June 29th. After an all-night’s ride we arrived in Philadelphia early this morning. Left the cars, taking up the line of march, on through the city. Stopped at the refreshment rooms of the Cooper Shop, when a good breakfast was served by the good people of the city. Many soldiers will remember the Cooper Shop refreshment rooms at Philadelphia. After breakfast again on the march through the city, going on board a ferry-boat, and like Washington we crossed the Delaware River, to Camden and Amboy Railroad station, boarding a train for South Amboy, so we were informed. Leaving Camden, our journey was a continuous ovation by the people along the railroad line through Jersey. Cheers, waving ?ags. Cities and villages had erected arches with “Welcome home to our soldier boys.” Whenever the train would stop people came with refreshments. They knew the boys were ever ready to eat the good things. The journey across the state of New Jersey was a grand reception. Through a ?ne country. It was a happy time, and nothing happened to mar the pleasure of the journey. It was a very happy time. Arrived at Amboy all right. It was a great port for coal, an interesting sight for us, never having seen so much coal at any one time. Here we left the cars. After a short march went on board a government transport, bound for New York City. The journey on boat was very pleasant and enjoyed. The trip was along the south side of Staten Island, on through the narrows between Long Island and Staten Island, passing Forts Hamilton and Wadsworth. Large camps were located at the forts. Cheers greeted us as we passed on to the city, landing at the Battery, where the trip ended. At Castle Garden we were served with rations, after which we marched to Peck Slip, along South Street, boarding the steamer Granite State, bound for Hartford. A disappointment to us, as we had expected to land at Norwich, our home town, from which point we left on going to the war. We were used to disappointments and got out of the trip through the East River all the enjoyment we could. Long after dark we lay down on the decks for a little sleep and rest, that we needed very much. We knew that in the night we would be sailing up the Connecticut River. The evening was ?ne, and the steamboat had on board a happy crowd.

Thursday, 29th—I am on brigade guard again, being sergeant of the guard. Each day we have on guard from our brigade two commissioned officers, three sergeants, six corporals, and one hundred and thirty-eight privates. One of the commissioned officers, a captain, is officer of the day for the brigade, while the other, a lieutenant, is officer of the day for the regiment. We have to wear our white gloves on guard.

June 28th. Harper’s Ferry. A ?ne morning. Early on board train, waiting for it to move. At 8 A. M. the train began to move slowly along the banks of the Shenandoah River, on over the iron bridge across the Potomac River, into Maryland. The cheering was loud, with shouts of “ Good-bye old Virginia.” The cheering echoed and re-echoed between the mountains of Maryland and Virginia. I knew all the points of interest in this vicinity. We are in passenger cars, running along the banks of the Potomac River. At the Point of Rocks, about ten miles from Harper’s Ferry, the road turns to the left, headed to the north. At this point we bid farewell to the old Potomac. No more picket duty along its banks in all kinds of weather, watching for the enemy, and looking at the turkey buzzards as they go sailing through the air. Many times have I waded the old Potomac, swam in its water, drank it, made coffee, ?shed in it. When clear its waters appeared blue, or yellow from the storms. Either blue or yellow we were obliged to use it and make the best of it.

The country looked ?ne with its summer dress on, as we passed through it. Arrived in Baltimore this afternoon. Marched from the Camden Street station, across the city to the Philadelphia Railroad station. Passed through Pratt Street, the point where the 6th Massachusetts Regiment was attacked in April 1861. Soon on board train where hilarity continued. No one allowed to go to sleep. All are in good spirits and very happy as we go speeding on towards Philadelphia, bound for home.

Wednesday, 28th—We still have brigade guard. There is a great deal of dissatisfaction in the veteran ranks on account of their not having been discharged yet. The Indiana troops are finding the most fault, as they can almost see their homes just across the Ohio river, but dare not cross over. They have been making an effort through the Louisville papers to get General Sherman to tell them why they are not being discharged. Sherman answered them also through the press, assuring them that the Government will discharge them just as soon as it can get to them.

June 27th. Taps sounded later than usual last night. When the lights were put out we could not sleep for joy, as we were all so happy over the prospect of going home. I cannot write and do justice to those happy hours. Will remain with me as long as memory lasts. The hymns heard mostly last night were “Oh Happy Day” and “We are going home, to die no more.” Everybody can sing at this time if they never can again. Reveille sounded very early this morning, for the last time at Martinsburg. Broke camp very early this morning. In line, waiting for orders to march. This is a ?ne morning. We shall soon be homeward bound. When orders were given to march great excitement prevailed. Cheers and shouting as we marched along, on through the town. The waving of ?ags, handkerchiefs, and “Good-bye boys ” from the towns-people. On reaching the depot it did not take us very long to board the train, a gay and happy crowd. I was soon on top of a car, where I enjoyed riding when the weather would permit. In this section we always rode in box cars. The train left about 7 A. M., with cheers and shouting to and from old Martinsburg friends. The train soon rounded a curve and that scene was closed forever. We knew this railroad and country, having been over it a number of times by rail, and marching through it, during our service in the Shenandoah Valley. About 10 A.M. we arrived at Harper’s Ferry. Soon out of the cars and in line ready to march. Passed through Shenandoah Street. Entering an open lot, close in town, came to a halt, stacked arms. Must remain here until we are mustered out of the United States service. When we ?rst entered Virginia, near three years ago, at Harper’s Ferry, our ?rst stopping place was this very same place, or lot, where we are now waiting to be mustered out. Late this afternoon we were mustered out. Expect to go on board of train tonight, homeward bound.

