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.)

June 7th.–Cheves McCord’s battery on the coast has three guns and one hundred men. If this battery should be captured John’s Island and James Island would be open to the enemy, and so Charleston exposed utterly.

Wade Hampton writes to his wife that Chickahominy was not as decided a victory as he could have wished. Fort Pillow and Memphis ¹ have been given up. Next! and next!

______

¹ Fort Pillow was on the Mississippi above Memphis. It had been erected by the Confederates, but was occupied by the Federals on June 5, 1862, the Confederates having evacuated and partially destroyed it the day before. On June 6, 1862, the Federal fleet defeated the Confederates near Memphis. The city soon afterward was occupied by the Federals.

Jane Stuart Woolsey to her sister, Georgeanna.

Charley’s letter to the Post was quite a success and I advise him to continue his communications. The Vanderbilt, Government Hospital Ship, got in last night at six or seven, and will be emptied to-day, I suppose. There has been a great and general muss on the whole subject (of course) between General B– and Satterlee and their underlings, parties of the first part,–and all the State agents and volunteer doctors, parties of the second part, the old fight between regulars and volunteers–conflict of authority and efforts to sustain small personal dignities at the expense of everything else. In the meantime however, the patients, contrary to the usual course, have not suffered very much, as the public have had pretty free access to them and their wants have been supplied. Now, all transports are obliged to anchor in the stream and report to the regular quartermaster. . . . The Vanderbilt is the first arrival under the new regime and we shall see how it works. As much flourish of authority as they like, if it only shows fruit in the comfort of the patients, a subject on which I have misgivings. Fort Hamilton is the new depot; that and Bedloe’s Island. We went to the Island on Friday and found things improving. A few weeks ago Dr. Agnew (I think) or one other of the Commission went down and found the doctor drunk, the stewards on leave given by themselves, and the fever patients dying of neglect. He, whoever he was, cruised about the Island, found ten pounds of beef, cut it up and made broth himself, and spent the night feeding the sick men. They have got a new surgeon now, but I think the steward steals. One reform at a time. We are determined, we “females,” to make the place much too hot for him if we can prove anything. But how many weak-minded sisters there are! I never realized before how few people in the world are really clever and how very few are capable of “taking the responsibility.” I have also discovered that there is nothing like philanthropy to bring out the quarreling propensities. Two young gentlemen called yesterday and asked for Charley, expressing great surprise that he hadn’t got back, as they saw him driving his horse a day or two ago. They might have mistaken the man, but they appeared confident on the subject of the horse. So, Charley, Mr. Coles may be guilty of some black-hearted treachery. My mind always misgave me that Wilson’s men went out o’nights with Nelly Bly. What is the news from Joe and the 16th? We search the papers in vain to find his whereabouts. Yesterday in the Herald, in a chance letter, was this, “General Franklin, in crossing a brook to-day, got mired in the soft earth banks and was thrown, but instantly emerged unhurt, dripping, puffing and laughing.” That is the only public news I have seen of the Division for ten days. Where are they?

Headquarters 1st Brigade Cavalry Division,
Camp near Boonville, Miss., June 6, 1862.

I am leading an inglorious life now, nothing to do but the brigade writing and ride with the colonel when he goes out on business. The only time I am on the fighting list is when the brigade goes out, and that is very rarely, and only when reconnoisances in force are made, and there is seldom any fighting done then. General Hamilton’s whole division marched by our tent to-day and it was a splendid sight; I had thought that I’d never want to see any more troops but his division looked so splendidly, that I really enjoyed the sight of them. I knew that they were only marching into a new camp, but they all had got the idea that they were going into a fight and they were in grand spirits. I never saw the men look as healthy as they do now. One reason is those who were sick have been all left at the river and the weakly ones do not pretend to march in the ranks this hot weather. We are within one hundred yards of General Pope’s headquarters and there are continually a lot of brigadiers passing. They nearly always ride on the gallop, and with the aids and escorts all told, say 60 in number to each general, they make quite a dashing appearance. Rosecrans, Buell, Granger, Smith, Sherman, T. W., Plummer, Paine, Hamilton and Pope all rode by at one time to-day.

