Thursday, April 20.–The papers are full of the account of the funeral obsequies of President Lincoln. We take Harper’s Weekly and every event is pictured so vividly it seems as though we were eye witnesses of it all. The picture of “Lincoln at home” is beautiful. What a dear, kind man he was. It is a comfort to know that the assassination was not the outcome of an organized plot of Southern leaders, but rather a conspiracy of a few fanatics, who undertook in this way to avenge the defeat of their cause. It is rumored that one of the conspirators has been located.

Raleigh, April 19, 1865.

Joe Johnston surrendered the whole thing yesterday to Sherman. Our 4th division and a division of the 17th Corps receive the arms, etc. We go into a regular camp tomorrow to await developments. If any more Confederacy crops out, we, I suppose, will go for it, otherwise in a couple of months we’ll muster out. That’s all. Good bye, war.

April 19th.–Yesterday windy, to-day bright and calm.

It appears that the day of the death of President Lincoln was appointed for illuminations and rejoicings on the surrender of Lee. There is no intelligence of the death of Mr. Seward or his son. It was a dastardly deed–surely the act of a madman.

.

THE END

Wednesday, 19th–We struck our tents about noon and marched back about five miles, toward Raleigh, going into camp within three miles of town. We laid out our camp in regular order for the purpose of building small houses and covering them with our shelter tents.

19th. Reached Pittsburg at 2 P. M. Left on Cleveland train at 3. Pittsburg in mourning. Rode in company with a Cleveland man, Briggs, I believe. Pleasant visit. Gave me a detail of the working of the carrier P. O. system. Passed through Cleveland at 10 P. M. Stayed over at Grafton. The funeral of the President took place today. Ceremonies throughout the Union. Johnson bound to deal roughly with traitors.

April 19th. All duty except guard and picket suspended since the assassination of Mr. Lincoln. These are days of mourning. Officers wear crape on the left arm and on the hilts of swords for thirty days. The funeral takes place today in Washington. The towns-people have arranged for a funeral parade and service to be held in the Court House. Our regimental band is engaged to furnish the music for the procession. On the march a coffin was carried, making a solemn appearance as the funeral procession marched to the cemetery where the coffin was buried. The whole thing was in charge of the towns-people. It was a very strange proceeding in the eyes of down-east Yankees. It was a very solemn occasion all through, to the burial of the coffin.

Wednesday evening, April 19, 1865.–This being the day set for the funeral of Abraham Lincoln at Washington, it was decided to hold the service today, instead of Thursday, as previously announced in the Congregational church. All places of business were closed and the bells of the village churches tolled from half past ten till eleven o’clock. It is the fourth anniversary of the first bloodshed of the war at Baltimore. It was said to-day, that while the services were being held in the White House and Lincoln’s body lay in state under the dome of the capitol, that more than twenty-five millions of people all over the civilized world were gathered in their churches weeping over the death of the martyred President. We met at our church at half after ten o’clock this morning. The bells tolled until eleven o’clock, when the services commenced. The church was beautifully decorated with flags and black and white cloth, wreaths, mottoes and flowers, the galleries and all. The whole effect was fine. There was a shield beneath the arch of the pulpit with this text upon it: “The memory of the just is blessed.” It was beautiful. Under the choir-loft the picture of Abraham Lincoln hung amid the flags and drapery. The motto, beneath the gallery, was this text: “Know ye that the Lord He is God.” The four pastors of the place walked in together and took seats upon the platform, which was constructed for the occasion. The choir chanted “Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations,” and then the Episcopal rector, Rev. Mr. Leffingwell, read from the psalter, and Rev. Dr. Daggett followed with prayer. Judge Taylor was then called upon for a short address, and he spoke well, as he always does. The choir sang “God is our refuge and our strength.”

No. 211 Camp St.,
April 19th, 1865.

“All things are taken from us, and become portions and parcels of the dreadful pasts.” . . .

Thursday the 13th came the dreadful tidings of the surrender of Lee and his army on the 9th. Everybody cried, but I would not, satisfied that God will still save us, even though all should apparently be lost. Followed at intervals of two or three hours by the announcement of the capture of Richmond, Selma, Mobile, and Johnston’s army, even the stanchest Southerners were hopeless. Every one proclaimed Peace, and the only matter under consideration was whether Jeff Davis, all politicians, every man above the rank of Captain in the army and above that of Lieutenant in the navy, should be hanged immediately, or some graciously pardoned. Henry Ward Beecher humanely pleaded mercy for us, supported by a small minority. Davis and all leading men must be executed; the blood of the others would serve to irrigate the country. Under this lively prospect, Peace, blessed Peace! was the cry. I whispered, “Never! Let a great earthquake swallow us up first! Let us leave our land and emigrate to any desert spot of the earth, rather than return to the Union, even as it Was!”

