June 28th.

I am afraid I shall be nervous when the moment of the bombardment actually arrives. This suspense is not calculated to soothe one’s nerves. A few moments since, a salute was fired in honor of General Butler’s arrival, when women, children, and servants rushed to the front of the houses, confident of a repetition of the shelling which occurred a month ago to-day. The children have not forgotten the scene, for they all actually howled with fear. Poor little Sarah stopped her screams to say, “Mother, don’t you wish we was dogs ‘stead o’ white folks?” in such piteous accents that we had to laugh. Don’t I wish I was a dog! Sarah is right. I don’t know if I showed my uneasiness a while ago, but certainly my heart has hardly yet ceased beating rather rapidly. If I knew what moment to expect the stampede, I would not mind; but this way – to expect it every instant – it is too much! Again, if I knew where we could go for refuge from the shells! –

A window banging unexpectedly just then gave me a curious twinge; not that I thought it Was the signal, oh, dear, no! I just thought – what, I wonder? Pshaw “Picayune Butler’s coming, coming” has upset my nervous system. He interrupted me in the middle of my arithmetic; and I have not the energy to resume my studies. I shall try what effect an hour’s practice will have on my spirits, and will see that I have a pair of clean stockings in my stampede sack, and that the fastenings of my “running-bag” are safe. Though if I expect to take either, I should keep in harness constantly. How long, O Lord! how long?

Saturday, 28th–It rained this morning and the air is nice and cool. We worked most of the day cleaning up for another inspection—polishing our shoes, belts, cartridge boxes and muskets, besides sweeping the camp ground.

28th. Saturday. Got my horse shod. A good many ladies in camp. Straightened the provision returns and wrote letter to Fannie, and sent them by Corp. I., Co. M. Didn’t get to bed till 12 P. M.

28th.—The casualties among our friends, so far, not very numerous. My dear R. T. C. is here, slightly wounded; he hopes to return to his command in a few days. Colonel Allen, of the Second Virginia, killed. Major Jones, of the same regiment, desperately wounded. Wood McDonald killed. But what touches me most nearly is the death of my young friend, Clarence Warwick, of this city. Dearly have I loved that warm-hearted, high-minded, brave boy, since his early childhood. To-night I have been indulging sad memories of his earnest manner and affectionate tones, from his boyhood up; and now what must be the shock to his father and brothers, and to those tender sisters, when to-morrow the telegraph shall tell them of their loss! His cousin, Lieutenant-Colonel Warwick, is desperately wounded. Oh, I pray that his life may be spared to his poor father and mother! He is so brave and skilful an officer that we cannot spare him, and how can they? The booming of cannon still heard distinctly, but the sound is more distant.

Saturday, 28th.—Got furlough for thirty days, dated June 24th; was sent to me from Knoxville.

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

June 28th.–Victory! Victory heads every telegram now; ¹ one reads it on the bulletin-board. It is the anniversary of the battle of Fort Moultrie. The enemy went off so quickly, I wonder if it was not a trap laid for us, to lead us away from Richmond, to some place where they can manage to do us more harm. And now comes the list of killed and wounded. Victory does not seem to soothe sore hearts. Mrs. Haskell has five sons before the enemy’s illimitable cannon. Mrs. Preston two. McClellan is routed and we have twelve thousand prisoners. Prisoners! My God! and what are we to do with them? We can’t feed our own people.

For the first time since Joe Johnston was wounded at Seven Pines, we may breathe freely; we were so afraid of another general, or a new one. Stonewall can not be everywhere, though he comes near it.

Magruder did splendidly at Big Bethel. It was a wonderful thing how he played his ten thousand before McClellan like fireflies and utterly deluded him. It was partly due to the Manassas scare that we gave them; they will never be foolhardy again. Now we are throwing up our caps for R. E. Lee. We hope from the Lees what the first sprightly running (at Manassas) could not give. We do hope there will be no “ifs.” “Ifs” have ruined us. ShiIoh was a victory if Albert Sidney Johnston had not been killed; Seven Pines if Joe Johnston had not been wounded. The “ifs” bristle like porcupines. That victory at Manassas did nothing but send us off in a fool’s paradise of conceit, and it roused the manhood of the Northern people. For very shame they had to move up.

