Mr. Bogey.

May 11. This place is what is called a turpentine plantation, where they get the pitch from which turpentine is distilled. The owner, Mr. Bogey, a harmless, inoffensive old gentleman, claims to be a Union man, and I reckon he is, because he does not run away or seem to be afraid of us. He tells me he owns 2000 acres of land, nearly all turpentine forest, and has 10,000 trees running pitch. He said the war had ruined him and thinks it has the whole south. He said the rebels had taken all but one of his horses and about everything else he had that they wanted. His niggers had all left him and gone down town. He expected that when we came, but cared very little about it, as he had only a few and they were about as much trouble and expense to him as they were worth. He said he was getting old, his business was all broke up and by the time the war was over and things settled he would be too old for anything. I asked him if all those pigs running about in the woods were his. He reckoned they were. I inquired if he knew how many he had. He couldn’t tell exactly, but reckoned there was right smart. The thought occurred to me that if that was as near as he could tell, if a few of them were gobbled they would never be missed, provided the squeal could be shut off quick enough. I learn that Gen. Burnside has given [continue reading…]

The J. Paul Getty Museum, Open Content Program
Title: [William C. Bartlett, Civil War soldier]
Artist/Maker: Charles DeForest Fredricks (American, 1823 – 1894)
Culture: American
Date: 1862
Medium: Albumen silver print
Object Number: 84.XD.1157.2130

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Mike’s notes:

Note – This image has been digitally adjusted for one or more of the following:
– fade correction,
– color, contrast, and/or saturation enhancement
– selected spot and/or scratch removal
– cropped for composition and/or to accentuate subject

11th.–No move to-day. Nothing of importance transpiring. Atmosphere filled with all kinds of rumors of battles, but nothing authentic. We are in a beautiful country, and about thirty miles from Richmond. I am not surprised at the enemy having made a point at Warwick Creek. It separates the most God-forsaken, from the most Godly favored country. From Newport News to Warwick is truly forbidding; but on crossing that stream we strike into a country the natural advantages of which are extremely inviting; but still the same antiquated appearance of the improvements prevails, and there are no evidences of thrift or economy. We are having warm days, but the nights are cool and invigorating.

MAY 10th.—The President’s family have departed for Raleigh, and the families of most of the cabinet to their respective homes, or other places of refuge. The President has been baptized (at home) and privately confirmed in St. Paul’s Church.

Saturday, 10th–The Eleventh Iowa went out today to reinforce pickets again. Our cavalry had quite a skirmish with the rebel pickets out on the flanks while driving them in.

May 10th.

Last night about one o’clock I was wakened and told that mother and Miriam had come. Oh, how glad I was! I tumbled out of bed half asleep and hugged Miriam in a dream, but waked up when I got to mother. They came up under a flag of truce, on a boat going up for provisions, which, by the way, was brought to by half a dozen Yankee ships in succession, with a threat to send a broadside into her if she did not stop – the wretches knew it must be under a flag of truce; no boats leave, except by special order to procure provisions.

What tales they had to tell! They were on the wharf, and saw the ships sail up the river, saw the broadside fired into Will Pinckney’s regiment, the boats we fired, our gunboats, floating down to meet them all wrapped in flames; twenty thousand bales of cotton blazing in a single pile; molasses and sugar thrown over everything. They stood there opposite to where one of the ships landed, expecting a broadside, and resolute not to be shot in the back. I wish I had been there! And Captain Huger is not dead! They had hopes of his life for the first time day before yesterday. Miriam saw the ball that had just been extracted. He will probably be lame for the rest of his life. It will be a glory to him. For even the Federal officers say that never did they see so gallant a little ship, or one that fought so desperately as the McRae. Men and officers fought like devils. Think of all those great leviathans after the poor little “Widow Mickey”! One came tearing down on her sideways, while [continue reading…]

10th. Saturday. Boys broke into P. O. and a store. Major was very angry and arrested Lt. Lockwood there and made three boys walk to Carthage. Boys were mad. This morning I was sick of service or rather longed to get into some other department. Spencer, Archie and I went ahead and got a good dinner at Mr. Hammond’s–old secesh. Found an old gun, which we carried through. Reached Carthage before dusk. Letter and papers from home. Learned that the day before, Co. “I” while out foraging met a squad of rebel soldiers. One was killed, two wounded and three taken prisoners. Next day Sergt. Smith was released on parole to get an exchange of three of Jockman’s men for them.

