26 February 1865, Lincolnton, North Carolina

"I am bodily comfortable, if somewhat dingily lodged, and I daily part with my raiment for food. We find no one who will exchange eatables for Confederate money. So we are devouring our clothes."

25 February 1865, regarding slavery

"Mrs Johnston said she would never own slaves.

'I might say the same thing. I never would. Mr Chesnut does, but he hates slavery, especially African slavery.'

'What do you mean by African?'

'To distinguish that form from the inevitable slavery of the world. All married women, all children, and girls who live in their father's houses are slaves.'"

February 1865, Charleston. Wilmington. Columbia.

Ruins in Columbia, South Carolina, 1865
albumen silver print

"Charleston and Wilmington—surrendered. I have no further use for a newspaper. I never want to see one as long as I live.
Wade Hampton lieutenant general—too late. If he had been Lieutenant general and given the command in South Carolina six months ago, I believe he would have saved us. Achilles was sulking in his tent—at such a time!
Shame, disgrace, beggary—all at once. Hard to bear.
Grand smash—
Rain—rain outside—inside naught but drowning floods of tears.
I could not bear it, so I rushed down in that rainstorm to the Martins. He met me at the door.
'Madame, Columbia is burned to the ground.'
I bowed my head and sobbed aloud.
'Stop that,' he said, trying to speak cheerfully. 'Come here, wife. This woman cries with her whole heart—just as she laughs.' But in spite of his words, his voice broke down—he was hardly calmer than myself."

23 February 1865, Lincolnton, North Carolina, The mercurial General Johnston

Gen. Joseph E. Johnston
(1807-1891)

"...Isabella [Martin] and I were taking a walk. General Joseph E. Johnston joined us. He explained to us all of Lee and Stonewall Jackson's mistakes. He was radiant and joyful. We had nothing to say. How could we? He always impresses me with the feeling that all his sympathies are on the other side. Still, he was neither gruff nor rude today—as he can be when he chooses. He said he was very angry to be ordered to take command again. He might well be in a genuine rage. This on-and-offing is enough to bewilder the coolest head."

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, "Sam" Hood returns

Lt. Gen. John Bell "Sam" Hood
(1831-1879)

" [John Bell] Hood came yesterday. He is staying at the Prestons' with Jack. They sent for us.
What a heart-full greeting he gave us! He can stand well enough without his crutch, but he does very slow walking. How plainly he spoke out these dreadful words: 'My defeat and discomfiture'—'My army is destroyed'—'My losses'—&c&c. He said he had nobody to blame but himself."

January 1865

"... And she picked up her last parcel—and as I followed her and stood at the gate, I cried:

'Stonewall—and Albert Sydney Johnston—death guards their fame. Thank God. They are safe in their graves.'"

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.

November 1864, Columbia, South Carolina

"A thousand dollars has slipped through my fingers already this week. At the commissaries I spent five hundred today for sugar, candles, a lamp, &c. Tallow candles are bad enough, but of them there seems to be an end, too. Now we are restricted to smoky terebene lamps—terrabene is a preparation of turpentine. When the chimney of the lamp cracks, as crack it will, we plaster up the place with paper, thick letter paper, preferring the highly glazed kind. In that hunt queer old letters come to light.
No wonder Mr Peterkin said our provisions could be carried in a porte-monnaie, and our money to buy them required a market basket to hold it. If you could see the pitiful little bundles this five hundred dollars bought. . . ."

October 1864, tragedy at Petersburg

"Preston Hampton rode recklessly into the hottest fire.* His father [Cavalry Lt. Gen. Wade Hampton III] sent his brother Wade [IV] to bring him back. Wade saw him reel in the saddle and galloped up to him. General Hampton followed. As young Wade reached him, Preston fell from his horse. And as he stooped to raise him was himself shot down. Preston recognized his father but died without speaking a word. Young Wade, though wounded, held his brother's head up. Tom Taylor and others hurried up. The general took his dead son in his arms, kissed him, and handed his body to Tom Taylor and his friends—made them take care of Wade—and then rode back to his post. At the head of his troops in the thickest of the fray he directed the fight for the rest of the day. Until night he did not know young Wade's fate. He might be dead, too.
Now he says no son of his must be in his command. When Wade recovers he must join some other division.
The agony of that day—and the anxiety and the duties of the battlefield—it is all more than a mere man can bear. ...
Preston was not yet twenty."

*On October 27, Hampton's cavalry prevented Federal troops from flanking the Confederate defenses at Petersburg and severing Richmond's southern lines of communication.