A French man-of-war lies at the wharf at Charleston to take off French subjects when the bombardment begins. William Mazyck writes that the enemy’s gunboats are shelling and burning property up and down the Santee River. They raise the white flag and the negroes rush down on them. Planters might as well have let these negroes be taken by the Council to work on the fortifications. A letter from my husband:

Richmond, June 29,1862.

My Dear Mary:

For the last three days I have been a witness of the most stirring events of modern times. On my arrival here, I found the government so absorbed in the great battle pending, that I found it useless to talk of the special business that brought me to this place. As soon as it is over, which will probably be to-morrow, I think that I can easily accomplish all that I was sent for. I have no doubt that we can procure another general and more forces, etc.

The President and General Lee are inclined to listen to me, and to do all they can for us. General Lee is vindicating the high opinion I have ever expressed of him, and his plans and executions of the last great fight will place him high in the roll of really great commanders.

The fight on Friday was the largest and fiercest of the whole war. Some 60,000 or 70,000, with great preponderance on the side of the enemy. Ground, numbers, armament, etc., were all in favor of the enemy. But our men and generals were superior. The higher officers and men behaved with a resolution and dashing heroism that have never been surpassed in any country or in any age.

Our line was three times repulsed by superior numbers and superior artillery impregnably posted. Then Lee, assembling all his generals to the front, told them that victory depended on carrying the batteries and defeating the army before them, ere night should fall. Should night come without victory all was lost, and the work must be done by the bayonet. Our men then made a rapid and irresistible charge, without powder, and carried everything. The enemy melted before them, and ran with the utmost speed, though of the regulars of the Federal army. The fight between the artillery of the opposing forces was terrific and sublime. The field became one dense cloud of smoke, so that nothing could be seen, but the incessant flash of fire. They were within sixteen hundred yards of each other and it rained storms of grape and canister. We took twentythree pieces of their artillery, many small arms, and small ammunition. They burned most of their stores, wagons, etc.

The victory of the second day was full and complete. Yesterday there was little or no fighting, but some splendid maneuvering, which has placed us completely around them. I think the end must be decisive in our favor. We have lost many men and many officers; I hear Alex Haskell and young McMahan are among them, as well as a son of Dr. Trezevant. Very sad, indeed. We are fighting again today ; will let you know the result as soon as possible. Will be at home some time next week. No letter from you yet.

With devotion, yours,

James Chesnut.

A telegram from my husband of June 29th from Richmond: “Was on the field, saw it all. Things satisfying so far. Can hear nothing of John Chesnut. He is in Stuart’s command. Saw Jack Preston; safe so far. No reason why we should not bag McClellan’s army or cut it to pieces. From four to six thousand prisoners already.” Doctor Gibbes rushed in like a whirlwind to say we were driving McClellan into the river.

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¹ The first battle of the Chickahominy, fought on June 27, 1862. It is better known as the battle of Gaines’s Mill, or Cold Harbor. It was participated in by a part of Lee’s army and a part of McClellan’s, and its scene was about eight miles from Richmond.

Eliza Woolsey Howland’s Journal.

June 28th. We went as far as West Point, followed by a train of schooners and barges running away like ourselves. There we lay through the evening and night, watching for the flames of burning stores at White House which did not burn, and for booming of guns which did not boom–without news or orders, until after dinner, when we turned and ran up the river again in search of both. Near Cumberland we met the Arrowsmith with Surgeon Vollum on board, who hailed us and told us all we yet know of yesterday’s action at the front. Colonel Vollum then pushed on to Washington for medical supplies and we kept on up here to White House again.

We little knew at the time that “yesterday’s action at the front,” to which E. alludes so quietly, was the desperate battle of Gaines’ Mill, June 27, 1862, the first of the terrible seven days’ battle before Richmond. It was in this action that [Eliza’s husband] J. H. was wounded at the head of his regiment. His commanding officer (General J. J. Bartlett) said, in his official report of the battle: “The enemy were slowly but surely forcing back the right of the entire line of battle. At this juncture I ordered forward the 16th New York Volunteers, Colonel Howland commanding. From the position of the regiment it was necessary to change front forward on first company under the most terrific fire of musketry, with the shells and round shot of two batteries raking over the level plain, making it seemingly impossible for a line to withstand the fire a single instant. But with the calmness and precision [continue reading…]

28th.–This morning opened brightly and beautifully; the elements calm and peaceful–not so the passions of the parties, for we on the right bank, where the enemy attacked us and were repulsed last night, were again attacked in our little fort by Toombs’ Brigade–Toombs in person leading it on. He was repulsed with considerable loss, whilst we suffered but little.

