18th.–Severe picket firing occasionally through the night, by which the army was twice called out. No fighting to-day, but our troops are still throwing up earthworks on the battle field of the 16th. Wrote General H. to-day, asking to be relieved from serving longer on his staff.

APRIL 17th.—To-day Congress passed an act providing for the termination of martial law within thirty days after the meeting of the next session. This was as far as they could venture; for, indeed, a majority seem to be intimidated at the glitter of bayonets in the streets, wielded by the authority of martial law. The press, too, has taken the alarm, and several of the publishers have confessed a fear of having their offices closed, if they dare to speak the sentiments struggling for utterance. It is, indeed, a reign of terror! Every Virginian, and other loyal citizens of the South—members of Congress and all—must now, before obtaining Gen. Winder’s permission to leave the city for their homes, bow down before the aliens in the Provost Marshal’s office, and subscribe to an oath of allegiance, while a file of bayonets are pointed at his back!

Thursday, 17th–The day is fair. Had battalion drill again.

April 17th.

And another was silly little Mr. B––r, my little golden calf. What a – don’t call names! I owe him a grudge for “cold hands,” and the other day, when I heard of his being wounded at Shiloh, I could not help laughing a little at Tom B––r’s being hurt. What was the use of throwing a nice, big cannon ball, that might have knocked a man down, away on that poor little fellow, when a pea from a popgun would have made the same impression? Not but what he is brave, but little Mr. B––r is so soft.

Then there was that rattle-brain Mr. T––t who, commencing one subject, never ceased speaking until he had touched on all. One evening he came in talking, and never paused even for a reply until he bowed himself out, talking still, when Mr. Bradford, who had been forced to silence as well as the rest, threw himself back with a sigh of relief and exclaimed, “This man talks like a woman!” I thought it the best description of Mr. T––t’s conversation I had ever heard. It was all on the surface, no pretensions to anything except to put the greatest possible number of words of no meaning in one sentence, while speaking of the most trivial thing. Night or day, Mr. T––t never passed home without crying out to me, “Ces jolis yeux bleus!” and if the parlor were brightly lighted so that all from the street might see us, and be invisible to us themselves, I always nodded my head to the outer darkness and laughed, no matter who was present, though it sometimes created remark. You see, I knew the joke. Coming from a party escorted by Mr. B––r, Miriam by Mr. T––t,¹ we had to wait a long time before Rose opened the door, which interval I employed in dancing up and down the gallery – followed by my cavalier – singing, –

“Mes jolis yeux bleus,
Bleus comme les cieux,
Mes jolis yeux bleus
Ont ravi son âme,” etc.;²

which naÏve remark Mr. B––r, not speaking French, lost entirely, and Mr. T––t endorsed it with his approbation and belief in it, and ever afterwards called me “Ces jolis yeux bleus.”

1. Note added at the time: “O propriety! Gibbes and Lydia were with us too.”
2. “My pretty blue eyes
   Blue as the sky,
   My pretty blue eyes
   Have delighted his soul, “etc.;

April 17th. Train came up about nine. Commenced to rain. Pitched tents and remained there during the day. Played chess some.

April 17th. Was spent in making preparations for the ensuing battle. The mortar boats were towed within range, and the tops of their masts dressed with green boughs from the adjacent woods, some having a whole broadside covered, but most of them with only their masts covered. In this condition they reminded one of a holiday scene rather than the stern preparations of battle.

Headquarters 1st Division, 1st Corps,
Army of the Potomac.

My dear General: Mrs. Howland, the wife of Colonel Howland, of the New York t6th Regiment, desires to be presented to you in order that she may get permission to join her husband, who is in my Division. I beg that if you can do anything to assist her in obtaining her very natural wish, you will do it, and I will consider it as a favor done to me.

Mrs. Howland is by no means an idler when she is with the soldiers, but has really done more than any other lady of my acquaintance in adding to the comfort of the sick as well as those in health. I therefore believe that it will be for the interests of the service that she should have the permission for which she asks.

Very respectfully yours,

W. B. Franklin,
Brig.-Gen. Com. Div.

Brig. Gen. L. Thomas,
Adjutant General U. S. Army,
Washington, D. C.