Six days this has lasted. Blessed with the silently obstinate disposition, I would not dispute, but felt my heart swell, repeating, “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble,” and could not for an instant believe this could end in an overthrow.

This morning, when I went down to breakfast at seven, Brother read the announcement of the assassination of Lincoln and Secretary Seward.

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” This is murder! God have mercy on those who did it!

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Charlotte Corday killed Marat in his bath, and is held up in history as one of Liberty’s martyrs, and one of the heroines of her country. To me, it is all murder. Let historians extol blood-shedding; it is woman’s place to abhor it. And because I know that they would have apotheosized any man who had crucified Jeff Davis, I abhor this, and call it foul murder, unworthy of our cause – and God grant it was only the temporary insanity of a desperate man that committed this crime! Let not his blood be visited on our nation, Lord!

Across the way, a large building, undoubtedly inhabited by officers, is being draped in black. Immense streamers of black and white hang from the balcony. Downtown, I understand, all shops are closed, and all wrapped in mourning. And I hardly dare pray God to bless us, with the crape hanging over the way. It would have been banners, if our President had been killed, though!

April 19th.–Just now, when Mr. Clay dashed up-stairs, pale as a sheet, saying, “General Lee has capitulated,” I saw it reflected in Mary Darby’s face before I heard him speak. She staggered to the table, sat down, and wept aloud. Mr. Clay’s eyes were not dry. Quite beside herself Mary shrieked, “Now we belong to negroes and Yankees!” Buck said, “I do not believe it.”

How different from ours of them is their estimate of us. How contradictory is their attitude toward us. To keep the despised and iniquitous South within their borders, as part of their country, they are willing to enlist millions of men at home and abroad, and to spend billions, and we know they do not love fighting per se, nor spending money. They are perfectly willing to have three killed for our one. We hear they have all grown rich, through “shoddy,” whatever that is. Genuine Yankees can make a fortune trading jackknives.

“Somehow it is borne in on me that we will have to pay the piper,” was remarked to-day. “No; blood can not be squeezed from a turnip. You can not pour anything out of an empty cup. We have no money even for taxes or to be confiscated.”

While the Preston girls are here, my dining-room is given up to them, and we camp on the landing, with our one table and six chairs. Beds are made on the dining-room floor. Otherwise there is no furniture, except buckets of water and bath-tubs in their improvised chamber. Night and day this landing and these steps are crowded with the elite of the Confederacy, going and coming, and when night comes, or rather, bedtime, more beds are made on the floor of the landing-place for the war-worn soldiers to rest upon. The whole house is a bivouac. As Pickens said of South Carolina in 1861, we are “an armed camp.”

My husband is rarely at home. I sleep with the girls, and my room is given up to soldiers. General Lee’s few, but undismayed, his remnant of an army, or the part from the South and West, sad and crestfallen, pass through Chester. Many discomfited heroes find their way up these stairs. They say Johnston will not be caught as Lee was. He can retreat; that is his trade. If he would not fight Sherman in the hill country of Georgia, what will he do but retreat in the plains of North Carolina with Grant, Sherman, and Thomas all to the fore?

We are to stay here. Running is useless now; so we mean to bide a Yankee raid, which they say is imminent. Why fly? They are everywhere, these Yankees, like red ants, like the locusts and frogs which were the plagues of Egypt.

The plucky way in which our men keep up is beyond praise. There is no howling, and our poverty is made a matter of laughing. We deride our own penury. Of the country we try not to speak at all.

Raleigh, April 18, 1865.

Sherman has gone out again to see Johnston. Johnston asked for another day in order to see Davis and get his permission to surrender the whole force in arms this side of the Mississippi. I was through the town to-day. Some very fine residences and asylums, but the town is no larger than Canton, and not as pretty except in shrubbery and shade trees.

I visited the Deaf and Dumb and Blind Asylums and the superintendent put a class in each through some exercises. It was very interesting. A Herald of the 10th gives us the particulars of Lee’s surrender. Grant is the hero of the war. The papers all talk about Grant, Sherman and Sheridan, nothing said about Thomas. This whole army thinks that Thomas is slighted by the North. We have as much confidence in him as in Grant or Sherman, and then he never writes any letters or accepts valuable presents, or figures in any way for citizen approbation, or that of his army. The only objection that I ever heard against him is the size of his headquarters or “Thomasville” as it is called by the army. That comes from his West-Pointism.