All the companies we have had out to-day report skirmishing with the enemy We lost two men prisoners, some wounded and several horses. Got some prisoners. The enemy are in some force six miles from here. They are dodging all around us. Rumor says to-day that Buell with his army is going down through Alabama to Montgomery. Pope will move slowly after the enemy through Mississippi, and Thomas will go across to Memphis and down the river to co-operate with Butler in a movement through Southern Mississippi. ‘Tis probably the plan of some cuss in the ranks. I wish for one day that you could hear all the camp rumors. They would make a remarkable book.

JUNE 6th.—Gen. Winder getting wind of what was going on, had an interview, first with Mr. Benjamin, who instructed him what to say; and then bringing forward the Provost Marshal, they had a rather stormy interview with Mr. Randolph, who, as usual, yielded to their protestations against having two passport offices, while martial law existed.

And so Col. Bledsoe came in and told me to “shut up shop.” The Secretary had revoked his order.

Friday, 6th–We struck our tents and at 7 a. m. started on our march. We marched through Corinth and went into camp again about a mile northwest of town, making camp number 9. The Eleventh Iowa went out on picket.

June 6th.

We dined at Mrs. Brunot’s yesterday, and sitting on the gallery later, had the full benefit of a Yankee drill. They stopped in front of the house and went through some very curious manœuvres, and then marched out to their drill-ground beyond. In returning, the whole regiment drew up directly before us, and we were dreadfully quiet for five minutes, the most uncomfortable I have experienced for some time. For it was absurd to look at the sky, and I looked in vain for one man with downcast eyes whereon I might rest mine; but from the officers down to the last private, they were all looking at us. I believe I would have cried with embarrassment if the command had not been given at that moment. They drilled splendidly, and knew it, too, so went through it as though they had not been at it for an hour before. One conceited, red-headed lieutenant smiled at us in the most fascinating way; perhaps he smiled to think how fine he was, and what an impression he was making.

We got back to our solitary house before twilight, and were sitting on the balcony, when Mr. Biddle entered. He came to ask if the guard had been placed here last night. It seems to me it would have saved him such a long walk if he had asked Colonel McMillan. He sat down, though, and got talking in the moonlight, and people passing, some citizens, some officers, looked wonderingly at this unheard-of occurrence. I won’t be rude to any one in my own house, Yankee or Southern, say what they will. He talked a great deal, and was very entertaining; what tempted him, I cannot imagine. It was two hours before he thought of leaving. He was certainly very kind. He spoke of the scarcity of flour in town; said they had quantities at the Garrison, and asked permission to send us a barrel, which of course we refused. It showed a very good heart, though. He offered to take charge of any letters I would write; said he had heard General Williams speak of Harry; and when he at last left, I was still more pleased with him for this kindness to us. He says Captain Huger is dead. I am very, very much distressed. They are related, he says. He talked so reasonably of the war, that it was quite a novelty after reading the abusive newspapers of both sides. I like him, and was sorry I could not ask him to repeat his visit. We are unaccustomed to treat gentlemen that way; but it won’t do in the present state to act as we please. Mob governs.

Mother kept me awake all night to listen to the mice in the garret. Every time I would doze she would ask, “What’s that?” and insist that the mice were men. I had to get up and look for an imaginary host, so I am tired enough this morning.

Miriam has just got in with all the servants, our baggage is on the way, so we will be obliged to stay whether we will or no. I don’t care; it is all the same, starve or burn. Oh! I forgot. Mr. Biddle did not write that pass! It was his clerk. He speaks very grammatically, so far as I can judge!!

