April 21, 1863, Weekly Columbus Enquirer (Georgia)

 A letter from Raleigh, N. C., contains the following paragraph. It needs no explanation:

 Some of our soldiers who have wives and children at home, have married again among the Virginia girls. The sweet, lovely damsels of the Valley and Fredericksburg little think, as they take these gay young gentlemen for “better or for worse,” that they have left other devoted wives and prattling chaps behind. An instance of this sort “leaked out” a short time ago. A “nice young Lieutenant” of a Louisiana regiment wrote a very long endearing letter to his wife and children in Louisiana, and about the same time wrote a most affectionate, loving letter to his newly married bride, who was staying a few miles away from the camp, and accidentally, but unfortunately for him, he sent the wrong letter to each, so that his lovely bride got the letter intended for the wife of his “buzum,” and she the other. I guess that made a “fuss in the family,” if not in both families.

April 21, 1863, Weekly Columbus Enquirer (Georgia)

From the Augusta Constitutionalist of 11^th.

 It is an old saying that “one might as well be dead as to be out of the fashion,” and so a small portion of Richmond county women must have thought yesterday, as they followed the fashion of female mobocracy, which was set them by some of our sister cities recently.–Some time during the morning, a number of Amazonian warriors–well, not a very large number–assembled in the upper part of the city, and proceeded to the store of Mr. Reinhardt, where one of them queried:

 “Got any shoes at a dollar a pair?”

 “No,” responded the store keeper.

 “Any calicer, at 50 cents a yard?”

 “No,” said Mr. R.

 “Well, that’s all we’re goin’ to pay for ’em,” responded one of the female women.

 By this time, Reinhardt began in the language of the Irish lawyer, to “smell a mice, to see it brewing in the storm,” and, therefore, determined to “crush it in the bud.” Consequently he informed his warlike patrons that he had some important out-door business to attend to, and could not wait upon them; with which explanation, he locked up his store, and left.

 The Amazonians then visited the grocery store of Mr. E. Gallaher, near the Upper Market, but were received there with some show of resistance. In the meantime, information having been conveyed to Mayor May, he started for the field of operations, with two of the Police Officers, at the sight of whom the crowd “skedaddled” in every direction.

 A gentleman asked one of them if they wanted bread, to which she replied in the negative, and said that she had bread enough, but wanted meat. Upon being asked why they made this demonstration, she replied: “We heard that they had raised the red flag all over the country, and people only had to go and take what they wanted.”

 What the red flag is we do not know. Perhaps it is something of the balmoral kind.

 The whole affair was a very insipid thing, and perhaps hardly worth a local item, but as exaggerated reports may get abroad, and possibly “cross the line” to “the aid and comfort” of our enemies, we have though proper to give a correct statement of it, to show that it did not amount to much after all, and was soon quieted. Several of the parties implicated were not citizens of Augusta, and were of the real Amazonian style of female architecture.

April 21, 1863, Weekly Columbus Enquirer (Georgia)

 The Lynchburg, Va., Republican, says: A fine fat sheep raised by Wm. Hix, Esq., on his farm in Amherst, was sold to one of the butchers in the city, on Saturday, to be killed for mutton, at the handsome price of $130. A year ago and the same animal would have brought from five to six dollars. A yoke of ordinary work oxen, in low order, sold here Saturday for $800. When our country friends talk of the high prices of articles purchased from stores in town, don’t it sound much like the pot calling the kettle black.

April 21, 1863, Weekly Columbus Enquirer (Georgia)

 Whiskey sells in Little Rock at two dollars and fifty cents a drink, and the purchaser is not allowed to pour it out, or gauge his own, so says the True Democrat.

April 21, 1863, Natchez Daily Courier

 Hospital Stores, for the Jackson (Miss.) Hospital, where we are informed from the best authority in the world, that our brave soldiers are perishing daily for articles of nourishment. You that have these articles of luxury at home, cannot find a better opportunity to appropriate them. We will gladly take charge of all donations at this office, and forward the same.

 Let us examine our store-houses, and see if there cannot be something done for the sick soldier. A valuable life saved by good nursing is an acquisition of importance to our army service. You that have a plenty, come forward and fill a box of hospital stores. Live a short time on hard food, that the brave soldier may recover again and enjoy his hard rations.

Tableaux, Concert and Supper.

 Our friends in the city and county, will bear in mind the entertainment to be given in the vicinity of Green Wood Church, for the benefit of the Natchez Free market, for Soldiers’ Families. The tickets are now out. Let them all be taken up, whether you can attend or not. There is every prospect of reviving the market again on a firm basis. You that have a plenty, remember the Soldiers’ Families.