June 27th.—An awful story from Sumter. An old gentleman, who thought his son dead or in a Yankee prison, heard some one try the front door. It was about midnight, and these are squally times. He called out, “What is that?” There came no answer. After a while he heard some one trying to open a window and he fired. The house was shaken by a fall. Then, after a long time of dead silence, he went round the house to see if his shot had done any harm, and found his only son bathed in his own blood on his father’s door-step. The son was just back from a Yankee prison—one of his companions said—and had been made deaf by cold and exposure. He did not hear his father hail him. He had tried to get into the house in the same old way he used to employ when a boy.

My sister-in-law in tears of rage and despair, her servants all gone to “a big meeting at Mulberry,” though she had made every appeal against their going. “Send them adrift,” some one said, “they do not obey you, or serve you; they only live on you.” It would break her heart to part with one of them. But that sort of thing will soon right itself. They will go off to better themselves—we have only to cease paying wages—and that is easy, for we have no money.

Tuesday, 27th—Quite sultry today. Nothing of any importance.

June 26th. A bright Sunday morning. Everybody happy. Our last day in camp at Martinsburg, the Shenandoah Valley, where we have seen and passed through hard service during the past three years. As the time draws near we are anxious to go home, but there is somewhat of a feeling of sadness on leaving old Martinsburg, where we have made many friends. Our camp is about deserted. A few men remain on guard in charge of the camp. Some of the boys are in town visiting, and attending church. Others are tramping through the country, bidding good-bye to the farmers and taking a look at the ?ne scenery and country. We must all report back to camp in time for our last dress parade, at 5 P. M. At our dress parade was a large attendance of people from town. A short religious service was held by our Chaplain, Rev. Wm. C. Walker. It was made somewhat solemn by the good man, as the journey home was laid before us. Orders were also read to be ready to leave camp early on the morrow, at 5 A. M. This is a happy evening in camp. Singing all through the camp.

Monday, 26th—Quite sultry today. They finished paying the Sixteenth Iowa. Money is quite plentiful, as the veterans received more than $200.00 each. General W. W. Belknap went home on leave of absence and Brig. Gen. B. F. Pitts is in command of our division.

June 25th. Orders received to prepare for muster-out. Details have been made from each company to help make out the muster-out papers. The .companies that were out of town on duty, ordered to report at regimental quarters. All duties given up. Peace and quiet reigns in town and through the country.

Sunday, 25th—Rain this afternoon. We had company inspection this morning and dress parade at 5 o’clock this afternoon. The paymaster finished paying the Fifteenth Iowa and then paid part of the Sixteenth Iowa.

June 24th. Yesterday afternoon our regiment formed at camp, marched into town. Line was formed fronting headquarters, for dress parade and review by our Colonel. To our great surprise, sitting on the veranda at the house used for headquarters, with Colonel Peale, was the arch-traitor, Charles J. Faulkner, hated by the Union people and despised by the soldiers. The home in this town was reported to be a great resort for spies. Much information went from that home, south. On the march back to camp the boys were mad through and through. Did not want to be paraded and reviewed by a mean rebel like Faulkner and family.

Saturday, 24th—Weather pleasant. The Fifteenth Iowa received their pay today. I received a pass, and in charge of four boys of the company spent the day in Louisville. The city is patrolled by large numbers of provost guards and I had to carry my pass in hand all the time. I bought some clothes and several articles to take home. My bill came to $26.40, as I spent $8.50 for a pair of pants, $9.00 for a jacket, and $3.75 for an album, besides other articles.

June 23d. Our Colonel, Henry Peale, in command of this post. Headquarters in town. Our regiment ordered into town for a dress parade at 5 P. M., at the public square in front of headquarters. Our service in the army is no doubt about over with. We shall be glad to leave old Virginia for good old Connecticut.

Friday, 23d—The Thirteenth Iowa received their pay today. A great many of the boys expressed their money home.

June 24th, 1865.—Mid-summer day. I long to go to the woods, down to the “Fairy Dell,” where the wonderful spring is bubbling musically and little Mabel is filling her pitcher with the sparkling waters. I seem to hear my sweet sister’s voice again as she pressed me to her side and repeated,

“ ‘Tis good to make all duty sweet,

To be alert and kind,

‘Tis good, like little Mabel,

To have a willing mind.”