Tuesday, 18th–General Sherman went out to the front on the cars, and the two generals agreed upon the terms for the surrender of Johnston’s army. Both armies are to go into camp and remain until the terms of surrender have been approved by the War Department at Washington. The Union army is to go into camp in the vicinity of Raleigh, and the rebel army in the vicinity of Chapel Hill. I came in from picket this morning, having been out on the picket line for twenty-four hours.

Tuesday, 18th. Had a very good night’s rest. Up early. Pleasant visit with an Indiana man. Several Southern ladies on board the boat. Great gloom in Washington. Excitement very high. Went to White House and viewed the President’s remains in state. Everybody on the alert to discover the conspirators. Drew pay for January and February. Took the evening train via Harrisburg. Read papers and slept. The whole nation in mourning. All business places draped.

Tuesday Night.—I try to dwell as little as possible on public events. I only feel that we have no country, no government, no future. I cannot, like some others, look with hope on Johnston’s army. He will do what he can; but ah, what can he do? Our anxiety now is that our President and other public men may get off in safety. O God! have mercy upon them and help them! For ourselves, like the rest of the refugees, we are striving to get from the city. The stereotyped question when we meet is, “When and where are you going?” Our country relatives have been very kind. My brother offers us an asylum in his devastated home at W. While there we must look around for some other place, in which to build up a home for our declining years. Property we have none—all gone. Thank God, we have our faculties; the girls and myself, at least, have health. Mr. –– bears up under our difficulties with the same hopeful spirit which he has ever manifested. “The Lord will provide,” is still his answer to any doubt on our part. The Northern officials offer free tickets to persons returning to their homes—alas! to their homes! How few of us have homes! Some are confiscated; others destroyed. The families of the army and navy officers are here. The husbands and sons are absent, and they remain with nothing to anticipate and nothing to enjoy. To-day I met a friend, the wife of a high official, whose hospitality I have often enjoyed in one of the most elegant residences in Virginia, which has been confiscated and used as a hospital for “contrabands.” Our conversation naturally turned on our prospects. Hearing where we were going, she replied, “I have no brother, but when I hear from my husband and son, I shall accept the whole-souled invitation of a relative in the country, who has invited me to make his house my home; but,” she added, as her beautiful eyes filled with tears, “when are our visits to end? We can’t live with our ruined relatives, and when our visits are over, what then? And how long must our visits of charity last?” The question was too sad; neither of us could command our voices, and we parted in silence and tears.

Raleigh, April 17, 1865.

We have a brief dispatch this morning informing us of the assassination of President Lincoln, Secretary Seward and son. I have not the heart to write a word about it. The army is crazy for vengenance. If we make another campaign it will be an awful one. Sherman meets Johnston to-day. The delay in the negotiations was caused by some dispatches being missed. We hope Johnston will not surrender. God pity this country if he retreats or fights us.

April 17th.–Bright and clear.

I add a few lines to my Diary. It was whispered, yesterday, that President Lincoln had been assassinated! I met Gen. Duff Green, in the afternoon, who assured me there could be no doubt of it. Still, supposing it might be an April hoax, I inquired at the headquarters of Gen. Ord, and was told it was true. I cautioned those I met to manifest no feeling, as the occurrence might be a calamity for the South; and possibly the Federal soldiers, supposing the deed to have been done by a Southern man, might become uncontrollable and perpetrate deeds of horror on the unarmed people.

After agreeing to meet Gen. Green this morning at the Provost Marshal’s office, and unite with him in an attempt to procure the liberation of Capt. Warner, I returned home; and saw, on the way, Gen. Ord and his staff riding out toward Camp Lee, with no manifestations of excitement or grief on their countenances.

Upon going down town this morning, every one was speaking of the death of Lincoln, and the Whig was in mourning.

President Lincoln was killed by Booth (Jno. Wilkes), an actor. I suppose his purpose is to live in history as the slayer of a tyrant; thinking to make the leading character in a tragedy, and have his performance acted by others on the stage.

I see no grief on the faces of either officers or men of the Federal army.

R. A. Pryor and Judge W. T. Joynes have called a meeting in Petersburg, to lament the calamity entailed by the assassination.

I got passports to-day for myself and family to the Eastern Shore, taking no oath. We know not when we shall leave.

I never swore allegiance to the Confederate States Government, but was true to it.

