July 16.—Rev. Dr. Buddington, of Brooklyn, preached to-day. His wife was Miss Elizabeth Willson, Clara Coleman’s sister. My Sunday School book is “Mill on the Floss,” but Grandmother says it is not Sabbath reading, so I am stranded for the present.

Sunday, 16th—It rained all day, and having no duty of any kind, we remained in our “ranches.” We had no services of any kind today, but as we had our last dress parade, and as this is our last Sunday in camp, we should have had some minister come out from the city for our last religious services in camp.

Saturday, 15th—Our regiment, the Eleventh Iowa Veteran Volunteers, was mustered out this morning at 9 o’clock. We were relieved from all duty and turned over to the general quartermaster the regimental teams and everything that does not belong to the individual officers or men. The papers for the rest of the brigade have not yet been made out.

Friday, 14th—I had a time getting the men out this morning when starting around the brigade to relieve the second relief, some refusing to come out of their tents. I finally started with what guards I had, and when I came to a guard for whom I had no man as relief, I told him to fall in behind and go to the guard tent, thus leaving his beat vacant. After I had made the round, I went to the tents of the absentees and ordered them out, each to his own beat number, adding that if they refused I would have them arrested and put in the guardhouse. I went to one chap’s tent the third and last time, and I tell you he did some lively stepping to reach his beat. He was a member of the Sixteenth Iowa. Our muster rolls and discharge papers were all finished today and the accounts with the regimental quartermaster were all squared up; everything has now been inspected and reported ready for mustering out. All the property belonging to the quartermaster will be turned over to him tomorrow morning. Some of the boys in the regiment have bought their Springfield rifles of the Government, paying $7.00 for them. I bought my rifle, as did more than half of the boys of Company E. These are the rifles we received at Cairo, Illinois, in May, 1864. We are entitled to our knapsacks, haversacks and canteens, and of course are taking them with us.

Wednesday, 12th—Very pleasant weather. Our regimental muster-out rolls are almost ready.

Tuesday, 11th—Troops are leaving daily for their homes. The boys are all active in getting everything squared up with one another before leaving for their homes. We get passes to the city as often as we can, to buy things we want before leaving the army for good. The boys are getting small photo gems taken to exchange with one another; I have already received over sixty in exchange.

Monday, 10th–The men of the Fifteenth and Seventeenth Army Corps are raising a subscription for the purpose of erecting a monument in memory of the lamented Gen. James B. McPherson,^[1] the old commander of the two corps, who was killed in the battle of Atlanta on the 22d day of July, 1864. I gave $5.00 myself, the whole company raising $75.00.

[1] Major-General McPherson was a noble man, a Christian gentleman, kind to the officers and men in his command, and the men of his two corps placed him equal to any of the generals in the army. East or West.—A. G. D.

July 10th, 1865.—We have always had a late breakfast; early this morning Adeline, who usually has a second nap before she comes to the kitchen to get breakfast, woke us all to tell us she had orders from “dem sojers” to have breakfast ready in ten minutes. There was some hurrying, you may be sure, but even so we were not in time, Mother being the only member of the family to put in an appearance. We’ll do better tomorrow.

Ever “sence freedom drapped,” we have had trouble with the milkers. The cows would be left standing for hours, and we would not have fresh milk for the morning’s meal. The poor little calves would call mournfully for their mothers, until some one of the household would turn them together. Of course, at such times we had no milk. Today Pat elected to leave the cows and calves to shift for themselves, but it did not work. Cornell and Hibell came in, each with a foaming pail of milk and, not even looking towards us, said in a gruff voice, “Strain it, and put it up.” This is something I know all about for “Granny Vi’let’s” spotless dairy was ever an attractive place to me. I suppose we are to obey the guard also. Pat got her deserts, but I am a wee bit sorry for her.

Father has found out that we have two Union soldiers on the plantation and he is glad they are here. He is too ill to manage the negroes himself.

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

July 9th, 1865.—Our troubles are over, hurrah for General Foster! Sister Mart and Uncle Arvah made General Foster an early visit. She went in much trepidation, for she had not been quite civil when she met him at Goodwood. He had offered her his hand in greeting and she had drawn back, putting her hands behind her and saying, “Please excuse me.”

She told him what had happened; she described Peggy; she told of our indignation, of Father’s serious illness and of the constant difficulty of life on the plantation.

General Foster listened attentively as she talked; then he said, “I will give you a guard for your premises, Miss Bradford; a sergeant and one man, will, I think, be sufficient. I shall also give you an order to Lieutenant Zachendorf and this order Sergeant Cornell will deliver in person.

“Your guard will be instructed to attend to all plantation affairs and all I ask of you is that they be fed and housed and that they be given the freedom of the premises.”