6th. Eight companies of the Second Ohio, Majors Miner and Burnett, four Ninth Wisconsin Infantry, three Tenth Infantry Kansas, one Sixth Kansas Cavalry were on the march at 8 A. M. Major P. was going independently. He had refused me several times, but after all the troops were gone, he consented. Left in a hurry with little provisions. Crossed Spring River and the Neosho. After marching fast 35 miles, came upon the camps of Standwaite and Coffee. Major P. conversed with pickets. Shelled the position of Standwaite, but probably too late, having escaped with Coffee south to Col. Rains. The shelling was splendid. The shells would bound from tree to tree and burst with a thundering noise. First Battalion took position between the two camps, if possible to prevent a junction of forces. Also went out as skirmishers. Third Battalion deployed along the woods to prevent escape and watch the movements of the enemy. The Battery took a position on the hill favorable for shelling the enemy. Was supported by the Kansas Infantry. Ninth Wisconsin deployed as skirmishers and entered the woods. Scouts went near Coffee’s camp and represented them leaving. “General” (Col. Doubleday) immediately marched to the south of the camp and ceased operations for the night. It was now 1 o’clock A. M. Bivouacked with few blankets in the open air. Slept soundly till 3 A. M. 1 enjoyed all the doings very much, acted as carrier for the “General.” Accompanied Major Purington. Saw large herds of horses and cattle. Took many prisoners. Some Coffee’s men and some not.

Thursday, June 6th.—Henry Smith and I concluded to wash our clothes to-day. Washed in creek without hot water or soap. Did not get them very clean, and blistered our hands in the bargain. When we got back to camps found tents all struck, and everything ready to move. Had to put our clothes in knapsack wet. Started an hour before sundown, without having time to cook rations; marched until 9 P. M.; halted and rested until 3 A. M.

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

Camp Oliver.

June 6. We are now in a neatly arranged camp on somewhat elevated ground at the west side of the city, and about a quarter of a mile to the rear of Fort Totten, a large field fortification mounting twenty heavy guns. A back street runs along the left flank, on which is situated the guard quarters, and a line of sentinels extends along it. This camp is named Camp Oliver, in honor of Gen. Oliver of Salem, Mass., formerly adjutant general of that state. We can now brush ourselves up and settle down to the dull routine of camp life—Drills, parades, reviews, inspections, guard duty, fatigue duty and all manner of things which come under the head of a well ordered camp. Our two companies left at Red house are drawn in about five miles, and are now at the Jackson place on the Trent road. That brings them within easy distance. They can be easily reinforced in case of attack or make their own way back to camp. The Red house is again in the enemy’s country, but Mr. Bogey is not there; he thought he had rather live under the old flag and take his chances, and so moved with us into town.

June 6th.–Paul Hayne, the poet, has taken rooms here. My husband came and offered to buy me a pair of horses. He says I need more exercise in the open air. “Come, now, are you providing me with the means of a rapid retreat?” said I. “I am pretty badly equipped for marching.”

Mrs. Rose Greenhow is in Richmond. One-half of the ungrateful Confederates say Seward sent her. My husband says the Confederacy owes her a debt it can never pay. She warned them at Manassas, and so they got Joe Johnston and his Paladins to appear upon the stage in the very nick of time. In Washington they said Lord Napier left her a legacy to the British Legation, which accepted the gift, unlike the British nation, who would not accept Emma Hamilton and her daughter, Horatia, though they were willed to the nation by Lord Nelson.

Mem Cohen, fresh from the hospital where she went with a beautiful Jewish friend. Rachel, as we will call her (be it her name or no), was put to feed a very weak patient. Mem noticed what a handsome fellow he was and how quiet and clean. She fancied by those tokens that he was a gentleman. In performance of her duties, the lovely young nurse leaned kindly over him and held the cup to his lips. When that ceremony was over and she had wiped his mouth, to her horror she felt a pair of by no means weak arms around her neck and a kiss upon her lips, which she thought strong, indeed. She did not say a word; she made no complaint. She slipped away fron the hospital, and hereafter in her hospital work will minister at long range, no matter how weak and weary, sick and sore, the patient may be. “And,” said Mem, “I thought he was a gentleman.” “Well, a gentleman is a man, after all, and she ought not to have put those red lips of hers so near.”