April 21, 1863, The New York Herald

Our Fortress Monroe Correspondence.

FORTRESS MONROE, April 19, 1863.

For upwards of one week a large rebel force has beleaguered Suffolk, with a view of reducing this stronghold, and if possible get possession of the stores and ammunition on hand there; but thus far the enemy has had no other gain than a waste of munitions and hard knocks. It is true that Longstreet, by rapid and flank movements, has gained the Nansemond river, where formidable batteries have been erected to cover the crossing of the rebel army in order to gain our rear, and by this strategy cut off our communications with Norfolk. The foresight of General Dix, however, has placed no mean opponent to cope with the enemy on the river, in the presence of several fine army gunboats; and acting Rear Admiral Lee has also heartily co-operated with the army, and ordered a number of light draught gunboats to the Nansemond, in charge of Lieutenant Lamson, a brave and highly efficient officer, to prevent the rebels from carrying out their designs. Thwarted in the prospect of executing this strategic movement to gain our rear, the utmost energies of the rebels are bestowed upon an endeavor to cripple our gunboats. To move upon our intrenchments around Suffolk would entail on them a fearful loss of life, and their only salvation is either to effect a passage of the Nansemond or retreat. At this moment, however, such a movement would be of no especial benefit to the enemy. While the latter has been busy throwing up intrenchments, our troops, under Major General Peck, had not been idle; but, on the contrary, spades seem to have been trumps, and are likely to win on our side. Active preparations have been going forward for the past few days, and Major General Dix is now determined to assume aggressive measures, instead of remaining on the defensive. While we had but few troops such a course would have been destruction; but this department is now able to boast of an increased command, and will give a good account of itself.

During the past night and all this day heavy firing was heard from the Nansemond river. The gunboats are battling with the shore batteries. General Dix and part of his staff left here this morning on the steamer Henry Burden for the scene of [continue reading…]

April 20th. Still lying to an anchor off the mouth of Red River. The ram Switzerland, Commander Col. Ellet, and Albatross, Lieut.-Commander Hart, at anchor ahead of us, close in shore. Let me here remark, before going any further (since I think the reader is not aware of the fact), that the crew stand watch and watch every night at their guns. They are allowed to lie down on deck between same, and go to sleep. This is a necessary precaution against a surprise, and to have the men near at hand should the enemy be so foolish as to attack us where we are. We were also expecting daily to hear of Gen. Banks, who had gone around by way of Brashear City, from New Orleans to Alexandria, capturing and taking possession of same, and of seeing some of his transports some night, coming down and out of Red River. Warm and pleasant weather. All quiet on the Rappahannock—(I mean on the Mississippi.)

20th. Passed the day very quietly in camp. Took my washing over to a house. Called at large white house to see if we could get a beef creature. Made a good many inquiries. Got shaved by one of the boys. The day has been very warm. The train brought in a good supply of forage. Everything passing quietly at camp.

Monday, 20th.—Federals keep firing into town from their mortar batteries across the bend of the river.

(Note: picture is of an unidentified Confederate soldier.)

Monday, 20th–The Sixth Division received marching orders, and the First and Second Brigades started down the river. Our brigade, the Third, has orders to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. We heard some cannonading this morning down toward Vicksburg. Companies E and K went out on picket. I remained in camp to guard the company’s property. We have a fine camp at this place, but are glad to leave for the front, as staying in camp will not bring the war to a close.

APRIL 20th.—We have nothing definite from Suffolk, or from Washington, N. C.

But we have Northern accounts of their great disaster at Charleston. It appears that during the brief engagement on the 7th inst., all their monitors were so badly damaged that they were unable to prolong or to renew the contest. They will have to be taken to New York for repairs; and will not go into service again before autumn. Thus, after nearly a year’s preparation, and the expenditure of $100,000,000, all their hopes, so far as Charleston is concerned, have been frustrated in a few brief hours, under the fire of Beauregard’s batteries. They complain that England furnished us with the steel-pointed balls that penetrated their iron turrets. To this there can be no objection; indeed it may be productive of good, by involving the Abolitionists in a new quarrel: but it is due to candor to state that the balls complained of were manufactured in this city.

It was a Federal account of the retaking the Queen of the West, reported by Mr. Benjamin; and hence, it is not generally believed.

It is thought by many that Hooker will change his base from the Rappahannock to the Pamunky, embarking his army in transports. If this be so, we shall again have the pleasure of hearing the thunders of battle, this summer, in Richmond.

Gen. Lee has been quite ill, but is now recovering.

