May 17, 1865

May 19, 1865

"May 14 - Sunday . . . the family all well and we still have a little to eat. It is said there are more Yankees coming this way. It may be so. I did not get to [church] meeting. I now think I will put away some more corn. If the Yanks should come they will take all I have. If I hide it they may not find it, but if they do I will be no worse off than if I leave it in the crib. . . . What a country we have at the present time! We have nothing that we can call our own. The vile Yankees take everything they please and go where they please. We are a powerless people, but by no means a conquered people. I have lost of yet gaining our independence. . . . "

Source: Franklin Garrett, Atlanta and Environs: A Chronicle of its People and Events (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1954), Vol. I, p. 677.

"Mr. Knowles, our circuit preacher, came. I like him. We agree upon a good many contested topics. He loves the old flag as well as myself and would be glad to see it floating where it ever has.

I had a long conversation with my man Elbert to-day about freedom, and told him I was perfectly willing, but wanted direction. He says the Yankees told Major Lee's servants they were all free, but they had better remain where they were until it was all settled, as it would be in a month's time. We heard so many conflicting rumors we know not what to do, but are willing to carry out the orders when we know them."

Source: A Woman's Wartime Journal: an Account of the Passage over a Georgia Plantation of Sherman's Army on the March to the Sea, as recorded in the Diary of Dolly Sumner Lunt (Mrs. Thomas Burge)

"...On my way to church I had a striking illustration of the difference between our old friends and our new masters. The streets were thronged with rebel soldiers, and in one part of my walk, I had to pass where a large number of them were gathered on the pavement, some sitting, some standing, some lying down, but as soon as I appeared, the way was instantly cleared for me, the men standing like a wall, on either side, with hats off, until I had passed. A little farther on I came to a group of Yankees and negroes that filled up the sidewalk, but not one of them budged, and I had to flank them by going out into the dusty road. It is the first time in my life that I have ever had to give up the sidewalk to a man, much less to negroes! I was so indignant that I did not carry a devotional spirit to church.

The Yankees have pressed five of father's negro men to work for them. They even took old Uncle Watson, whom father himself never calls on to do anything except the lightest work about the place, and that only when he feels like it. They are very capricious in their treatment of negroes, as is usually the case with upstarts who are not used to heaving servants of their own. Sometimes they whip them and send them back to their masters, and last week, Lot Abraham sent three of his white men to jail for tampering with "slaves," as they call them. This morning, however, they sent off several wagon-loads of runaways, and it is reported that Harrison and Alfred, two of father's men, have gone with them. People are making no effort to detain their negroes now, for they have found out that they are free, and our power over them is gone. Our own servants have behaved very well thus far. The house servants have every one remained with us, and three out of five plantation hands whom the Yankees captured in Alabama, ran away from them and came back home. Caesar Ann, Cora's nurse, went off to Augusta this morning, professedly to see her husband, who she says is sick, but we all think, in reality, to try the sweets of freedom. Cora and Henry made no effort to keep her, but merely warned her that if she once went over to the Yankees, she could never come back to them any more. Mother will have to give up one of her maids to nurse Maud, but I suppose it is a mere question of time when we shall have to give them all up anyway, so it doesn't matter. ... "

Source: Eliza Frances Andrews, The War-Time Journal of a Georgia Girl, 1864-1865 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1908), pp. 251-253.

"Harry Day returned from Augusta, bringing frightful accounts of what the taxes, proscriptions, and confiscations are going to be. Father says that if a man were to sit down and write a programme for reducing a country to the very worst condition it could possibly be in, his imagination could not invent anything half so bad as the misery that is likely to come upon us. The cities and towns are already becoming overcrowded with runaway negroes. In Augusta they are clamoring for food, which the Yankees refuse to give, and their masters, having once been deserted by them, refuse to take them back.Even in our little town the streets are so full of idle negroes and bluecoats that ladies scarcely ever venture out. We are obliged to go sometimes, but it is always with drooping heads and downcast eyes. A settled gloom, deep and heavy, hangs over the whole land. All hearts are in mourning for the fall of our country, and all minds rebellious against the wrongs and oppression to which our cruel conquerors subject us. I don't believe this war is over yet. The Trans-Mississippi bubble has burst, but wait till the tyranny and arrogance of the United States engages them in a foreign war! Ah, we'll bide our time. That's what all the men say, and their eyes glow and their cheeks burn when they say it. Though the whole world has deserted us and left us to perish without even a pitying sigh at our miserable doom, and we hate the whole world for its cruelty, yet we hate the Yankees more, and they will find the South a volcano ready to burst beneath their feet whenever the justice of heaven hurls a thunderbolt at their heads. We are overwhelmed, overpowered, and trodden underfoot... but "immortal hate and study of revenge" lives, in the soul of every man....