New York, April, 62.

Dear Georgy: Your letter to me came this morning about the facilities for (or rather the hindrances to) getting from Baltimore to Fortress Monroe. . . . Cousin William A. tells me all authority on General Dix’s part to grant passes to anyone has been suspended. . . . he has refused all–the Vice-President’s son among others. . . . If he cannot give us passes no one can unless we can be smuggled through on one of the transports from Alexandria down the Potomac. . .. Fortress Monroe is crowded to overflowing, though I know you would be satisfied with a square inch per man if you could only get there (minus hoops)… If I get letters that will take us by the transport to-morrow morning, I will telegraph you and come on immediately.

17th.–When I dropped down last night on my bloody litter, new thoughts overwhelmed me, and I could not sleep. It was our first battle, and we had been repulsed. I never saw the stars shine so brightly through the leafless trees, and the scene was calculated to excite the active workings of the mind on the occurrences of the day. I wrapped my head in my blanket to shut out the view. When I uncovered it this morning, I looked around on new scenes. The beautiful level field between me and the enemy, which yesterday presented a surface even as a floor, was now thrown into great ridges, a quarter of a mile long, mounted with cannon, bristling with bayonets, and covered with men ready to renew the contest. Our army had thrown them up in the night, as a protection against the enemy’s fire. Shortly after sunrise the troops were seen marshalling for the contest. The cannonading commenced, but in a short time began to slacken. By eleven o’clock A. M. all was quiet, save the tramp of men and horses, and an occasional oath from the commanding officers, and a little later we were all on our march back to the very ground we left yesterday. Why we have abandoned the contest I do not know.

I had a skirmish with my General to-day. He questioned my motives. I replied tartly. We quarrelled, and to-morrow I shall ask to be relieved from serving longer on his staff.

The following material contains wording that is offensive to many in the world of today. However, the work is provided unedited for its historical content and context.

On Steamer Henry Clay, off New Madrid, Mo.,
April 16, 1862.

I finished my last in a great hurry, helped strike and load our tents and equipage and started for the levee, confident that we would be off for Memphis, Orleans and intermediate landings, before the world would gain 12 hours at farthest in age. That day over 30 steamers arrived, received their loads of soldiers and departed, all down stream, preceded by six or eight gunboats and 16 mortarboats. Word came at nightfall that there were not enough boats for all and the cavalry would have to wait the morrow and more transports. We lay on the river banks that night, and the next day all the cavalry got off except our brigade of two regiments. Another night on the banks without tents, managed to get transportation for two battalions, one from each regiment. They started down yesterday at about 10 a.m. and more boats coming we loaded two more battalions, but at 9 p.m. a dispatch boat came up with orders for us to stop loading and await further orders. The same boat turned back all the cavalry of our brigade that had started and landed them at Tiptonsville; we are at 6 this p.m. lying around loose on the bank here awaiting orders. That boat brought up word that our fleet was at Fort Pillow, and the Rebels were going to make a stand there, but that nothing had occurred when she left but some gunboats skirmishing. What the devil we are going to do is more than three men like me can guess. It’s awful confounded dull here. [continue reading…]

APRIL 16th.—Troops are being concentrated rapidly in Virginia by Gen. Lee.

Wednesday, 16th–No news of importance.^[1]

[1] There was much discussion among the men over the great battle we had just been through, the battle of Shiloh. The question why the Confederates lost the battle, I should answer as follows: First, they were four hours late in making the general attack on that Sunday morning. The Confederate generals, instead of sending some of their staff officers before daylight to spy out and report to the commanding general what they had seen (according to a report of H. C. Lockett of General Bragg’s staff), should have had their first line of battle at the Union picket line by that time, and then charging our pickets and coming in upon the first camps, they could have captured them before they could have dressed; then pushing on to the other commands, they could have put them to rout before they could have formed a line of battle. But their being so late In making the first attack gave our commanders time to form into line. As it was, whenever the Confederates advanced our forces were in shape to fire volleys into them and easily throw them into confusion, thus making their advance slower and more irregular during the day.