April 20, 1863, Charleston Mercury

To the Editor of the Mercury: As the prospect of cultivating the Garden Poppy on an extensive scale is very encouraging, and having received a number of letters asking information relative to the planting, management and preparation of Opium, I send you the following directions, which I have extracted from a work, recently published, entitled “Resources of the Southern Fields and Forests,” by Surgeon F. Peyre Porcher, C. S. Army.

Thomas Lining,
Medical Purveyor, C. S. A.

 Garden Poppy.–The variety most preferred is that whose heads or capsules, when ripe, assume a slightly bluish tinge. The color of the flower is unimportant. The seed is either white or black; some persons think that the black seeded variety is more productive, others give the preference to the white in this respect. The structure of the capsules is of more consequence; for there is a variety in which the envelope of the capsule dehises spontaneously when ripe, so that the seed is easily shed; and another, in which the seen remains enclosed within the capsules, which must be opened in order to extract it. The Poppy may become one of the most profitable corps, if we have the means of disposing of the seed, or if we knew how to extract the oil. By proper cultivation it might be made to produce from nine to ten bushels of seed per acre, and one bushel yields twenty-four pounds of good oil.–This oil, especially the first portion, which is cold expressed, and mixed in the mill with slices of apple, is doubtless the purest kind of oil for the table, and the most agreeable that is known. It is inferior to none excepting the finest Nice or Lucca oil. It is preferable to the second rate oil of those places, and the peculiar taste of the olive oil may be imparted to it by the addition of a small quantity of that oil of superior quality.–The oil of the Poppy is bland, and not narcotic. It is used both for food and light, and is considered a fifth more valuable than that of the Coliza. The cakes remaining after the expression of the oil are valuable for the fattening of swine, and the stalks for fuel. The ashes which remains after burning it are of the best kind for manure. The oil expressed in cold weather is much superior to that obtained in warm weather, and the two must not be mixed. The largest seeds, which are employed for medical and domestic use, are obtained from the single-flowered kind, not only for the purpose of extracting Opium, but also on account of the bland esculent oil which is expressed from the seeds, which are simply emulsive, and contain none of the narcotic principle. For the latter purpose, if no other, its culture in this country is worthy of attention. The annual amount of Opium imported into the United States is valued at upwards of $407,000. The Poppy, it is said, produces better when planted in the fall. The seeds should be planted in the month of September, by which means the plants attain sufficient size to endure the cold of winter; they were also found to produce more opium than those planted in March. Having a tap-root, their size will consequently be proportioned to the depth of earth they are enabled to penetrate–hence the necessity of land that will admit of deep ploughing. The finest of the surface, too, is very essential. As the seed is small, and the plants on their first coming up so exceedingly tender, that the brush harrow should always be used after those which are commonly employed. They should be so cultivated that the gatherer may not disturb the plants in collecting the juice. The successful cultivation of the plant, however, requires the provision of a good soil, appropriate manure and careful management. In obtaining Gum Opium, the capsules are cut longitudinally only through the skin, though some advise that it should be done from below upwards. The incisions should be made in the afternoon, the hardened gum being scraped off the next morning. If the incisions be too deep, the juice passes within the poppy head. In England, forty pounds were made in one season by one person.

April 20, 1863, The Charleston Mercury

VICKSBURG, April 17. – Some eight of the enemy’s boats came down at 11 o’clock last night. A heavy fire was opened upon them by our batteries, which was briskly replied to by some of the boats. One boat was fired by our batteries and burned to the water’s edge in front of the city. The others, including two transports, passed down, two or three of them being in a disabled condition. None are now in sight below, but the two transports are lying at BROWN and JOHNSTON’S Landing.

The guns of the Yankee battery on the Peninsula opened on the city at 9 o’clock this morning, and are still firing.

Later. – Four prisoners from the boat sunk last night were brought in today. They say that it was the transport Henry Clay which was burned and sunk. The ram Lafayette was also sunk by our batteries last night. They also report that the remainder of PORTER’S expedition will attempt to come down tonight. The Yankee battery opposite the city ceased firing late this afternoon, having done no damage.

April 20, 1863, The New York Herald

There is nothing new to report from General Hooker’s army. Everything appears to be quiet there. From Vicksburg, Port Hudson or Charleston we are equally devoid of intelligence, which would imply that no movements of any consequence are progressing at these points.

Governor Johnson, of Tennessee, has been authorized to raise twenty-five thousand troops for special service in the eastern part of the State.

Great excitement existed in Nashville yesterday by rumors of an attack by the rebels under Van Dorn; but there does not seem to be any confirmation of them.

