26 July 1865, South Carolina

'Johnny [Chesnut] took the Yankee captain with him to Knights Hill. That ceremony is necessary when making a contract with plantation hands now. Johnny called, 'Joe'—'William'—'Milly'—

'But is that a lady?'

'What? She was a woman servant.' The lieutenant said, pointing carelessly toward the group of negroes.

'I did not fight for these. I fought for the Union.'

'And I fought to be out of your Union.'

Then said Johnny to me, 'Aunt Mary, after all, the Yankee was not half a bad fellow.'"

12 June 1865, South Carolina, the bushwhackers

"I have been ill since I wrote last. Serena's letter.* They have been visited by bushwhackers, the roughs that always follow in the wake of an army.

My sister Kate they forced back against the wall. She had Katie, the baby, in her arms, and Miller, the brave boy, clung to his mother, though he could do no more. They tried to force brandy down her throat. They knocked Mary down with the butt end of a pistol, and Serena they struck with an open hand, leaving the mark on her cheek for weeks. When they struck Mary, Serena seized the captain's arm. 'Do you let your men do that?' And she showed Mary's bleeding head. 'No, no,' he said, 'that's too bad. You keep all together, and I will get them away for tonight, and then you go off at once.' Which they did that night to the Kings—the next day to Greenville. It was too much. It made me ill."

*Serena Miller Williams was a niece of Mary Boykin Chesnut, daughter of MBC's younger sister Catherine "Kate" Miller and David Rogerson Williams II. In June 1865, Serena was sixteen years old.

4 June 1865, South Carolina, coming & going & coming again

"The black ball is in motion. Mrs DeSaussure's cook shook the dust off her feet and departed from her kitchen today, free, she said. The washerwoman packing to go.
Scipio Africanus, the colonel's body servant, is a soldierly looking black creature to delight the eyes of old Frederick William, who liked them giants. We asked him how the Yankees came to leave him.
'Oh, I told them Marster couldn't do without me nohow, and then I carried them some nice hams that they never could have found, they were hid so good.'
Eben* dressed himself in his best and went at a run to meet his Yankee deliverers, so he said. At the gate he met a squad coming in. He had adorned himself with his watch and a chain, like the cordage of a ship, with a handful of gaudy seals. He knew the Yankees came to rob white people, but he thought they came to save niggers.
'Hand over that watch!' Minus his fine watch and chain, Eben returned a sadder and wiser man. He was soon in his shirtsleeves, whistling at his knife board.
'Why? You here? Why did you come back so soon?'
'Well, I thought maybe better stay with ole Marster that give me the watch and not go with them that stole it.'
The watch was the pride of his life. The iron had entered his soul."

*Chesnut slave butler

June 1865, in the aftermath

Ruins of Millwood Plantation, Columbia, South Carolina
(family home of Wade Hampton II, father of Gen. Wade Hampton III)
destroyed by fire during Sherman's occupation in February 1865

"New York Herald today quotes General Sherman, who says, 'Columbia was burnt by Hampton's sheer stupidity.' But then, who burnt everything before they got to Columbia and after the Sherman army left it? We came down, for three days' travel, on a road laid bare by Sherman's torches. There were nothing but smoking ruins left in Sherman's track. That I saw with my own eyes–no living thing left, no house left for man or beast. They who burnt the countryside for a belt of forty miles—did they not burn the town? Hampton's stupidity is an afterthought. This Herald announces that Jeff Davis will be hung at once—not so much for treason as for his assassination of Lincoln. 'Stanton,' the Herald says, 'has all the papers in his hands to convict him.'
The Yankees here say: 'The black man must go—as the red man has gone. This is a white man's country.'
The negroes want to run with the hare but hunt with the hounds. They are charming in their profession to us but declare that they are to be paid in lands and mules for having been slaves—by those blessed Yankees.
'They were so faithful to us—why should the Yankees reward them?'
'It would be by way of punishing the rebels only.'"

