Abby Howland Woolsey to her sister, Eliza.

8 Brevoort Place, Saturday, July 5th, ’62.

My dear Eliza: Georgy’s and Charley’s letters from Harrison’s have just arrived, the last date being a postscript Thursday, July 3, which brings us into close correspondence again you see. These letters have relieved the painful anxiety that began to possess us, about Joe’s condition and whereabouts. We thought perhaps that if his wound were really slight, he had been tempted to rejoin the regiment, and had shared in that horrible battle of White Oak Swamp. . . . Mother says that if it is Charley’s desire to stay a little while longer, she consents; he is evidently so useful, that she should not have the heart to insist on his coming back. As for Georgy, if you leave her behind, we shall never forgive you. She must come. Mother cannot stand the anxiety much longer, nor can Georgy bear the constant strain. By-and-by, perhaps, if necessary, she could go back; now she must come home with you. We should be better pleased to have Charley and all once more together, at the end of this battle-year, and before we all begin on other years of separation and distress. Have C. come too. Poor, poor Colonel Marsh! mortally wounded at Gaines’ Mill. What a mercy it would have been had he been killed on the spot. . . We shall never know all that this week of desperate fighting has cost us; our dead and wounded being left behind, or crawling painfully along in the trail of the retreating army. Here and there an officer picked up in a passing ambulance, as Joe rescued the four you speak of. Our great, beautiful “Army of the Potomac,” dwindled down to an exhausted handful. . . . Fifty thousand in all destroyed by fever and wounds, in McClellan’s brief campaign! No wonder if the President has hesitated to send more troops to be used up in swamps, when so little was being done to show for it. . . . Any fool might have known that Beauregard and the bulk of his army had come to Richmond; but then our generals are not even fools, but something less if possible. . . . It may be God’s will to destroy this nation by inches. It is certainly the devil’s will to put dissension into the hearts of our leaders, and blundering darkness into their minds. God overrules all evil, even this, I suppose, to his own glory. I have no question that this and all other defeats are intended to drive us, as a nation, to a higher moral ground in the conduct and purpose of this war. As things stand, the South is fighting to maintain slavery, and the North is trying to fight so as not to put it down. When this policy ceases, perhaps we shall begin to have victory, if we haven’t already sinned away our day of grace. [continue reading…]

JULY 4th.—Lee does not follow up his blows on the whipped enemy, and some sage critics censure him for it. But he knows that the fatal blow has been dealt this “grand army” of the North. The serpent has been killed, though its tail still exhibits some spasmodic motions. It will die, so far as the Peninsula is concerned, after sunset, or when it thunders.

The commanding general neither sleeps nor slumbers. Already the process of reorganizing Jackson’s corps has been commenced for a blow at or near the enemy’s capital. Let Lincoln beware the hour of retribution.

The enemy’s losses in the seven days’ battles around Richmond, in killed, wounded, sick, and desertions, are estimated at 50,000 men, and their losses in cannon, stores, etc., at some $50,000,000. Their own papers say the work is to be begun anew, and subjugation is put off six months, which is equivalent to a loss of $500,000,000 inflicted by Lee’s victory.

By their emancipation and confiscation measures, the Yankees have made this a war of extermination, and added new zeal and resolution to our brave defenders. All hope of a reconstruction of the Union is relinquished by the few, comparatively, in the South, who still clung to the delusion. It is well. If the enemy had pursued a different course we should never have had the same unanimity. If they had made war only on men in arms, and spared private property, according to the usages of civilized nations, there would, at least, have been a neutral party in the South, and never the same energy and determination to contest the last inch of soil with the cruel invader. Now they will find that 3,000,000 of troops cannot subjugate us, and if subjugated, that a standing army of half a million would be required to keep us in subjection.

July 4th.

Here I am, and still alive, having wakened but once in the night, and that only in consequence of Louis and Morgan crying; nothing more alarming than that. I ought to feel foolish; but I do not. I am glad I was prepared, even though there was no occasion for it.

While I was taking my early bath, Lilly came to the bath-house and told me through the weatherboarding of another battle. Stonewall Jackson has surrounded McClellan completely, and victory is again ours. This is said to be the sixth battle he has fought in twenty days, and they say he has won them all. And the Seventh Regiment distinguished itself, and was presented with four cannon on the battlefield in acknowledgment of its gallant conduct! Gibbes belongs to the “ragged howling regiment that rushed on the field yelling like unchained devils and spread a panic through the army,” as the Northern papers said, describing the battle of Manassas. Oh, how I hope he has escaped!