Our army had now abandoned the field on the left bank, leaving the enemy free access to our base, and we were massing our forces on the Richmond side of the river. But whilst our defeat on the left admitted our enemy to our supplies, their repulse on the right did not, as we had hoped, admit us to Richmond. The necessity of a general retreat is now becoming evident to the men, though nothing is heard on the subject from our officers. At 10 A. M. our right (Hancock’s Brigade) moved its quarters about a mile and a half professedly to get out of the reach of the enemy’s shells, which were falling and exploding in the midst of our camp. My opinion is that the real object of the move is the massing of our men preparatory to a general retreat. Our troops to-night are very much worn out. The rejoicing all night of the 26th, at the report of the “thorough whipping” of Stonewall Jackson, repulse on the north side, and the night fight of the south side on the 27th, the morning fight of this day, with the subsequent marching and moving of camps, being all the time on short allowance, is telling sorely on the energies of the men. The losses of yesterday to the two parties cannot have been less than 25,000 to 30,000 men.

JUNE 27th.—At the first dawn of day, the battle recommenced, farther round to the east. This was enough. The enemy had drawn in his right wing. And courier after courier announced the taking of his batteries by our brave defenders! But the battle rages loud and long, and the troops of Jackson’s corps, like the march of Fate, still upon McClellan’s right flank and rear. Jackson’s horse, and the gallant Stuart, with his irresistible cavalry, have cut the enemy’s communications with their base on the Pamunky. It is said they are burning their stores!

What genius! what audacity in Lee ! He has absolutely taken the greater portion of his army to the north side of the Chickahominy, leaving McClellan’s center and left wing on the south side, with apparently easy access to the city. This is (to the invaders) impenetrable strategy. The enemy believes Lee’s main forces are here, and will never think of advancing. We have so completely closed the avenues of intelligence that the enemy has not been able to get the slightest intimation of our strength or the dispositions of our forces.

June 27th.

A proclamation of Van Dorn has just been smuggled into town, that advises all persons living within eight miles of the Mississippi to remove into the interior, as he is determined to defend his department at all hazards to the last extremity. Does not look like the Peace I have been deluding myself with, does it? That means another Exodus. How are we to leave, when we are not allowed to pass the limits of the corporation by the Federals? Where are we to go? We are between the two armies, and here we must remain patiently awaiting the result. Some of these dark nights, bang! we will hear the cannon, and then it will be sauve qui peut in a shower of shells. Bah! I don’t believe God will suffer that we should be murdered in such a dreadful way! I don’t believe He will suffer us to be turned homeless and naked on the world! “Something will turn up” before we are attacked, and we will be spared, I am certain. We can’t look forward more than an hour at a time now, sometimes not a minute ahead (witness the shelling frolic), so I must resume my old habit of laying a clean dress on my bed before going to sleep, which I did every night for six weeks before the shelling of Baton Rouge, in order to run respectably, as muslin cross-bar nightgowns are not suitable for day dresses.

Friday, 27th–We were relieved from picket this morning by the Thirteenth Iowa. Blackberries are beginning to ripen and seem to be plentiful. Fresh fruit with our rations will lighten our work.

27th. Friday. Was busy as usual. Battery came. Issued rations to them.

