Monday, Sept. 1st.–The defeat which we met with on Saturday, seems to have been a very decisive as well as a very destructive one. Our loss is heavy, though I am not without hopes that the official report will restore many of our lost men, and even place us in possession of the battle field. These official statements are powerful weapons, when well wielded.

We are under a flag of truce all day, removing the dead and wounded from the battle field. I have listened to more than a hundred funeral sermons to-day, each preached in a single second. A dozen muskets at a single volley, tell most impressively and laconically the last sad story, and the spirit of the departed soldier looks down with sad interest on the country which his body can no longer defend.

The enemy can be seen on the move, some eight miles away, and no doubt we shall soon be called to arms.

At 4 P. M. I went down to aid in the hospitals, worked for a short time, and was just prepared, with sleeves rolled up and knife in hand, to excise the shoulder of a poor fellow whose joint had been shattered, when a call to arms arrested further proceedings, and I returned to my regiment. Now, as I write, all is packed and ready, and we are ready to fight or run. The Lord knows which we shall be ordered to do, but presume we shall make another “strategic movement,” and “change our base of operations,” by falling back in the night on Washington. I was so severely reprimanded for saying that we were whipped at the battle of Mechanicsville and Gaines’ Mill, that I shall not venture to write that we are whipped now, but only think we are.

A tremendously heavy shower and hard wind set in about 5 o’clock, and continued till nearly dark, the men sitting in line and taking it as they best could. * * * At about 8 o’clock we took up our line of march towards Washington. The roads were terrible, the night very dark, yet it was a subject of frequent remark that, notwithstanding these embarrassments, we are led much faster from the enemy than towards him. After travelling about five miles, we found ourselves on the ground where a battle had been fought in the afternoon (Chantilly) between Gen. Stevens and the rebels who had got in our rear and were trying to cut off our retreat. The enemy was repulsed, but Gen. Stevens was killed, and his son wounded.

We marched through the rain during the night, and at 2 o’clock A. M. (when I dropped down and slept between my wet blankets for about three hours,) we had reached to within one and a half miles of Fairfax Court House. I now get no letters from home. This being deprived of regular mail matter from their homes, is one of the most cruel of all the impositions inflicted by government officials on the soldiers. If these office-holders could but know the deep interest with which the most illiterate soldier watches for the mails to hear something, anything from the dear home which he despairs of seeing again, it would move his heart, if he has one, not to throw out the soldiers mail to make room for the civilians.

12 o’clock.–More bad news. The dead body of General Philip Kearney has just been sent in by the enemy. He was killed yesterday, in the fight at Chantilly. This is a great loss. “He was the noblest Roman of them all.” If McClellan only possessed his dash, this war would not now be on our hands. Not an hour before his death, I saw him dashing along his lines, then quiet at Centreville, whilst his soldiers rent the air with shouts of gladness at the sight of him! How proud and happy he seemed at the huzzas of his “fighting division.” He little realized how short-lived the pleasure. He started for this place, (Fairfax,) fell in with the enemy, who had got in our rear, engaged and repulsed him, and lost his own life, and never fell a braver man or better fighter.

Our brigade is here, as on the Chickahominy, the rear guard of the army, to protect the rest from a pursuing foe. It seems strange that we should so long be exposed in this perilous position. After this defeat, I fear General Pope’s army will be demoralized. ‘Tis very sad to listen to the tales of bravery and destruction of his devoted troops at Bull Run, on Saturday. Again and again, whilst being borne down and pressed back by superior numbers, on being told that McClellan’s army was in sight and hurrying to their support, would they rally, cheer, and dash themselves against overpowering numbers, and struggle with almost superhuman effort, to hold the field till we could come up; and all this while we, the “Great Army of the Potomac,” were looking on, dallying with time, many, no doubt, praying for the very disaster which happened. Am I prejudiced that I think thus? Had I not written it in this journal, a week before it occurred, I might have hoped so.

10 P. M.–Again in the camp which we left to go to the rescue of General Pope. “Tis hard to write of what seems to me the infamous closing up of this short campaign; but it must be done. At 4 o’clock P. M., we left our camp, a mile below Fairfax, and before 10 o’clock, had accomplished a march which had occupied over a day and a half in our hurried march to save Pope’s army from destruction, our country from disgrace, our fellow-soldiers from slaughter! A day and a half towards the enemy, five hours to get back! There, it is written; it must tell its own story. I have no reflections to journalize. We are in camp, and the leading officers of our army are preparing for a good night’s rest. I do not think many of them will be disturbed by thinking of the groans of the wounded and dying whom they saw butchered, and reached forth no hand to save. God grant them sweet repose and clear consciences.

