediately ordered to pack up our all and load it on the wagons, then we were ordered with the battery east of Winchester, on the Berryville pike, at the eastern outskirts of Winchester. The Maryland Line of infantry formed a line of battle on the south side of the pike, right opposite our battery. After we were in battle line an hour or so, and everything had settled down to the quiet hush of stilly night, the Maryland Line struck up and sang a lively and sentimental, yet pathetic song — “Annie Lyle.” It was well rendered. The deep, rich, full, round bass voices blended harmoniously with the clear and flowing tenors, and the spoken melody that floated on the frosty night air was as delightful and agreeable to the ear as the whisperings of an evening wind when it breathes its vesper hymn for dying day. There is a charm and an inspiration about music,— even in a simple song,— that those that have never heard it steal along a battle line in the silent watches of the night cannot comprehend the fullness of its enrapturing and inspiring influences. When the alarm reached Winchester that the Yankees were coming it caused great excitement among the citizens. When we passed through town toward the Berryville road, where it was reported that the enemy was approaching, the town was all in a stirred-up bustle. Men were running to and fro on the streets. Some of them looked and acted as if they would like to pick up the town and move it deeper into Dixie. The Yankees did not advance to-night, and when we came back to camp, which was nearly at midnight, all the excitement in town had died away. The streets were dark and silent save the sound of the steady tread of the soldier and the rumbling of artillery wheels. The city was asleep.

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Downing’s Civil War Diary.–Alexander G. Downing.

Diary of Alexander G. Downing; Company E, Eleventh Iowa Infantry

Saturday, 29th—We started this morning at 6 o’clock and arrived at Holly Springs at 10 o’clock. We remained there about two hours and then moved on to Waterford, eight miles distant, where we went into camp. We drove the rebels before us nearly all day and there was some skirmishing. The fighting in the streets of Waterford was sharp and the buildings were burned. There was heavy cannonading in the front late in the day. There are thousands of negroes, women and children, of all shades of color gathered at Holly Springs. The roads by which we marched were lined with them. The best of the negro men have been taken South by the rebels to work on their fortifications.

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War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

War Diary of Luman Harris Tenney.

Saturday, 29th. Other brigades returned to Cane Hill, where we had been retained as reserve. Our brigade was ordered back to Rhea’s Mills. Moved back and camped north of the mill. Got the mail from the train just arrived. Six letters, two from Fannie, 3 from home and 1 from Will. Happy boy. Several papers.

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An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones.

An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones, 6th Battery, Wisconsin Artillery.

Holly Springs, Miss., Saturday, Nov. 29. The bugle’s notes awoke me in the same position as that I fell asleep in three hours before. Prepared for march and started with the sun, in advance of the artillery; passed through Holly Springs about 11 A. M.; passed through the streets where twenty-four hours before the last of the rebels skedaddled. Holly Springs passed my expectations in size and beauty, being the largest place I have seen in Secession.

We traveled on in a southward course towards Waterford. General Hamilton and troupe passed us about 4 miles beyond Holly Springs. Two miles farther on we heard two guns discharged and heard rumors of a battle ahead. On the brow of a hill we were shown the grounds where the cavalry were engaged in the morning with the Rebs’ pickets, killing a Michigan boy and three Rebs. Ascended the hill which overlooked Waterford, consisting of a mill and a small creek, branch of Coldwater River. Here the enemy opened fire on our troops in the morning with two pieces which were taken. We forded the stream about 5 P. M., went into camp on the banks, got some flour from the mills (ground by the secesh for supper), and laid down under the gun on soil twenty-four hours ago occupied by Rebs, seven miles south of Holly Springs.

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The Color Guard, A Corporal’s Notes, James Kendall Hosmer.

The Color Guard, A Corporal’s Notes, James Kendall Hosmer

Nov. 29. — This is the steamer “Illinois,” in the stream, about half a mile off the Battery. The ship is preparing to sail. Evening; and by special courtesy, the surgeon being absent, I am invited to sleep in his berth to-night. No slight favor, you folks whose sheets are clean, to have a mattress softer than an oaken-deck plank; and a place to lay one’s head, sweeter than a bundle of old rope, soiled by the muddy feet of a trampling army. I stand up, portfolio in hand, half sitting, half leaning, against the cabin-table, with back toward the dim light. A throng of officers are writing, talking, and hurrying past. Now I am luckier: I have found a stool under a brighter light, and the cleanest and best place I have had to write my journal in since I began it.

Yesterday we marched to Brooklyn; then went off through lanterned vessels at dusk, past the glowing city, until at last the “Illinois” threw over us the shadow of her black hull and double stacks. We waited an hour in the cold, on the lighter; then another on the open deck, among the gun-carriages of a battery that was going with us. We were suffered at last to crowd into the cabin, all grumblers. Ed. could hardly make himself heard, though his lungs are good.

The wrath of the regiment vented itself in every form, — the oath, the deprecation, the remonstrance. Tom Barker fairly blued the air about him with vocal brimstone and sulphur, — a most accomplished and full-lunged blasphemer. From him, there was every gradation down to a little fellow who remonstrated with a gentle spill of milk and water.

Camp down, soldiers, where you can! This cabin is stripped of furniture and carpet: a mirror and the white paint are the only things to remind one of the old elegance of the packet. I glance at the glass as we crowd in. Which am I among the bearded, blue-coated, hustling men? I hardly know myself, sunburnt and muddied; the “52,” on the cap top, showing out in the lantern light. Sergt. Warriner, of Company A, — gentlemanly fellow, —left guide, whose elbow rubs mine at battalion-drill, offers me a place in a “bunk” he has found empty in one of the staterooms. Bias Dickinson, my wise and jovial file-leader, bunks over me. There is room for another: so I go out to where McGill is wedged into the crowding mass, and extract him as I would a tooth. Gradually the hubbub is quelled. The mass of men, like a river seeking its level, flows into “bunk” and stateroom, cabin and galley. Then the floors are covered, and a few miserable ones hold on to banisters and table-legs, and at last the regiment swears itself into an uncomfortable sleep.

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Rebel War Clerk

A Rebel War Clerk’s Diary at the Confederate States Capital, By John Beauchamp Jones

NOVEMBER 29TH.—The Quartermaster-General publishes a notice that he will receive and distribute contributions of clothing, etc. to the army, and even pay for the shirts $1 each! Shirts are selling at $12. The people will not trust him to convey the clothing to their sons and brothers, and so the army must suffer on. But he is getting in bad odor. A gentleman in Alabama writes that his agents are speculating in food: the President tells the Secretary to demand explanations, and the Secretary does so. Col. Myers fails, I think, to make the exhibit required, and it may be the worse for him.

I see by the papers that another of Gen. Winder’s police has escaped to Washington City, and is now acting as a Federal detective. And yet many similar traitors are retained in service here!

The Governor of North Carolina writes the President that his State intends to organize an army of 10,000 men for its own defense, besides her sixty regiments in the Confederate States service; and asks if the Confederate States Government can furnish any arms, etc. The President sends this to the Secretary of War, for his advice. He wants to know Mr. Seddon’s views on the subject—a delicate and embarrassing predicament for the new Secretary, truly! He must know that the President frowns on all military organizations not under his own control, and that he counteracted all Gen. Floyd’s efforts to raise a division under State authority. Beware, Mr. Seddon! The President is a little particular concerning his prerogatives; and by the advice you now give, you stand or fall. What is North Carolina to the Empire? You tread on dangerous ground. Forget your old State-Rights doctrine, or off goes your head.

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