June 27th.—Yesterday was a day of intense excitement in the city and its surroundings. Early in the morning it was whispered about that some great movement was on foot. Large numbers of troops were seen under arms, evidently waiting for orders to march against the enemy. A. P. Hill’s Division occupied the range of hills near “Strawberry Hill,” the cherished home of my childhood, overlooking the old “Meadow Bridges.” About three o’clock the order to move, so long expected, was given. The Division marched steadily and rapidly to the attack—the Fortieth Regiment, under command of my relative, Colonel B., in which are so many of our dear boys, leading the advance. The enemy’s pickets were just across the river, and the men supposed they were in heavy force of infantry and artillery, and that the passage of the bridge would be hazardous in the extreme; yet their courage did not falter. The gallant Fortieth, followed by Pegram’s Battery, rushed across the bridge at double-quick, and with exultant shouts drove the enemy’s pickets from their posts. The enemy was driven rapidly down the river to Mechanicsville, where the battle raged long and fiercely. At nine o’clock all was quiet; the bloody struggle over for the day. Our victory is said to be glorious, but not complete. The fighting is even now renewed, for I hear the firing of heavy artillery. Last night our streets were thronged until a late hour to catch the last accounts from couriers and spectators returning from the field. A bulletin from the Assistant Surgeon of the Fortieth, sent to his anxious father, assured me of the safety of some of those most dear to me; but the sickening sight of the ambulances bringing in the wounded met my eye at every turn. The President, and many others, were on the surrounding hills during the fight, deeply interested spectators. The calmness of the people during the progress of the battle was [continue reading…]

    Friday, June 27th,

Dr. Campbell and I start at 4 a. m. to try to join our regiment.

At Mechanicsville we saw many wounded, and at ____ Mills, many dead and wounded. Among the dead I saw the handsome form of my noble school-mate, James A. Wright, of Wilmington.

Unable to reach our brigade we drop back through Ewell’s and Stonewall Jackson’s commands, and carry Captain Drake toward our old camp. Sleep under a tree. Our Regiment lost some men—S. Tedder, A. B. Hood and A. F. Steel of Mecklenburg.

June 27th, 1862.—Brother Amos has been to Enfield to see Sister Mag and the children, though he could only stay twenty-four hours. He thinks his daughter is the prettiest baby he ever saw and Eddie wants to go back to camp with him.

Sister Mag says the wounded men are passing through Enfield every day. As soon as they are well enough to leave the hospital they are sent home or to some nearby place to be nursed back to health and other wounded men take their places in the hospitals. This is necessary for the fighting is almost continuous.

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

June 27th.–We went in a body (half a dozen ladies, with no man on escort duty, for they are all in the army) to a concert. Mrs. Pickens came in. She was joined soon by Secretary Moses and Mr. Follen. Doctor Berrien came to our relief. Nothing could be more execrable than the singing. Financially the thing was a great success, for though the audience was altogether feminine, it was a very large one.

Telegram from Mr. Chesnut, “Safe in Richmond” ; that is, if Richmond be safe, with all the power of the United States of America battering at her gates. Strange not a word from Stonewall Jackson, after all! Doctor Gibson telegraphs his wife, “Stay where you are; terrible battle ¹ looked for here.”

Decca is dead. That poor little darling! Immediately after her baby was born, she took it into her head that Alex was killed. He was wounded, but those around had not told her of it. She surprised them by asking, “Does any one know how the battle has gone since Alex was killed? ” She could not read for a day or so before she died. Her head was bewildered, but she would not let any one else touch her letters; so she died with several unopened ones in her bosom. Mrs. Singleton, Decca’s mother, fainted dead away, but she shed no tears. We went to the house and saw Alex’s mother, a daughter of Langdon Cheves. Annie was with us. She said: “This is the saddest thing for Alex.” “No,” said his mother, “death is never the saddest thing. If he were not a good man, that would be a far worse thing.” Annie, in utter amazement, whimpered, “But Alex is so good already.” “Yes, seven years ago the death of one of his sisters that he dearly loved made him a Christian. That death in our family was worth a thousand lives.”

One needs a hard heart now. Even old Mr. Shand shed tears. Mary Barnwell sat as still as a statue, as white and stony. “Grief which can relieve itself by tears is a thing to pray for,” said the Rev. Mr. Shand. Then came a telegram from Hampton, “All well; so far we are successful.” Robert Barnwell had been telegraphed for. His answer came, “Can’t leave here; Gregg is fighting across the Chickahominy.” Said Alex’s mother: “My son, Alex, may never hear this sad news,” and her lip settled rigidly. “Go on; what else does Hampton say?” asked she. “Lee has one wing of the army, Stonewall the other.”

Annie Hampton came to tell us the latest news–that we have abandoned James Island and are fortifying Morris Island. “And now,” she says, “if the enemy will be so kind as to wait, we will be ready for them in two months.”