6th.–Yesterday I resumed my duties in hospital actively. On examining the Steward’s Department, I found almost nothing to feed the starving five hundred men on my hands –absolutely nothing suitable to feed them on; that for days there had not been a cooking utensil belonging to the hospital, for these five hundred sick, larger than a soldiers tin cup. To-day, I have set myself actively at work. I have called on Quartermasters, Commissary, Medical Directors, and Generals, for the proper authority to procure the necessary supplies; the promises are profuse, but the interminable “red tape” must be followed out, even though the men starve. Plenty of supplies in sight belonging to the government, and soldiers dying of starvation! I have not half nurses enough to care for the sick and dying. To-day I asked for a detail of half a dozen men, as cooks and nurses. “They could not be spared from the lines.” I immediately went to the top of the hospital, from which I counted over fifty muskets in the hands of our able bodied soldiers, guarding the vegetables, the fruits, the flour, the pork, the beef of rebels, (now in line of battle, in sight of where I stood) whilst our poor men were dying for the want of these very things. I came down and asked for a detail from these guards who were not “in the lines” to assist in nursing the sick and burying the dead. I could not have them! Verily, the unfortunate sick of an army must be interlopers; they can have no business there. I close this writing, and retire with loathing and disgust of what I must see here; but not till after I have written a letter to the Medical Director, setting forth the occurrences of this day in language as strong as I am master of, and asking to be either sustained in my efforts here, or returned to my regiment.

Georgeanna Woolsey to her mother.

June 6, Wilson Small.

We have on our boats nine “contraband” women from the Lee estate, real Virginia darkeys but excellent workers, who all “wish on their souls and bodies that the rebels could be put in a house together and burned up.” “Mary Susan,” the blackest of them, yielded at once to the allurements of freedom and fashion, and begged Mr. Knapp to take a little commission for her when he went to Washington. “I wants you for to get me, sah, if you please, a lawn dress, and a hoop skirt, sah.” The slave women do the hospital washing in their cabins on the Lee estate, and I have been up to-day to hurry them with the Knickerbocker’s eleven hundred pieces. The negro quarters are decent little houses with a wide road between them and the bank, which slopes to the river. Any number of little darkey babies are rushing about and tipping into the wash-tubs. In one cabin we found two absurdly small ones, taken care of by an antique bronze calling itself grandmother. Babies had the measles which would not “come out” on one of them, so she had laid him tenderly in the open clay oven, and with hot sage tea and an unusually large brick put to his morsels of feet, was proceeding to develop the disease. Two of the colored women and their husbands work for us at the tent kitchen. The other night they collected all their friends behind the tent and commenced in a monotonous recitative, a condensed story of the creation of the world, one giving out a line and the others joining in, from Genesis to the Revelation, followed with a confession of sin, and exhortation to do better; till–suddenly–their deep humility seemed to strike them as uncalled for, and they rose at once to the assurance of the saints, and each one instructed her neighbor at the top of her voice to

“Go tell all de holy angels
I done, done all I kin.”

Just as they came to a pause, the train from the front with wounded arrived–midnight, and the work of feeding and caring for the sick began again. Dr. Ware was busy seeing that the men were properly lifted from the platform cars and put into our Sibley tents. Haight was “processing” his detail with blankets, and our Zouave and five men were going the rounds with hot tea and fresh bread, while we were getting beef tea and punch ready for the sickest through the night. By two o’clock we could cross the plank to our own staterooms on the Wilson Small.

JUNE 5th.—I reopened my office in the department.

Thursday, 5th–We received marching orders with one day’s rations. It is reported that General Buell will move with the Army of the Ohio into central Tennessee. It is clear and hot today.

June 5th.

Last night I determined to stay. Miriam went after our trunks at daylight. A few hours after, Lilly wrote we must go back. McClellan’s army was cut to pieces and driven back to Maryland, by Jackson; the Federals were being driven into the swamp from Richmond, too. Beauregard is undoubtedly coming to attack Baton Rouge; his fire would burn the town, if the gunboats do not; the Yankees will shell, at all events, if forced to retire. It cannot stand. We can’t go to New Orleans. Butler says he will lay it in ashes if he is forced to evacuate it, from yellow fever or other causes. Both must be burned. Greenwell is not worth the powder it would cost, so we must stand the chance of murder and starvation there, rather than the certainty of being placed between two fires here. Well, I see nothing but bloodshed and beggary staring us in the face. Let it come. “I hope to die shouting, the Lord will provide.”

