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…]

4th. Wednesday. Reveille at 3:30 A. M. Breakfast and under way at 6 A. M. After riding ten miles, troops rested. Lieutenant Lisering of Doubleday’s staff met us with the news that Col. Salomon had been made brigadier and Col. Weir of the Tenth Kansas had the command of the expedition. All seemed astonished. Lt. Colonel said, “the news rather surprised him.” Considerable sensation. Crossed the Neosho and encamped near the rest of the troops. A very pretty situation for a camp. A range of hills, overlooking large valley and woods.

June 4th.–Battles occur near Richmond, with bombardment of Charleston. Beauregard is said to be fighting his way out or in.

Mrs. Gibson is here, at Doctor Gibbes’s. Tears are always in her eyes. Her eldest son is Willie Preston’s lieutenant. They are down on the coast. She owns that she has no hope at all. She was a Miss Ayer, of Philadelphia, and says, “We may look for Burnside now, our troops which held him down to his iron flotilla have been withdrawn. They are three to one against us now, and they have hardly begun to put out their strength–in numbers, I mean. We have come to the end of our tether, except we wait for the yearly crop of boys as they grow up to the requisite age.” She would make despondent the most sanguine person alive. “As a general rule,” says Mrs. Gibson, “government people are sanguine, but the son of one high functionary whispered to Mary G., as he handed her into the car, ‘Richmond is bound to go.'” The idea now is that we are to be starved out. If they shut us in, prolong the agony, it can then have but one end.

Mrs. Preston and I speak in whispers, but Mrs. McCord scorns whispers, and speaks out. She says: “There are our soldiers. Since the world began there never were better, but God does not deign to send us a general worthy of them. I do not mean drill-sergeants or military old maids, who will not fight until everything is just so. The real ammunition of our war is faith in ourselves and enthusiasm in our cause. West Point sits down on enthusiasm, laughs it to scorn. It wants discipline. And now comes a new danger, these blockade-runners. They are filling their pockets and they gibe and sneer at the fools who fight. Don’t you see this Stonewall, how he fires the soldiers’ hearts; he will be our leader, maybe after all. They say he does not care how many are killed. His business is to save the country, not the army. He fights to win, God bless him, and he wins. If they do not want to be killed, they can stay at home. They say he leaves the sick and wounded to be cared for by those whose business it is to do so. His business is war. They say he wants to hoist the black flag, have a short, sharp, decisive war and end it. He is a Christian soldier.”

2d, 3d, 4th.–Taking my ease and riding about the camps, not having received any further orders as to duty. The army remains in “statu quo,” the large hospital, or rather its patients, in suffering state, though Surgeon Jayne seems to be using every effort to improve the condition of things.

Some of the hurried notes in the small blank books we carried about with us (G’s tied to her belt) are characteristic, and somewhat mixed at the distance of 36 years.

“78 pillow-cases, and 4 mattresses. Whiskey for 10, brandy for 4. W. T., 49th Ga., Co. D. C.G., both legs; handkerchiefs, arrowroot, bay-rum. V. W., shoulder off, 17 Cedar St. E. D., lowest berth; Waters, top berth.”

And in the midst of it this note:

“To Mrs. I., 3 Milligan Place.

My dear Mother: You must not be anxious about me as I am not wounded, only sick. I was not in the battle because I was not strong enough to hold my gun. The battle began Sunday while I was in bed. We had to jump up and take our arms. I asked the lieutenant to let me fall out; he said I might, and stay there. The rebels came right up to the pits. Our men began to retreat very fast, and one came and told me to get up or I would be taken prisoner. So the doctor sent me down in the woods. Three nights I had nothing to cover me, slept just under the dew. The doctor put me on the cars and I was brought to White House. I am lying now in better condition and being better taken care of.”– Beef essence, tea, oranges” –! Etc., etc. etc.

We used to say :

“In the great history of the land
A lady with a flask shall stand.”

JUNE 3d.—Gen. Lee henceforth assumes command of the army in person. This may be hailed as the harbinger of bright fortune.

Tuesday, 3d–The weather is very hot. We have no picket duty now, but get plenty of exercise by regular drills, having company drill twice a day. We also get exercise in keeping the camp clean; have to sweep it every morning.

Baton Rouge, June 3d.

Well! Day before yesterday, I almost vowed I would not return, and last evening I reached here. Verily, consistency, thou art a jewel! I determined to get to town to lay both sides of the question before mother; saving home and property, by remaining, thereby cutting ourselves off forever from the boys and dying of yellow fever; or flying to Mississippi, losing all save our lives. So as Mrs. Brunot was panic-stricken and determined to die in town rather than be starved at Greenwell, and was going in on the same wagon that came out the night before, I got up with her and Nettie, and left Greenwell at ten yesterday morning, bringing nothing except this old book, which I would rather not lose, as it has been an old and kind friend during these days of trouble. At first, I avoided all mention of political affairs, but now there is nothing else to be thought of; if it is not burnt for treason, I will like to look it over some day – if I live. I left Greenwell, without ever looking around it, beyond one walk to the hotel, so I may say I hardly know what it looks like. Miriam stayed, much against her will, I fear, to bring in our trunks, if I could send a wagon.