I cannot go to the Fairy Spring, however, it is a full half mile from the house and even our own woods are no longer safe from intrusion. The negro soldiers are everywhere. We are spied upon by our own servants at every turn and so we do not feel safe to get out of hearing of the rest of the family, unattended.

Though the war is over we have not replenished our wardrobes; this for the good and sufficient reason that we have no money, something new to us. Never before have we known the lack of it. Indeed, in the days of the Southern Confederacy we had it in such quantities that it has been said by some wag: “In days gone by, the Southerner went to town with his pocket full of money and took along a wagon to take his purchases home; in these war times, he takes a wagon load of money to town and brings back his goods in his pocket.” Well, we will get used to it after a while.

But to go back to the scant wardrobe. When the Club meets we like to look as brother Junius says, “As pretty as pinks,” and, with that end in view, I have been hard at work remodeling a dress. It is of white Paris muslin, trimmed with baby ribbon in a pale shade of blue. Again Sister Mag has come to the rescue and has lent me a lovely white sash, edged with picots of blue, which exactly matches my ribbon. A lucky girl, am I not? Will I look pretty in it, little Diary?

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

June 21st, 1865.—We held our first meeting of the Shakespeare Club last night, the play selected is, “The Merchant of Venice.” The parts have been assigned and practice will begin immediately. The meeting was held here and we had a fine supper and, after much persuasion, Mother played for us to dance, the first time we have danced since that dreadful 9th of April, but we have agreed to try the cheerful role for a while. The Club will meet on the 4th of July at Greenwood.

I am reading poetry with Father now. The reading was so very dry last winter that the thought of poetry is delightful. I love it and Mother does, too. She likes me to repeat verses and I have learned nearly all of Scott’s poems by heart. I can repeat Spencer’s Faery Queen, Cowper’s Task and nearly all of Pollock’s Course of Time; but I do not like this last one. It is so horrible that. I sometimes dream of the hands reaching out of the gloom and the anguished voices crying for help, while the accusing words fill the air about them: “Ye knew your duty, but ye did it not.”

Last winter we read Rollins’ Ancient History, the paper was yellow and the print bad, the contents was interesting but dry. I had just finished Josephus when I undertook Rollins and I really feel as if I have had a surfeit of historical lore.

I have not been allowed to even take Byron down from the top shelf, where the seven beautiful little volumes sit. Father, however, seems to know a great deal of Byron, for he sometimes repeats portions of his poems to me. What I have heard I like very much, perhaps I can read it all some day. While I have read Shakespeare it has been under protest, but Miss Darner insisted we must read it when she was governess; now we will have to re-read it in order to keep up with the other members of the club. We had a meeting of the Bezique Club last night, and played—whist.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

Wednesday, 21st—The Second Brigade of the Fourth Division of the Seventeenth Army Corps received their pay and embarked this morning for St. Louis.

June 20th. By the disposal of all the government property our duty seems to come to an end. Nothing more for us to do. We may now be ordered home, or to some other point for duty. We are all anxious to get home.

Tuesday, 20th—Very pleasant weather. I sold my watch to Samuel Bair for $25.00, receiving $20.00 in cash, the balance remaining unpaid. They have fine macadamized roads out from the city, and there are men working on them all the time, but they would be killing on soldiers marching over them.

Monday, 19th—It is very pleasant, having cleared off during the night. We had regimental inspection again this morning. Our camps are filled with all kinds of agents from the city, trying to sell their nostrums to the boys; even the “dents” come out to pull teeth or to clean them for the boys.

Sunday, 18th—We had regimental inspection at 10 a. m. by Captain Foster. The weather is very hot and this afternoon we had a heavy thunderstorm. I was sergeant of the regimental guard and during the night, on account of the rain, I had the guard relieved.

June 18th, 1865.—1 went to town today, arranged the business for which I went and also saw something that made my blood boil. As Sister Mart and I sat in the carriage in front of Uncle Arvah’s store, Church Croom came to speak to us. From his uniform every button had been cut and replaced by large orange thorns. Being a private soldier, there was nothing else our conquerors found objectionable. I was perilously near tears when cousin Henry came, wearing the splendid new uniform of the day before. Over the Major’s star on his collar, the thinnest of crape had been sewed; the chevrons on the sleeves were covered with the same material; the buttons, too, were wearing mourning.

Lieutenant Eppes came next. The gold lace had been ripped from collar and sleeves; the buttons were covered with black bombazine, but where the braid had been removed, the unfaded gray showed his rank as plainly as ever.

We saw many others during the day who had obeyed this order from headquarters, an order which has reflected no credit on the powers that be but has only served to make them ridiculous. This striking a man when he is down is despicable in my mind. [continue reading…]