May 5th. Detailed for guard duty in town. Placed in charge of a rebel Major, who made claim of being on General Early’s staff. I was informed that he was placed under arrest because he had broken his parole. Appeared on the streets of his home town, Shepardstown, Virginia, in full uniform, making a show of himself, and insulting loyal people, for which he was waiting to be tried by a court-martial. He was con?ned in a room in the basement of an old church. I had three men on duty with me, making three reliefs. Guarding him was a tiresome job. When night came he told me not to sit up all night, he would not attempt to get away. I made up my mind that he would not get a chance, as I would not take any chances with a rebel. I did my duty. Sat up all night and changed my reliefs every two hours. While he was agreeable to me I formed an opinion of him. Thought him rather mean, but I used him well.

Friday, 5th—It is quite warm. We left our bivouac at 3 a. m. and by 6 o’clock had crossed the Roanoke river. It is a fine stream. One of our drivers had an exciting experience in crossing the river last night, over the pontoon bridge. When he reached the middle of the bridge his leading mules became frightened at the cracks between the boards and turned right around, upsetting the whole thing, and the six mules, wagon and all went overboard. When the driver saw what was going to happen, quick as a flash, he dropped down upon the bridge between the wheel mules and the wagon, thus saving himself. The mules and wagon were never seen again, as the Roanoke is very deep. We crossed the State line into old Virginia at 6:30 this morning. At 1 p.m. we crossed the Meherrin river and after marching twenty-six miles for the day went into bivouac. We have fine roads. News came that the two men who killed the president and stabbed Seward had been shot. All is quiet.

Thirteen miles south of Laurenceville, Va.,
May 4, 1865.

Our regiment in advance of the division crossed the Roanoke at 3:30 p.m. and went into camp here at sunset, making 13 miles. We crossed the N. C. and Va. line about three miles this side of the river. Good country, and people all out gazing.

Thursday, 4th—We started at 8 a. m., marched four miles, and then lay over until 6 p. m., when we moved on four miles farther, passing the Third Division, and went into bivouac within a mile of the Roanoke river. The Fifteenth Corps is in advance of us and their rear crossed the river this evening. Our trains are all crossing the river tonight. Weather still pleasant.

May 4th.—Home again at Bloomsbury. From Chester to Winnsboro we did not see one living thing, man, woman, or animal, except poor William trudging home after his sad disaster. The blooming of the gardens had a funereal effect. Nature is so luxuriant here, she soon covers the ravages of savages. No frost has occurred since the seventh of March, which accounts for the wonderful advance in vegetation. This seems providential to these starving people. In this climate so much that is edible can be grown in two months.

At Winnsboro we stayed at Mr. Robertson’s. There we left the wagon train. Only Mr. Brisbane, one of the general ‘s couriers, came with us on escort duty. The Robertsons were very kind and hospitable, brimful of Yankee anecdotes. To my amazement the young people of Winnsboro had a May-day celebration amid the smoking ruins. Irrepressible is youth.

The fidelity of the negroes is the principal topic. There seems to be not a single case of a negro who betrayed his master, and yet they showed a natural and exultant joy at being free. After we left Winnsboro negroes were seen in the fields plowing and hoeing corn, just as in antebellum times. The fields in that respect looked quite cheerful. We did not pass in the line of Sherman’s savages, and so saw some houses standing.

Mary Kirkland has had experience with the Yankees. She has been pronounced the most beautiful woman on this side of the Atlantic, and has been spoiled accordingly in all society. When the Yankees came, Monroe, their negro manservant, told her to stand up and hold two of her children in her arms, with the other two pressed as close against her knees as they could get. Mammy Selina and Lizzie then stood grimly on each side of their young missis and her children. For four mortal hours the soldiers surged through the rooms of the house. Sometimes Mary and her children were roughly jostled against the wall, but Mammy and Lizzie were stanch supporters. The Yankee soldiers taunted the negro women for their foolishness in standing by their cruel slave-owners, and taunted Mary with being glad of the protection of her poor ill-used slaves. Monroe meanwhile had one leg bandaged and pretended to be lame, so that he might not be enlisted as a soldier, and kept making pathetic appeals to Mary.

“Don’t answer them back, Miss Mary,” said he. “Let ’em say what dey want to; don’t answer ’em back. Don’t give ’em any chance to say you are impudent to ’em.”