Fairfax C. H., September 1, 1862.

My Darling Wife: I have only time to say that we were fighting on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and that I am well. The last was a very severe battle and in large force. The enemy was badly routed. His force consisted of the armies of McClellan and Pope united. Ever yours.

[General Paxton had just taken an active part in the battle which has since been known as the battle of Second Manassas when this characteristic note was written. The report of General Jackson upon these battles makes mention of him as follows: “In the prompt transmission of orders (Cedar Mountain) great assistance was received from Maj. E. F. Paxton, Acting Asst. Adj.-Gen’l. . . . Desiring to avoid delay, I directed my Acting Asst. Adj.Genl. to order Jackson’s Division forward.” “In the transmission of orders (2nd Manassas) I was greatly assisted during the expedition by the following members of my staff: Col. A. Smart, Asst. Insp. Genl.; Maj. E. F. Paxton, Acting Asst. Adj.-Genl.”]

Sunday, 31st–Our pickets at the south edge of town were driven in by the rebels, and expecting to be attacked, the right wing of our detachment was in line of battle all day. We have now been in camp at this place all month and the work which we have been called upon to do has been very strenuous. I was on picket half the time, patrolling the railroad, and I spent the other half on special picket and on fortifications. I have been in good health.

Sunday, 31st. Word came early to march. Sergt. Co. K and I went out a mile and got breakfast. Three sons in the rebel army. Two good horses, but papers from Gen. Salomon guarded them. Sergeant had got them to cook a few chickens, on which we lunched. At first in the rear, then hurried on and got in the advance. Passed through Nevada about noon. Got some warm bread and butter. Encamped three miles out, where water was abundant but poor. Went out and helped kill and butcher beef. Borrowed some coffee till the wagon came up. Slept out till commenced raining. Got under wagon.

Sunday, 31st.—Crossed Rock Castle River at 8 A. M. Very small stream to be dignified by the name of river. Heard that there had been a battle at Richmond; complete victory to the Confederates. Captured all their artillery and great many prisoners.

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

AUGUST 31st.—Fighting every day at Manassas.

Aug. 31—It began to rain before day. Just then we received orders, “Be ready to move at a moments’ warning.” We needed rest, and were hoping we could enjoy that Sabbath in the woods. As I leaped from my blanket and started to find my horse, I began to sing, not knowing what. As I heard “Happy people over yonder, where they rest forever more,” my heart melted with joy. I was then a “happy” man. (The thirty-four years and nineteen days since that dark morning have brought me nearer to the “happy people over yonder” and greatly increased their number.) March all day. Muddy to “Muddy Run.” Pass Warrenton Sulphur Springs, lovely, blighted village.

August 31, 1862, The New York Herald

This sterling officer, whose series of military operations and brilliant victories in the West have been the theme of praise and comment from press and public, is comparatively a young men, being under forty years of age, having been born in Kentucky, March 10, 1923. His parents early settled at Kaskaskia, Illinois, from which State he was appointed to West Point in 1838. His father, Hon. N. Pope, was for a long period United States District Judge of Illinois, a sound and talented lawyer, high toned and honored member of society, and eminently worthy of such a son as is the subject of this sketch. After a scholastic term of four years at the military institution, young Pope graduated in June, 1842. In his class we find the names of Generals Rosecrans, Seth Williams, Doubleday, and may others of the Union army, and Rains, G. W. Smith, Lovell, Van Dorn, Longstreet and others in the rebel ranks. In July, 1842, the subject of our sketch was appointed Second Lieutenant of Topographical Engineers. In August, 1846, he joined General Taylor’s army in Mexico, during its advance upon Monterey, and was brevetted first lieutenant for gallant and meritorious conduct in that battle. As first lieutenant he marched with his companions through the malarious regions of Central Mexico, and was an active participant in the severely fought and dearly bought battle of Buena Vista, where he was again brevetted captain for highly gallant and meritorious conduct. For his gallantry in this engagement, and other distinguished services during the war, he was also presented with a magnificent sword by the State of Illinois.