In the second place, the Confederates starting four hours late in the morning made them more than six hours late in the afternoon, so in place of being ready to make their last charge of the day at 1 o’clock they did not make It until almost 7 o’clock In the evening. By that time it was too late, since the Union generals had formed a strong line of artillery, supported by all the infantry, who stood loyally by their colors. Then, just before the final charge, one brigade of Buell’s army had already arrived and formed in line, and the day was forever lost to the Confederates.—A. G. D.

April 16th. The remainder of the vessels, including the Hartford, followed up the river, and anchored at the head of the fleet.

April 16th.

Among the many who visited us, in the beginning of 1861, there was Mr. Bradford. I took a dislike to him the first time I ever saw him, and, being accustomed to say just what I pleased to all the other gentlemen, tried it with him. It was at dinner, and for a long while I had the advantage, and though father would sometimes look grave, Gibbes, and all at my end of the table, would scream with laughter. At last Mr. Bradford commenced to retaliate, and my dislike changed into respect for a man who could make an excellent repartee with perfect good-breeding; and after dinner, when the others took their leave, and he asked permission to remain, – during his visit, which lasted until ten o’clock, he had gone over such a variety of subjects, conversing so well upon all, that Miriam and I were so interested that we forgot to have the gas lit!

16th. Morning rainy. Issued ten days’ rations. Major said that the boys of the non-commissioned staff could not go on expedition for lack of transportation. We were already packed up, tent down for the march. Finally to our joy another team came and we loaded, saddled and started. The sky cleared and the ground was nice for marching. After marching 6 or 7 miles we halted for the horses to graze. The grass has started considerably. Encamped on the Drywood Creek, east branch, at sundown. Baggage train being mired on the road, the men bivouacked without tents, without suppers, the distant thunder threatening rain. Our team came, no rain.

Ebbitt House,………………….
Monday Evening, April 15 or 16, 62.

Dear Girls: We have just had a call and salute from Joe’s manservant James, who wished to know if we had any “word for Mrs. Howland in the morning.” What with your three devoted “Mercuries” we seem to keep up a pretty constant intercourse, which is very cheering. . . . I was at my lonely tea this evening when suddenly I heard a sepulchral voice at my shoulder saying, “How is Miss Woolsey, Madam, this evening?” It was “me” young Augustus on his way out from the table behind me, where I had not noticed him. “You seem to be quite alone. I will be happy to take my breakfast with you, if you will permit me!” I was horrorstricken at the idea of having either of your chairs occupied by anyone to whom I should feel called upon to do the agreeable. . . .

I shall be very late unavoidably to-morrow, so that he will eat and go before I get down. This seems to be a favorite little attention with our gentlemen friends here– “taking breakfast with you!” . . . Only think of my missing another call from Mrs. McClellan and her mother. I had ventured out on a stroll by myself, to get my cap, which I didn’t get, and to bring Hatty a tumbler of ice cream, which I did get, and she enjoyed it very much with some fresh ladyfingers. This woman is not to be relied on, the cap was not done, and I shouldn’t wonder if she is taking the pattern instead of clear-starching it. I continued on to the avenue, bought Hatty a pair of gloves, looked in at one or two stores for something extremely pretty and cheap for a spring dress, but was not successful in finding it. The sun was very hot, and I was glad to get back again. . . . How in the world are you all accommodated in that small house? . . . So, after all, you mean to go, if you can, to Fortress Monroe. I am sorry for one thing–you will be so much more inaccessible to your family, almost beyond our reach, as only those belonging to the army will be permitted to go there. Nevertheless, I will make all the enquiries you name, and although my heart will break, will speed you on your way. Plague take this war! Hatty is better, but misses her other two nurses, and I do not believe has any confidence in my cooking; she acknowledges, however, grudgingly, that the beef-tea “tasted good,” and the arrowroot was excellent, though I saw her afterwards pouring in a double quantity of port wine, I having already seasoned it with sherry.

I have seen Mr._______ by particular desire in the parlor,–waylaid him, tied him down and pelted him with questions–as to the facilities, etc., of reaching Fortress Monroe at this present time. He gave no encouragement whatever as to your getting there; said he was quite sure that no passengers were allowed to that point and none on the Baltimore boat. . . . You had better not set your hearts upon such a plan. Would you not be quite as near, and hear as readily, in New York? We should be so glad to have you there with us. But I do not urge anything; all I can say is take care of yourselves, as you are very precious to your

Mother.