One man said to her: “Why do you shrink from us and avoid us so? We did not come here to fight for negroes; we hate them. At Port Royal I saw a beautiful white woman driving in a wagon with a coal-black negro man. If she had been anything to me I would have shot her through the heart.” “Oh, oh! ” said Lizzie, “that’s the way you talk in here. I’ll remember that when you begin outside to beg me to run away with you.”

Finally poor Aunt Betsy, Mary’s mother, fainted from pure fright and exhaustion. Mary put down her baby and sprang to her mother, who was lying limp in a chair, and fiercely called out, “Leave this room, you wretches! Do you mean to kill my mother? She is ill; I must put her to bed.” Without a word they all slunk out ashamed. “If I had only tried that hours ago,” she now said. Outside they remarked that she was “an insolent rebel huzzy, who thinks herself too good to speak to a soldier of the United States,” and one of them said: “Let us go in and break her mouth.” But the better ones held the more outrageous back. Monroe slipped in again and said: “Missy, for God’s sake, when dey come in be sociable with ’em. Dey will kill you.”

“Then let me die.”

The negro soldiers were far worse than the white ones.

Mrs. Bartow drove with me to Mulberry. On one side of the house we found every window had been broken, every bell torn down, every piece of furniture destroyed, and every door smashed in. But the other side was intact. Maria Whitaker and her mother, who had been left in charge, explained this odd state of things. The Yankees were busy as beavers, working like regular carpenters, destroying everything when their general came in and stopped them. He told them it was a sin to destroy a fine old house like that, whose owner was over ninety years old. He would not have had it done for the world. It was wanton mischief. He explained to Maria that soldiers at such times were excited, wild, and unruly. They carried off sacks full of our books, since unfortunately they found a pile of empty sacks in the garret. Our books, our letters, our papers were afterward strewn along the Charleston road. Somebody found things of ours as far away as Vance’s Ferry.

This was Potter’s raid.[1] Sherman took only our horses. Potter’s raid came after Johnston’s surrender, and ruined us finally, burning our mills and gins and a hundred bales of cotton. Indeed, nothing is left to us now but the bare land, and the debts contracted for the support of hundreds of negroes during the war.

J. H. Boykin was at home at the time to look after his own interests, and he, with John de Saussure, has saved the cotton on their estates, with the mules and farming utensils and plenty of cotton as capital to begin on again. The negroes would be a good riddance. A hired man would be a good deal cheaper than a man whose father and mother, wife and twelve children have to be fed, clothed, housed, and nursed, their taxes paid, and their doctor’s bills, all for his half-done, slovenly, lazy work. For years we have thought negroes a nuisance that did not pay. They pretend exuberant loyalty to us now. Only one man of Mr. Chesnut’s left the plantation with the Yankees.

When the Yankees found the Western troops were not at Camden, but down below Swift Creek, like sensible folk they came up the other way, and while we waited at Chester for marching orders we were quickly ruined after the surrender. With our cotton saved, and cotton at a dollar a pound, we might be in comparatively easy circumstances. But now it is the devil to pay, and no pitch hot. Well, all this was to be.

Godard Bailey, editor, whose prejudices are all against us, described the raids to me in this wise: They were regularly organized. First came squads who demanded arms and whisky. Then came the rascals who hunted for silver, ransacked the ladies’ wardrobes and scared women and children into fits—at least those who could be scared. Some of these women could not be scared. Then came some smiling, suave, well-dressed officers, who “regretted it all so much.” Outside the gate officers, men, and bummers divided even, share and share alike, the piles of plunder.

When we crossed the river coming home, the ferry man at Chesnut’s Ferry asked for his fee. Among us all we could not muster the small silver coin he demanded. There was poverty for you. Nor did a stiver appear among us until Molly was hauled home from Columbia, where she was waging war with Sheriff Dent’s family. As soon as her foot touched her native heath, she sent to hunt up the cattle. Many of our cows were found in the swamp; like Marion’s men they had escaped the enemy. Molly sells butter for us now on shares.

Old Cuffey, head gardener at Mulberry, and Yellow Abram, his assistant, have gone on in the even tenor of their way. Men may come and men may go, but they dig on forever. And they say they mean to “as long as old master is alive.” We have green peas, asparagus, lettuce, spinach, new potatoes, and strawberries in abundance—enough for ourselves and plenty to give away to refugees. It is early in May and yet two months since frost. Surely the wind was tempered to the shorn lamb in our case.