Rev. Mr. Shand and that pious Christian woman, Alex’s mother (who looks into your very soul with those large and lustrous blue eyes of hers) agreed that the Yankees, even if they took Charleston, would not destroy it. I think they will, sinner that I am. Mr. Shand remarked to her, “Madam, you have two sons in the army.” Alex’s mother replied, “I have had six sons in the army; I now have five.”

There are people here too small to conceive of any larger business than quarreling in the newspapers. One laughs at squibs in the papers now, in such times as these, with the wolf at our doors. Men safe in their closets writing fiery articles, denouncing those who are at work, are beneath contempt. Only critics with muskets on their shoulders have the right to speak now, as Trenholm said the other night.

In a pouring rain we went to that poor child’s funeral –to Decca’s. They buried her in the little white frock she wore when she engaged herself to Alex, and which she again put on for her bridal about a year ago. She lies now in the churchyard, in sight of my window. Is she to be pitied ? She said she had had “months of perfect happiness.” How many people can say that ? So many of us live their long, dreary lives and then happiness never comes to meet them at all. It seems so near, and yet it eludes them forever.

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¹ Malvern Hill, the last of the Seven Days’ Battles, was fought near Richmond on the James River, July 1, 1862. The Federals were commanded by McClellan and the Confederates by Lee.

27th.–There has been great rejoicing in camp all night– no sleep for the troops. But one regiment, seeming to be callous to the good news reported last evening, by General McClellan. At 8 this A. M., I started with wagon to Liberty Hall, for my tents and other baggage. The fight on the other side had commenced two hours before. I learn that in the reports to me of yesterday, the rebel forces had been greatly overrated; that they had only about twenty-five thousand men in the fight, on McCall’s single division, of perhaps eight thousand. But both parties were strongly reinforced last night, Lee having swelled his army to about seventy-five thousand, whilst General Porter had come to the aid of McCall, with about thirty thousand. After fighting for about an hour and a half on the ground of yesterday’s battle, Porter and McCall commenced falling back, and when I crossed the Chickahominy, between 8 and 9, this morning, I passed squads, batallions, regiments, brigades of our soldiers, apparently in disorder; but as I had heard nothing of Porter’s falling back, I paid but little attention to them. I passed on without discovering what was the matter till I came so near to the advancing enemy as to barely escape capture. Riding back to the groups and brigades which I had passed, I learned that they were our scattered army, retreating before the advancing enemy. They had already fallen back about three miles, were rallying near Emerson’s Bridge, and were preparing to give battle and to prevent the farther advance of the enemy. Should we be defeated here, the railroad from Richmond to West Point, now held by us, must fall into the hands of the enemy. White House, (our base of operations), with its immense supplies and munitions, must also be lost. General Porter was preparing for a desperate struggle, which, at farthest, could not be many hours off. General McClellan, I hear, telegraphed to General Porter, now in command on that side of the river, to know whether he needed reinforcements, to which he replied that he did not; that he could hold the enemy where he was. For this, whether true or not General Porter is to-night being highly censured. He felt that it was his fight, and was unwilling that a ranking officer should be sent to him to take or share the credit. Six times the hosts of the enemy came down upon him like an avalanche, and six times were repulsed. The seventh assault has been successful, and the army has passed our lines and has proceeded in the direction of White House. As Liberty Hall was in the line of our retreat and the enemy’s pursuit, it was captured, and I of course lost everything, except the clothes I wore.

About 1 o’clock P. M. the fight commenced on our side of the Chickahominy (the right bank) at Golden’s farm, between the batteries, at long range. I had just returned from my attempted trip to Liberty Hall. Our infantry was in line of battle between the opposing batteries, all the shot and shell from both sides having to pass over it. In passing from our artillery to our infantry, it was necessary to face the enemy’s shells, which were exploding with almost continuous roar. These flashes, as they burst around me, reminded me of the wonderful “shower of falling stars” which occurred in 1850. Many of our own shells exploded as they passed over our infantry, killing a number of our men. Through this shower I had to ride, and it now seems that nothing but an interposition of Providence has saved me uninjured. About 7 P. M. the artillery ceased firing, and in a few minutes commenced an infantry fight, by the enemy’s opening fire on about one mile of our line of battle. This has been a trying day–the fight on the left bank of the river under Gen. Porter, on the result of which depended our holding or losing our base of supplies, with immense stores. That on the right bank, directed by Gen. McClellan, in which it was thought, if we succeeded, we should march unimpeded into Richmond, only six miles off. We are repulsed on the left bank; we have driven the enemy on the right bank. Shall we lose White House and the Railroad as a consequence of our defeat on the left? Shall we inarch into Richmond as the result of our success on the right? To-morrow will tell.