In 1849 he conducted the exploring expedition which first laid open the fertile regions of Minnesota, and demonstrated the practicability of navigating the Red River of the North with steamers, for which services he received a vote of thanks from the Territorial Legislature of Minnesota. This labor accomplished, we next find him serving in New [continue reading…]

31st.–We were awoke this morning at daylight, by the pattering of rain on our faces, and at once went to work preparing to meet the foe, and perhaps to fight the battle decisive of the war and the fate of our poor “friend-ridden” country. Oh, my country; both you and your friends are making a history, and when it is written, may I be there to help. * * * But we are preparing for fight. Must all of our great battles be fought on Sundays?

10 1-2 A. M.–”Fall in, fall in.” The rain pours whilst we march and counter march for an hour, forming into line of battle. Why spend so much time at what could have been done in twenty minutes. No need of delay, now that Pope is whipped.

We have remained all day at Centreville. No advance by either party. I have a bad cold to night, and lie down with wet feet, and between wet blankets, and yet with this discomfort, how enviable my condition compared with that of thousands whom, and whose families our tardiness has doomed to a life long intensity of pain or misery.

The retreat from the Peninsula was almost immediately, (August 29, ’62,) followed by the “Second Bull Run” disaster, which again filled the Washington and Alexandria hospitals to overflowing and taxed the hospital workers to the utmost. Chaplain Hopkins, still on hard service in Alexandria, writes:

Office of General Hospital,
12 O’clock Sunday Night.
Alexandria, August 31st, 1862.

My dear Mrs. Howland: These days are more terrible than any thing the nation has yet seen, and their horrors are at our very doors. Yesterday we sent 375 men to the north, and 433 to-day, and yet to-night we have opened a hall where, strewn on the floor, without even blankets, lie scores of wounded men unattended, with rebel lead festering in their bodies, but thankful for even that accommodation. Many of them came all the way from the battlefield in horrid army-wagons after lying in the rain and mud upon the field through the night; – patient, unmurmuring men. The best of New York and Boston blood oozes from their undressed wounds. I have just come from doing all that I could for them and am resting for the next train, which we momentarily expect at the foot of Cameron Street. . . . You have seen all this at Harrison’s Landing, but in my wildest dreams, when I first reported to you in Washington, I never thought of such scenes. Through all the wards confused heaps of torn and dirty clothes and piles of bloody bandages, tired attendants doing their best to make comfortable the poor fellows torn and mangled with shot and shell in every imaginable way. Things now, from what I hear in the hall, are coming into order, several surgeons having just reported themselves to Doctor Summers, besides large numbers of citizen attendants from the departments in Washington and from this city, too. [continue reading…]

August 30th.

Still no prospect of a lodging; so here we remain. I never before lived in a house without a balcony, and have only now found out how inconvenient it is. The whole establishment consists of two rooms on each side of a passage as wide as the front door; and as it has a very low ceiling, with no opening, and no shade near, it is decidedly the warmest spot I ever inhabited. We all sleep on the floor and keep our clothes in our trunks – except Lilly, who has an armoir without doors. Knives and forks for dinner to-day, though the table still consists of a single plank The house really has a suffocating effect on me, there is such a close look about it. The front is fully a foot below the level of the street, while quite a flight of steps leads from the back door to the yard. In fact, the whole town consists of abrupt little mounds. It is rather a pretty place; but Heaven save me from the misery of living in it! Miriam is crazy to remain – even advocates that dirty, bare, shutterless boarding-house where we passed the first night, from what attraction I cannot imagine. I am just as anxious to get into the country. I would hate the dull round of this little place; I prefer solitude where I can do as I please without being observed. Here we are as well known by people we never before heard of as though we were fellow-citizens.

Saturday, 30th–We are on guard every other day now. I am on picket post again on the main road out east from our camp. There are thirty of us with a captain in command. I stood on vedette for eight hours. Our reserve post is close by a farm house owned by a man named Patrick. He has a great many slaves who are out in the fields picking cotton, and they have a colored foreman, a slave at that, over them. But Patrick himself is the “driver,” though he seems to be kind to his slaves, who are mostly women and children. Patrick had been forced into the army of the Confederacy, but he escaped, and returning to his plantation, he hopes now to remain within the Union lines.

Saturday, 30th. In the morning was on picket in the town. Roasted corn for breakfast. Ate and slept on a porch to a jayhawked store. Slept soundly. Went to the tannery and had a good wash. Got some peaches. Went out about noon and joined the main command, two miles out. Went out a mile where Capt. Welch was staying with a picket guard. Got plenty of melons to eat from a Mrs. Dade, whose husband was in the secesh army, a surgeon. Scouting parties went out ten and twelve miles each way, north and east. Went out and met our command. Slept in a house on floor. Strange.