Mrs. Alfred Cumming, whose husband was Governor of Utah before the war, came to see us this morning. She tried to go to Clarkesville, but found the country so infested with robbers and bushwhackers and "Kirke's Lambs," that she dared not venture three miles beyond Athens. The Yankees have committed such depredations there that the whole country is destitute and the people desperate. The poor are clamoring for bread, and many of them have taken to "bushwhacking" as their only means of living. Mrs. Cumming traveled from Union Point to Barnett in the same car with Mr. Stephens. The Yankee guard suffered him to stop an hour at Crawfordville [his home], in order to collect some of his clothing. As soon as his arrival became known, the people flocked to see him, weeping and wringing their hands. All his negroes went out to see him off, and many others from the surrounding plantations. Mrs. Cumming says that as the train moved off, all along the platform, honest black hands of every shape and size were thrust in at the window, with cries of "Good-by, Mr. Stephens;" "Far'well, Marse Aleck." All the spectators were moved to tears; the vice-president himself gave way to an outburst of affectionate - not cowardly grief, and even his Yankee guard looked serious while this affecting scene passed before their eyes."

Source: Eliza Frances Andrews, The War-Time Journal of a Georgia Girl, 1864-1865 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1908), pp. 253-255.

"...The news this evening is that we have all got to take the oath of allegiance before getting married. This horrid law caused much talk in our rebellious circle, and the gentlemen laughed very much when Cora said:

"Talk about dying for your country, but what is that to being an old maid for it?"

The chief thought of our men now is how to embroil the United States either in foreign or internal commotions, so that we can rebel again. They all say that if the Yankees had given us any sort of tolerable terms they would submit quietly, though unwillingly, to the inevitable; but if they carry out the abominable programme of which flying rumors reach us, extermination itself will be better than submission. Garnett says that if it comes to the worst, he can turn bushwhacker, and we all came to the conclusion that if this kind of peace continues, bushwhacking will be the most respectable occupation in which a man can engage. Mr. Morgan said, with a lugubrious smile, that his most ambitious hope now is to get himself hanged as quickly as possible. "

Source: Eliza Frances Andrews, The War-Time Journal of a Georgia Girl, 1864-1865 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1908), pp. 255-256.

". . . Coming home from church, I saw Major Sibley. He told me that Jeff Davis had been captured in Early County [actually Irwin County] on his way to Florida. Mr. Thomas and I were resting after dinner when Patsey came running in in great excitement, telling us that a fight was expected down the street that if anyone wished to go down town they must go on Broad instead of Greene St, that Jeff Davis was in town and a large crowd had gathered. Jeff Davis in Augusta and a prisoner. This was indeed the crowning point, the climax of our downfall. I buried my face on the pillow and wept bitterly. . . . Sunday night after Jeff Davis passed through we were seated in the piazzi. Tea being announced to be ready Mr Thomas called Jeff [their son] , and added 'Come Jeff Davis, we will give you that name. It is all we can do in honor of Davis.' 'Very well,' said I 'it may be so since you propose it.' This addition to his name was given under almost as solemn circumstances as he received the name of Jeff Thomas. I jestingly remarked that it might hereafter retard his political career. . . ."

Source: Virginia Ingraham Burr (ed.), The Secret Eye: The Journal of Ella Gertrude Clanton Thomas, 1848-1889 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1990), pp. 268-269.