May God preserve me from another battle in the dark. The sight is grand, but terrible, beyond my wish to witness again.

Friday, June 27.—As soon as the cook was up again, we resumed preparations. We put all the clothing in order and had it nicely done up with the last of the soap and starch. “I wonder,” said Annie, “when I shall ever have nicely starched clothes after these? They had no starch in Natchez or Vicksburg when I was there.” We are now furbishing up dresses suitable for such rough summer travel. While we sat at work yesterday the quiet of the clear, calm noon was broken by a low, continuous roar like distant thunder. To-day we are told it was probably cannon at Vicksburg. This is a great distance, I think, to have heard it—over a hundred miles.

H. and Max have bought a large yawl and are busy on the lake bank repairing it and fitting it with lockers. Aunt Judy’s master has been notified when to send for her; a home for the cat Jeff has been engaged; Price is dead, and Sancho sold. Nearly all the furniture is disposed of, except things valued from association, which will be packed in H.’s office and left with some one likely to stay through the war. It is hardest to leave the books.

Note: To protect Mrs. Miller’s job as a teacher in post-civil war New Orleans, her diary was published anonymously, edited by G. W. Cable, names were changed and initials were generally used instead of full names—and even the initials differed from the real person’s initials. (Read Dora Richards Miller’s biographical sketch.)

June 26th.

Yesterday morning, just as I stepped out of bed I heard the report of four cannon fired in rapid succession, and everybody asked everybody else, “ Did you hear that?” so significantly, that I must say my heart beat very rapidly for a few moments, at the thought of another stampede. At half-past six this morning I was wakened by another report, followed by seven others, and heard again the question, “Did you hear that?” on a higher key than yesterday. – It did not take me many minutes to get out of bed, and to slip on a few articles, I confess. My chief desire was to wash my face before running, if they were actually shelling us again. It appears that they were only practicing, however, and no harm was intended. But we are living on such a volcano, that, not knowing what to expect, we are rather nervous.

I am afraid this close confinement will prove too much for me; my long walks are cut off, on account of the soldiers. One month to-morrow since my last visit to the graveyard! That haunts me always; it must be so dreary out there! Here is a sketch of my daily life, enough to finish me off forever, if much longer persisted in. [continue reading…]

Thursday, 26th–The Eleventh Iowa went out on picket. The Third Brigade of the Sixth Division was inspected by the general inspector of the army. Men and camp both passed inspection quite satisfactorily.

26th. Turned over some commissary stores to the 4th and 9th Wisconsin, who came in that evening. Wrote to Fannie. Another false alarm. Citizens expected an attack.

June. – I visited Eureka Lawrence in Syracuse and we attended commencement at Hamilton College, Clinton, and saw there, James Tunnicliff and Stewart Ellsworth of Penn Yan. I also saw Darius Sackett there among the students and also became acquainted with a very interesting young man from Syracuse, with the classic name of Horace Publius Virgilius Bogue. Both of these young men are studying for the ministry. I also saw Henry P. Cook, who used to be one of the Academy boys, and Morris Brown, of Penn Yan. They talk of leaving college and going to the war and so does Darius Sackett.

JUNE 26th.—To-day a letter, hastily written by Gen. Lee to the Secretary of  War, stated that his headquarters would be at _______, or beyond that point,  whence couriers could find him if there should be anything of importance the Secretary might desire to communicate during the day. This is the day of battle! Jackson is in the rear of McClellan’s right wing! I sent this note to the  Secretary at once. I suppose Mr. Randolph had been previously advised of  Gen. Lee’s intention to fight to-day; but I do not know it. I know some of the brigadier-generals in the army do not know it; although they have all been ordered to their commands. This is no uncommon order; but it is characteristic of Lee’s secretiveness to keep all of his officers in profound ignorance of his intentions, except those he means to be engaged. The enemy cannot possibly have any intimation of his purpose, because the spies here have no intelligence; and none are permitted to pass the rear pickets in sight of the city without my passport. What a change since the last battle!