Sister Mart was delighted. She is very impulsive and extended her hand to General Foster.

“General,” she said, “the last time we met I refused to shake hands with you, now I ask the privilege.”

It is a piece of merciful consideration for us and we cannot thank him enough. I have not seen him for I stay rather close at home.

When Sister Mart got back from town, we had not yet left the breakfast table. She entered the room, followed by two soldiers in blue uniforms. I thought they had come to arrest Mother and my heart stood still. What a relief it was when the situation was explained. Sergeant Cornell took the order to Centreville and we have heard nothing more of the arrest for “impertinence to Peggy.” We will sleep better tonight.

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

Note: The book had a typo that was not in the original typed manuscript so I made a rare correction.  It was in the first line that said, “Our troubles are over, hurrah for Genera Foster!”

Sunday, 9th—It rained all day and all of us not on guard remained in our “ranches.” Our camp is on rolling ground and so the water runs off quickly. In this camp we have no bunks built up from the ground, for there was no tearing down of houses to get timbers, but we have straw on which to lay our ponchos. For a roof we have a pole resting on two forks, with four rubber ponchos stretched over the pole and the ends fastened to the ground.

Saturday, July 8.—-What excitement there must have been in Washington yesterday over the execution of the conspirators. It seems terrible that Mrs. Surratt should have deserved hanging with the others. I saw a picture of them all upon a scaffold and her face was screened by an umbrella. I read in one paper that the doctor who dressed Booth’s broken leg was sentenced to the Dry Tortugas. Jefferson Davis, I suppose, is glad to have nothing worse served upon him, thus far, than con?nement in Fortress Monroe. It is wonderful that 800,000 men are returning so quietly from the army to civil life that it is scarcely known, save by the welcome which they receive in their own homes.

July 8th, 1865.—Things go from bad to worse. Father has been sick for several days; not very sick at first, but he grew worse and yesterday and today we have felt uneasy about him and our doctor brother has been with him until this morning. Mother’s room never looked cleaner or cooler, or daintier than it did today. Father’s room opens into hers and everything, in both rooms,, except the mahogany furniture was white. These apartments were always clothed in the crispest, snowiest of draperies during the summer months; even the cushioned chairs wore white dresses in summer.

Father was sleeping, Mother sat reading her Bible by the west window. Into this pure and peaceful atmosphere walked Peggy, unkempt, unwashed, dirty and disgusting beyond description.

Mother looked up from her Bible and asked, “What can I do for you Peggy?” I was arranging a bowl of roses out in the hall and hearing voices, came into the room.

“I is jis’ kum fur a visit Miss Patsey,” and, with that she came forward and seated herself in one of the large, white-cushioned rockers.

“Get up Peggy,” said Mother, but Peggy tossed her knotty head.

“I ain’t agwine ter git up. De ladies what kums here sets in dese cheers an’ I is jis’ as good as dey is.”

What a picture she made, leaning back, her dirty head making dirty prints on the chair cover, her scaley feet stuck straight out before her and the most impudent expression on her black face that you ever saw.

My diary, I was so angry I could scarcely see. I fear I am not of much use in an emergency but Sister Mart is and she rose quickly to the occasion. Calling Bill and Fannie to help her, she forced Peggy to leave the house.

We thought the incident was disposed of, but no, Peggy went straightway to Centreville and reported to the military authorities that “Miss Patsey done gie me a insult.” [continue reading…]

July 7th. Up early this morning. Waiting for our turn to come for our pay and discharge.

July 7th, 1805.

The Eighteenth Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers, disbanded. Its members free citizens again. The separation was somewhat sad. We were happy that the end had come. Now came the last good-bye, as we grasped each other by the hand, looking into each other’s face, sad but happy. Our soldier life had come to an end. No more picket and guard duty. No more marching by day and night in all kinds of weather. No more camp life, sleeping on the ground in all kinds of weather. No more the long roll to call us out in the night. No more the danger from battle, sickness, or suffering from hunger and thirst. These things all helped to make the life of a soldier as very serious one. Left Hartford at 6 P. M. bound for Norwich, singing “Oh Happy Day.”

Friday, 7th—Our officers have commenced to make out the discharge papers and the muster rolls. The blanks came this morning and the officers of each company have expert penmen at work filling them out.

July 6th. Returned to Hartford to receive our ?nal discharge. Waiting. Reported we must pass one more night in camp. We won’t mind a little thing like that. Tomorrow we will go free.

July 6th, 1865.—Something disagreeable happened today. The Riding class was to meet at Hattie’s and we were going around Lake Iamonia, and as the distance was longer than our rides usually are, we had to make an earlier start.