June 5th. Learned and ordered the number of pounds of beef needed, also issued it. Issued rations for the five days’ expedition under Doubleday. Took us till “taps.” Orders came from Col. Wier, Tenth Kansas, to delay further movements. The Colonel (Doubleday) resolves to resign immediately, so enraged at the intrigue and rascality of Kansas officers and politicians in making Wier rank him. Officers sent a paper to him begging him not to do it. Seemed to regret the idea very much. Concluded to go on with the expedition anyway.

June 5th.–Beauregard retreating and his rear-guard cut off. If Beauregard’s veterans will not stand, why should we expect our newly levied reserves to do it? The Yankee general who is besieging Savannah announces his orders are “to take Savannah in two weeks’ time, and then proceed to erase Charleston from the face of the earth.”

Albert Luryea was killed in the battle of June 1st. Last summer when a bomb fell in the very thick of his company he picked it up and threw it into the water. Think of that, those of ye who love life! The company sent the bomb to his father. Inscribed on it were the words, “Albert Luryea, bravest where all are brave.” Isaac Hayne did the same thing at Fort Moultrie. This race has brains enough, but they are not active-minded like those old Revolutionary characters, the Middletons, Lowndeses, Rutledges, Marions, Sumters. They have come direct from active-minded forefathers, or they would not have been here; but, with two or three generations of gentlemen planters, how changed has the blood become! Of late, all the active-minded men who have sprung to the front in our government were immediate descendants of Scotch, or Scotch-Irish–Calhoun, McDuffie, Cheves, and Petigru, who Huguenotted his name, but could not tie up his Irish. Our planters are nice fellows, but slow to move; impulsive but hard to keep moving. They are wonderful for a spurt, but with all their strength, they like to rest.

5th.–This day Franklin’s Corps crossed from the left to the right bank of the Chickahominy, and encamped near Goldon’s farm. I was again ordered to the charge of Liberty Hall, Surgeon Jayne and most of my assistants withdrawn.

This is as I expected. Our wing of the army has crossed, no doubt in anticipation of a battle soon, and I am again detached from my regiment in the hour of its trial. I called on the Medical Director this morning, and stated in the strongest language I could command, my wishes to be with my regiment when it went to battle. The reply was that it would not be consistent with the good of the service to have me withdrawn from the large hospital at this time. I then asked to be permitted, in case of a battle, to ride to my regiment, after I had seen and cared for all the patients in hospital, to remain with it what time I could, and return to hospital in time to again see all the patients, during the afternoon and evening. The Director hesitated. I urged, stating that, in consequence of my having been so much separated from my regiment by orders, the friends of the regiment at home were complaining of me for it; that it was being noticed even in the public papers, to my prejudice. Besides, I had many intimate personal friends in the regiment, the sons, too, of my neighbors and friends, who looked to me for aid and comfort in the time of trial, and I would like to be present, even if only long enough to receive their dying messages. 1 did not get the permission. I have returned to my hospital sad and discouraged, but with the determination that, if I am denied the privilege of caring for those under my especial supervision, I will do the best I can for the poor fellows here who are accidentally or rather arbitrarily under my charge.

Eliza Woolsey Howland to her husband, Colonel Joseph Howland:–

I enclose some comments about Casey’s division, and we all agree here that justice was not done to the men. It is surely hard enough to lose as terribly as they did without being reproached for cowardice. Abby says in a late letter– “Anna Jeffries came on from Boston yesterday in the train which brought many of the Daniel Webster load, scattering them all along at or near their homes. One gentleman was asking another whether Casey was of Rhode Island or Connecticut, when a wounded soldier cried out from some seat nearby, overhearing Casey’s name–a cry of anguish and anger–`They didn’t run! they didn’t run!’ He tried to stagger to his feet, being wounded in both ankles, and then added–’I can’t stand, but I tell you they only broke, they didn’t run.'”

June 4, 1862. No. 10.

We’ve been living out here a week without any tents until to-night, and General Pope is ripping and swearing because we dared to move them up here without orders. He says we shall not move a thing back. The colonel I am with is a regular army officer and he shows it all over, but I like him very much so far. I won’t get to go out on near as many scouts, for will only go when the whole brigade moves.

Camp near Boonville, Miss., June 4, 1862.