May 10th.—Bid farewell to friends and home; took train at Ringgold, Ga., at 2 P. M. Arrived at Chattanooga, 6 o’clock; remained in car-shed until 2 A. M.

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

May 10th, 1862.—There are rumors that McClellan has been removed from Richmond and McDowell appointed instead. With this new commander we may expect more fighting. “A new broom sweeps clean,” they say. Sister Mag has made up her mind to go to the front where she can be at hand if Brother Amos should be wounded. This dreadful waiting, waiting, has almost broken her heart. In June she will take her children, Eddie and the baby girl, whom her father has never seen, and go to Richmond. Sister Mart will accompany her and, of course, there are nurses for both babies. The whole neighborhood is interested and is busy embroidering pretty things for the children. No other trimming to be had in this blockaded country. But that is the least of all the inconveniences.

The book-keeper is getting on quite well with the work and Mrs. Ansell is a really cultivated woman, she comes to every meeting of the Sewing Society and seems as patriotic as the rest. Her little son sticks to me like a burr.

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

“Ocean Queen.”

It seems a strange thing that the sight of such misery should be accepted by us all so quietly as it was. We were simply eyes and hands for those three days. Strong men were dying about us; in nearly every ward some one was going. Yesterday one of the students called me to go with him and say whether I had taken the name of a dead man in the forward cabin the day he came in. He was a strong, handsome fellow, raving mad when brought in, and lying now, the day after, with pink cheeks and peaceful look. I had tried to get his name, and once he seemed to understand and screeched out at the top of his voice, John H. Miller, but whether it was his own name or that of some friend he wanted, I don’t know. All the record I had of him was from my diet-list, “Miller, forward cabin, port side, No. 119, beef tea and punch.”

Last night Dr. Ware came to me to know how much floor-room we had. The immense saloon of the after-cabin was filled with mattresses so thickly placed that there was hardly stepping room between them, and as I swung my lantern along the row of pale faces, it showed me another strong man dead. E. had been working hard over him, but it was useless. He opened his eyes when she called “Henry” clearly in his ear, and gave her a chance to pour brandy down his throat, but he died quietly while she was helping some one else. We are changed by all this contact with terror, else how could I deliberately turn my lantern on his face and say to the Doctor behind me, “Is that man dead?” and stand coolly, while he listened and examined and pronounced him dead. I could not have quietly said, a year ago, “That will make one more bed, Doctor.” Sick men were waiting on deck in the cold though, and every few feet of cabin floor were precious; so they took the dead man out and put him to sleep in his coffin on deck. We had to climb over another soldier lying up there, quiet as he, to get at the blankets to keep the living warm.

Abby Howland Woolsey to Georgy and Eliza.

8 Brevoort Place, Saturday.

My Dear Girls: How little we know where you are and what worlds of work you are doing. It is hard to keep still, I know, where so much ought to be done. . . Yesterday Charley and the Webster were to sail and we had a carriage and all went down with the traps–box of brandy, trunk of towels, etc., bundle of air-beds, bundle of fans, and a basket with a few eatables–some fresh eggs which had just arrived from Fishkill, and three or four bottles of ale, which I hope Eliza will drink; she sometimes used to take a glass of it at home. As for Georgy, I do not expect to have her take anything of that sort, after what mother tells me of the fate of the boxes of claret you took to Washington. One box was still unopened, and, so far as she knew, Georgy had never touched a drop. . . . We found Mrs. Trotter on board. The other ladies soon came –Mrs. Griffin, Miss Katharine P. Wormeley, Mrs. Blatchford and Mrs. H. J. Raymond. . . .