A serious riot occurred at a Union meeting in Brown county, Indiana, on Saturday, by which one man lost his life. It appears that a few members of the Knights of the Golden Circle made a raid upon the meeting, armed with guns and revolvers, and had a melee. They were arrested by the police, one of the, a Mr. Louis Prosser, being severely wounded. Another affair of the same kind occurred at Danville, Indiana, the same day, in which one man was mortally wounded and several others less seriously. Indiana appears to be the headquarters of the belligerent portion of the Knights.

Our news from Newbern, N.C., is up to the night of the 16th inst., and comes by the United States transport Ella S. Terry, which arrived here last night. Our correspondence from Newbern gives a very detailed account of all the affairs which have recently transpired in that vicinity. In running the blockade General Foster had some tough work to go through. The Escort, on which he was, was fired upon two hundred times, and received eighteen shots which passed through her. The damage suffered by her pilot and crew has already been reported. The feat performed by this transport is worthy of all commendation. Without any armament she ran the fire of the rebel batteries twice – the first time in conveying the Fifth Rhode Island regiment up the river, and the second time in bringing General Foster down in open daylight.

By the arrival of the bark J.W. Andrews at this port yesterday we have some further particulars of the firing into the British gunboat Cygnet, by one of our gunboats, in the Bahama channel on the 4th instant. It turns out that it was the Connecticut, and not the Vanderbilt, as formerly reported which mistook the Cygnet for the Alabama, and gave her a shot. The captain of the British vessel went on board the Connecticut after the affair, and the whole thing was amicably arranged. Capt. Hardy, of the bark Andrews, reports these facts as communicated to him by the commander of the Cygnet, who boarded his vessel on the 6th inst. while on his voyage from Neuvitas.

We publish today a letter from Gen. Corcoran relative to the late unfortunate collision at Suffolk, which terminated in the death of Lieutenant Colonel Kimball. The General gives a full statement of the occurrence, and alleges that Lieutenant Colonel Kimball was not on duty at the time, and was not justified in violently attempting to arrest the progress of his commanding officer, who was in the performance of his duty, in visiting the outposts. General Corcoran, while regretting the disaster, states that the attack made upon him rendered the action which he took an imperative necessity.

Camp Winder, April 20,1863.

I received your welcome letter of the 15th inst. on Saturday. I am very sorry to hear that Jack is still unfit for work, and that Phebe, too, has taken sick. Bear it all in patience, and do the best you can. I would be very glad, indeed, if you would hire another. Pay almost any price rather than not get one. If you get behindhand with the work, you will not soon get it up.

As to C, I can’t be far wrong. He is not as bad as you think he is; but even if he cheats me out of the whole crop, it would be better than to leave it idle. Somebody, and certainly the country, will get the benefit of the crop, if we do not. As to the pay for grazing Mr. ‘s cattle, you are right; say nothing to your father about it. I would rather lose the price than have an unkind feeling about it. I have a strong aversion to having any business transactions with my kin, as they are so often the cause of ill feeling.

I have been waiting for nearly a week for a fair day to change my camp, and moved this morning, hoping to have sunshine for one day at least to fix up. But I have been unfortunate. I had hardly reached the new camp before the rain commenced, and my men, I fear, being poorly provided with tents, have suffered much from it. My old camp, I thought, from the accumulation of filth during the winter, was the cause of an increase of sickness among the men. I hope now, as we have a good supply of spring water and clean ground, that the health of the men will be better. I have hardly ever known the army so quiet as now. We had every reason to believe that as soon as the spring opened the enemy would advance and we should have a great battle, in which I anticipated a splendid victory, but heavy loss. [continue reading…]

April 19th. This morning the ram Switzerland and gunboat Albatross, got under way and entered the mouth of Red River, with the intention of proceeding a short distance up same, to find the enemy if possible. In the afternoon however, they returned from their reconnoissance, having seen nothing of him. It seems rather singular after all his boasting of what he was going to do—come down from Alexandria some night, with his ram the Queen of the West (a vessel captured from Col. Ellet, some time since), the Dr. Beatty, and some other steamers, and try their butting power upon us, and if not able to punch a hole into the old Hartford and sink her where she lies anchored, then make her skedaddle, and chase here down the river until she came under the guns of Port Hudson, when her destruction would be sure. Secesh is a great blower, and as the story goes, a barking dog never bites, so we must not fear him. He has had many propitious nights to put his threats into execution, and his failure to do so prove him a braggart and a liar of the basest kind.

19th. Train stopped back twelve miles. No grain or feed for our poor horses. Ordered to march at 11. Train arrived at noon. Got rations and started. Took a good bath. All the forces, 1st Ky., 2nd Ohio and 45th Ohio moved to the Cumberland. Pickets could be distinctly seen across the river. Rode with Lt. Abbey, and Drake. Got some forage. Moved camp. Went to church in the evening. A chaplain preached. Rather tired tonight.