"Cora has a letter from Mattie [her sister] giving a very pathetic account of the passage of the prisoners through Augusta. She says that Telfair St. was thronged with ladies, all weeping bitterly, as the mournful procession passed on, and that even the President's Yankee guard seemed touched by the exhibition of grief. The more sensitive may have shut themselves up, as Mr. Day said, but I am glad some were there to testify that the feeling of the South is still with our fallen President and to shame with their tears the insulting cries of his persecutors. ...

Johnston's army has nearly all gone. The last large body of troops has passed through, and in a few weeks even the stragglers and hangers-on will have disappeared. There have been no camp fires in our grove since Sunday, but five of the dear old Rebs are sleeping in our corn-crib to-night. They said they were too dirty to come into the house, and they are so considerate that they would not even sleep in an out-house without asking permission. Hundreds, if not thousands of them have camped in our grove, and the only damage they ever did - if that can be called a damage, - was to burn a few fence rails. In the whole history of war I don't believe another instance can be found of so little mischief being committed as has been done by these disbanded, disorganized, poverty-stricken, starving men of Lee's and Johnston's armies. Against the thousands and tens of thousands that have passed through Washington, the worst that can be charged is the plundering of the treasury and the government stores, and as they would have gone to the Yankees anyway, our men can hardly be blamed for taking whatever they could get, rather than let it go to the enemy. They were on their way to far-distant homes, without a cent of money in their pockets or a mouthful of food in their haversacks, and the Confederate stores had been collected for the use of our army, and were theirs by right, anyway. They have hardly ever troubled private property, except horses and provender, and when we think of the desperate situation in which they were left after the surrender, the only wonder is that greater depredations were not committed. ...

I was greatly touched the other day by the history of a little boy, not much bigger than Marshall, whom I found in the back yard with a party of soldiers that had come in to get their rations cooked. Metta first noticed him and asked how such a little fellow came to be in the army. The soldiers told us that his father had gone to the war with the first volunteers from their county, and had never been heard of again, after one of the great battles he was in. Then the mother died, and the little boy followed a party of recruits who took him along with them for a "powder monkey," and he had been following them around, a sort of child of the regiment, ever since. I asked him what he was going to do now, and he answered: "I am going to Alabama with these soldiers, to try and make a living for myself." Poor little fellow! making a living for himself at an age when most children are carefully tucked in their beds at night by their mothers, and are playing with toys or sent to school in the daytime. Metta gave him a piece of sorghum cake, and left him with his friends. "

Source: Eliza Frances Andrews, The War-Time Journal of a Georgia Girl, 1864-1865 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1908), pp. 256-260.

"John E. and James H. C., came home from Atlanta. Got their paroles. . . . John E. brought today's paper. From it we are back in the Union, but how I do not know and do not much care. I look for nothing but hard times for the balance of my life. What will become of my family it is hard to say. I had hoped for better things, but hoped in vain, so I will try and put up with my lot as best I can. I have no heart to do anything. All is dark and gloomy. I could weep, but that would do no good, so I will stop writing on this painful subject."

Source: Franklin Garrett, Atlanta and Environs: A Chronicle of Its people and Events (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1954), Vol. I, pp. 677-78.

"...We had just finished eating and got into our wrappers when two rebel horsemen came galloping up the avenue with news that a large body of Yankee cavalry was advancing down the Greensborough road, plundering the country as they passed. We hastily threw on our clothes and were busy concealing valuables for father, when the tramping of horses and shouting of the men reached our ears. Then they began to pass by our street gate, with two of their detestable old flags flaunting in the breeze. I ran for Garnett's field-glass and watched them through it. Nearly all of them had bags of plunder tied to their saddles, and many rode horses which were afterwards recognized as belonging to different planters in the county. I saw one rascal with a ruffled pillowcase full of stolen goods, tied to his saddle, and some of them had women's drawers tied up at the bottom ends, filled with plunder and slung astride their horses. There was a regiment of negroes with them, and they halted right in front of our gate. Think of it! Bringing armed negroes here to threaten and insult us! We were so furious that we shook our fists and spit at them from behind the window where we were sitting. It may have been childish, but it relieved our feelings. None of them came within the enclosure, but the officers pranced about before the gate until I felt as if I would like to take a shot at them myself, if I had had a gun, and known how to use it. They are camped for the night on the outskirts of the town, and everybody expects to be robbed before morning. Father loaded his two guns, and after the servants had been dismissed, we hid the silver in the hollow by the chimney up in the big garret, and father says it shall not be brought out again till the country becomes more settled. A furious storm came up just at sunset, and I hope it will confine the mongrel crew to their tents."