Saturday, 30th.—Met regiment this morning at Little Laurel bridge. Marched through Loudon at 10 A. M. Rather shabby-looking place. Camped two miles from Rock Castle River.

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

AUGUST 30th.—Banks, by the order of Pope, has burnt 400 Yankee cars loaded with quartermaster’s and commissary stores. But our soldiers have fared sumptuously on the enemy’s provisions, and captured clothing enough for half the army.

August 30th.—A package arrived last night from our sisters, with my sister M’s diary, for my amusement. It was kept while our dear ones of W. and S. H. were surrounded by McClellan’s army. I shall use my leisure here in copying it, that our children’s children may know all that our family suffered during this cruel war. During the six weeks that they were surrounded by the foe, we only heard from them through letters written to their husbands in Richmond. These letters were captured by the enemy, and published in a New York pager; and one was republished in the Richmond Enquirer, where we were most delighted to find it. In that way W. B. N., then incarcerated in the walls of Fort Delaware, heard from his mother, wife, and children, for the first time since he was captured, in March.

Mrs. N’s diary begins: “May 18th.—S. H, Hanover County, Va. C. M. and myself set off yesterday morning for church. At my brother’s gate we met Dr. N., who told us that there were rumours of the approach of the enemy from the White House. We then determined not to go to our own church, but in another direction, to the Presbyterian church. After waiting there [continue reading…]

Aug. 30—Men wade Rapidan, and I drink of it. Pass Cedar Run, where there had been a hard fight August 9. Robert Henderson, a venerable old man, had been arrested. As our men passed his gate he said with tears, “God preserve you, my boys!” Pass Culpepper C. H. Town and country around desolated by war. Sick and wounded Federals in town.

30th.–We can distinctly hear the fighting beyond Centreville; yet we move slowly, and in that direction. This fight has been going on for two days, with great advantage of numbers and position on the side of the enemy, and yet we stop to rest every half hour, when no one is tired. The troops have had no marching for a week. What can our delay mean? God send it may not be the jealousy foreshadowed in a letter written to my wife a week ago. Go on! go on! for God’s sake, go on. The whole army says go on, and yet we linger here. We stop an hour in the suburb of Fairfax, whilst the sound of the fight is terrible to our impatience, and we tarry here.

5 P. M.–We have just reached Centreville. The battle rages in sight, yet we stop again to rest when no one is tired, but all anxious to rush on. After having “rested” for two hours, we moved slowly forward for two miles, when we met a courier, who exclaimed: “Oh, why not one hour earlier!” Close on his heels followed the flying crowd, again overpowered, beaten and whipped at Bull Run, the disastrous battle field of last year, and we too late to save it.

Alas, my poor country! and must you at last be sacrificed to the jealousies, the selfishness, the ambition, the treachery or the incompetency of those to whom you have entrusted your treasure, life, honor, every thing? Grouchy failed to come. So did Hancock, Franklin and McClellan. There may be good reasons for our delay, and we not be permitted to know what they are. The subordinate is forbidden to discuss the merits or the motives of his superior, but we must not be blamed for thinking. Pope was whipped. Thousands of our neighbors and our friends died on that bloody field, whilst struggling to hold it till we could reach and save them, and the joyous faces of many officers of our Army of the Potomac made us think that the whipping of Pope and the slaughter of his men, had something to do with their joy. We could not help thinking, and the army regulations will be lenient with us, if we will only not tell our thoughts. But there is one subject connected with this, on which I am inclined to think that, if spirits ever talk, those of the slaughtered there will cry aloud, in spite of the army regulations. Whilst we rested for hours in sight of the battle field, couriers came to us from the Medical Director of General Pope’s army, asking that our Surgeons might be sent forward to the aid of the wounded, as they were suffering dreadfully and falling faster than their Surgeons could take care of them. On receipt of this message, I saw a Surgeon ride up to General Hancock (who was lying on the ground) and asked permission to go to their aid; the General abruptly ordered him back to his regiment! I could not learn that a single Surgeon to us permitted to go forward!

Having met the retreating crowd, and night having come on, we fell back about two miles, now tired and dispirited, and threw ourselves on the ground in and around the fortifications at Centreville, and by 12 o’clock we were all resting, preparatory to another fight to-morrow.