Sunday, April 19th.

Friday morning we arose and prepared to resume our journey for Bonfouca, twenty-three miles away. The man walked in very unceremoniously to get corn from the armoir as we got up, throwing open the windows and performing sundry little offices usually reserved for femmes-de-chambre; but with that exception everything went on very well. Breakfast being a luxury not to be procured, we got into the carriages before sunrise, and left this romantic abode of dogs and contentment. Again our road lay through piney woods, so much like that from Hammond to Ponchatoula that involuntarily I found myself looking through the window to see if Mr. Halsey was there. It lacked only his presence to make the scene all in all the same. But alas! this time the driver picked me wild flowers, and brought us haws. Mr. Halsey, in blissful ignorance of our departure, was many and many a mile away. The drive was not half as amusing. The horse would not suffer any one except Miriam to drive, and at last refused to move until the driver got down and ran along by the carriage. Every time the poor boy attempted to occupy his seat, the obstinate animal would come to a dead stop and refuse to go until he dismounted again. I am sure that he walked nineteen miles out of the twenty-three, out of complaisance to the ungrateful brute.

All equally fatigued and warm, we reached this place about twelve o’clock. Mrs. Bull had arrived before us; and as the carriage stopped, her girl Delia came to the gate the personification of despair, crying, “You can’t get out, ladies. They say we can’t stop here; we must go right back.” The panic which ensued is indescribable. Go back when we were almost at our journey’s end, after all the money we had spent, the fatigue we had undergone, to be turned back all the way to Clinton, perhaps! “With my sick babies!” cried Mrs. Ivy. “With my sick child!” cried mother. “Never! You may turn me out of your house, but we will die in the woods first! To go back is to kill my daughter and these babies!” This was to the overseer who came to the carriage. “Madam, I have orders to allow no one to pass who has not written permission. Lieutenant Worthington sent the order two days ago; and I am liable to imprisonment if I harbor those who have no passport,” the man explained. “But we have General Gardiner’s order,” I expostulated. “Then you shall certainly pass; but these ladies cannot. I can’t turn you away, though; you shall all come in and stay until something can be determined on.”

This much granted was an unlooked-for blessing. He showed us the way to [continue reading…]

Sunday, 19th–Warm and pleasant today, but we had quite a storm last night. We had company inspection at 3 o’clock and dress parade at 5 o’clock. The boys all feel quite lively; no one is reporting to the doctor.

Evacuation.

April 19. The steamer Thomas Collyer arrived last night, bringing dispatches of some kind, but just what we were unable to find out. This morning, however, the mystery was cleared up. The 12th New York battery was on the wharf, the 40th Massachusetts and the other detached companies were breaking camp, preparatory to going aboard the boat. This meant evacuation and going to the relief of Foster. The 25th of course is to be the last to leave, and we cast the last sad, lingering look on Plymouth. That is always our style; the first in and last out, and never lost a battle. But just here, the uncertainty of all things human is again illustrated. Just as the troops were aboard, the old Massasoit comes puffing up the river, bringing the welcome news that Foster has run the blockade and the order of evacuation is countermanded. Cheer after cheer rends the air, smiles light up every countenance and hope takes the place of despair. But won’t there be larks now, though? If there is anybody hanging around Washington who does not belong there, they had better be getting away.

Colonel Sisson.

It seems that after Spinola’s abortion and the troops’ return to Newbern, the brave Col. Sisson of the 5th Rhode Island was so disgusted with the whole thing that he proposed going with his regiment alone to Foster’s relief. He and his regiment went aboard the steamer Escort, and on the evening of the 13th, under cover of a heavy fire from the gunboats on the batteries at Hill’s Point, seven miles below Washington, he successfully ran the blockade, arriving at Washington with his troops and supplies. The next evening, with Gen. Foster aboard, he again ran the guantlet, landing the general safely in Newbern. But it is said the Escort looked like a pepper-box from the shot holes made in her while running the gauntlet. On this perilous trip only one man (the pilot) was killed. The little garrison at Washington held out bravely. It consisted of only eight companies of the 27th and the 44th Massachusetts regiments, two companies of the 1st North Carolina, one company of the 3d New York cavalry and one New York battery, aided by two or three gunboats on the river. Against this small force was opposed some 12,000 of the enemy as near as we can learn. After Gen. Foster got away they did not seem to care to wait for his return, but folded their tents and silently stole away.

APRIL 19th, SUNDAY.—It is now said Longstreet captured two transports, instead of gun-boats, and 600 prisoners.

Mr. Benjamin reports that the enemy’s gun-boats, which passed Vicksburg, have recaptured the Queen of the West! It must be so, since he says so.