Johnny went over to see Hampton. His cavalry are ordered to reassemble on the 20th—a little farce to let themselves down easily; they know it is all over. Johnny, smiling serenely, said, “The thing is up and forever.”

Godard Bailey has presence of mind. Anne Sabb left a gold card-case, which was a terrible oversight, among the cards on the drawing-room table. When the Yankee raiders saw it their eyes glistened. Godard whispered to her: “Let them have that gilt thing and slip away and hide the silver.” “No!” shouted a Yank, “you don’t fool me that way; here’s your old brass thing; don’t you stir; fork over that silver.” And so they deposited the gold card-case in Godard’s hands, and stole plated spoons and forks, which had been left out because they were plated. Mrs. Beach says two officers slept at her house. Each had a pillow-case crammed with silver and jewelry—”spoils of war,” they called it.

Floride Cantey heard an old negro say to his master: “When you all had de power you was good to me, and I’ll protect you now. No niggers nor Yankees shall teach you. If you want anything call for Sambo. I mean, call for Mr. Samuel; dat my name now.”

[1] The reference appears to be to General Edward E. Potter, a native of New York City, who died in 1889. General Potter entered the Federal service early in the war. He recruited a regiment of North Carolina troops and engaged in operations in North and South Carolina and Eastern Tennessee.

May 4.—General Johnston surrendered on the 26th of April. “My native land, good-night!”

Right Bank Roanoke river, Robbin’s Ferry, N. C.
May 3, 1865.

About 20 miles to-day and the latter fourth quite dusty. We did not get the main road, and have depended mainly on hog paths. The Roanoke is the largest stream we have crossed since leaving the Tennessee river, and is quite swift. The water is also colder than any we have found this march. We have not pontoons enough to reach across and will have to press ferryboats and skiffs, etc., to use as pontoons. Presume it will take all night to get up a bridge. We pontooned the Neuse when we crossed it the last time in one and one-half hours. As we crossed the Raleigh and Gorton Railroad today, saw a train of cars coming kiting along. Expect communication is open to Raleigh by this time. We are marching too hard. It is using up lots of men. Good country today. Many fine houses and every indication of wealth.

Wednesday, 3d—We started at 5 a. m. and marched twenty miles today. Crops look fine. There are a great many rebel soldiers throughout the country here, who have just returned from the armies of Johnston and Lee. Our army, for the first time, is passing through the country without destroying property.

Tuesday, 2d—Weather pleasant. We started at 6:30 a. m. and marched seventeen miles today. We crossed the Tar river at 10 this morning, and passed through some very fine country this afternoon. There is nothing new.

Two miles north of Shady Grove, N. C., May 2, 1865.

Twenty-six miles to-day, and everything in camp at sunset. That is No. 1 work with 300 sets of wheels to the division. We have reveille at 3 a. m. and start at 4 now.

We seem to have got pretty well out of the pine country. Hardly saw one the last three miles this p. m. Have also about left cotton behind us. Tobacco and wheat are the staples here. I saw as many as five large tobacco houses on one farm, built 25 logs high. Notice also some very fine wheat growing, now 12 inches high. Very large peach and apple orchards on almost every farm. The trees look thrifty, but show neglect. All kinds of fruit promises to be abundant this year.

The last five miles to-day was through beautiful country, fine houses, too. The people were all out to see us, but I am glad that I have no demonstration a la white handkerchief to chronicle. The men are full of the de’il to-day. Scaring negroes almost out of their wits. Our division is the right of the army. We have been side tracking so far, but to-morrow we get the main road and Corse takes the cow paths. I think that not more than one-fifth of the cleared land so far in this State is under cultivation this year, and that fully one-fourth of all has been turned over to nature for refertilization from four to forty years. On some of this turned out land the new growth is more than a foot in diameter. I saw a sassafras tree to-day that was 15 inches in diameter.

Tuesday, May 2d, 1865.

