November 21, 1864.

We had the table laid this morning, but no bread or butter or milk. What a prospect for delicacies! My house is a perfect fright. I had brought in Saturday night some thirty bushels of potatoes and ten or fifteen bushels of wheat poured down on the carpet in the ell. Then the few gallons of syrup saved was daubed all about. The backbone of a hog that I had killed on Friday, and which the Yankees did not take when they cleaned out my smokehouse, I found and hid under my bed, and this is all the meat I have.

Major Lee came down this evening, having heard that I was burned out, to proffer me a home. Mr. Dorsett was with him. The army lost some of their beeves in passing. I sent to-day and had some driven into my lot, and then sent to Judge Glass to come over and get some. Had two killed. Some of Wheeler’s men came in, and I asked them to shoot the cattle, which they did.

About ten o’clock this morning Mr. Joe Perry [Mrs. Laura’s husband] called. I was so glad to see him that I could scarcely forbear embracing him. I could not keep from crying, for I was sure the Yankees had executed him, and I felt so much for his poor wife. The soldiers told me repeatedly Saturday that they had hung him and his brother James and George Guise. They had a narrow escape, however, and only got away by knowing the country so much better than the soldiers did. They lay out until this morning. How rejoiced I am for his family! All of his negroes are gone, save one man that had a wife here at my plantation. They are very strong Secesh [Secessionists]. When the army first came along they offered a guard for the house, but Mrs. Laura told them she was guarded by a Higher Power, and did not thank them to do it. She says that she could think of nothing else all day when the army was passing but of the devil and his hosts. She had, however, to call for a guard before night or the soldiers would have taken everything she had.

Near Clinton, November 20, 1864.

Struck out foraging before daylight this morning. Almost any house on the road to-day would furnish pork and potatoes enough for a brigade. I got to the regiment about 8 p.m. last night. They say our brigade marched until 3 a.m., and the reveille sounded before the men got through supper. We passed over the scene of Stoneman’s fighting and surrender last August. Some of our men found two of our dead soldiers unburied, which don’t speak well for the Rebels, and is charged against them. I think there is less pillaging this trip than I ever saw before.

Sunday, 20th–It is still raining and the roads have become so muddy that it is impossible for the artillery to keep up with the infantry. There are some well-improved plantations along the way which have had good crops this season and we find plenty of sweet potatoes and fresh pork. We are on short rations now and therefore have to forage a great deal. We also find enough forage for the horses and mules in the command.

November 20th, Sunday.–Rained all night–raining this morning A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, 18th, at Forsyth, Ga., says: “The enemy rapidly advancing.”

It is said Gov. Brown has called out the men en masse. I think Sherman is in danger. Mr. Foote made what is called “a compromise speech” in Congress yesterday. But although there is vacillation in the government, no compromise measures will be tolerated yet–if ever. Everything still depends upon events in the field. I think the government at Washington and the people of the United States are very weary of the war, and that peace of some sort must ensue. We shall be recognized by European powers upon the first symptoms of exhaustion in the United States; and there soon will be such symptoms, if we can only keep up a determined resistance.

Besides, the seizure of our cruiser Florida in a neutral port (Brazil) will furnish a pretext for a quarrel with the United States by the maritime powers.

I am amused by our fireside conversations at night. They relate mostly to the savory dishes we once enjoyed, and hope to enjoy again.

Gen. Butler’s speech in New York, suggesting that the rebels be allowed a last chance for submission, and failing to embrace it, that their lands be divided among the Northern soldiers, has a maddening effect upon our people.

November 15th. Nothing special just at this time. We enjoy our camp and this town. Hope we go into winter quarters and remain here for duty. The town and railroad must be protected. No bad winter weather so far. Regular duty is kept up from day to day. Picket, guard, drilling, cutting wood for camp. The health of our regiment, at this time, is good.

November 13th. Arrived in camp early this morning. Pleased with our trip to Connecticut. Happy that our regiment was selected. Again on duty. Hope to remain here during the coming winter. In camp in the Faulkner’s Woods, a good place.