A guerrilla picket stopped us before we had gone a mile, and seemed disposed to turn us back. We said we must pass; our all was at stake. They then entreated us not to enter, saying it was not safe. I asked if they meant to burn it; “We will help try it,” was the answer. I begged them to delay the experiment until we could get away. One waved his hat to me and said he would fight for me. Hope he will – at a distance. They asked if we had no protectors; “None,” we said. “Don’t go, then”; and they all looked so sorry for us. We said we must; starvation, and another panic awaited us out there, our brothers were fighting, our fathers dead; we had only our own judgment to rely on, and that told us home was the best place for us; if the town must burn, let us burn in our houses, rather than be murdered in the woods. They looked still more sorry, but still begged us not to remain. We would, though, and one young boy called out as we drove off, “What’s the name of that young lady who refused the escort?” I told him, and [continue reading…]

3rd. Arose at 4 A. M. First Battalion off at 5 to join Doubleday, 35 miles. Loaded provisions from citizens to mule teams. Infantry, as usual got the start, artillery next. Had a pleasant march. Long time crossing the Lightning Creek. Narrow roads for the wagons through the woods. Grazed often. Encamped with Ninth Wisconsin on the banks of Cherry Creek. Artillery crossed and camped. Issued beef. Rained in the afternoon. Slept out in the open air. Several officers and men tight. McMurray.

June 3d.–Doctor John Cheves is making infernal machines in Charleston to blow the Yankees up; pretty name they have, those machines. My horses, the overseer says, are too poor to send over. There was corn enough on the place for two years, they said, in January; now, in June, they write that it will not last until the new crop comes in. Somebody is having a good time on the plantation, if it be not my poor horses.

Molly will tell me all when she comes back, and more. Mr. Venable has been made an aide to General Robert E. Lee. He is at Vicksburg, and writes, “When the fight is over here, I shall be glad to go to Virginia.” He is in capital spirits. I notice army men all are when they write.

Apropos of calling Major Venable “Mr.” Let it be noted that in social intercourse we are not prone to give handles to the names of those we know well and of our nearest and dearest. A general’s wife thinks it bad form to call her husband anything but “Mr.” When she gives him his title, she simply “drops ” into it by accident. If I am “mixed” on titles in this diary, let no one blame me.

Telegrams come from Richmond ordering troops from Charleston. Can not be sent, for the Yankees are attacking Charleston, doubtless with the purpose to prevent Lee’s receiving reenforcements from there.

Sat down at my window in the beautiful moonlight, and tried hard for pleasant thoughts. A man began to play on the flute, with piano accompaniment, first, “Ever of thee I am fondly dreaming,” and then, “The long, long, weary day.” At first, I found this but a complement to the beautiful scene, and it was soothing to my wrought-up nerves. But Von Weber’s “Last Waltz” was too much; I broke down. Heavens, what a bitter cry came forth, with such floods of tears! the wonder is there was any of me left.

I learn that Richmond women go in their carriages for the wounded, carry them home and nurse them. One saw a man too weak to hold his musket. She took it from him, put it on her shoulder, and helped the poor fellow along.

If ever there was a man who could control every expression of emotion, who could play stoic, or an Indian chief, it is James Chesnut. But one day when he came in from the Council he had to own to a break-down. He was awfully ashamed of his weakness. There was a letter from Mrs. Gaillard asking him to help her, and he tried to read it to the Council. She wanted a permit to go on to her son, who lies wounded in Virginia. Colonel Chesnut could not control his voice. There was not a dry eye there, when suddenly one man called out, “God bless the woman.”

Johnston Pettigrew’s aide says he left his chief mortally wounded on the battle-field. Just before Johnston Pettigrew went to Italy to take a hand in the war there for freedom, I met him one day at Mrs. Frank Hampton’s. A number of people were present. Some one spoke of the engagement of the beautiful Miss ____ to Hugh Rose. Some one else asked: “How do you know they are engaged?” “Well, I never heard it, but I saw it. In London, a month or so ago, I entered Mrs. _____’s drawing-room, and I saw these two young people seated on a sofa opposite the door.” “Well, that amounted to nothing.” “No, not in itself. But they looked so foolish and so happy. I have noticed newly engaged people always look that way.” And so on. Johnston Pettigrew was white and red in quick succession during this turn of the conversation; he was in a rage of indignation and disgust. “I think this kind of talk is taking a liberty with the young lady’s name,” he exclaimed finally, “and that it is an impertinence in us.” I fancy him left dying alone! I wonder what they feel–those who are left to die of their wounds–alone–on the battle-field.