The vessel is a fifth-rate bed-buggy concern, I should say, and the hold where the men were put seemed miserable in spite of your pains, but for which it would have been very forlorn. Charley was so busy running hither and thither that we hadn’t much chance at him. I was sorry we had not packed a great hamper of cooked food for him and Mrs. Trotter. Another time we will do better. They expect to be back by Wednesday with as many sick as they can carry, and judging from the number they brought packed on the Ocean Queen, they will stow them with deadly closeness. We saw Dr. Grymes and liked his looks and manner. He startled us by telling us that the Ocean Queen was coming up the bay with over a thousand sick, four hundred typhoid cases. Couldn’t do without you, he said; “only ladies down there to come –of course they are on board.” Mrs. Griffin, too, was convinced of it and sent back by us a big bundle of tins she had bought for Georgy. We left the Webster at four, when they were to sail at any moment, and drove down to the pier where they said the Ocean Queen was to lie. She was not due till six, so we came home. What with the news from West Point, Va., without details, and with the idea that you were the only women on the Ocean Queen to see after the nurses and the sick, and Charley’s departure, we were sufficiently sobered and excited, a compound of both. This morning Uncle Edward reports us the Herald’s news from West Point, that it was only a skirmish and that the loss of the 16th was two killed, beside wounded. . . . At ten o’clock Dr. Buck landed on the Ocean Queen, came up to his house and sent us word that you were not on board. This morning he has been in for a moment, and says you were indefatigable and indispensable at the front; far more useful in staying than in coming up, that he didn’t know where you went when you left the Ocean Queen, but that you were “all right” with Mr. Olmsted somewhere, and taken care of. . . . Eleven hundred, Dr. Buck said, came on the Ocean Queen. So many of them are virulent fever cases, men who must die, that there is great perplexity what to do with them. The City Hospital, North building, is fast filling up, and the air is so infectious that Mrs. Buck thinks it unsafe to enter it. The Commissioners propose that these new cases should go to Ward’s Island. The government barracks on Bedloe’s and Riker’s Islands won’t be ready for some days, and I dread having the Daniel Webster or some other transport bring a thousand more before these have been decently housed. . . . Mother has driven out to Astoria with Uncle E. Carry has gone to Park Barracks with flowers and cologne sent from Astoria, and Jane is at the City Hospital with oranges for fever men. She goes into the fever ward, considering it duty, and undertakes too much for her nerves, but you needn’t tell her so. Carry and I are going this afternoon to see a “Mr. Woolsey,” who was sent to St. Luke’s, sick of fever.

10th.–Another march of fifteen miles to-day. Have seen nothing of the enemy. We hear that General Franklin remained twenty-four hours at West Point before disembarking his troops, permitting the enemy to pass, and then attacking them in the rear! Has delay and procrastination become a chronic disease with our Generals? I hope he will be able to give a satisfactory reason for his course. It begins to look as if, when this Army of the Potomac can find no apology for digging, it will hunt up other excuses for delay.

I have had to ride in an ambulance to-day, in consequence of lameness from the bite of the horse yesterday.

MAY 9th.—My family, excepting my son Custis, started to-day for Raleigh, N. C., where our youngest daughter is at school. But it is in reality another flight from the enemy. No one, scarcely, supposes that Richmond will be defended. But it must be!

Friday, 9th–We heard some very heavy firing off to the left towards Farmington. General Pope was compelled to fall back from Farmington, but has again taken the town.

May 9th. Arrived at Baton Rouge in the afternoon, where we found the Brooklyn and Iroquois. This city is the capital of Louisiana, and a very pleasant place, with some four or five thousand inhabitants. The capitol is a beautiful building; also an asylum for the insane. There are also here the state prison and U. S. Arsenal. The city is elevated some twenty feet above the river, and the buildings roofed with slate.

May 9th.

Our lawful (?) owners have at last arrived. About sunset, day before yesterday, the Iroquois anchored here, and a graceful young Federal stepped ashore, carrying a Yankee flag over his shoulder, and asked the way to the Mayor’s office. I like the style! If we girls of Baton Rouge had been at the landing, instead of the men, that Yankee would never have insulted us by flying his flag in our faces! We would have opposed his landing except under a flag of truce; but the men let him alone, and he even found a poor Dutchman willing to show him the road!

He did not accomplish much; said a formal demand would be made next day, and asked if it was safe for the men to come ashore and buy a few necessaries, when he was assured the air of Baton Rouge was very unhealthy for Yankee soldiers at night. He promised very magnanimously not to shell us out if we did not molest him; but I notice none of them dare set their feet on terra firma, except the officer who has now called three times on the Mayor, and who is said to tremble visibly as he walks the streets. [continue reading…]

9th. Friday. During the night we expected an attack every hour. Pickets fired two or three times. Companies were called out into line for a fight early in the morning–at four. Mounted at eight and went six or eight miles and fed oats and corn. Traveled through a fine valley, hills on both sides. Reached Neosho at dusk. Went for corn to a widow’s a mile from town. Slept on the porch at a hotel. Ate there. Good joke on Lt. Nettleton. The next morning when he presented the lady a five dollar bill, she quietly doubled it up and gave no change. Hear cannonading east.

A Trip into the Country.

