Tuesday, 10th–It is dry and hot. I wrote a letter to father enclosing $50.00 of the $53.00 which I received from the Government on May 31st, and in greenbacks at that. I had $1.86 coming to me over and above the allowance the Government makes for clothing, which is $40.00 a year.

June 10th.

This morning while I was attending to my flowers . . . several soldiers stopped in front of me, and holding on the fence, commenced to talk about some brave Colonel, and a shooting affair last night. When all had gone except one who was watching me attentively, as he seemed to wish to tell me, I let him go ahead. The story was that Colonel McMillan was shot through the shoulder, breast, and liver, by three guerrillas while four miles from town last night, on a scout. He was a quarter of a mile from his own men at the time, killed one who shot him, took the other two prisoners, and fell from his horse himself, when he got within the lines. The soldier said these two guerrillas would probably be hanged, while the six we saw pass captives, Sunday, would probably be sent to Fort Jackson for life. I think the guerrilla affair mere murder, I confess; but what a dreadful fate for these young men! One who passed Sunday was Jimmy’s schoolmate, a boy of sixteen; another, Willie Garig, the pet of a whole family of good, honest country people. . . .

These soldiers will get in the habit of talking to me after a while, through my own fault. Yesterday I could not resist the temptation to ask the fate of the six guerrillas, and stopped two volunteers who were going by, to ask them. They discussed the fate of the country, told me Fort Pillow and Vicksburg were evacuated, the Mississippi opened from source to mouth; I told them of Banks’s and McClellan’s defeat; they assured me it would all be over in a month, – which I fervently pray may be so; told me they were from Michigan (one was Mr. Bee, he said, cousin of our General); and they would probably have talked all day if I had not bowed myself away with thanks for their information.

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June 10th. Tuesday. Great false alarm in camp. Major with Co. “I” went out seven miles. We saw nothing.

Monday, 10th.—Federals retreated last night. At midnight, ordered to Kelly’s Ferry. I am detailed to cook rations for the company; glad of it, for I feel very unwell, and do not wish to march. By eight o’clock had rations cooked and loaded up ready to start. Crossed Lookout Mountain, three miles from ferry; met regiment coming back; 6 P. M., back at Chattanooga.

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

June 10th.–General Gregg writes that Chickahominy ¹ was a victory manqué, because Joe Johnston received a disabling wound and G. W. Smith was ill. The subordinates in command had not been made acquainted with the plan of battle.

A letter from John Chesnut, who says it must be all a mistake about Wade Hampton’s wound, for he saw him in the field to the very last; that is, until late that night. Hampton writes to Mary McDuffie that the ball was extracted from his foot on the field, and that he was in the saddle all day, but that, when he tried to take his boot off at night his foot was so inflamed and swollen, the boot had to be cut away, and the wound became more troublesome than he had expected.

Mrs. Preston sent her carriage to take us to see Mrs. Herbemont, whom Mary Gibson calls her “Mrs. Burgamot.” Miss Bay came down, ever-blooming, in a cap so formidable, I could but laugh. It was covered with a bristling row of white satin spikes. She coyly refused to enter Mrs. Preston’s carriage–”to put foot into it,” to use her own words; but she allowed herself to be overpersuaded.

I am so ill. Mrs. Ben Taylor said to Doctor Trezevant, “Surely, she is too ill to be going about; she ought to be in bed.” “She is very feeble, very nervous, as you say, but then she is living on nervous excitement. If you shut her up she would die at once.” A queer weakness of the heart, I have. Sometimes it beats so feebly I am sure it has stopped altogether. Then they say I have fainted, but I never lose consciousness.

Mrs. Preston and I were talking of negroes and cows. A negro, no matter how sensible he is on any other subject, can never be convinced that there is any necessity to feed a cow. “Turn ’em out, and let ’em grass. Grass good nuff for cow.”

Famous news comes from Richmond, but not so good from the coast. Mrs. Izard said, quoting I forget whom: “If West Point could give brains as well as training!” Smith is under arrest for disobedience of orders–Pemberton’s orders. This is the third general whom Pemberton has displaced within a few weeks–Ripley, Mercer, and now Smith. [continue reading…]

Hatty writes (Harriet Roosevelt Woolsey to her sisters):

June 10.

We shall send you the things you ask for by the steamer St. Mark to-morrow, and hope you may get them, though I have my doubts as to Charley’s wines making a sea journey safely with government employees on board ready to drink them up. William Hodge has just walked up the street with me, says Lenox has come back for an appointment in one of the government Hospitals in Philadelphia.

Rienzi, Tishomingo Co., Miss., June 9, 1862.