29th.—The Richmond papers of yesterday mention two severe skirmishes on the Rappahannock within a week The enemy are retreating through Culpeper, Orange, etc., and our men are driving them on. General Jackson has reached Warrenton. Burnside’s army is said to be near Fredericksburg, and Pope retreating towards Manassas. The safe situation of this town makes it a city of refuge to many. Several of our old friends are here. Mr. and Mrs. D., of Alexandria, are just across the passage from us; the J’s are keeping house, and Mrs. M. is boarding very near us. This evening our friends the S’s arrived. None but persons similarly situated can know the heartfelt pleasure of meeting with home friends, and talking of home scenes—of going back, as we did this evening, to the dear old times when we met together in our own parlours, with none to make us afraid. We see very little of Lynchburg society, but in this pleasant boarding-house, with refugee society, we want nothing more. The warmest feelings of my heart—have been called forth, by meeting with one of the most intimate friends of my youth—now Mrs. Judge D. We met the other day in the church-door, for the first time for many, many years. Time has done its work with us both, but we instantly recognized each other. Since that time, not a day has passed without some affectionate demonstration on her part towards us. At her beautiful home, more than a mile from town, I found her mother, my venerable and venerated friend Mrs. Judge C, still the elegant, accomplished lady, the cheerful, warm-hearted, Christian Virginia woman. At four-score, the fire kindles in her eye as she speaks of our wrongs. “What would your father and my husband have thought of these times,” she [continue reading…]

August 29, Clinton, La.

Noah’s duck has found another resting-place! Yesterday I was interrupted while writing, to pack up for another move, it being impossible to find a boarding-house in the neighborhood. We heard of some about here, and Charlie had engaged a house for his family, where the servants were already settled, so I hurried off to my task. No easy one, either, considering the heat and length of time allowed. This time I ate dinner as I packed, again. About four, finding Miriam did not come to Mr. Elder’s as she promised, I started over to General Carter’s with her clothes, and found her just getting into the buggy to ride over, as I arrived warm, tired, hardly able to stand. After taking her over, the General sent the buggy back for Mrs. Carter and myself, and soon we were all assembled waiting for the cars. At last, determining to wait for them near the track, we started off again, General Carter driving me in his buggy. I love General Carter. Again, after so many kind invitations, he told me he was sorry we would not remain with him; if we were content, he would be only too happy to have us with him; and spoke so kindly that I felt as though I had a Yankee ball in my throat. I was disposed to be melancholy anyway; I could not say many words without choking. I was going from the kindest of friends to a country where I had none at all; so could not feel very gay. As we reached the track, the cars came shrieking along. There was a pause, a scuffle, during which the General placed me and my bird in a seat, while Lilly, Charlie, Miriam, mother, five children, and two servants, with all the baggage, were thrown aboard some way, when with a shriek and a jerk we were off again, without a chance of saying goodbye, even. [continue reading…]

Friday, 29th–No news of importance. We are all on fatigue duty today, building rifle-pits and a fort. Our fortifications are not on high ground, but in case of an attack upon our camp, they would give us ample protection.

Friday, 29th. Morning passed as usual in reading the late papers and loafing. Washed dishes. No encouraging news. Several commissions came over–some very just and deserved ones. In the afternoon came a detail of all well mounted men to go on an expedition into Mo. Archie and I went. 50 men in all under Capt. Welch. 9th Wisconsin, Allen’s Battery, and part of the 9th Kansas along under Gen. Salomon. We went as advance. Rode all night. Slept a good deal in saddle. Was very sleepy. Reached Montebello just before sunrise. Went in on all roads, dashing down at full gallop, but never an enemy. Expected to find 1200 there.

Friday, 29th.—Notified to-day that we were marching to Richmond, Kentucky. Camped at Big Laurel Bridge. Lieutenant D. U. Fox, R. F. Anderson, Brothers Tom and Lon Magill and myself went out to Uncle Newton Magill’s; very strong for the Union. Said he could not understand how children of his brother could be fighting against the Union. We explained to him that where we lived it was either fight or be conscripted, and made to fight, and so we only had “Hobson’s choice,” no matter which end of the dilemma we took, it was to land in the army. The whole family treated us so nicely that we enjoyed our stay for the night. We trusted them so implicitly that we stacked our guns in the corner down-stairs, and left and went up-stairs to sleep, leaving ammunition and everything down there. It has always been a pleasure to me to think back of how nicely they all treated us.

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

AUGUST 29th.—Bloody fighting is going on at Manassas. All the news is good for us. It appears that Pope, in his consummate egotism, refused to believe that he had been outwitted, and “pitched into” our corps and divisions, believing them to be merely brigades and regiments. He has been terribly cut up.