And they say “Palmerston has urged the recognition of the Confederacy, and an armed intervention on our side.” Would it not be glorious? [continue reading…]

Friday, 4th–The Eleventh Iowa came in from picket. The weather is very hot. This is my first Fourth of July in the army. Things appear so lonesome. The battery boys of our brigade took their battery of six guns out a short distance from camp and fired a salute to celebrate the day.

We arrived at Vicksburg on the 25th, where we found the Brooklyn and Richmond, the gunboats, and mortar fleet; and, soon after arriving, an officer came on board from Commodore Davis’s fleet, and communicated with Commodore Farragut. Davis, in our absence, had moved down the river, and now occupied a position just above Vicksburg.

Preparations were immediately made for an attack, by putting the mortars in position but they did not open until the evening of the 26th. On the following day they bombarded slowly the whole day. In the evening a council of Commanders determined to attack the place on the following morning. During the night the mortars were moved up to easy range, and on the 28th, before daylight, the mortars opened in earnest. The whole fleet now moved up to the attack. Our ships were before the city, while the shells from the mortars were being hurled right over our heads, and, as battery after battery was unmasked from every conceivable position, the ridge of the bluff was one sheet of fire. The big ships sent in their broadsides, the mortars scores of shell, and all combined to make up a grand display and terrible conflict. After nearly two hours of hard fighting, our ships had nearly all passed the city, out of range, and the firing ceased.

On looking around I found the Hartford riddled from stem to stern; first a hole through her bow, then two through the side, one below water, then another through the bulwarks, another through the stern and cabin, and another through the smoke-pipe, &c., &c., the main topsail-yard cut in twain, and the rigging terribly cut fore and aft.

Our casualties in killed and wounded were light, one killed, and a dozen slightly wounded, including the Flag Officer and Capt. Broome of the marines–while the casualties of the fleet were less than a dozen in killed. The afternoon was devoted to burying the dead and communicating with the ram fleet belonging to Commodore Davis’s division. From our anchorage we could see across the point of land to General Williams’s camp and the transports below, and we immediately established communication with them. Here we spent the Fourth of July, which was celebrated by the booming of cannon from both fleets, and a volley of shells to the rebels. I visited the iron-clad gunboat Benton, which to me was quite a curiosity.

4th. Great day. So many drunk. Officers gave the freest license to the men. Both caroused. I was most disgusted. Bill and L. fought.

July, 1862.–The President has called for 300,000 more brave men to fill up the ranks of the fallen. We hear every day of more friends and acquaintances who have volunteered to go.

July 4th

Once a National Jubilee? With Brother Gattis visit Captains Brooks and Stanley. Visit Chimborazo Hospital, some of 30th Regiment, Lieut. Angus Shaw of 38th Regiment, D. Danford of Company “C,” and others at Seabrook Hospital. See Jos. Mason’s left leg cut off below the knee. Brother Gattis spends night with me in camp.

4th.–The fourth has come and gone, but brought no fight, and our great Republic has passed another anniversary, if not in safety, in integrity, for its flag yet floats over the loyal men of every State, and the sunset salute of thirty-four guns, proclaims that we are yet an integral. But for the bombast of General McClellan’s proclamation of to-day, we should feel sad. That makes us laugh. Shut up in a little bend of the James River, not daring to venture a single mile from his encampment, he commences digging and peeping from his ditch to see that Lee is not in sight, he cries thus: “On this, our Nation’s birthday, we declare to our foes, who are rebels against the best interests of Mankind, that this army shall enter the Capital of their so-called Confederacy.” Stuff! Has he forgotten that last winter he promised that under him we should have no more defeats?

July 3rd

In camp sick. Meet Revs. T. J. Gattis and J. C. Brent of North Carolina. Learn that Bro. E. J. Grear of Company “C,” was badly wounded and captured. He had left his pocket book containing $42.21 with me. I wish he had it in gold.

JULY 3d.—Our wounded are now coming in fast, under the direction of the Ambulance Committee. I give passports to no one not having legitimate business on the field to pass the pickets of the army. There is no pilfering on this field of battle; no “Plug Ugly” detectives stripping dead colonels, and, Falstaff like, claiming to be made “either Earl or Duke” for killing them.