November 11th. Had a very pleasant short visit at home. The regiment assembled this forenoon, soon in line, on the march through New Haven, to the railroad station. We received a great send off by the citizens of New Haven, cheering and wishing us good luck. Soon on board train bound for New York. Made good time. Marched through the city. All quiet. No toughs in sight. Mr. Lincoln’s election made things quiet. Crossed the Cortlandt Street ferry to Jersey City. Soon on board train, bound for Martinsburg, which we were anxious to reach.

20th. Sunday. Rest of regt. on picket. Wrote to Lizzie Cobb. Drew rations and ammunition.

November 20, 1864.

This is the blessed Sabbath, the day upon which He who came to bring peace and good will upon earth rose from His tomb and ascended to intercede for us poor fallen creatures. But how unlike this day to any that have preceded it in my once quiet home. I had watched all night, and the dawn found me watching for the moving of the soldiery that was encamped about us. Oh, how I dreaded those that were to pass, as I supposed they would straggle and complete the ruin that the others had commenced, for I had been repeatedly told that they would burn everything as they passed.

Some of my women had gathered up a chicken that the soldiers shot yesterday, and they cooked it with some yams for our breakfast, the guard complaining that we gave them no supper. They gave us some coffee, which I had to make in a tea-kettle, as every coffeepot is taken off. The rear-guard was commanded by Colonel Carlow, who changed our guard, leaving us one soldier while they were passing. They marched directly on, scarcely breaking ranks. Once a bucket of water was called for, but they drank without coming in.

About ten o’clock they had all passed save one, who came in and wanted coffee made, which was done, and he, too, went on. A few minutes elapsed, and two couriers riding rapidly passed back. Then, presently, more soldiers came by, and this ended the passing of Sherman’s army by my place, leaving me poorer by thirty thousand dollars than I was yesterday morning. And a much stronger Rebel!

After the excitement was a little over, I went up to Mrs. Laura’s to sympathize with her, for I had no doubt but that her husband was hanged. She thought so, and we could see no way for his escape. We all took a good cry together. While there, I saw smoke looming up in the direction of my home, and thought surely the fiends had done their work ere they left. I ran as fast as I could, but soon saw that the fire was below my home. It proved to be the gin house [cotton gin] belonging to Colonel Pitts.

My boys have not come home. I fear they cannot get away from the soldiers. Two of my cows came up this morning, but were driven off again by the Yankees.

I feel so thankful that I have not been burned out that I have tried to spend the remainder of the day as the Sabbath ought to be spent. Ate dinner out of the oven in Julia’s [the cook’s] house, some stew, no bread. She is boiling some corn. My poor servants feel so badly at losing what they have worked for; meat, the hog meat that they love better than anything else, is all gone.

Near Hillsboro, November 19, 1864.

Have been foraging to-day. Crossed the Ocmulgee at Ocmulgee Mills, on pontoons. This river is much like the Chattahoochie, but not so broad. I am lost from the division tonight and camped near the 2d Division. By the kindness of Mrs. Elizabeth Celia Pye, I occupy a feather bed to-night. It is the first house I have been in for the last three months. She understood from the Rebels that we burned all houses and she took all her things out and hid them in the woods. The foragers found them and brought them in to her. Had an excellent supper with the boys. This is a level, fine country, and has been well cultivated

Saturday, 19th–There was some rain last night and the roads today are very slippery, which as the country is so hilly, makes difficult marching. We marched fifteen miles and went into bivouac. Our division was in the rear of the Seventeenth Corps, the infantry marching at one side of the road so that the artillery and wagon trains could move together and all go into bivouac earlier and at the same time. The country is thickly settled. The citizens on the approach of our army left their homes and fled to Macon. We passed through Hillsboro at 10 a. m., and the town being deserted, many of the vacant houses were burned by our men. We heard the sound of cannon off to our right in the direction of Macon.

November 19th.–Rained all night, and still rains. All quiet below, save the occasional bomb thrown by our iron-clads.