Saturday morning the 5th inst. the colonel and myself started for a little pleasure ride as a relaxation from the many cares and troubles people in this profession are incident to. We started for Corinth, as neither of us had yet visited the place, and plodded along through dust in air and heat—words can’t tell how oppressive. We stopped at General Rosecrans about 1 p.m. and stayed and dined with him. The general was in his most pleasant mood and I thought him very engaging and winning in his manner. He told a number of amusing stories and ’twas all very pleasant, until somebody happened to mention General Fremont’s name. General Granger was also at the table and the two generals commenced and each tried to outdo the other in—yes, reviling the “bumble-bee catcher.”

They changed the subject over the wine and General Rosecrans became quite enthusiastic and prophetic in his conviction in regard to the war question, settlement thereof, etc. But I couldn’t see any remarkable difference between him and the rest of mankind, and the same remark will apply to all that I know of the other generals here. I remember he said that he considered “slavery a vile blot on the face of the earth,” and that unadulterated abolitionism alone was its equal; but I don’t claim that the speech showed any remarkable talent. We left him swearing at his A. Q. M. and journeyed on. We luckily met an old acquaintance of the colonel’s, a captain in the 1st Regular Infantry, and went with him to his quarters for the night. All the regimental officers quartered together in a very fine house that belongs to a secesh colonel. They were a jolly set of men, and the empty bottles lying around loose when we retired testified strongly thereto. I remember seeing one of them at Point Pleasant, Mo., have a couple of little fights (he commanded a two-gun battery of siege pieces) with a Rebel battery on the opposite shore. [continue reading…]

JUNE 9th.—It is now apparent that matters were miserably managed on the battle-field, until Gen. Lee assumed command in person. Most of the trophies of the victory, and thousands of arms, stores, etc. were pillaged by the promiscuous crowds of aliens and Jews who purchased passports thither from the Provost Marshal’s detectives.

Monday, 9th–It is dry and hot. We are at work building fortifications here on a large scale, Corinth being an important point for either army to hold, as it is the key to Mississippi and Alabama. The bulk of the Army of the Tennessee is left here, while detachments of the original hundred thousand under Halleck are being sent to other commands to act as reinforcements.

9th. Monday. Did very little save rest and graze my horse. Letters from Fannie, home and Sarah.

Sunday, 9th.—Train ran all night; arrived at Cattanooga 10 A. M. Yankees shelling the town from the north side of the river, but doing no damage.

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

9th, Night.—General Jackson is performing prodigies of valor in the Valley; he has met the forces of Fremont and Shields, and whipped them in detail. They fought at Cross Keys and Port Republic yesterday and to-day. I must preserve his last dispatch, it is so characteristic:

“Through God’s blessing, the enemy, near Port Republic, was this day routed, with the loss of six pieces of artillery.

“T. J. Jackson,
“Major-General Commanding.”

And now we are awaiting the casualties from the Valley. This feeling of personal anxiety keeps us humble amid the flush of victory. What news may not each mail bring us, of those as dear as our heart’s blood? Each telegram that is brought into the hospital makes me blind with apprehension, until it passes me, and other countenances denote the same anxiety; but we dare not say a word which may unnerve the patients; they are rejoicing amid their pain and anguish over our victories. Poor fellows! dearly have they paid for them, with the loss of limb, and other wounds more painful still. They want to be cured that they may be on the field again. “Thank God,” said a man, with his leg amputated, “that it was not my right arm, for then I could never have fought again; as soon as this stump is well I shall join Stuart’s cavalry; I can ride with a wooden leg as well as a real one.”

The “Young Napoleon”, does not seem to be dispirited by his late reverses. The New York Herald acknowledges the defeat of the 31st, but says they recovered their loss next day; but the whole tone of that and other Northern papers proves that they know that their defeat was complete, though they will not acknowledge it. They are marshalling their forces for another “On to Richmond.” O God, to Thee, to Thee alone, do we look for deliverance. Thou, who canst do all things, have mercy upon us and help us!

June 9th.–When we read of the battles in India, in Italy, in the Crimea, what did we care? Only an interesting topic, like any other, to look for in the paper. Now you hear of a battle with a thrill and a shudder. It has come home to us; half the people that we know in the world are under the enemy’s guns. A telegram reaches you, and you leave it on your lap. You are pale with fright. You handle it, or you dread to touch it, as you would a rattlesnake; worse, worse, a snake could only strike you. How many, many will this scrap of paper tell you have gone to their death?

When you meet people, sad and sorrowful is the greeting ; they press your hand; tears stand in their eyes or roll down their cheeks, as they happen to possess more or less self-control. They have brother, father, or sons as the case may be, in battle. And now this thing seems never to stop. We have no breathing time given us. It can not be so at the North, for the papers say gentlemen do not go into the ranks there, but are officers, or clerks of departments. Then we see so many members of foreign regiments among our prisoners–Germans, Irish, Scotch. The proportion of trouble is awfully against us. Every company on the field, rank and file, is filled with our nearest and dearest, who are common soldiers.