At four o’clock Cousin Lizzie and I were leaving the grove by the big front gate, which opens on the Thomasville road. “Rebel,” the pony I was riding, has an ugly trick of backing and kicking, if a noise alarms him, and just as we were riding through the gate Lieutenant Zachendorf and a squad of his men came riding past. Their accoutrements made a jingling noise, which offended “Rebel’s” ears and he immediately backed toward the soldiers, kicking with all his might, his heels fairly flying. I could do nothing with him; he paid no attention to either rein or whip and orders were of no avail. I was in despair. Lieutenant Zachendorf halted his squad and ordered me to “Stop that Devil.” I explained that I could not manage him and they rode away, after telling me if it ever happened again he would have me arrested and tried before his court. We went on to Captain Lester’s house, where we joined the party but I did not enjoy the afternoon. I think I shall have to stay at home hereafter.

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

Thursday, 6th—It is hot and sultry, but as our duty is light we can stay in our “ranches” and keep out of the hot sun. All are happy at the thought of going home soon.

July 5th, 1865.—We had a grand time at Greenwood last night. The Shakespeare Club is the most entertaining mode of amusement I ever tried. I had a sore throat and could not read so my part was given to one of the other girls, Nora Holland, it was. That being the case I had a better opportunity of judging the rest. Most of the readers did remarkably well; all were educated and all were more or less accomplished, and well-read. The readers made a pretty picture as they sat around the big kerosene lamps which were a new acquisition in the Holland household, for four years we have had lights of domestic manufacture only, so these looked quite grand.

I sat in an open window and listened and looked, but I fear my attention was somewhat distracted from the subject in hand, because, just outside, on the porch, some one was kneeling, talking of far different matters. Having heard that the next meeting would be held at Uncle Tom’s we adjourned for supper. Cousin Peggy is a famous housekeeper and this was a fair sample of her skill. It has been a long time since the southern housekeeper felt that she could be spared from the camp and the hospital for entertainments, but our soldiers are at home now and we must give them the very best we have.

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

Wednesday, 5th—An order from the War Department came today, ordering the mustering out of all the soldiers of the Army of the Tennessee. All is quiet.

July 4th. A great parade and reception to our regiment. The welcome home was a grand time. During the march, on the parade, many people were in tears, and we knew the reason why. Their husbands and boys did not come home. While we were happy we did not forget the good fellows and the homes that contained a vacant chair. It was a great day in old Norwich. A Fourth that cannot be forgotten by those who participated in the parade. It was the last parade of the Eighteenth Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers. Our guns and equipments were laid aside. No more cruel war for us.

July 4th, 1865. Never in all my life have I known a Fourth of July, which did not mean a frolic for both white and black. Today there is no barbecue. We are not going to listen to spread-eagle oratory of the Glorious Fourth. To be sure we have not observed this ceremonial during the four years of war, but in days gone by we were most particular to observe the day.

I wonder what the negroes think of this change of program? I would like to know how they are spending the day? I haven’t much time for such speculations, for Josie Evans is spending the summer with us and I love to be in her company. She is a delightful companion and a veritable star in all social gatherings. She has a marvellously beautiful, sweet and powerful voice and she has made a study of music. It was her intention to go on the stage but her mother would not permit it. I am sorry, for she would be wonderful on the stage, she has just the pose of an actress and her fine figure and graceful bearing would make for success. Isn’t it strange that appearance means so much? She is a fine elocutionist and her reading tonight will be well worth listening to.

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

July 4th.—Saturday I was in bed with one of my worst headaches. Occasionally there would come a sob and I thought of my sister insulted and my little sweet Williams. Another of my beautiful Columbia quartette had rough experiences. A raider asked the plucky little girl, Lizzie Hamilton, for a ring which she wore. “You shall not have it,” she said. The man put a pistol to her head, saying, “Take it off, hand it to me, or I will blow your brains out.” “Blow away,” said she. The man laughed and put down his pistol, remarking, “You knew I would not hurt you.” “Of course, I knew you dared not shoot me. Even Sherman would not stand that.”

There was talk of the negroes where the Yankees had been—negroes who flocked to them and showed them where silver and valuables had been hid by the white people. Ladies’-maids dressed themselves in their mistresses’ gowns before the owners’ faces and walked off. Now, before this every one had told me how kind, faithful, and considerate the negroes had proven. I am sure, after hearing these tales, the fidelity of my own servants shines out brilliantly. I had taken their conduct too much as a matter of course. In the afternoon I had some business on our place, the Hermitage. John drove me down. Our people were all at home, quiet, orderly, respectful, and at their usual work. In point of fact things looked unchanged. There was nothing to show that any one of them had even seen the Yankees, or knew that there was one in existence.