Monday, 17th–News came that Abe Lincoln^[1] had been assassinated at Washington, in a theater, also Secretary Seward and his son.^[2] When the news came of the death of the president, the safety guards, placed at private houses to protect the families from violence, were relieved. General Sherman at once demanded an answer from Johnston by tomorrow, in regard to the surrender. Charles Correll of our company was put under arrest for saying that the president should have been shot three years ago. Correll has only been with the company since the 28th of last September, and then had been hired to enlist for a big sum of money. I went out on picket this morning.

[1] That a soldier should speak of Lincoln in such familiar terms was but natural. It was in no sense disrespectful. All through the war the President was spoken of as “Abe” Lincoln.—Ed.
[2] This shows again the unreliable character of the first reports.—Ed.

17th. Rode all night with paroled prisoners–Yankees. Cold. Reached City Point at 8 A. M. Got ready to leave on the mail boat at 10 A. M. Boat loaded mostly with Southern officers and a few Yankees, few citizens. Saw a telegraph operator with whom I was acquainted in Tenn. Read late papers. Accounts of the assassination. A little seasick. Most of the rebels seem submissive and willing to come under the old flag again.

April 17th.–A letter from Mrs. Davis, who writes: “Do come to me, and see how we get on. I shall have a spare room by the time you arrive, indifferently furnished, but, oh, so affectionately placed at your service. You will receive such a loving welcome. One perfect bliss have I. The baby, who grows fat and is smiling always, is christened, and not old enough to develop the world’s vices or to be snubbed by it. The name so long delayed is Varina Anne. My name is a heritage of woe.

“Are you delighted with your husband? I am delighted with him as well as with my own. It is well to lose an Arabian horse if one elicits such a tender and at the same time knightly letter as General Chesnut wrote to my poor old Prometheus. I do not think that for a time he felt the vultures after the reception of the General’s letter.

“I hear horrid reports about Richmond. It is said that all below Ninth Street to the Rocketts has been burned by the rabble, who mobbed the town. The Yankee performances have not been chronicled. May God take our cause into His own hands.”

Raleigh, April 16, 1865.

Flags of truce are still flying between Sherman and Johnston. The latter is, I believe, some 30 miles west of Hillsboro. Some of Sherman’s staff went out last night to offer the same terms that were offered to Lee, and are expected every hour with Johnston’s answer. Everybody thinks Johnston will accept and many are offering to bet their all that we will be mustered out by July 4th, 1865.

I am trying to take the matter coolly and determined not to be very much disappointed if the result is different from what we all hope. We will be either ready to march to-morrow morning or to hang our swords on the wall. Hundreds of Johnston’s men are coming into our lines. If he don’t surrender his men will all desert. A lovely day. Disposes one to peace wonderfully. It is most difficult to realize that our war is over. I do from my heart thank God that I have lived to see the rebellion put down. Anyone who has been with us the last year and is alive should be thankful. The whole four years seems to me more like a dream than reality. How anxious I am to shake hands with you all once more. “How are you peace?”

Sunday, 16th–The weather is warm and pleasant. We remained in bivouac all day. All is quiet in the front and both armies are resting under a flag of truce. Neither army is allowed to change its position while the agreement is in force.

16th. Reveille at 4 A. M. with orders to move at 6. Orders countermanded on account of no rations. Went to sutler’s and got cheese, buttermilk and cakes. Beautiful day. Letter from Minnie. Papers. A report that Lincoln was killed a short time since by an assassin. God grant it may not be true, for the country’s good. Am happy today, my mind peaceful. Saw F. last night and night before. Lincoln assassinated. How great the loss to the country. All boys but two took a verbal temperance pledge. Got my leave and took the cars in evening.[1]

[1] Note–After the surrender of Lee on April 9th, 1865, the Cavalry Corps, including the 2nd Ohio, marched southward to strike the remaining Confederate army commanded by Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, which was still confronting Sherman’s army in North Carolina. Shortly after we had crossed the Roanoke River and entered North Carolina word came to us that Johnston had sensibly surrendered to Sherman and we marched northward to Richmond and Petersburg, and on to Washington, in time for the Grand Review. This episode in the Regiment’s records is not mentioned in the diary because Major Tenney was at that time absent on leave at home.–A. B. N., June 10, 1911.

April 16th. Sunday. No inspection. All is quiet in camp. After breakfast, cleaned up, ready for service in the log chapel. Sermon by our Chaplain. A good attendance, with several visitors from town. A good sermon on the sad event. All is quiet, and a very sad day in our camp. All duties suspended for the day. Went for a walk. Evidence of mourning on many houses and public buildings, by placing crape on them.