So great is the demand for vehicles that the brother of a North Carolina major, reported mortally wounded, paid $100 for a hack to bring his brother into the city. He returned with him a few hours after, and, fortunately, found him to be not even dangerously wounded.

I suffer no physicians not belonging to the army to go upon the battle-field without taking amputating instruments with them, and no private vehicle without binding the drivers to bring in two or more of the wounded.

There are fifty hospitals in the city, fast filling with the sick and wounded. I have seen men in my office and walking in the streets, whose arms have been amputated within the last three days. The realization of a great victory seems to give them strength.

Thursday night, July 3d.

Another day of sickening suspense. This evening, about three, came the rumor that there was to be an attack on the town to-night, or early in the morning, and we had best be prepared for anything. I can’t say I believe it, but in spite of my distrust, I made my preparations. First of all I made a charming improvement in my knapsack, alias pillow-case, by sewing a strong black band down each side of the centre from the bottom to the top, when it is carried back and fastened below again, allowing me to pass my arms through, and thus present the appearance of an old peddler. Miriam’s I secured also, and tied all our laces in a handkerchief ready to lay it in the last thing.

But the interior of my bag! – what a medley it is! First, I believe, I have secured four underskirts, three chemises, as many pairs of stockings, two under-bodies, the prayer book father gave me, “Tennyson” that Harry gave me when I was fourteen, two unmade muslins, a white mull, English grenadine trimmed with lilac, and a purple linen, and nightgown. Then, I must have Lavinia’s daguerreotype, and how could I leave Will’s, when perhaps he was dead? Besides, Howell’s and Will Carter’s were with him, and one single case did not matter. But there was Tom Barker’s I would like to keep, and oh! let’s take Mr. Stone’s! and I can’t slight Mr. Dunnington, for these two have been too kind to Jimmy for me to forget; and poor Captain Huger is dead, and I will keep his, so they all went together. A box of pens, too, was indispensable, and a case of French notepaper, and a bundle of Harry’s letters were added. Miriam insisted on the old diary that preceded this, and found place for it, though I am afraid if she knew what trash she was to carry, she would retract before going farther. [continue reading…]

Thursday, 3d–The Eleventh Iowa went out on picket duty. I was on guard at division headquarters, my post being in a large orchard, and my orders were to keep all soldiers out of it.^[1]

[1] Such orders soon got to be a joke with the men, they in a quiet way giving the commanding officers to understand that they did not go down South to protect Confederate property. In a short time all guards were taken from orchards or anything which the men wanted for food.—A. G. D.

3rd. Thursday. In saddles at three A. M. Rode 18 miles. Encamped on Grand River.

Thursday, July 3d.—Went out into the Lowry neighborhood to visit kin.

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

July 3rd, 1862.—We went yesterday to see the soldiers in camp. Brother Junius is as brown as a berry. I did not know blondes ever burned brown. I thought they only turned red. His uniform is extremely becoming. He did not get it until after he reached Palatka, so we had not seen him in it before.

There are two regiments beside the 5th and their tents make quite a show. We saw them drill, they looked fine, but the hot July sun must make them very uncomfortable. Mother took a large hamper of good things to eat and I heard her tell Brother Junius to share with the men who were far from their own people, said she would bring or send a similar hamper every day.

Mattie was delighted to see her father and she cried when Mother said it was time to go home. She said, “Mother, can’t we take papa, too?” The seven days battles around Richmond have filled the hospitals to overflowing; nearly every home is in mourning and the sound of “Rachel; for her children weeping,” is heard on every hand. We have so many dear ones in the army of Northern Virginia, and so far, we have not lost a single one. Father in Heaven we thank Thee. Mr. Blake preaches such beautiful, comforting sermons. I mark his text each Sunday and try to remember all he says. I told Mother, one Sunday when she was sick and could not attend church, what he had said in his sermon and she suggested that I get a blank book and write all I could remember of all his sermons. Next time we go to town I will get a book from Mr. McDougal.

Susan Bradford is 16 years old when this entry was made.