To-day, in compliance with an intimation of the President, all in the departments, who felt so disposed, formed a military organization for the defense of the city, and especially of the archives, which had been brought back since the assumption of command by Gen. Lee. Col. Bledsoe denounced the organization as a humbug! Defending the government, or readiness to defend it, in such times as these, is no humbug! In the fluctuations of a great battle, almost in the suburbs of the city, a squadron of the enemy’s horse might penetrate even to the office of the Chief Executive, when a few hundred muskets, in the hands of old men and boys, might preserve the papers.

After dinner I repaired, with Custis and a few friends, to my old stand on the hill north of the Jews’ Cemetery, and sat down in the shade to listen. Many persons were there as usual—for every day some firing could be heard—who said, in response to my inquiries, that distant guns had been heard in the direction of the Pamunky River.

“That is Jackson!” I exclaimed, as the sounds were distinctly discerned by  myself; “and he is in their rear, behind their right wing!”

All were incredulous, and some doubted whether he was within a hundred miles of us. But the sounds grew more distinct, and more frequent, and I  knew he was advancing. But how long could he advance in that direction without being overwhelmed? Everywhere else along the line a deathlike silence reigned, that even the dropping fire of the pickets, usually so incessant, could be heard.

This suspense continued only a few minutes. Two guns were then heard northeast of us, and in such proximity as to startle some of the anxious listeners. These were followed by three or four more, and then the fire continued with increasing rapidity. This was Gen. A. P. Hill’s division in front of the enemy’s right wing, and Lee’s plan of battle was developed. Hill was so near us as to be almost in sight. The drums and fifes of his regiments, as they marched up to the point of attack, could be easily heard;  how distinctly, then, sounded his cannon in our ears! And the enemy’s guns, pointed in the direction of the city, were as plainly discerned. I think  McClellan is taken by surprise.

One gentleman, who had been incredulous on the subject of a battle to-day,  held his watch in his hand ten minutes, during which time one hundred and  ninety guns were heard. Saying he believed a battle was in progress, he replaced the watch in his pocket, and sat down on the ground to listen.

Another hour, and the reports come with the rapidity of seconds, or 3600  per hour! And now, for the first time, we hear the rattle of small arms. And  lo! two guns farther to the right,—from Longstreet’s division, I suppose. And  they were followed by others. This is Lee’s grand plan of battle: Jackson first, then Hill, then Longstreet—time and distance computed with mathematical precision! The enemy’s balloons are not up now. They know what is going on, without further investigations up in the air. The business is upon earth, where many a Yankee will breathe his last this night!  McClellan must be thunderstruck at this unexpected opening of a decisive battle. Our own people, and even our own general officers, except those who were to participate in the attack, were uninformed of Lee’s grand purpose,  until the booming of Jackson’s guns were heard far on our left.

As the shades of evening fall, the fire seems to increase in rapidity, and a  gentle breeze rising as the stars come out, billows of smoke are wafted from the battle-field. And now, occasionally, we can distinctly see the bursting of shells in the air, aimed too high by the enemy, and exploding far this side of our line of battle.

Darkness is upon us, save the glimmer of the stars, as the sulphurous clouds sink into the humid valleys. But the flashes of the guns are visible on  the horizon, followed by the deep intonations of the mighty engines of destruction, echoing and reverberating from hill to hill, and through the vast  valley of the James in the rear.

Hundreds of men, women, and children were attracted to the heights around the city to behold the spectacle. From the Capitol and from the  President’s mansion, the vivid flashes of artillery could be seen; but no one doubted the result. It is only silence and inaction we dread. The firing ceased at nine o’clock p.m. The President was on the field, but did not interfere with Lee.

Thursday, June 26th

I was sick in my tent. Before day I heard such noise as I had never heard before. Everything in motion, troops, troops, wagons, wagons, artillery, artillery. Heard cannons from 5 p. m. to 6 p. m., 30 per minute; at 7:30, 40 per minute. Too unwell to go to my men. Heard constant musketry. Oh, that I could be there to comfort the wounded and dying, and to encourage the fighting.