Free schools are not everything, as witness this spelling. Yankee epistles found in camp show how illiterate they can be, with all their boasted schools. Fredericksburg is spelled “Fredrexbirg,” medicine, “metison,” and we read, “To my sweat brother,” etc. For the first time in my life no books can interest me. Life is so real, so utterly earnest, that fiction is flat. Nothing but what is going on in this distracted world of ours can arrest my attention for ten minutes at a time.

Captain Curtis of the 16th, who had been a patient on board our Headquarters boat the “Small,” since his wound at West Point, went up in one of the transports to an Alexandria hospital. He found there our friend Chaplain Hopkins, still hard at work among the sick and wounded. The following letter from the chaplain is inserted to show the success of our effort to have hospital chaplains appointed by the government. Mr. Hopkins received his commission and was under military orders from this time.

Alexandria, June 3d, 1862.

My dear Mrs. Howland: As you may have noticed, the bill for hospital chaplains has become a law. . . .

After several ineffectual attempts to see the President, I at last gained access to him yesterday, to ask the appointment of a hospital chaplain in my place, and found his excellency in a most genial frame of mind. He was fairly exuberant; told funny stories! volunteered the remark that he “was afraid that fellow Jackson had got away after all,” etc., etc. He told me that he had that very day appointed a man to help me – Bowman, he believed. “A very good man, isn’t he?” Mr. B. had been condoling with him on the loss of his son Willy. My application he seemed to be most favorably impressed with, endorsed what I had to say on the back of it with his own hand, rang for Mr. Nicolay, and – I say it with pain, but not without hope – had it filed away.

The moment Richmond is taken I shall apply to be removed there, and shall hope to join you and Miss Woolsey in many an excursion into the to-be historic environs. How you ladies can preserve calmness and elasticity of spirit I do not understand, but I know that you do.

2d.—The battle continued yesterday near the field of the day before. We gained the day! For this victory we are most thankful. The enemy were repulsed with fearful loss; but our loss was great. The wounded were brought until a late hour last night, and to-day the hospitals have been crowded with ladies, offering their services to nurse, and the streets are filled with servants darting about, with waiters covered with snowy napkins, carrying refreshments of all kinds to the wounded. Many of the sick, wounded, and weary are in private houses. The roar of the cannon has ceased. Can we hope that the enemy will now retire? General Pettigrew is missing—it is thought captured. So many others “missing,” never, never to be found! Oh, Lord, how long! How long are we to be a prey to the most heartless of foes? Thousands are slain, and yet we seem no nearer the end than when we began!!

JUNE 2d.—Great indignation is expressed by the generals in the field at the tales told of the heroism of the amateur fighters. They say _____ stripped a dead colonel, and was never in reach of the enemy’s guns. Moreover, the civilians in arms kept at such a distance from danger that their balls fell among our own men, and wounded some of them! An order has been issued by one of the major-generals, that hereafter any stragglers on the field of battle shall be shot. No civilians are to be permitted to be there at all, unless they go into the ranks.

Gen. Johnston is wounded—badly wounded, but not mortally. It is his misfortune to be wounded in almost every battle he fights. Nevertheless, he has gained a glorious victory. Our loss in killed and wounded will not exceed 5000; while the enemy’s killed, wounded, and prisoners will not fall short of 13,000. They lost, besides, many guns, tents, and stores—all wrung from them at the point of the bayonet, and in spite of their formidable abattis. Prisoners taken on the field say: “The Southern soldiers would charge into hell if there was a battery before them—and they would take it from a legion of devils!” The moral effect of this victory must be great. The enemy have been taught that none of the engines of destruction that can be wielded against us, will prevent us from taking their batteries ; and so, hereafter, when we charge upon them, they might as well run away from their own guns.

Monday, 2d–I was one of a hundred men detailed to clean up our camp ground. Pope’s men who went in pursuit of the rebels are returning and going into camp in and around Corinth. I spent $1.00 for peaches and bread at the sutler’s tent.

2nd. Passed a Catholic Mission for Indians. Very good conveniences. Many children. Three or four buildings. Stopped often to graze. Passed through a good country. Good oak and hickory timber. Passed an Indian village–Osages. Encamped upon a good plat of grass along the Neosho. After supper went to the river and bathed. Received invoice of provisions from “Buckshot.”

June 2nd, 1862.—The wires are in working order and they bring us news of two big battles near Richmond, Seven Pines on the 31st of May and Fair Oaks on June 1st. The list of “killed, wounded and missing” will come later. Mother is not well today, we are afraid she has some fever.

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

June 2d.–A battle ¹ is said to be raging round Richmond. I am at the Prestons’. James Chesnut has gone to Richmond suddenly on business of the Military Department. It is always his luck to arrive in the nick of time and be present at a great battle.