July 3d.–Mem says she feels like sitting down, as an Irishwoman does at a wake, and howling night and day. Why did Huger let MeClellan slip through his fingers? Arrived at Mrs. McMahan’s at the wrong moment. Mrs. Bartow was reading to the stricken mother an account of the death of her son. The letter was written by a man who was standing by him when he was shot through the head. “My God!” he said; that was all, and he fell dead. James Taylor was color-bearer. He was shot three times before he gave in. Then he said, as he handed the colors to the man next him, “You see I can’t stand it any longer,” and dropped stone dead. He was only seventeen years old.

If anything can reconcile me to the idea of a horrid failure after all efforts to make good our independence of Yankees, it is Lincoln’s proclamation freeing the negroes. Especially yours, Messieurs, who write insults to your Governor and Council, dated from Clarendon. Three hundred of Mr. Walter Blake’s negroes have gone to the Yankees. Remember, that recalcitrant patriot’s property on two legs may walk off without an order from the Council to work on fortifications.

Have been reading The Potiphar Papers by Curtis. Can this be a picture of New York socially? If it were not for this horrid war, how nice it would be here. We might lead such a pleasant life. This is the most perfectly appointed establishment–such beautiful grounds, flowers, and fruits; indeed, all that heart could wish; such delightful dinners, such pleasant drives, such jolly talks, such charming people; but this horrid war poisons everything.

3rd.–This morning the men looked haggard and worn. Some slept; more shivered with cold the night through, and in my morning round to look after the health of the regiment, I found men standing upright, without any support, and fast asleep. There was no wood within half a mile of us to make fires. Not a step could be taken without sinking to the ankles in mud and water; and thus opened the day of the 3d of July. All felt depressed, but there was little or no murmuring. What a wonderful army! And yet it has been a whole year in the field and has accomplished nothing. Who is to blame? We are in a bow of the James River, with the enemy in our front. We can retreat no further, and when, early in the morning, a few vollies of musketry were heard, all felt that the trying time had come, and that the death struggle must be had to-day. We were mistaken. After the few vollies, the firing ceased, and all has been comparatively quiet. The thirst had been quenched, and the flow of blood, at least for the day, is checked. To-morrow will be the Fourth of July, and the calm of the 3d portends that this Fourth is to be a day of travail, and, perhaps, the birth-day of another nation.

Jane Eliza Newton Woolsey to her daughter.

July 3, ’62.

My dear Eliza: What times you are living through! in the very midst, too, of everything as you are !–and how dark, very dark, it all looks to us this morning as we read the last “reliable ” accounts from the army before Richmond! Think of six days’ continuous fighting. When I looked over the list of horrors, my first thought and exclamation was, “just think what Joe has been spared!” I really look upon his “slight wound” as the greatest blessing which could have happened to us all, and I am thankful for it. It may have been the means of saving his life. Abby is writing you, but I put in my own words of tender love and sympathy. . . . I rejoice that Charley is at hand with you.

JULY 2d.—More fighting to-day. The enemy, although their batteries were successfully defended last night at Malvern Hill, abandoned many guns after the charges ceased, and retreated hastily. The grand army of invasion is now some twenty-five miles from the city, and yet the Northern papers claim the victory. They say it was a masterly strategic movement of McClellan, and a premeditated change of base from the Pamunky to the James; and that he will certainly take Richmond in a week and end the rebellion.

Wednesday, 2d–I went out about a half mile from camp to pick blackberries, and I picked a gallon of them and sold them to the hospital steward for $1.25.

2nd. Wednesday. In our saddles at 5 A. M. Marched 8 miles west, near where the Major and we boys captured the wagon. Nothing special occurred.