Gen. and Hon. R. K. Wright, of Georgia, is said to have gone to Washington to negotiate a peace for Georgia.

A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, dated yesterday, 12 miles from Forsyth, says: “I think definite orders should be sent to officers in command here, as to the line of policy to be pursued–particularly as to defending Macon, Augusta, or Columbus. If not to be defended, government stores should be removed, on enemy’s approach, if possible. An officer should be sent to command everything, who knows the views, wishes, and plans of the government.” I think so too!

The papers think that Grant is about to try again to force his way into Richmond, as soon as the weather will permit.

We had a delicious treat of persimmons to-night–a quart bought for a dollar. They were delicious, and we enjoyed them hugely. Also a quart of apples, for which we paid a dollar.

19th. Saturday. Officer of the day. “C” Co. on picket in rear of camp. Wrote to Uncle Branch.

November 19, 1864.

Slept in my clothes last night, as I heard that the Yankees went to neighbor Montgomery’s on Thursday night at one o’clock, searched his house, drank his wine, and took his money and valuables. As we were not disturbed, I walked after breakfast, with Sadai, up to Mr. Joe Perry’s, my nearest neighbor, where the Yankees were yesterday. Saw Mrs. Laura [Perry] in the road surrounded by her children, seeming to be looking for some one. She said she was looking for her husband, that old Mrs. Perry had just sent her word that the Yankees went to James Perry’s the night before, plundered his house, and drove off all his stock, and that she must drive hers into the old fields. Before we we were done talking, up came Joe and Jim Perry from their hiding-place. Jim was very much excited. Happening to turn and look behind, as we stood there, I saw some blue-coats coming down the hill. Jim immediately raised his gun, swearing he would kill them anyhow.

“No, don’t!” said I, and ran home as fast as I could, with Sadai.

I could hear them cry, “Halt! Halt!” and their guns went off in quick succession. Oh God, the time of trial has come!

A man passed on his way to Covington. I halloed to him, asking him if he did not know the Yankees were coming.

“No—are they?”

“Yes,” said I; “they are not three hundred yards from here.”

“Sure enough,” said he. “Well, I’ll not go. I don’t want them to get my horse.” And although within hearing of their guns, he would stop and look for them. Blissful ignorance! Not knowing, not hearing, he has not suffered the suspense, the fear, that I have for the past forty-eight hours. I walked to the gate. There they came filing up.

I hastened back to my frightened servants and told them that they had better hide, and then went back to the gate to claim protection and a guard. But like demons they rush in! My yards are full. To my smoke-house, my dairy, pantry, kitchen, and cellar, like famished wolves they come, breaking locks and whatever is in their way. The thousand pounds of meat in my smoke-house is gone in a twinkling, my flour, my meat, my lard, butter, eggs, pickles of various kinds—both in vinegar and brine—wine, jars, and jugs are all gone. My eighteen fat turkeys, my hens, chickens, and fowls, my young pigs, are shot down in my yard and hunted as if they were rebels themselves. Utterly powerless I ran out and appealed to the guard.

“I cannot help you, Madam; it is orders.”

As I stood there, from my lot I saw driven, first, old Dutch, my dear old buggy horse, who has carried my beloved husband so many miles, and who would so quietly wait at the block for him to mount and dismount, and who at last drew him to his grave; then came old Mary, my brood mare, who for years had been too old and stiff for work, with her three-year-old colt, my two-year-old mule, and her last little baby colt. There they go! There go my mules, my sheep, and, worse than all, my boys [slaves]!

Alas! little did I think while trying to save my house from plunder and fire that they were forcing my boys from home at the point of the bayonet. One, Newton, jumped into bed in his cabin, and declared himself sick. Another crawled under the floor,—a lame boy he was,—but they pulled him out, placed him on a horse, and drove him off. Mid, poor Mid! The last I saw of him, a man had him going around the garden, looking, as I thought, for my sheep, as he was my shepherd. Jack came crying to me, the big tears coursing down his cheeks, saying they were making him go. I said:

“Stay in my room.”