While praying for the return of those who have fought so nobly for us, how I have dreaded their first days at home! Since the boys died, I have constantly thought of what pain it would bring to see their comrades return without them — to see families reunited, and know that ours never could be again, save in heaven. Last Saturday, the 29th of April, seven hundred and fifty paroled Louisianians from Lee’s army were brought here — the sole survivors of ten regiments who left four years ago so full of hope and determination. On the 29th of April, 1861, George left New Orleans with his regiment. On the fourth anniversary of that day, they came back; but George and Gibbes have long been lying in their graves. . . .

Camden, S. C., May 2, 1865.—Since we left Chester nothing but solitude, nothing but tall blackened chimneys, to show that any man has ever trod this road before. This is Sherman’s track. It is hard not to curse him. I wept incessantly at first. The roses of the gardens are already hiding the ruins. My husband said Nature is a wonderful renovator. He tried to say something else and then I shut my eyes and made a vow that if we were a crushed people, crushed by weight, I would never be a whimpering, pining slave.

We heard loud explosions of gunpowder in the direction of Camden. Destroyers were at it there. Met William Walker, whom Mr. Preston left in charge of a car-load of his valuables. General Preston was hardly out of sight before poor helpless William had to stand by and see the car plundered. “My dear Missis! they have cleaned me out, nothing left,” moaned William the faithful. We have nine armed couriers with us. Can they protect us?

Bade adieu to the staff at Chester. No general ever had so remarkable a staff, so accomplished, so agreeable, so well bred, and, I must say, so handsome, and can add so brave and efficient.

Monday, 1st—Our corps, the Seventeenth, took up the line of march at 6 a. m. and marched fifteen miles, going into bivouac at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. No foraging parties are allowed on this march, and no railroad or any kind of property is to be destroyed. The army, by divisions, is to go into bivouac when convenient about 3 p. m. each day, and about three miles apart, so that the trains and artillery can get into their corrals before dark. We passed through Forestville and Wake Forest, towns a mile apart, at about noon today. We have good roads and fine weather for marching.

Near Davis’ Cross Roads, five miles north of Tar river.
May 1, 1865. 4:30 p. m.

We are 35 miles from Raleigh to-night, which makes 24 miles to-day over Tar river, which is here about 50 yards wide and runs through a fine rolling, high country. The march was splendidly conducted, no straggling, and the peace orders were faithfully lived up to. It seems like the early days of my soldiering to see the citizens all at home, their horses and mules in the stables, and gardens full of vegetables passed untouched. When a man can pass an onion bed without going for them, and they did a number of them to-day, no one need talk to me of total depravity. The soldier goes more on onions than any other luxury. The citizens have all “war’s over” news, and seem to feel good over it. At three different places there were groups of very healthy looking young ladies, well dressed, by the roadside, waving their handkerchiefs at us, and one told the boys she wished them to come back after they were mustered out, for “you have killed all our young men off.” The virtuous indignation welled up in my bosom like a new strike of oil. I’ll venture that these same women coaxed their beaux off to the war, and now that “Yank” is ahead, they shake their handkerchiefs at us and cry, “bully Yanks.” The devil take them and he’ll be sure to do it. You have heard of woodticks? The man who don’t catch his pint a day is in awful luck. They have a tick picking twice a day in this country, regularly as eating. Saw a wild turnip in bloom to-day.

May 1st. Weather ?ne, and we are enjoying it. Our company remains at camp as headquarters’ guard. The other companies are going through surrounding towns, picking up all government property, and all that is collected is put in wagons and brought to this town. Everything marked U. S. must be collected and stored here. In time it will be sold by government of?cers at public auction. This is a ?ne country. Our boys are enjoying these collecting trips. We are all so happy over the close of this awful, cruel war.

May 1st.—In Chester still. I climb these steep steps alone. They have all gone, all passed by. Buck went with Mr. C. Hampton to York. Mary, Mrs. Huger, and Pinckney took flight together. One day just before they began to dissolve in air, Captain Gay was seated at the table, halfway between me on the top step and John in the window, with his legs outside. Said some one to-day, “She showed me her engagement ring, and I put it back on her hand. She is engaged, but not to me.” “By the heaven that is above us all, I saw you kiss her hand.” “That I deny.” Captain Gay glared in angry surprise, and insisted that he had seen it. “Sit down, Gay,” said the cool captain in his most mournful way. “You see, my father died when I was a baby, and my grandfather took me in hand. To him I owe this moral maxim. He is ninety years old, a wise old man. Now, remember my grandfather’s teaching forevermore—’A gentleman must not kiss and tell.’”