2d.–What relief it was, last night, at half-past 9, after the six day’s of excitement, fatigue, fighting and famine, to lie down once more, secure of a good long night’s rest! What a surprise, the whispered call, in just three hours, to rise quietly and resume the march! And what was our astonishment, when daylight revealed to us the fact that we were now retracing the very road by which we had been trying to escape. On discovering this the men began to waver in their confidence. But soon we left this road and bore off “down the river,” and of the scene which now followed, neither Hogarth’s pencil nor Hall’s pen could render the faintest idea. The rain was pouring in such torrents as I never saw the clouds give down. The men at every step, sank nearly to their knees in mud. The officers, either sulky or excited, were driving them to a double-quick, which it was impossible for them to maintain for more than a few rods. They began to fall out, and, in half an hour, every field, and all the open country, as far as the eye could reach, presented the appearance of a moving, hurrying mob. I was here strongly reminded of my school boy imaginations of the Gulf Stream. This swaying, surging mass presenting the idea of the ocean lashed into irregular fury by driving storms, whilst a part of General Smith’s division, moving in unbroken column through the mass, could not but recall the picture of that little stream as from the beginning of time it has preserved its quiet course, in despite of all the convulsions and conflicts of the warring elements. So great was the demoralization at this time, that I have not a doubt that an unexpected volley of either musketry or artillery would have produced a stampede which would have shamed Manassas. I saw no officer so calm, so collected, so perfectly himself as our Division Commander, General Smith. By the teachings which I had received at Camp Griffin, I had been made to believe that he could never be a man for an emergency. At the most trying moment of the day, I bore him a hurried message from two miles away. He saw me coming on the full run, through the heavy rain and mud, and as I rode up he received me with a quiet, pleasant bow of inquiry. I delivered my message, which was important, and involved the fate of his Division, without the least hurry or the slightest hesitation, and in the very fewest words which could make it forcible, as if he had known the object of my coming, and had his answer prepared, he gave me his orders, and calmly resumed his other duties. The prejudices planted and cultured at Camp Griffin were all dissipated.

I did see him, however, once during the day, a little excited. We were hard pressed by the enemy on all sides of us. We had repulsed him in every fight, protecting our immense train of wagons, now seventy miles long. But so critical had become our situation that it was decided that to save the army it was necessary to abandon the transportation; Gen. Smith rode along the line of his own transportation, clearing the road of the wagons that the rear guard of infantry and artillery might pass. He once or twice ordered a teamster out of the road. The man did not obey. ‘Twas no time to arrest him; he grappled him by the neck, and for half a minute kept him in that peculiar state of gyration which a hungry soldier often communicates to the body of a rebel rooster about midnight. He had no more trouble with that teamster. But the confusion of those teams! I thought Mons. Violet in his stampede of buffaloes had got up a description of confusion which no reality could ever approach. I had formed vague ideas of Bedlam, of Pandemonium; but a million of buffaloes on a stampede, Bedlam turned loose, and Pandemonium “on a bust,” all mixed and mingled, could form no approximation to a train of teams, seventy miles long, on a “skedaddle.”

But all day the rain poured in torrents; men dropped by the wayside and were left. Some died from exposure; some dragged themselves into camp, and many were captured by the enemy. The night of the seventh day has come. The question of capitulation has been heard in whispers all day. But now that we are once more in camp, and in a position to offer or accept battle, most of the men scoff at the idea of capitulation, and say “fight it out.” Nearly all the men, in the retreat, have thrown away their knapsacks and blankets, and have thrown themselves down in their wet clothes, and in mud and water which nearly covers them, hoping to get a little rest after the incessant fatigues of the week. The wind blows damp and chilly, and I fear the poor fellows are to have a hard night of it.

One of the hospital duties of all the nurses at the front was writing letters home for the sick and wounded men, and sometimes the sad work of telling the story of their last few hours of life. That such letters helped to comfort sorrowful hearts, the following answer to one shows. The soldier was mortally wounded in the seven days’ fight, and in E’s care on the hospital ship.

To Mrs. Joseph Howland.

July 2nd, 1862.

Madam: Your letter of the z6th ultimo, conveying the mournful intelligence of the death of R. P., was received on Monday, the 30th ult. . . .

Until I received your letter, I had indulged the hope he would survive the injury; and had –not ten minutes before it was delivered to me–been informed by a lady, whose son is in the same division, that he was wounded, and that the other members of the company were preparing to send him home. This information, with a knowledge that he was of a robust constitution, and perfectly healthy, induced the belief he would recover. . . .

Madam, that letter of yours, although it was a messenger of death, when it was received by those who were being tortured by alternating thoughts of hope and fear, was like the visit of an angel; for it relieved their minds of a torturing anxiety.

I am requested by R’s father to let you know that he is utterly unable to express his gratitude; that the only way he feels able to compensate you is by offering his heartfelt thanks.

Madam, the occupation which it appears you have chosen, that of alleviating the condition of those who are in affliction, is for its labor paid in a still secret way, which is not fully appreciated by any, except they be like you; for I doubt not, that on receipt of this, (when you will have known that you have been instrumental in conferring a lasting favor,) a lady of your nature will feel she is somewhat repaid.