Source: Eliza Frances Andrews, The War-Time Journal of a Georgia Girl, 1864-1865 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1908), pp. 261-262.

"...I can write but a line. Until a few minutes ago I expected to have written a long letter, but will not have time. Letters could not be sent South by paroled prisoners, wherefore I could only send messages to my friends.
Expecting daily until the fall of Richmond to be forwarded for exchange I did not write by mail, and since that time there has been no mail by Flag of Truce. A friend who leaves today by special arrangement has promised that he will deliver letters for me, and I accordingly write.
I desire to reiterate my oft declared attachment and to assure you that painful separation has effected no change whatever in my feelings. For years you have been first in my regard and the constant object of my thoughts.
Heaven grant that I may soon see you! Rest assured that I will do so as soon as I can do so with honour. ..."

Source: Anita B. Sams (ed.), With Unabated Trust: Major Henry McDaniel's Love Letters from Confederate Battlefields as Treasured in Hester McDaniel's Bonnet Box (The Historical Society of Walton County, Inc., 1977), p. 220.

"The storm lasted nearly all night, and there were no plunderers abroad. It is some advantage to live at a military post when the commandant is a man like Capt. Abraham, who, from all accounts, seems to try to do the best for us that he knows how. Our men say that he not only listens, but attends to the complaints that are carried to him by white people as carefully as to those brought by negroes. The other day a Yankee soldier fired into our back porch and came near killing one of the servants. I saw a batch of them in the back garden, where the shot came from, and sent Henry to speak to them, but they swore they had not been shooting. Henry knew it was a lie, so he went and complained to "Marse Lots" who said that such molestation of private families should be stopped at once, and we have not heard a gun fired on our premises since. It is a pretty pass, though, when a gentleman can't defend his own grounds, but has to cringe and ask protection from a Yankee master.

Somebody has been writing in the "Chronicle & Sentinel" accusing our armies of dissolving themselves into bands of marauders. I am surprised that any Southern paper should publish such a slander. Of course, it is not to be expected that under the circumstances, some disorders would not occur, but the wonder is there have been so few. I have witnessed the breaking up of three Confederate armies; Lee's and Johnston's have already passed through Washington, and Gen. Dick Taylor's is now in transit, but all these thousands upon thousands of disbanded, disorganized, disinherited Southerners have not committed one-twentieth part of the damage to private property that was committed by the first small squad of Yankee cavalry that passed through our county. We are beginning to hear from all quarters of the depredations committed by the regiments, with their negro followers, that came through town yesterday. Their conduct so exasperated the people that they were bushwhacked near Greensborough, and several of their men wounded. They then forced the planters to furnish horses and vehicles for their transportation. Henry says that one of their own officers was heard to remark on the square, that after the way in which they had behaved he could not blame the people for attacking them. When they bring negro troops among us it is enough to make every man in the Confederacy turn bushwhacker."

Source: Eliza Frances Andrews, The War-Time Journal of a Georgia Girl, 1864-1865 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1908), pp. 262-264.

"Harry Day took his departure this morning. He seems to have enjoyed his visit greatly, though I am afraid any pleasure he may have got out of it was due more to the good company we have in the house than to the merits of our housekeeping; our larder is about down to a starvation basis....

Capt. Hudson and Mrs. Alfred Cumming called after breakfast, and while we were in the parlor with them, a servant came in bringing a present of a pet lamb for Marsh from Mrs. Ben Jordan. Father laughed and said it was like sending a lamb among hungry wolves, to place it in this famished household, and Henry suggested that we make a general massacre of pets. "

Source: Eliza Frances Andrews, The War-Time Journal of a Georgia Girl, 1864-1865 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1908), p. 264.