Mr. Baldwin, the other day, in Congress, asserted a fact, on his own knowledge, that an innocent man had been confined in prison nearly two years, in consequence of a mistake of one of Gen. Winder’s subordinates in writing his name, which was Simons; he wrote it Simmons!

April 19, 1863,
Shelbyville, Tenn., April 11, 1863.
. . . I started out by saying that all is quiet here as yet.  I should have stated quiet, according to the meaning of the word in this region.  That is to say, that whilst our infantry camps continue to be scenes of peace and good humor–the men becoming fat with their long rest, and models of perfection in drill–and whilst the farmers around are hard at work for heavy crops this summer, and tranquility and gaiety prevail on all sides, all is not quiet along the immediate front.  There our gallant cavalry are hard at work all the time, night and day, sweeping back those little waves of invasion, which if not checked, might open heavy sluices and soon precipitate the whole Northern flood upon us.  I am of opinion that our cavalry do not receive a fraction of the praise they are entitled to, because they are not sufficiently heard from.  No rest for them.  No fattening up in camp and daily exercise in drill, for months, for them.  No grand reviews with brass bands playing and flags flying, big Generals present, and ladies around, for them.  No–nothing of the sort.
            They are chiefly heard of as playing a secondary part around the edges of big battles, and making raids into the enemy’s country; for all which I admit they receive full credit.  But those seem to be the cavalryman’s only hope of renown.  He gets no praise for being constantly in the saddle, or for constantly riding and exposing his life just as much as he ever did in a big battle or in a raid.  Every day the distant rumble of cannon is heard from some part or another of our sixty mile front.  The sound is tranquilly heard, maybe in an infantry camp, or among the plowmen in the field; it elicits only the remark–”Skirmishing up at the front,” and all goes on as usual.  It is forgotten that the few men engaged in these skirmishes are fighting about as hard, individually, as ever any equal number of individuals fought in the solid phalanx of battle.  Perhaps only two light batteries, and not more than two light batteries, and not more than two hundred mounted men are engaged in the exchange of cannon ball, shell and minnie ball; most of these miss, as in greater engagements, but once in a while something hits.–A horse goes down under his rider–a piece of shell broke somebody’s arm, or tears away his leg–the shrill whiz of a minnie ball is heard to cease with a little “thud,” and a large bearded man is seen to drop his gun and fall from his horse limberly, without exclamation.–The wounded are supported away on horseback; so is the limber man, whose placid face proves that he died very suddenly.  After a while a widow weeps somewhere, but the world never hears anything about it–it was only “a skirmish up at the front.”  And so of lesser skirmishes, where small scouting parties meet.  Many of the noblest and bravest spirits of this war have thus fallen; but no halo of battle glory brightens their names–they fell “skirmishing up at the front.”
            Between outpost, picket and mount duty, precious little rest does the cavalryman see.  If no skirmish requires his aid, there is the tiresome and stealthy ride through the thickets, over the hills and down the valleys, or the weary, silent waiting at the deserted cross road or lonesome hill top; through sunshine and darkness, through all weathers; no tent to shelter them from the drenching rain, no fire to thaw their numbed fingers or warm their scarce, scanty rations.  Cavalry men, this last winter have been frozen to death in their saddles, and numbers have received frost bites that they will carry to their graves.  Once in a while, the cavalry man is sent to the reserve camp for a few days’ rest, not for himself but for his horse.  His greatest and most constant care is to keep his horse shod and otherwise in order; for he well knows that if once he loses his horse his glory is gone.  Many, in spite of their best care, are wearing out their horses, and being dismounted and sent to the infantry; a stern necessity of war, anything but agreeable to those who have learned how to fight on horseback.  But of cavalry men and their hardships, and the unappreciativeness of the people for whom they are fighting, enough for the present.
            My neighbor, old Brown, told me this morning there was a “wedding” at his house the night before.  There have lately been many “weddings” of the kind referred to by Brown, in this part of the country.  Let me describe one of them.
            A brave soldier, after a year or a year and a half’s marching and hard fighting, hears that his wife is very sick or in some other trouble, at his home “away down South.”  He applies for a short furlough.  It is bluntly refused.  He becomes down-hearted, and more than ever prays for a speedy ending of the war.  At last he is wounded in battle, or stricken down by disease.  Again he asks for a furlough; he is very sure of getting well faster at home than in a hospital; and again the boon is cruelly denied.  He is sent off, half dead and despairing, to a hospital at Chattanooga or Atlanta, where he is well cared for.  But for all this he pines for weeks; and perhaps his worst pining is that of the heart for “home, sweet home”:
                            “Though doctor and nurse are here
                                            Within this drear confine,
                            There are never the faces to cheer
                                            A weary soul like mine.
                            It’s oh, for a mother’s care,