MAY 9. After nearly two months of scrubbing and cleaning, with new caps and pants, the 25th regiment stands in column of platoons on Polloek street, as tony a looking regiment as there is in the service. The colonel and staff with the band take the head of the column, and amid the cheers of hundreds of darkies,  the march commences. Leaving the city we soon enter the woods, and after marching about three miles, come out to a cotton plantation. Here we make a short halt and look over the place. It looks rather run down, the house is old and out of repair, the negro quarters are built of logs, and look as though they were hardly habitable. But I presume everything on a plantation has to correspond. The gentlemanly proprietor, whoever he was, has left, taking with him the best of his servants, leaving here a few old ones to shift for themselves.

A few miles further on, we came to another cotton plantation. This presented a better appearance, a neat cottage house, painted white with green blinds, good barns and surroundings. The negro quarters were comfortable looking houses, built of boards, with glass windows, and whitewashed. This gentleman with his servants had also gone up the country. About two miles further on, at a fork of the road, we found the 17th Massachusetts, Col. Amory, doing picket duty. Here a road branched to the right leading into the woods, which we took, following it about four miles, [continue reading…]

McDowell, May 9, 1862.

Before this reaches you, you will have heard alarming rumors of the fight on yesterday, and feel, I know, much anxiety for my safety. I was not hurt, for the reason that I was not in the fight. No part of our brigade was engaged, the enemy being whipped off the field before it came. But little, if any, more than one-third our forces were engaged. The fight began late in the evening in an unexpected attack from the enemy, and lasted about an hour. Our loss, I expect, will reach 60 killed and 300 wounded. They began their retreat early this morning in the direction of Pendleton County. We pursued them to-day some twelve or fifteen miles, capturing six or seven persons. They left a considerable quantity of tents and provisions, but burned most of them. I am indebted to this source for the sheet upon which I write.

Well, you want to know when we are going to have another fight? There is no telling, but I think to-morrow we shall take the end of the road which leads to Harrisonburg. I saw Matthew after the fight was over, and he, like myself, I suppose had not been in it. The cadets were behind our brigade, and, though I have not seen White Williamson, he is, I doubt not, unhurt except by the hard march. The company from Brownsburg, formerly Carey’s, suffered very severely, the captain, Whitmore, being killed and one of the lieutenants severely wounded.

I left Staunton the day I wrote to you last week and joined the army at Port Republic. Since then we have been marching every day but one which we spent in Staunton. And now, darling, I will bid you good-bye.

9th–We started at 5 this A. M., in pursuit of the retreating army. Found the road lined with fragments of wagons, gun carriages and baggage of the retreating army, showing great haste. At night we are fifteen miles farther on the way to Richmond. I to-day had my knee-pan dislocated by the bite of a horse, and am suffering great pain to-night.

Near Farmington, Miss., May 8, 1862.

I’ve been within one and a half miles of Corinth to-day. Didn’t see anything especially worthy of mention, but had full rations in the way of leaden bullets whistle. Yea, and larger missiles also. For four days past our battalion has been the advanced picket of Pope’s army, full five miles in advance of the army. We have been skirmishing the whole time, not five minutes passing without more or less shooting. Our picket line was on one side of a long prairie or clearing, from 300 to 450 yards wide, and theirs on the opposite side. With all the firing, the losses on our side was but one horse up to this morning, and we were congratulating ourselves on getting on so well, when the advance of a large reconnoitering party under General Paine came in sight and we were ordered to lead them. Well, it’s all over now, and we’ve had our Maj. Z. Applington killed, several wounded, and horses hurt by bursting shells. It’s all right, I suppose, but damn the general that sent us on a fool’s errand. We’ve a strong old place to take here at Corinth, but guess we’ll make the riffle. The major fell while leading a charge along a road. The timber and brush by the roadside were so thick that we could see nothing until our boys received the volley of musketry, of which one ball reached the major’s brain. The reconnoitering party returned to camp last night, and this morning the Rebels took their turn. They advanced in considerable force, drove our men back some two miles, captured a couple of pieces of cannon, and filled our hospitals pretty well. Our regiment was not in that fight. The Iowa 2d Cavalry suffered badly, ’tis said, in trying to take a Rebel battery. [continue reading…]

MAY 8th.—Norfolk and Portsmouth are evacuated! Our army falling back! The Merrimac is to be, or has been, blown up!

Thursday, 8th–It is very warm today. Our major drilled us–the regiment–in the manual of arms. Company E went out in the evening to reinforce the pickets.

May 8th. Weighed anchor early and proceeded up the river. The same succession of beauties met the eye at every turn. In the afternoon met a gunboat from Vicksburg with news from our vessels at that place.