But a man followed in, cursing him and threatening to shoot him if he did not go; so poor Jack had to yield. James Arnold, in trying to escape from a back window, was captured and marched off. Henry, too, was taken; I know not how or when, but probably when he and Bob went after the mules. I had not believed they would force from their homes the poor, doomed negroes, but such has been the fact here, cursing them and saying that “Jeff Davis wanted to put them in his army, but that they should not fight for him, but for the Union.” No! Indeed no! They are not friends to the slave. We have never made the poor, cowardly negro fight, and it is strange, passing strange, that the all-powerful Yankee nation with the whole world to back them, their ports open, their armies filled with soldiers from all nations, should at last take the poor negro to help them out against this little Confederacy which was to have been brought back into the Union in sixty days’ time!

My poor boys! My poor boys! What unknown trials are before you! How you have clung to your mistress and assisted her in every way you knew.

Never have I corrected them; a word was sufficient. Never have they known want of any kind. Their parents are with me, and how sadly they lament the loss of their boys. Their cabins are rifled of every valuable, the soldiers swearing that their Sunday clothes were the white people’s, and that they never had money to get such things as they had. Poor Frank’s chest was broken open, his money and tobacco taken. He has always been a moneymaking and saving boy; not infrequently has his crop brought him five hundred dollars and more. All of his clothes and Rachel’s clothes, which dear Lou gave her before her death and which she had packed away, were stolen from her. Ovens, skillets, coffee-mills, of which we had three, coffee-pots—not one have I left. Sifters all gone!

Seeing that the soldiers could not be restrained, the guard ordered me to have their [of the negroes] remaining possessions brought into my house, which I did, and they all, poor things, huddled together in my room, fearing every movement that the house would be burned.

A Captain Webber from Illinois came into my house. Of him I claimed protection from the vandals who were forcing themselves into my room. He said that he knew my brother Orrington [the late Orrington Lunt, a well-known early settler of Chicago]. At that name I could not restrain my feelings, but, bursting into tears, implored him to see my brother and let him know my destitution. I saw nothing before me but starvation. He promised to do this, and comforted me with the assurance that my dwelling-house would not be burned, though my out-buildings might. Poor little Sadai went crying to him as to a friend and told him that they had taken her doll, Nancy. He begged her to come and see him, and he would give her a fine waxen one. [The doll was found later in the yard of a neighbor, where a soldier had thrown it, and was returned to the little girl. Her children later played with it, and it is now the plaything of her granddaughter.]

He felt for me, and I give him and several others the character of gentlemen. I don’t believe they would have molested women and children had they had their own way. He seemed surprised that I had not laid away in my house, flour and other provisions. I did not suppose I could secure them there, more than where I usually kept them, for in last summer’s raid houses were thoroughly searched. In parting with him, I parted as with a friend.

Sherman himself and a greater portion of his army passed my house that day. All day, as the sad moments rolled on, were they passing not only in front of my house, but from behind; they tore down my garden palings, made a road through my back-yard and lot field, driving their stock and riding through, tearing down my fences and desolating my home—wantonly doing it when there was no necessity for it.

Such a day, if I live to the age of Methuselah, may God spare me from ever seeing again!

As night drew its sable curtains around us, the heavens from every point were lit up with flames from burning buildings. Dinnerless and supperless as we were, it was nothing in comparison with the fear of being driven out homeless to the dreary woods. Nothing to eat! I could give my guard no supper, so he left us. I appealed to another, asking him if he had wife, mother, or sister, and how he should feel were they in my situation. A colonel from Vermont left me two men, but they were Dutch, and I could not understand one word they said.

My Heavenly Father alone saved me from the destructive fire. My carriage-house had in it eight bales of cotton, with my carriage, buggy, and harness. On top of the cotton were some carded cotton rolls, a hundred pounds or more. These were thrown out of the blanket in which they were, and a large twist of the rolls taken and set on fire, and thrown into the boat of my carriage, which was close up to the cotton bales. Thanks to my God, the cotton only burned over, and then went out. Shall I ever forget the deliverance?