Mem Cohen’s story to-day. A woman she knew heard her son was killed, and had hardly taken in the horror of it when they came to say it was all a mistake in the name. She fell on her knees with a shout of joy. “Praise the Lord, 0 my soul!” she cried, in her wild delight. The household was totally upset, the swing-back of the pendulum from the scene of weeping and wailing of a few moments before was very exciting. In the midst of this hubbub the hearse drove up with the poor boy in his metallic coffin. Does anybody wonder so many women die? Grief and constant anxiety kill nearly as many women at home as men are killed on the battle-field. Mem’s friend is at the point of death with brain fever; the sudden changes from grief to joy and joy to grief were more than she could bear.

A story from New Orleans. As some Yankees passed two boys playing in the street, one of the boys threw a handful of burned cotton at them, saying, “I keep this for you.” The other, not to be outdone, spit at the Yankees, and said, “I keep this for you.” The Yankees marked the house. Afterward, a corporal’s guard came. Madam was affably conversing with a friend, and in vain, the friend, who was a mere morning caller, protested he was not the master of the house; he was marched off to prison.

Mr. Moise got his money out of New Orleans. He went to a station with his two sons, who were quite small boys. When he got there, the carriage that he expected was not to be seen. He had brought no money with him, knowing he might be searched. Some friend called out, “I will lend you my horse, but then you will be obliged to leave the children.” This offer was accepted, and, as he rode off, one of the boys called out, “Papa, here is your tobacco, which you have forgotten.” Mr. Moise turned back and the boy handed up a roll of tobacco, which he had held openly in his hand all the time. Mr. Moise took it, and galloped off, waving his hat to them. In that roll of tobacco was encased twenty-five thousand dollars.

Now, the Mississippi is virtually open to the Yankees. Beauregard has evacuated Corinth. ¹

Henry Nott was killed at Shiloh; Mrs. Auze wrote to tell us. She had no hope. To be conquered and ruined had always been her fate, strive as she might, and now she knew it would be through her country that she would be made to feel. She had had more than most women to endure, and the battle of life she had tried to fight with courage, patience, faith. Long years ago, when she was young, her lover died. Afterward, she married another. Then her husband died, and next her only son. When New Orleans fell, her only daughter was there and Mrs. Auze went to her. Well may she say that she has bravely borne her burden till now. ²

Stonewall said, in his quaint way: “I like strong drink, so I never touch it.” May heaven, who sent him to help us, save him from all harm!

My husband traced Stonewall’s triumphal career on the map. He has defeated Frémont and taken all his cannon; now he is after Shields. The language of the telegram is vague: “Stonewall has taken plenty of prisoners “–plenty, no doubt, and enough and to spare. We can’t feed our own soldiers, and how are we to feed prisoners ?

They denounce Toombs in some Georgia paper, which I saw to-day, for planting a full crop of cotton. They say he ought to plant provisions for soldiers.

And now every man in Virginia, and the eastern part of South Carolina is in revolt, because old men and boys are ordered out as a reserve corps, and worst of all, sacred property, that is, negroes, have been seized and sent out to work on the fortifications along the coast line. We are in a fine condition to fortify Columbia!

__________

¹ Corinth was besieged by the Federals, under General Halleck, in May, 1862, and was evacuated by the Confederates under Beauregard on May 29th.

² She lost her life in the Windsor Hotel fire in New York.

Sunday, 8th–We received orders to clean up for inspection and a detail of men was put to work cleaning up the parade ground. We have a fine drill ground out in a large field. But the camp being out in the open, the sun beats down pretty hot upon the tents.

June 8th, Sunday.

These people mean to kill us with kindness. There is such a thing as being too kind. Yesterday General Williams sent a barrel of flour to mother, accompanied by a note begging her to accept it “in consideration of the present condition of the circulating currency,” and the intention was so kind, the way it was done so delicate, that there was no refusing it. I had to write her thanks, and got in a violent fit of the “trembles” at the idea of writing to a stranger. One consolation is, that I am not a very big fool, for it took only three lines to prove myself one. If I had been a thundering big one, I would have occupied two pages to show myself fully. And to think it is out of our power to prove them our appreciation of the kindness we have universally met with! Many officers were in church this morning, and as they passed us while we waited for the door to be opened, General Williams bowed profoundly, another followed his example; we returned the salute, of course. But by tomorrow, those he did not bow to will cry treason against us. Let them howl. I am tired of lies, scandal, and deceit. All the loudest gossips have been frightened into the country, but enough remain to keep them well supplied with town talk. . . . It is such a consolation to turn to the dear good people of the world after coming in contact with such cattle. Here, for instance, is Mr. Bonnecase on whom we have not the slightest claims. Every day since we have been here, he has sent a great pitcher of milk, knowing our cow is out; one day he sent rice, the next sardines, yesterday two bottles of Port and Madeira, which cannot be purchased in the whole South. What a duck of an old man! That is only one instance.