I6th.–Left camp at 8 this A. M., Gen. Brooks’ Brigade having the advance, with Gen. Hancock’s at a respectful distance in the rear. Then came the third, under General Davidson, and so on. Marched one and a half miles, and halted in line of battle. At the same time, 10 A. M., our artillery (Mott’s Battery) opened fire about a mile in advance of us. This is the first time we have had a near prospect of a general battle, and the effect on the bearing and conduct of our men surprised me. Were they burning with impatience to join their friends in the fight? In trepidation lest the danger approach nearer? Weeping to think how many of us before night must bite the dust? Rejoicing that this fight may terminate the war, and with it our privations, hardships, toils and dangers? Weeping over the fate of friends now falling in the fight? Not a bit of these. For myself, so soon as the firing commenced I rode up to Major ______, and we exchanged an expression of our wishes in case of serious accident to either of us. That arranged, he remarked, “Well, Surgeon, should you be killed it will be only for an hour or two. You will then wake up, (the Major is a Spiritualist) rub your eyes, look around you for the boys, but soon realize your new position.” We parted. I rode along the line of Hancock’s Brigade to see the effect on them. I first came on a group of men talking “horse talk,” and playing with their horses. Whilst I was listening, General H______ rode up, gave some general direction about ambulances, and casually remarked that Mott was having a hard time. I asked, What? He replied laughingly, that his “big French artillerist” had been killed, and that he had several others badly wounded. This Frenchman is said to be the best artillery officer in the service, and thus is his death announced to those for whom he has fought and died. Who knows how many ties of home, of country, of family, he has severed in our cause? I felt hurt, made no reply, but passed on to the 49th Penn. Regiment. Their band were lounging on their drums and horns as listless as personifications of ennui. Along the regimental line were quartettes interestedly engaged in the melancholy occupation of “old sledge.” At the other end of the line the staff officers, including the Chaplain, were lounging around, and seemed to be digging into their brains for something to think about. The Sixth Maine exhibited about the same degree of interest; whilst the 43d New York were amusing their Irish fancies by counting the reports, and now and then exclaiming, “By Jabers, but that shot tould some of your last stories,” and other similar remarks, showing that they had not become quite as much hardened as those around them. Rode back to the head of the line to see if the Brigade Staff realized any more fully the importance of our situation. I, of course, expected to find in Gen. H______ about two hundred and fifty pounds of animated and dignified humanity, surrounded by his staff of well dressed, well mounted officers, dashing from point to point on the field, holding everybody and everything in readiness for the conflict. What an illusion! I found the General stretched upon the dried grass, his elbow on the ground, his head in his hand–that laugh! Why the General nodded so low that a stub of old grass has run into his nose, set it a bleeding, and he sprang up with such an oath as none but he could utter. The scene was so ridiculous that even the common soldiers could not restrain a “guffaw.” Major L_____, a few feet beyond, lies on his stomach so fast asleep as not to be disturbed by the loud guffaw of the soldiers. To such a state of hardened carelessness have we been brought by a few months of constantly disappointed expectations.

In the afternoon moved down into the open field where the artillery fight was going on. Brooks’ Vermont Brigade engaged the enemy, keeping up a sharp fire across the creek, (Warwick). The artillery firing became still more constant. Our sharpshooters picked off their gunners, our batteries dismounted several of their guns, and three Vermont companies dashed across the creek in the face of the enemy’s infantry fire, drove a body of them from their rifle-pits, but were compelled to fall back (not being supported), leaving about twenty of their number dead on the field. We have no better fighting men than this Vermont Brigade, composed of the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th Regiments. For the small number engaged this has been one of the most fiercely contested battles of the war. The engagements of artillery and musketry have been terrific.