7 May 1865, 'Mulberry,' South Carolina

"Mrs Bartow drove with me to our house at Mulberry. On one side of the house every window was broken, every bell torn down, every piece of furniture destroyed, every door smashed in. The other side intact.
Maria Whitaker and her mother, who had been left in charge, explained this odd state of things.
'They were busy as beavers. They were working like regular carpenters, destroying everything, when the general came in. He said it was a shame, and he stopped them. Said it was a sin to destroy a fine old house like that whose owner was over ninety years old. He would not have done it for the world. It was wanton mischief.' He told Maria soldiers at such times were so excited, so wild and unruly.
They carried off sacks of our books. Unfortunately there were a pile of empty sacks lying in the garret. Our books, our papers, our letters, were strewed along the Charleston road. Somebody said they found some of them as far away as Vance's Ferry.
This was Potter's raid.* Sherman took only our horses. Potter's raid, which was after Johnston's surrender, ruined us finally, burning our mills and gins and a hundred bales of cotton. Indeed nothing is left now but the bare land and debts made for the support of these hundreds of negroes during the war."

*A Federal expeditionary force under Brig. Gen. Edward E. Potter spent three weeks in April 1865 destroying Confederate supplies and railroad lines around Camden, South Carolina.

April 1865, in the aftermath

"Mrs Huger says, 'In Richmond a too grateful and affectionate, fat, greasy negro barber threw his arms around a Yankee general and hugged in a close embrace. The Yankee freed himself and shot him dead.'"

April 1865, Chester, South Carolina

"We are going to stay. 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."

16 February 1865, Lincolnton, North Carolina, "those last days"

"My ideas of those last days are confused.
The Martins left Columbia the Friday before I did. And their mammy, the negro woman who had nursed them, refused to go with them. That daunted me. Then Mrs McCord, who was to send her girls with me, changed her mind. She sent them upstairs in her house—and actually took away the staircase—that was her plan.
Then I met Mr Christopher Hampton arranging to take off his sisters. They were flitting—but only as far as Yorkville. He said it was time to move on. Sherman at Orangeburg was barely a day's journey from Columbia, and that he left a track as bare and blackened as a fire in the prairies.
So my time had come, too. My husband urged me to go home. He said Camden would be safe enough. They had no spite to that old town—as they have to Charleston and Columbia. Molly, weeping and wailing, came in while we were at table, wiping her red-hot face with her cook's grimy apron. She said I ought to go among our own black people on the plantation. They would take care of me better than anyone else. So I agreed to go to Mulberry or the Hermitage plantation and sent Laurence with a wagon load of my valuables.
Then a Miss Patterson called—a refugee from Tennessee. She had been in a country overrun by Yankee invaders—and she described so graphically all the horrors to be endured by those subjected to fire and sword and rapine and plunder that I was fairly scared and determined to come here. This is a thoroughly out-of-all-routes place. And yet I can go to Charlotte. I am halfway to Kate at Flat Rock. And there is no Federal army between me and Richmond."

January 1865, Columbia, South Carolina

"Yesterday I broke down—gave way to abject terror. The news of Sherman's advance—and no news of my husband. Today—wrapped up on the sofa—too dismal for moaning, even. There was a loud knock. Shawls and all, I rushed to the door. Telegram from my husband.
'All well—be at home on Tuesday.' It was dated from Adams Run.*
I felt as lighthearted as if the war were over.
Then I looked at the date—Adams Run. It ends as it began. Bulls Run—from which their first sprightly running astounded the world. Now if we run—who are to run? They ran full-handed. We have fought until maimed soldiers and women and children are all that is left to run."

*A point on the Charleston and Savannah Railroad about fifty miles west of Charleston.

10 August 1864

"Misery upon misery.
Mobile going as New Orleans went.* Those western men have not held their towns as we have held and hold Charleston, or as the Virginians hold Richmond. And they call us frill-shirt, silk-stocking chivalry, a set of dandy Miss Nancys. They fight desperately in their bloody street brawls. We bear privation and discipline best. Brag is a good dog. Holdfast, a better."

*Victories by U.S. Admiral David Farragut preceded the fall of both New Orleans and Mobile. At the battle of Mobile Bay on August 5, Farragut steamed past Confederate shore batteries to enable Union troops to besiege forts protecting the city.