8th. Sunday. Started on our return at 8 o’clock, with drove of cattle and horses. Major and Purps went ahead, and a few miles from the road, to a deserted camp and got a secesh wagon, old style, hitched in four horses and had a gay time. Lead horses whirled after a time and broke the tongue, fixed it and with two horses drove through the camp. Horses balked several times, once in the river. Hadley and I undressed and helped across. Command stopped at Hudson’s. Jayhawked the people badly. (“Purps”– nickname for noncommissioned staff.)

Saturday, 8th.—Struck tents this morning, and by sun-up everything was on the move. Marched to Copper Hill, where we took the railroad train, and were soon on our way to Knoxville, arriving there at sunset; but in a very few minutes we were aboard the train, and on our way to Chattanooga.

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

8th–I am threatened this morning with dismissal from the service, and my letter of yesterday is held up as a piece of intolerable insolence, and as one good ground for my being dishonorably relieved. Well, I am a Surgeon of a large hospital, in which are about five hundred brave but unfortunate men, who, under their almost superhuman efforts to sustain and defend a government have broken down and sickened. They are from home, from family, from friends; they are suffering for want of the commonest attention; the dead and the dying are lying together for want of proper and sufficient aid to dispose of them otherwise. The living are dying for the want of the necessaries of life, which, in great abundance, are in sight, part owned by the government, part by the rebels; that owned by the latter carefully guarded by men withrawn from our lines, lest some of these suffering sick should, in desperation, crawl from their beds, get in reach of, and take enough to snatch their languishing bodies from suffering, and, perhaps, from death. But worst of all, I have taken the liberty of stating these things plainly, and, as a penalty for my insolence in holding up a mirror to the eyes of a superior officer, I am to be relieved! By me, “this is a consummation devoutly to be wished.” Will they dare to try it? We shall see. (I have a mirror which will reflect other sights not less hideous than this. Perhaps they would like to look at it?)

Eliza Howland to her husband, Colonel Joseph Howland.

Floating Hospital, White House,
Sunday, June.

We are having a delightful quiet Sunday–such a contrast to the last few days. A hundred and fifty men, to be sure, came down last night, but unless we have two or three hundred we think nothing of it nowadays. We are going for a walk, and Dr. Jenkins of the Commission is to have service for us under the trees. We have almost lost sight of Sunday lately in the press of work.

There are large bunches of laurel and magnolia in our parlor-cabin and dining room, and the air is full of their fragrance.

Miss Dix spent last night with us, but is off now.

7th.—Sad news from the Valley. The brave, gallant, dashing General Ashby has fallen! He was killed yesterday, in a vigorous attack made by the enemy on our rear-guard, at a point between Harrisonburg and Port Republic. The whole country will be shocked by the calamity, for it had a high appreciation of his noble character and achievements. General Jackson valued him very highly, as did both men and officers. His daring was wonderful, and wonderfully did he succeed in his dashing and heroic efforts. “His sagacity in penetrating into the designs of the enemy seemed almost intuitive.”* It is so hard, in our weakness, to give up such men!

* From General Jackson’s telegram announcing the death of General Ashby.

JUNE 7th.—But business is in a great measure suspended, and so I have another holiday.

Saturday, 7th–I stood out on picket all day. We were relieved from picket this evening about dark. We were posted in a heavy timber about two miles out, on one of the main roads leading to town. Water is very scarce and poor at that. We have to go a mile from camp for our drinking water, and to a branch the same distance to do our washing.

7th. In saddle at 4 A. M. Went into the timber for breakfast. Ate with Co. “E.” Good appetite, having eaten nothing of consequence since the morning before. Reconnoitering party was sent south to learn the position and force of the enemy supposed to be encamped 15 miles south. The command encamped in favorable positions in and near Round Grove, the former camp of Col. Coffee. The women in the grove reported that he moved at sundown. One sick man of Coffee’s left behind, reported that he had 600 and Standwaite 1,000. Raines’ unknown. Variously estimated from 500 to 2000. At night the First Battalion went out on picket. Some Co. H men fired on our patrol. Slept with Delos in No. 3.

Friday, 7th.—Arrived at Camp Kirby Smith very hungry and tired; but some that were at the camp had rations cooked for us.

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