10 o’clock, P. M.–The warring of the passions, the physical straggles and strifes of the day, are hushed in darkness. Oh, to how many, hushed forever! In the last half hour the firing has ceased. I have walked the round of my regiment, lying on their arms in the open field, to see if any were sick after the fatigues of the day; and having retired into the deep woods alone, and ate a little cold supper, now sit on a litter, bloody, dyed with the blood of the dead, whom it has been all day carrying, (my lantern between my knees) to make this note of the sad occurrences of the day. We attacked the enemy, and have been repulsed.

I have not had time to finish my article, commenced weeks ago, which was to write down the U. S. Sanitary Commission, and I am glad of it, for here again we have been made to feel that the Commission is a power for good. Whilst the officials have been wrangling over the question as to how the hospital stores of the army got lost in the move from the Potomac to the Peninsula, and whilst the soldiers have been suffering for want of them, this Commission has been actively devising means to supply the much needed articles, and, behold! right in the midst of the battle to-day, whilst Generals were inquiring of Surgeons : “Have you the necessary comforts for the wounded?” and whilst Surgeons were anxiously enquiring what they were to do in the absence of them, this Commission drops down amongst us–from some where–their wagons are unloaded, and the wounded made comfortable. That “writing down” article will not spoil by a little more keeping.

15th.—A panic prevails lest the enemy should get to Richmond. Many persons are leaving town. I can’t believe that they will get here, though it seems to be their end and aim. My mind is much perturbed; we can only go on doing our duty, as quietly as we can.

APRIL 15th.—Gen. Beauregard has written to Gen. Wise, offering him a command in his army, if the government will consent to it. It will not be consented to.

Tuesday, 15th–There’s nothing of importance.

April 15th. Yesterday a few vessels went up the river, and today the most of those remaining followed, including all of the mortar fleet. They “came to” just below range of the enemy’s guns at the fort.

15th. Morning passed as usual at work. Major’s horse sick. Evening new orders to march with ten days’ rations. Played chess with A. B. Regiment paid off for two months.

Alexandria, April 15, ‘62.

Saturday morning we had private information that Franklin’s Division was shipping down the river, and we packed our bags at once and with Mrs. Franklin came down to the Dysons’ Cottage, Alexandria. . . . Dyson’s two slaves, Harriet and her mother, have run away, for which I sing songs of thanksgiving. . . . The 16th and all the others have arrived and are camping under Fort Elsworth, their old ground.

At the street corner coming down here, we found ten men struggling with one of their comrades of the 5th Maine, who had just fallen in a fit; about a hundred had collected to shut off the air and double him up, with his knapsack still strapped on his back. We asked the crowd to do what they ought to do for him, till we were tired; and then we pushed them aside and went in ourselves, had a strong sergeant keep the crowd off, put the man on his back with his clothes loose, bathed his head and poured brandy down his throat. E. went to a near hospital, but they would not take him in. So we put him in his blanket for stretcher, and started him off with bearers to the Mansion House, while the crowd dispersed, one woman saying, “Poor fellow, he is fighting in a good cause, and ought to have a dose of ipecac.”

April 15th.–Mrs. Middleton: “How did you settle Molly’s little difficulty with Mrs. McMahan, that ‘piece of her mind’ that Molly gave our landlady?” “Oh, paid our way out of it, of course, and I apologized for Molly!”

Gladden, the hero of the Palmettos in Mexico, is killed. Shiloh has been a dreadful blow to us. Last winter Stephen, my brother, had it in his power to do such a nice thing for Colonel Gladden. In the dark he heard his name, also that he had to walk twenty-five miles in Alabama mud or go on an ammunition wagon. So he introduced himself as a South Carolinian to Colonel Gladden, whom he knew only by reputation as colonel of the Palmetto regiment in the Mexican war. And they drove him in his carriage comfortably to where he wanted to go–a night drive of fifty miles for Stephen, for he had the return trip, too. I would rather live in Siberia, worse still, in Sahara, than live in a country surrendered to Yankees.

The Carolinian says the conscription bill passed by Congress is fatal to our liberties as a people. Let us be a people “certain and sure,” as poor Tom B. said, and then talk of rebelling against our home government.

Sat up all night. Read Eothen straight through, our old Wiley and Putnam edition that we bought in London in 1845. How could I sleep? The power they are bringing to bear against our country is tremendous. Its weight may be irresistible–I dare not think of that, however.