General Preston came to say good-by. He will take his family abroad at once. Burnside, in New Orleans, owes him some money and will pay it. “There will be no more confiscation, my dear madam,” said he: “they must see that we have been punished enough.” “They do not think so, my dear general. This very day a party of Federals passed in hot pursuit of our President.”

A terrible fire-eater, one of the few men left in the world who believe we have a right divine, being white, to hold Africans, who are black, in bonds forever; he is six feet two; an athlete; a splendid specimen of the animal man; but he has never been under fire; his place in the service was a bomb-proof office, so-called. With a face red-hot with rage he denounced Jeff Davis and Hood. “Come, now,” said Edward, the handsome, “men who could fight and did not, they are the men who ruined us. We wanted soldiers. If the men who are cursing Jeff Davis now had fought with Hood, and fought as Hood fought, we’d be all right now.”

And then he told of my trouble one day while Hood was here. “Just such a fellow as you came up on this little platform, and before Mrs. Chesnut could warn him, began to heap insults on Jeff Davis and his satrap, Hood. Mrs. Chesnut held up her hands. ‘Stop, not another word. You shall not abuse my friends here! Not Jeff Davis behind his back, not Hood to his face, for he is in that room and hears you.’” Fancy how dumfounded this creature was.

Mrs. Huger told a story of Joe Johnston in his callow days before he was famous. After an illness Johnston’s hair all fell out; not a hair was left on his head, which shone like a fiery cannon-ball. One of the gentlemen from Africa who waited at table sniggered so at dinner that he was ordered out by the grave and decorous black butler. General Huger, feeling for the agonies of young Africa, as he strove to stifle his mirth, suggested that Joe Johnston should cover his head with his handkerchief. A red silk one was produced, and turban-shaped, placed on his head. That completely finished the gravity of the butler, who fled in helplessness. His guffaw on the outside of the door became plainly audible. General Huger then suggested, as they must have the waiter back, or the dinner could not go on, that Joe should eat with his hat on, which he did.

Sunday, 30th—Remained in bivouac all day. We had a heavy rain last night, but it is clear and warm today. A man from the Fifteenth Iowa preached in our camp at early candlelight this evening.

Sunday, April 30, 1865.

Howardism (and it is a very good kind of ism), allows us to lay still to-day. It is a real Canton 1st of June Sabbath. It rained all night, but the effect is to improve these sandy roads. It will take a good deal more than a week to realize fully that the war is over. No more preparation for a coming campaign, dreaded at first, but soon looked for with feverish eagerness (human nature). No more finding the enemy driving in his skirmishers, developing his line, getting into position, and retiring every night, maybe for a month, after days spent in continuous skirmishing, expecting to be ordered to charge at daybreak. It is all over, thank God, but it seems impossible.

A Philadelphia paper of the 25th (first we have seen since the 21st) astonished us all. It gives us our first intimation of the hue and cry against Sherman, for the terms he offered Johnston, Breckenridge & Co. We did not before know anything he had done, only he told us in orders that he had, “subject to the approval of the powers at Washington, made peace from the Rio Grande to the Potomac, by an agreement with Johnston and other high officials.” We have only known that much, talked over the matter and were afraid that “Tecumseh” had made an attempt to do too much, and had compromised himself by having anything at all to do with other than military Rebels. I am very sorry for him, but we have thought for a year, and it has been common talk in the army, that he was ambitious for political honors, etc.

I have often heard it said that he was figuring for popularity in the South. He has written some very pretty letters to our erring Southerners. Instance, the one to the Mayor and citizens of Atlanta and one to Mrs. Bowen of Baltimore, and several more while at Savannah.

He also promised Governor Vance some kind of protection if he would return to Raleigh. “Pap” must be careful. We all think the world of him. I’d rather fight under him than Grant, and in fact if Sherman was Mahomet we’d be as devoted Musselmen as ever followed the former prophet, and if he has blundered here, as they say he has, we will feel it more at heart than we ever did the fall of our leaders before. I won’t believe he has made a mistake until I know all about it. It can’t be.

Near Davis’ Cross Roads, five miles north of Tar river.