May 1864, prisoners and mortality

"John Boykin died in a Yankee prison. He had on a heavy flannel shirt. They were lying on an open platform car, on their way to their cold prison on the lakes. A Federal soldier wanted this shirt. Prisoners have no right, so John had to strip it off and hand it to him. So that was his death. In two days he was dead of pneumonia. Maybe frozen to death.
One man said, 'They are taking us there to freeze.' But then their men will find our hot sun in August and July as deadly as their cold Decembers &c&c are to us. Their snow and ice finish our prisoners at a rapid rate, they say. Napoleon's soldiers found out all that in the Russian campaign."

June 1862, Gen. Winfield Scott (ret.) weighs in

"General Scott on Southern soldiers. He says we have élan, courage, woodcraft, consummate horsemanship, endurance of pain equal to the Indians, but that we will not submit to discipline. We will not take care of things or husband our resources. Where we are, there is waste and destruction. If it could all be done by one wild desperate dash, we would do it. But he does not think we can stand the long blank months between the acts—waiting! We can bear pain without a murmur, but we will not submit to be bored, &c&c&c.
Now for the other side. They can wait. They can bear discipline. They can endure forever—losses in battle nothing to them, resources in men and materials of war inexhaustible. And if they see fit they will fight to the bitter end.
Nice prospect for us—as comforting for us as the old man's croak at Mulberry, 'Bad times, worse coming.'
Old Mr Chesnut says, 'We could not have kept slavery here a day, but the powerful government of the U.S.A. protected it for us.'"

18 August 1861, the subject of desertion

"Two Yankee officers who fought or figured at Manassas have since deserted and come over to us.
I can understand how deserters should be detestable, come they from East or West, North or South.
They, the deserters, are going into our army. General Walker* said, 'If I had a brother killed at Manassas, I could shoot down these two man at sight.'
Mr [Robert Woodward] Barnwell gave that little twittering, nervous laugh of his.
'And then you'd be hanged.'
'Never. Twenty thousand Georgians are here. They would create a counter-revolution before they would permit a hair of my head to be touched.'
Mr Barnwell repeated his offensive little laugh.
'Then you would be hanged. You ought to be hanged if you commit murder.'

This he fired off at regular intervals, and Shot-Pouch Walker literally raved.
'No, no. My Georgians would know the reason why, &c&c.'
Mr Barnwell grew very quiet but continued his fatuous smile and to the last stuck to his original proposition.
'You'd be hanged.'
This made me wretched. Mr Barnwell was right, but why would he say it anymore?
I was so uncomfortable—as soon as silence prevailed, I left the table. I made a good deal of commotion in leaving the table, on purpose—dropped things to be picked up: fan, handkerchief—all to divert them from their madness or folly. And a man is always in such a faze about his dignity—what is due his own self-respect, &c&c&c, and so contemptuous of feminine folly!"

*Brigadier General William Henry Talbot Walker of Georgia received extensive gunshot wounds in both the Seminole and Mexican wars. Each time, doctors held out no hope of recovery. He was subsequently given the nickname "Shot-Pouch."

July 1861

"The [New York Daily] Tribune soothes the Yankee self-conceit, which has received a shock—the national vanity, you know—by saying we had 100,000 men on the field at Manassas. We had about 15,000 effective men in all.
And then the Tribune tries to inflame and envenom them against us by telling lies as to our treatment of prisoners.
They say when they come against us next, it will be in overwhelming force."

28 June 1861, Jefferson Davis

"In Mrs [Jefferson] Davis's drawing room last night, the president took a seat beside me on the sofa where I sat. He talked for nearly an hour. He laughed at our faith in our own powers. We are like the British. We think every Southerner equal to three Yankees at least. We will have to be equivalent to a dozen now. After his experience of the fighting qualities of Southerners in Mexico, he believes that we will do all that can be done by pluck and muscle, endurance, and dogged courage—dash and red-hot patriotism, &c. 

Jefferson Finis Davis
(c. 1808-1889)
President of the Confederate States of America, 1861-1865

And yet his tone was not sanguine. There was a sad refrain running through it all. For one thing, either way, he thinks it will be a long war. That floored me at once. It has been too long for me already. Then said: before the end came, we would have many a bitter experience. He said only fools doubted the courage of the Yankees or their willingness to fight when they saw fit. And now we have stung their pride—we have roused them till they will fight like devils."