Since the evacuation of Corinth we have been pushing after them after a fashion. That is follow them until we catch up with their rear guard and then retreat three-fourths the distance we have advanced. Have been five or six days following them 25 miles. Yesterday we advanced some 10 miles beyond this point, skirmishing with them all the last five miles, and then we all returned to camp here. I think we must have had 40,000 men out yesterday and yet it was only a reconnoisance in force. But what the devil was the use thereof I cannot see, for the day previous some of our cavalry was out farther than we went. Our regiment had the first skirmish with the Rebels after they left Corinth. ‘Twas about seven miles out of the town. We had two killed and three wounded. They were of the Decatur Company. Our boys killed five of them. This is the most masterly retreat yet. They have positively left nothing of any value. I don’t think they left tents enough for one regiment. They left not one cannon. No arms of any value and very few of any kind. We have only found one wagon since we passed Corinth, although there were a number in the place that they did not need. We haven’t taken 50 prisoners, although they have lost hundreds, maybe thousands, by desertion. There is not the least evidence that they yere in haste at any point, and just 20 hours before we entered Corinth we were ordered to saddle our horses and be in perfect readiness for a fight, as it was expected that the enemy would attack us before three hours. At that time they could not have had more than enough men in Corinth to do the required picket duty. They are now, or at least a large body of them, in camp within 12 miles of us, and the story through the army is they are marching on us. Our boys are fairly wild to be on after them But then another rumor from a tolerably reliable source, is we are going to fall back to Corinth and camp until plans are more fully matured. Still another says Pope’s army is ordered down the Mississippi river again. I hope the last is not so, for I have a dread of that river in the summer season. I am acting assistant adjutant general for Colonel Mizner, commanding 1st Brigade Corps.

JUNE 4th.—Col. Bledsoe sent word to me to-day by my son that he wished to see me. When I met him he groaned as usual, and said the department would have to open another passport office, as the major-generals in the field refused to permit the relatives of the sick and wounded in the camps to pass with orders from Brig.-Gen. Winder or his Provost Marshal.

Wednesday, 4th–Nothing of importance. Some of the troops are returning to Pittsburg Landing, a part of them to go down the Tennessee river and then up the Cumberland to reinforce the army in eastern Tennessee, and the others are to join the forces going down the Mississippi.

June 4th.

Miriam and Mattie drove in, in the little buggy, last evening after sunset, to find out what we were to do. Our condition is desperate. Beauregard is about attacking these Federals. They say he is coming from Corinth, and the fight will be in town. If true, we are lost again. Starvation at Greenwell, fever and bullets here, will put an end to us soon enough. There is no refuge for us, no one to consult. Brother, whose judgment we rely on as implicitly as we did on father’s, we hear has gone to New York; there is no one to advise or direct us, for, if he is gone, there is no man in Louisiana whose decision I would blindly abide by. Let us stay and die. We can only die once; we can suffer a thousand deaths with suspense and uncertainty; the shortest is the best. Do you think the few words here can give an idea of our agony and despair? Nothing can express it. I feel a thousand years old to-day. I have shed the bitterest tears to-day that I have shed since father died. I can’t stand it much longer; I’ll give way presently, and I know my heart will break. Shame! Where is God? A fig for your religion, if it only lasts while the sun shines! “Better days are coming” – I can’t!

Troops are constantly passing and repassing. They have scoured the country for ten miles out, in search of guerrillas. We are here without servants, clothing, or the bare necessaries of life: suppose they should seize them on the way! I procured a pass for the wagon, but it now seems doubtful if I can get the latter – a very faint chance. Well! let them go; our home next; then we can die sure enough. With God’s help, I can stand anything yet in store for me. “I hope to die shouting, the Lord will provide!” Poor Lavinia! if she could only see us! I am glad she does not know our condition.

5 P.M.

What a day of agony, doubt, uncertainty, and despair! Heaven save me from another such! Every hour fresh difficulties arose, until I believe we were almost crazy, every one of us.

As Miriam was about stepping in the buggy, to go to Greenwell to bring in our trunks, mother’s heart misgave her, and she decided to sacrifice her property rather than remain in this state any longer. After a desperate discussion which proved that each argument was death, she decided to go back to Greenwell and give up the keys of the house to General Williams, and [continue reading…]