April 30th. Fine growing weather. The leading topic in camp is, when do we go home. Picket duty suspended. Camp guard kept up, and provost duty in town to keep order and protect government property. Many horses and mules are corralled and guarded. This duty comes to our regiment. There is much that we must do to assist the government of?cers in collecting the property. The town has not been turned over to the civil authority yet, so we must do the duty of civil of?cers and protect the town, and do the duty of policemen. Guards on the different streets.

Louise Wigfall, from the book: “After General Johnston’s surrender, which followed on April 26th—and the capture of the President—it became necessary in order to escape arrest, that my father should make all possible effort to conceal his identity, and endeavor to make his way across the Mississippi river as speedily as might be, where Kirby Smith was still commanding the remnant of an army. To this end he donned the garb of a private soldier, shaved off his beard and procured a borrowed parole. I have it yet.”

“APPOMATTOX COURT HOUSE, VA.,
April 10th, 1865.

        “The Bearer, pri. J. A. White, of Co. M. First Regt. of Texas Vols., a paroled Prisoner of the Army of Northern Virginia, has permission to go to his home, and there remain undisturbed.

“JNO. N. WILSON, CAPT.
“commdg.”

April 30^th 1865

This has been a most eventful month. The most eventful in the History of our Country. We have seen during this month the complete crushing out of the “Great rebellion” by a series of masterly Military achievements. The occupation of the Rebel Capitol by our troops. The surrender of Gen^l Lee with his Army near Richmond, and the surrender of Gen^l Johnson and his Army in North Carolina, and above all in importance which has occured in the World during this month, The President of the United States has been assassinated. Abraham Lincoln, the good and kind hearted, was Shot while sitting in his Box at Fords Theatre on the night of the 14^th In^t at about half past ten O’clock. Mr Lincoln had been in the habit of attending the Theatre occasionaly, perhaps once in four or six weeks, as a relaxation from the arduous duties of his position and constant mental exertion. On this occasion he went rather reluctantly. But it had been published in the Bills that Himself and Gen^l Grant would be present, and Gen^l Grant having left the City in the evening train for Phil^a, the President said that he did not “wish the people to be disappointed” and so went with his Lady arriving about ½ past 8. Miss Harris (daughter of Hon Ira Harris) and Maj Rathbone of Albany were also in the same Box, which was a double one, two being thrown into one. This Box was in the 2^nd Tier and entered from the Dress circle through a narrow corridor some three feet wide and eight or ten long. There was a door at the dress circle end and at the other end there were two doors, one for each Box but now the two Boxes being thrown into one, one of the doors was closed. The other was open, and all of them unguarded. The assassin J Wilkes Booth had made his arrangements in the most deliberate manner (probably during that day). He had fixed a bar across the door leading into the dress circle and had cut a hole through the closed door leading to the Box, which enabled him to see the exact position of the President and others in the Box without being seen himself. At about ½ past 10, he entered the corridor from the Dress circle, bared the door to prevent any one from entering, examined the position of Mr Lincoln through the hole in the closed door. Then entered the Box behind all who were there (as they were looking toward the stage) and standing within three or four feet of Mr Lincoln, Shot him in the back of the head. The ball entering about two inches from the left ear near the base of the skull and lodging in the brain about two inches back of the right eye. His head was probably inclined forward at the time. The Murderer rushed to the front of the Box with a dagger in his hand. Major Rathbone caught his coat but Booth struck him on the arm with the dagger wounding him severely, which compelled him to let go his hold. Booth vaulted over the front of the Box and as he did so exclaimed “Sic Semper Tyranis” (Thus To Tyrants). As he Jumped from the box his spur cau[gh]t in the flag and as he struck the Stage he came to a crouching position from the effect of the concussion, his hands striking the floor but he recovered himself in a moment and flourishing his dagger he strode across the Stage some forty feet in sight of the spectators and past some of the actors, and reaching the back door which opens into a lane, he mounted a fleet horse and escaped. The lane enters F S^t betwen 9^th & 10 S^ts. The audience was paralized for some seconds, but rushed on to the Stage. A Surgeon was called for and Charles S Taft a Surgeon being present was lifted up from the Stage to the Box by those present. Before this the bar had been removed by Maj Rathbone and several men had reached the Box. When Cha^s reached the Box the President was lying upon the floor. Water and stimulants were used immediately but without avail in attempts to revive him. He was taken up and carried from the Theatre to the House opposite in about fifteen minutes after he was shot. A Dr Leale from Armory Square Hospital was the first Surgeon in the box. But Cha^s did not know that there was any Surgeon but himself present until the President was removed from the Theatre. Cha^s had charge of him until Dr Stone (the Presidents family Physician) arrived which was half an hour after he was placed