To-night, when the greater part of the army had passed, it came up very windy and cold. My room was full, nearly, with the negroes and their bedding. They were afraid to go out, for my women could not step out of the door without an insult from the Yankee soldiers. They lay down on the floor; Sadai got down and under the same cover with Sally, while I sat up all night, watching every moment for the flames to burst out from some of my buildings. The two guards came into my room and laid themselves by my fire for the night. I could not close my eyes, but kept walking to and fro, watching the fires in the distance and dreading the approaching day, which, I feared, as they had not all passed, would be but a continuation of horrors.

Springs, 40 miles from Macon,
November 18, 1864.

We got here at noon but will wait until to-morrow, I understand, for the 3d and 4th Divisions to lay a pontoon bridge across the Ocmulgee river. This has been a summer resort of some note. From 800 to 1,000 people congregate here. The spring is a little stream of water not larger than your finger, which runs from the rock at the rate of a gallon a minute. It is sulphur water with some other ingredient that gives it a very disagreeable ordor. This is quite a romantic place. Foraged some peach brandy, which was destroyed.

Friday, 18th–We were on the road by 8 o’clock and after marching ten miles, lay by until 10 p. m., when we were ordered to fall in again. After an hour’s march we came to the Ockmulgee river, which we crossed by pontoons at Ockmulgee Mills. The entire Seventeenth Corps came together again here and at 1 o’clock in the night we went into bivouac on the east side of the river. The Fifteenth Corps crossed the river by the same pontoon bridge. There is fine water power here and there are large mills. The country is very rough.

November 18th.–Bright, calm, and pleasant.

All quiet below, save our bombardment of Dutch Gap Canal.

The Senate passed a resolution yesterday, calling on the President for a statement of the number of exemptions granted by the Governors. This will, perhaps, startle Governor Smith, of Virginia, who has already kept out of the army at least a thousand.

Perhaps it will hit Governor Brown, of Georgia, also; but Sherman will hit him hardest. He must call out all his fighting people now, or see his State ravaged with impunity.

Both Houses of Congress sit most of the time in secret session, no doubt concocting strong measures under the influence of the existing crisis. Good news only can throw open the doors, and restore the hilarity of the members. When not in session, they usually denounce the President; in session, they are wholly subservient to him.

Hon. R. L. Montague has written to the Secretary of War, on behalf of the entire Virginia delegation, requesting a suspension of the impressment of slaves until further legislation by Congress; what that legislation will be, the President might tell, if he would.

A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, dated to-day, 12 miles from Forsyth, states that Sherman advances by the most direct route toward Macon, Ga. [continue reading…]

18th. Friday. Nettleton returned. Letters from home. God bless the good friends. Commissions for boys. 1st Lt. for me. Letter from Roxena.

November 18, 1864.

Slept very little last night. Went out doors several times and could see large fires like burning buildings. Am I not in the hands of a merciful God who has promised to take care of the widow and orphan?

Sent off two of my mules in the night. Mr. Ward and Frank [a slave] took them away and hid them. In the morning took a barrel of salt, which had cost me two hundred dollars, into one of the black women’s gardens, put a paper over it, and then on the top of that leached ashes. Fixed it on a board as a leach tub, daubing it with ashes [the old-fashioned way of making lye for soap]. Had some few pieces of meat taken from my smoke-house carried to the Old Place [a distant part of the plantation] and hidden under some fodder. Bid them hide the wagon and gear and then go on plowing. Went to packing up mine and Sadai’s clothes. I fear that we shall be homeless.

The boys came back and wished to hide their mules. They say that the Yankees camped at Mr. Gibson’s last night and are taking all the stock in the county. Seeing them so eager, I told them to do as they pleased. They took them off, and Elbert [the black coachman] took his forty fattening hogs to the Old Place Swamp and turned them in.