Sunday, Easter Day, April 16.–I went to church this morning. The pulpit and choir were covered with flags festooned with crape. Although a very disagreeable day, the house was well filled. The first hymn sung was “Oh God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come.” Dr. Daggett’s prayer, I can never forget, he alluded so beautifully to the nation’s loss, and prayed so fervently that the God of our fathers might still be our God, through every calamity or affliction, however severe or mysterious. All seemed as deeply affected as though each one had been suddenly bereft of their best friend. The hymn sung after the prayer, commenced with “Yes, the Redeemer rose.” Dr. Daggett said that he had intended to preach a sermon upon the resurrection. He read the psalm beginning, “Lord thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations.” His text was “That our faith and hope might be in God.” He commenced by saying, “I feel as you feel this morning: our sad hearts have all throbbed in unison since yesterday morning when the telegram announced to us Abraham Lincoln is shot.” He said the last week would never be forgotten, for never had any of us seen one come in with so much joy, that went out with so much sorrow. His whole sermon related to the President’s life and death, and, in conclusion, he exhorted us not to be despondent, for he was confident that the ship of state would not go down, though the helmsman had suddenly been taken away while the promised land was almost in view. He prayed for our new President, that he might be filled with grace and power from on High, to perform his high and holy trust. On Thursday we are to have a union meeting in our church, but it will not be the day of general rejoicing and thanksgiving we expected. All noisy demonstrations will be omitted. In Sunday school the desk was draped with mourning, and the flag at half-mast was also festooned with crape. Mr Noah T. Clarke opened the exercises with the hymn “He leadeth me,” followed by “Though the days are dark with sorrow.” “We know not what’s before us,” “My days are gliding swiftly by.” Then, Mr Clarke said that we always meant to sing “America,” after every victory, and last Monday he was wondering if we would not have to sing it twice to-day, or add another verse, but our feelings have changed since then. Nevertheless he thought we had better sing “America,” for we certainly ought to love our country more than ever, now that another, and such another, martyr, had given up his life for it so we sang it. Then he talked to the children and said that last Friday was supposed to be the anniversary of the day upon which our Lord was crucified, and though, at the time the dreadful deed was committed, every one felt the day to be the darkest one the earth ever knew; yet since then, the day has been called “Good Friday,” for it was the death of Christ, which gave life everlasting to all the people. So he thought that life would soon come out of darkness, which now overshadows us all, and that the death of Abraham Lincoln might yet prove the nation’s life in God’s own most mysterious way.

Sunday Night.—The Episcopal churches being closed, we went to the Rev. Dr. Hoge’s church. The rector was absent; he went off, to be in Confederate lines; but the Rev. Dr. Read, whose church is in ruins, occupied the pulpit.

Strange rumours are afloat to-night. It is said, and believed, that Lincoln is dead, and Seward much injured. As I passed the house of a friend this evening, she raised the window and told me the report. Of course I treated it as a Sunday rumour; but the story is strengthened by the way which the Yankees treat it. They, of course, know all about it, and to-morrow’s papers will reveal the particulars. I trust that, if true, it may not be by the hand of an assassin, though it would seem to fulfil the warnings of Scripture. His efforts to carry out his abolition theories have caused the shedding of oceans of Southern blood, and by man it now seems has his blood been shed. But what effect will it have on the South? We may have much to fear. Future events will show. This event has made us wild with excitement and speculation.

General Lee has returned. He came unattended, save by his staff—came without notice, and without parade; but he could not come unobserved; as soon as his approach was whispered, a crowd gathered in his path, not boisterously, but respectfully, and increasing rapidly as he advanced to his home on Franklin Street, between 8th and 9th, where, with a courtly bow to the multitude, he at once retired to the bosom of his beloved family. When I called in to see his high-minded and patriotic wife, a day or two after the evacuation, she was busily engaged in her invalid’s chair, and very cheerful and hopeful. “The end is not yet,” she said, as if to cheer those around her; “Richmond is not the Confederacy.” To this we all most willingly assented, and felt very much gratified and buoyed by her brightness. I have not had the heart to visit her since the surrender, but hear that she still is sanguine, saying that “General Lee is not the Confederacy,” and that there is “life in the old land yet.” He is not the Confederacy; but our hearts sink within us when we remember that he and his noble army are now idle, and that we can no longer look upon them as the bulwark of our land. He has returned from defeat and disaster with the universal and profound admiration of the world, having done all that skill and valour could accomplish. The scenes at the surrender were noble and touching. General Grant’s bearing was profoundly respectful; General Lee’s as courtly and lofty as the purest chivalry could require. The terms, so honourable to all parties, being complied with to the letter, our arms were laid down with breaking hearts, and tears such as stoutest warriors may shed. “Woe worth the day!”