on a bed at the House of Mr Peterson, opposite. When the shot was fired Mrs Lincoln was sitting near her husband with her hand on his knee. She says she saw the flash and heard the report of the pistol, thinking it was in some way connected with the the Play. She leaned forward to see what it was, and then looked to Mr Lincoln to see where he was looking. He was sitting with his head droped down and eyes shut. She was not alarmed at this, he sometimes held his head in that way when in deep thought, but she put her hand on his forehead and he not stirring she put it on the back of his head and feeling it wet she immediately withdrew it covered with blood. She then screamed and that is the last she remembered that took place in the Theatre. She says, as she put her hand on his head she recollects that something suddenly brushed past her and rubbing off her Shawl. It was Booth as he jumped from the Box. The President made no noise, nor attempted to speak, nor Stirred a limb after he was shot, nor was he conscious for one moment from that time until he died. When his skin was touched or his hand was taken, there was a slight quiver or tremor of the muscles, but that was all. Mustard paste was applied nearly all over the body and stimulants were given as long as he could swallow in hopes to revive him but entirely without avail. His pulse ceased to beat at 22 minutes past Seven. Cha^s had his hand on his heart, he said it fluttered or trilled for 10 seconds longer. It was the opinion of the Surgeons that the wound would have killed most men instantly, or in a very few minutes. But Mr Lincoln had so much vitality that he lived nearly nine hours. There were four Surgeons in immediate or active attendance. Dr Stone, The Surgeon Gen^l Dr Barnes, The Assistant Surgeon Gen^l Dr Crane and Charles. Some others were present whose services were not required. Most of the members of the Cabinet were there all night. Chief Justice Chase and other distinguished men. Mr Senator Sumner with Robert Lincoln leaning on his shoulder near the head of the bed. Sec’y Stanton was active in giving directions and writing dispatches all night. Gen^l Meigs Stood at the door to keep out all who were not wanted or to see that the room was not crowded. The room is at the end of the entrance Hall about 9 feet by 15, with two windows and three doors, one door entering from the Hall, one at the left as you enter, opening to an open porch or piazza, and the other at the farther end of the room, opening into another small room from which stairs decended to to [sic] the Basement. Some few individuals came in to the room through that door clandestinely. Mrs Lincoln occupied a room near by with some of her friends who were there. She went in frequently to see the President with Doct Gurley (The family Pastor) who had been sent for about 3 O’clock. She was not in the room when he died. Robert Lincoln was there and Dr Gurley, the two private Secretaries of the President Nicolay and Hay. Upon one occasion when Mrs L went in and saw her husband she fainted and was carried out insensible. It was thought best for her not to be there when he died. Dr Gurley prayed by the bedside of the President when he first arrived (at 3 o’clock). Then went into the room where Mrs Lincoln was and prayed with her, and remained with her most of the time, accompanying her and supporting her into the room of the dying President when she visited it. After the death Dr Gurley who was standing near Mr Stanton said shall we have any religious exercises here or elsewhere now? Yes said Mr Stanton offer Prayer ________ now and here. For the last half hour before the death, the utmost stillness had prevailed in the room, not a word, not a whisper was heard. The President of the United States dying, surrounded by his Cabinet and many of the first men in the Nation standing like statues around the bed presented a scene for an artist seldom equaled for solemn grandeur. It is to be hoped that it will yet be transfered to Canvass. After the President died Dr Gurley went to Mrs L and told her “the President is dead.” O – why did you not let me know? Why did you not tell me? “Your friends thought it was not best. You must be resigned to the will of God. You must be calm and trust in God and in your friends.” She soon after left, with Dr G for her Home. She was asked during the night if her son “Tad” (Thaddeus) (a boy about twelve years old) should be sent for. “O, my poor “Taddy” what will become of him? O do not send for him, his violent grief would disturb the House.” When they reached the Presidents house “Tad” met them on the Portico. “Where is my Pa? Where is my Pa? He kept repeating the question till they got into the room of Mrs Lincoln. He had heard that his Pa had been shot but evidently expected him when his mother came. He was very much excited and alarmed but had not thought that his Pa could be dead. “Taddy” your Pa is dead” said Dr Gurley. He was not prepared for this. He screamed in an agony of grief “O what shall I do? What shall I do? My Brother is dead. My Father is dead. O what shall I do? What will become of me? O what shall I do? O mother you will not die will you. O don’t you die Ma. You wont die will you Mother? If you die I shall be all alone. O dont die Ma.” Dr Gurley said that up to that time he himself had not shed a tear, but he could not witness “Tads” grief unmoved and the Tears flowed freely. He said, when I got back to my own house at about 10 o’clock that morning, “I felt as though I had been engaged all night in a terrible Battle and had but just strength enough left to drag myself off the field.” 