                                            A sister’s affectionate zeal,
                            A wife’s deep love and devotion rare,
                                            To banish the pain I feel!”
            Finally he gets well and is sent back to duty.  His home now seems to him as some far off dream of happiness, which perhaps he may never realize.  The end of the war looks farther off than ever–so does his home.  But he goes on bravely with his duties, little dreaming of the surprise that is preparing for him.  A lady, pale and fatigued after some days and nights of the crowded and horrible travel of our Southern railroad reaches Tullahoma–reaches Shelbyville.  Some kind soldier, a fellow traveler, carries her carpet bag and basket, and inquires about town until some citizen directs where the lady can get accommodations for a week or so.  The kind volunteer assists her to Smith’s, or Brown’s, or some other good country place between town and camp.  She pens a note, and after some trouble manages to have it sent out to camp.  The note gets mislaid; but our soldier receives word that a lady at Smith’s or Brown’s wishes to see him.  He obtains a short leave, and comes flying in, his horse and heart in an equal gallop.  “Can it be she?” he asks himself–”she never wrote she was coming!”  He dismounts at the gate, hastily flings the rein over a post, double quicks it up the yard, and greets the door with a nervous “rat-tat tat.”  The door opens–the servant asks him into the parlor–he enters–a lady rises (she is not pale now)–and the next moment, with only the exclamations, “John!” “Mary!” her face is buried in the bosom of his woolen shirt, whilst his manly arms, that so oft in his dreams had clasped the empty atmosphere, are now at last firmly locked round the real thing itself!
            Such meetings as these are what the people around here have got into the habit of calling “weddings.”  The name isn’t such a bad one, is it?  Wouldn’t mind having one or two such weddings myself!
            A peculiar institution of our army here is the “colored wing”–the military niggers–I mean the officers’ servants.  They dress well, ride thousand dollar horses, smoke two-bit cigars, live on the fat of the land, get up five dollar dancing parties, put on airs over the country niggers, break the wenches’ hearts, and lay over the army and mankind in general.  So far as ease, comfort and pleasure go, they seem to be the finest gentlemen in the army.  They observe keenly the distinctions of rank; a General’s nigger won’t associate with the Colonel’s or Captain’s nigger if he can help it; and they look upon the white foot soldiers as the wretchedest of mankind.  Very often a tired and dusty volunteer, trudging along the road with his gun and knapsack, hears a clatter behind him, steps aside, and a dandy nigger gallops by without turning his head, stiff and dignified as a Major General.  The soldier looks as if he would rather make a target of the saucy black rascal; but as he happens to be quite as rich a man as the nigger’s master, and has pet niggers of his own at home, he doesn’t do it.  Here’s a specimen of the stunning process adopted by some of the officers; niggers.  Old country nigger with his jaw hanging over a fence, stupidly staring at the crowds passing up and down the road.  Young dandy nigger in gold lace comes clattering along on a spanking stallion.  Sees the old one and reins in suddenly, with this question:  “Nigga, has you seen Gen’l Bragg pas dis way?”  Old one grants a surly “no,” and dandy travel on as though he were going to a council of war.  He doesn’t know Bragg from Adam, and has no business with him.  The old one stares after him in evident disgust, tinctured, however, with a wonder whether that whipper-snapper is Bragg’s Adjutant General, or only some Brig.-General or Colonel.  A week or two since the niggers had a grand shindy at McMinnville; admittance five dollars, to keep common niggers out.  Two splendid military niggers, strangers to each other, got in each other’s way whilst bucking up to the bell-wench of the ball; they put on tall airs and tried to look each other down; but they were of equal grit and neither backed down.  At last, in a manner intended to crush, one asks, “Who is you?”  “I’se boss barba’ on Gen. Morgan’s staff!” was the spunky reply; “who is you?”  Drawing himself up to the utmost stretch, the other answered, “Ise boss barba’ on Gen. Wheeler’s staff; I ranks you, I does; you commands a division, but I commands a corps!”  The Morgan nigger “went under,” and his superior officer sailed off with the wench.  Of a verity, these army niggers are a gay set of birds.
            I notice that my friend “Ora,” in speaking of the victory of the 18th-20th Louisiana regiment, in the challenge drill at Tullahoma, dubs it the “Irish Creole” regiment.  You should know the regiment better, Ora; should know enough not to call Creoles Irish, or Irish Creoles, and not leave out the Americans, Germans, Dutch, Prussians and others, that assist in the composition of this cosmopolitan and truly model regiment.  Are Col. Richard and Lieut. Von Zanken “Irish Creole” names?  The epithet seems to infer a little disparagement because being a Louisiana regiment it is not composed exclusively of Creoles; this is unjust.  The regiment should rather be the more admired in that it so truly represents the mixed character of the population of New Orleans, whilst typifying its loyalty; showing how completely men of different nationalities can become welded together as one man in the one great cause.  Call it “Irish Creole” or whatever else you choose, this is a true Louisiana regiment, reflecting honor upon the noble old State that sent it forth, and upon the army to which it is attached.
I. G.