Wade Hampton shot in the foot, and Johnston Pettigrew killed. A telegram says Lee and Davis were both on the field: the enemy being repulsed. Telegraph operator said: “Madam, our men are fighting.” “Of course they are. What else is there for them to do now but fight?” “But, madam, the news is encouraging.” Each army is burying its dead: that looks like a drawn battle. We haunt the bulletin-board.

Back to McMahan’s. Mem Cohen is ill. Her daughter, Isabel, warns me not to mention the battle raging around Richmond. Young Cohen is in it. Mrs. Preston, anxious and unhappy about her sons. John is with General Huger at Richmond; Willie in the swamps on the coast with his company. Mem tells me her cousin, Edwin de Leon, is sent by Mr. Davis on a mission to England.

Rev. Robert Barnwell has returned to the hospital. Oh, that we had given our thousand dollars to the hospital and not to the gunboat! “Stonewall Jackson’s movements,” the Herald says, “do us no harm; it is bringing out volunteers in great numbers.” And a Philadelphia paper abused us so fervently I felt all the blood in me rush to my head with rage.

______

¹ The Battle of Fair Oaks or Seven Pines, took place a few miles east of Richmond, on May 31 and June 1, 1862, the Federals being commanded by McClellan and the Confederates by General Joseph E. Johnston.

Abby Howland Woolsey to her sisters, Georgy and Eliza, with the Sanitary Commission on the Peninsula Campaign.

New York, June 2d, 1862.

My dear Girls: Charley’s letter of Thursday came in this morning. He explained to us his system of numbering and sorting the men’s luggage, etc., which interested us very much, and shows us what his duties are in some of their details. We are glad the nutmegs and lemon-squeezers happened to fit in a gap. What else can we send? I hope Moritz, with the rockers and brandy, will all arrive safely. Do you want more air-beds? . . . Dorus Woolsey has been in for a final goodbye this morning. He will get a furlough as soon as possible, for his business affairs hardly allow of his being absent so soon. The 7th, 22d and 37th are doing police duty at Baltimore. I mean they are the military guard of the city. . . . Rev. J. Cotton Smith went too as chaplain. The night before, he tried to make a speech to them in the regimental armory, but was cheered so that he had to stop. “Go on, go on!” they all cried, and he managed to make himself heard, and said On the whole I won’t go on now; all I want to add is that I am going on to-morrow!” at which there was tremendous cheering again.

Night was made hideous with Herald extras, screamed through the streets between eleven and twelve. We waited till this morning, and got the news in the morning papers of that horrible battle, and what is worse—that indecisive battle. It has shattered the strength of McClellan’s army–what poor creatures were left in it, after all the sickness and fatigue of the march–and has accomplished nothing. . . . Charley says that 3,900 men of Casey’s division were lost on the march. God help them and their families, who can only know that they died like dogs on a roadside with fatigue and hunger. This makes four full regiments out of a division which only had ten to start with. No wonder it was overborne and broke line and scattered! Never accuse such men of cowardice. . . . We are much worked up this morning with this news of our disaster, and with the information that North Carolina slave-laws are re-enforced and Colyer’s black schools disbanded by government direction. What Government that commits such an act, can expect anything but reverses to its arms!

Worst of all, as far as our petty little hopes and interests are concerned, here is the order promulgated this morning, by which General H. B. takes supreme military command of all sick and wounded arriving here on transports. They are to be unloaded at Fort Hamilton and Bedloe’s Island, and the ladies’ game at Park Barracks and at 194 is blocked. B. is a regular of the regulars as to primness and military order, and personally has no more heart than a mustard seed. . . . Jane has gone down this morning full of wrath, to kidnap Abbott, of the 16th, if possible, and send him to his friends in Maine. She wants to get a ticket transferring him to 194 Broadway, when, if necessary, he can be “lost on the way,” and whipped into a carriage and down to the Fall River boat! . . . All these volunteer efforts at comforting and clothing the men must come to an end. Fort Hamilton is too far out of the reach of ladies with oranges and clean pocket handkerchiefs, unless they hire a tug at ten dollars an hour, and go through all the formalities of military passes.

Monday, June 2, 1862.—On last Friday morning, just three weeks from the day the water rose, signs of its falling began. Yesterday the ground appeared, and a hard rain coming down at the same time washed off much of the unwholesome débris. To-day is fine, and we went out without a boat for a long walk.

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 1.—The loss yesterday comparatively small. General Johnston had managed his command with great success and ability until he received his wound. What a pity that he should have exposed himself! but we are a blessed people to have such a man as General Lee to take his place. He (Gen. J.) is at the house of a gentleman on Church Hill, where he will have the kindest attention, and is free from the heat and dust of the city.