Our last march. Near Rolesville. N. G,
April 29, 1865.

Left Raleigh at 7 this morning on my way home, via Richmond and Washington. Made about 11 miles. Rather too warm for such fast marching as we always do. If we would just make 15 miles a day, say 10 of it between sunrise and 10 a. m., and the remainder after 2 p. m., it would not hurt a man or an animal, but we move when we do move at three or three and a half miles an hour, and not all even Sherman’s men can stand it in as warm weather as this. I saw a number laid out this morning by the roadside looking as if they had been boiled. The 50 pounds of equipments is what uses them up. Well settled country, and it looks beautiful. The leaves are all out nearly full size; ?ne oak, elm and pine strips of woodland between farms is such an addition of comfort to citizens and cattle, and of beauty to scenery. The undergrowth is mostly dogwood and holly. We are on our good behavior this trip. No foraging, no bumming rails, or houses, and nothing naughty whatever. We have the best set of men in the world. When it is in order to raise h___ they have no equals in destructiveness and ability to hate and worry, or superiors as to ?ghting Rebels, but now they have none, and they are perfect lambs. Not a hand laid on a rail this evening with intent to burn, not a motion toward a chicken or smoke-house, not a thing in their actions that even a Havelock would object to. They don’t pretend to love our “erring brethren” yet, but no conquered foe could ask kinder treatment than all our men seem disposed to give these Rebels. We camped about 3 p. m. in a pretty piece of woods. Artillery has been booming all day at Raleigh.

Saturday, 29th—Reveille sounded shortly after midnight and we had our knapsacks packed long before daylight. Some of the boys were so happy and excited that they did not sleep much during the night. At 7 o’clock we took up the march, stepping to music as we left our camp. We crossed the Neuse river about noon and after marching twelve miles for the day, went into bivouac. By order of General Howard we are to lay over here until Monday, when we will continue our journey. The Fifteenth Corps is taking a road to our right. General Sherman’s headquarters wagons are going through with the Seventeenth Corps. The Thirty-second Illinois Regiment was taken from the Iowa Brigade and was brigaded with the First Brigade of the Second Division of the Seventeenth Corps. Our brigade is the First Brigade of the Fourth Division of the Seventeenth Corps.

April 29, 1865.

Boys plowing in old house field. We are needing rain. Everything looks pleasant, but the state of our country is very gloomy. General Lee has surrendered to the victorious Grant. Well, if it will only hasten the conclusion of this war, I am satisfied. There has been something very strange in the whole affair to me, and I can attribute it to nothing but the hand of Providence working out some problem that has not yet been revealed to us poor, erring mortals. At the beginning of the struggle the minds of men, their wills, their self-control, seemed to be all taken from them in a passionate antagonism to the coming-in President, Abraham Lincoln. Our leaders, to whom the people looked for wisdom, led us into this, perhaps the greatest error of the age. “We will not have this man to rule over us!” was their cry. For years it has been stirring in the hearts of Southern politicians that the North was enriched and built up by Southern labor and wealth. Men’s pockets were always appealed to and appealed to so constantly that an antagonism was excited which it has been impossible to allay. They did not believe that the North would fight. Said Robert Toombes: “I will drink every drop of blood they will shed.” Oh, blinded men! Rivers deep and strong have been shed, and where are we now?—a ruined, subjugated people! What will be our future? is the question which now rests heavily upon the hearts of all.

This has been a month never to be forgotten. Two armies have surrendered. The President of the United States has been assassinated, Richmond evacuated, and Davis, President of the Confederacy, put to grief, to flight. The old flag has been raised again upon Sumter and an armistice accepted.