April 19, 1863, Mobile Register And Advertiser

 We learn that a magnificent laurel wreath, bound with palmetto, and having an inscription fastened by ribbons of Confederate colors, was sent last week anonymously to the garrison of Fort Sumter. The writing was as follows: “For Colonel Alfred Rhett and his gallant command, Fort Sumter, April 17, 1863. From daughters of South Carolina.”

April 19, 1863, Mobile Register And Advertiser

(For the Advertiser and Register.)

 The surpassing patriotism, and unfaltering faith in right, of the women of America during the revolution of 1776, has given some of their purest and noblest themes to song and story for the last three quarters of a century. Romancers and troubadours, poets and historians, have alike found there their truth and their inspiration; song has had an added strain of sweetness and sorrow because of the last loved one of Pulaski, and history has had a brighter page since the flowers blossomed on the grave of Martha Washington. And it is well that we have kept green the memory of our grandmothers–that memory has bloomed and borne its precious fruit in our own day, and is the stronger and the better for its resurrection. The wives and maidens of 1776 were but the prototypes of those of 1861; the same spirit animated both; the same sublime faith prepared both for deeds of patience and fortitude.

 The history of the influence of the women of the South during this struggle will never be adequately presented to after times. An individual fact here and there may be gathered and bound like golden lilies in the wreath of history, but the brightest and best will hide themselves in meek abasement, and go down to dust with no story to tell the wondrous beauty of their lives. The facts–historical facts–are of that kind which are likely never to come to the knowledge of the chronicler; known only to a brother, a father, or a husband, they are not likely to be repeated–the actors themselves shunning, as far as possible, anything like public notice. The most careful and industrious writer would therefore be able to catch but a fleeting few, and would be further embarrassed by his delicacy in making them known to the world while the actors were still living. The modesty of our women is only equaled by their spirit and patriotism, so that it is likely that succeeding generations will be able only to guess at what they have done for us, guided by the few personal reminiscences which will go down to them by “legend and tradition.”

 There are, however, two general characteristics of which it is not improper to speak–their patriotism, and their lofty faith in the justice and final victory of the cause. That patriotism has never faltered. Whatever she could do, woman has done. She has labored and toiled to clothe the naked, to feed the hungry, and above all, to care for the sick and wounded, giving her angelic presence to the bedside of the dying soldier of her country, day after day, and night after night, cheering him with words of hope and faith–sending her prayers for him up to the heaven which seemed as close to her pure spirit–and sometimes bearing away from that contagious bedside, her own eternal leave of absence. And not only has she thus given time, labor, and even life to her country, but she has given that which to her was dearer than life itself. Go to any church in the land on next Sabbath, and count the black dresses there–the mourning banners that quiver in agony before the altar of Heaven. Ask, how come they there? And Sharpsburg and Shiloh, Fredericksburg and Seven Pines answer. There went down to his soldier’s grave the dear loved one woman had sent forth in his glorious manly beauty, and paid to the last farthing his debt to his country, and the funeral banner sweeps forever over the heart left desolate. She has given him–her all–dearer to her than life, to her country, freely and willingly; and the sorrow in her face grows bright with the light of heaven, as she tells you: “He fell with his face to the foe, in doing his duty to his country and his God.” Yes, freely and willingly given; and she would tell you, though her frame bowed to the storm of her sorrow, between each sob of her breaking heart, that the altar and the god were worthy of the sacrifice, even as the God of Abraham was worthy of the blood of his beloved Isaac.

 Yet, through all, woman’s faith has been true and steadfast. When man, weary and worn by fatigue and battle, has laid him down by the wayside and forgotten to hope, she has cheered him, and taught him to see, with her, through darkness to the light beyond. Sorrow has been her portion; but, whether wife mourning for the mouldering arm that should never clasp her more–whether mother weeping because of the unknown grave of her noble boy–

  “Or maiden waiting for her warrior-love”–

still, Faith has shone through her grief like the flash of early sunlight through the clouds, and from her lips have come the sweet and steadfast message of prophecy–messages of joy and peace to others, though her own sad spirit may spread its wings in search for the beloved who have gone before, and passed through bloody baptisms up to Heaven.

  D.