We have done nothing all day—that is, my people have not. I made a pair of pants for Jack [a slave]. Sent Nute [a slave] up to Mrs. Perry’s on an errand. On his way back, he said, two Yankees met him and begged him to go with them. They asked if we had livestock, and came up the road as far as Mrs. Laura Perry’s. I sat for an hour expecting them, but they must have gone back. Oh, how I trust I am safe! Mr. Ward is very much alarmed.

Near Jackson, Ga., November 17, 1864, 12 a.m.

Have just had our coffee. Marched some 17 miles to-day. Begin to see where the “rich planters” come in. This is probably the most gigantic pleasure excursion ever planned. It already beats everything I ever saw soldiering, and promises to prove much richer yet. I wish Sherman would burn the commissary trains, we have no use for what they carry, and the train only bothers us. It is most ludicrous to see the actions of the negro women as we pass. They seem to be half crazy with joy, and when a band strikes up they go stark mad. Our men are clear discouraged with foraging, they can’t carry half the hogs and potatoes they find right along the road. The men detailed for that purpose are finding lots of horses and mules. The 6th Iowa are plumb crazy on the horse question.

Thursday, 17th–We broke camp at 5 o’clock, marched eighteen miles, and went into bivouac for the night. Our regiment was train guard and the Sixteenth Iowa was rear guard of our brigade. We marched through some fine country today, and though heavily timbered, it is well improved. It is good country for foraging. We found plenty of fresh pork and all the sweet potatoes we could carry. The weather is delightful and there is no rebel in our front yet.

November 17th.–Dark and dismal–threatening rain or snow. Quiet below; but we have no papers to-day, yesterday being holiday.

It is rumored that Gen. Sheridan (Federal) is sailing from Washington to reinforce Grant, and that Gen. Early is marching hitherward from the Valley. There may be renewed operations against Richmond, or Grant may penetrate North Carolina. No one knows what will happen a month or a week hence.

Mr. Hunter was again with Mr. Seddon this morning.

Governor Smith’s exemption mill is yet grinding out exemptions, sometimes fifty per day. Constables, department clerks, and sheriffs, commonwealth’s attorneys, commissioners of the revenue, etc etc., who win his favor, get his certificate of exemption, as necessary for the State administration.

A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, Jonesborough, November 14th, says Sherman has three corps at Atlanta, and is destroying railroads between him and Marietta, probably intending to move forward–farther South.

Another dispatch from Gen. W., dated 14th inst., Lovejoy’s, Georgia, says scouts from enemy’s rear report that Sherman left Atlanta yesterday morning, with 15th, 17th, and 21st corps, in two columns, one on the Jonesborough, and one on the McDonough Roads–cavalry on his flanks. Many houses have been burned in Rome, Marietta, and Atlanta, and the railroad bridge over Chattanooga River (in his rear)! Enemy advancing this morning. To Gen. Bragg. [continue reading…]

17th. Thursday. Relieved by 18th P. V. Got into camp a little before dark.

November 17th.–Although Sherman[1] took Atlanta, he does not mean to stay there, be it heaven or hell. Fire and the sword are for us here; that is the word. And now I must begin my Columbia life anew and alone. It will be a short shrift.

Captain Ogden came to dinner on Sunday and in the afternoon asked me to go with him to the Presbyterian Church and hear Mr. Palmer. We went, and I felt very youthful, as the country people say; like a girl and her beau. Ogden took me into a pew and my husband sat afar off. What a sermon! The preacher stirred my blood. My very flesh crept and tingled. A red-hot glow of patriotism passed through me. Such a sermon must strengthen the hearts and the hands of many people. There was more exhortation to fight and die, à la Joshua, than meek Christianity.

[1] General Sherman had started from Chattanooga for his march across Georgia on May 6, 1864. He had won the battles of Dalton, Resaca, and New Hope Church in May, the battle of Kennesaw Mountain in June, the battles of Peach Tree Creek and Atlanta in July, and had formally occupied Atlanta on September 2d. On November 16th, he started on his march from Atlanta to the sea and entered Savannah on December 23d. Early in 1865 he moved his army northward through the Carolinas, and on April 26th received the surrender of General Joseph E. Johnston.