"It looks like a grand circus".

Monday, August 27, 1861

Well, for better or for worse, I have arrived. This place is called Camp Johnson at some other place called Lightwood Knot Springs, somewhat north of Columbia on the Charlotte and South Carolina Railroad.

Before leaving Beaufort, there were some affairs that needed to be settled. I leased my place to Reverend Walker, rector of St. Helena's Episcopal on nothing more than a handshake. He is an honorable man and I must face what is in front of me without having to worry about what is behind. What I owed to anyone has been paid and what little that was left over I put in my pocket. It is a small pocket.

I spent my last day preparing for this journey. I returned to Fyler's store for provisions and some  luxuries such as a pocket mirror and a few candles. I need not have bothered about provisions as there was a soiree that night in the ballroom of the old Verdier House for those of us who were going to Columbia. Not only was there dancing, music, food and drink, the latter of which I did not partake, each of us who were leaving was presented a package from the lady's Soldier's Relief Society.

The contents of each package varied depending on who assembled it. Unbeknowst to any of us, the ladies had selected by lot a name of a departing fellow and with loving and tender hands, purchased or made the contents of the package. All contained food. There were pies, cakes, biscuits, candies, jellies, relishes and other necessities which every soldier carries into battle, of course. Some packages contained more practical victuals such as salt pork, hardtack biscuits, beans, rice, dried fruit and the like.

There were also items of clothing in each package. Some received a shirt and some even two. There were some drawers and it was obvious which of the young ladies made them as there was much blushing. No one blushed at mine so I suspect they were not made by a young lady. There were also two pair of fine stockings in my package. Remembering my time in Mexico, I know they will be valued. Inside each package was a small flask of spirits with a note advising that the contents should only be consumed when necessity dictated.

After a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, I went to the docks to wait for the steamer. Others were there for the same purpose. A band was playing martial airs to send us off but I doubt few paid any mind. The attentions of family and friends who were soon to be parted robbed the band of their due. 

Although there were smiles, hugs and kisses enough to satisfy all of South Carolina, I cannot help but think that for some folks who remain, their last memory of their loved one will be one of him waving from a departing boat. The tears put shame to the rainstorm that began.

As the band played on, the young Southrons and one old one boarded the steamer Edisto for the journey to Charleston.  En route, we joked and told stories filled with grand bravado of how we few, by ourselves, would rout the Yankee army and capture Washington. If wars could be one by braggidocio, we are already victorious. Many of us attacked the victuals that were left over from yesterday. They should have done so only sparingly. Who knows where our next meal would come from.  One could trace our route by the empty flasks.

Upon arrival in Charleston, we went ashore in varying states of equilibrium and made our way to the terminal of the South Carolina Railroad. There was such a sight. Our flags were everywhere as were soldiers in every color of uniform, including blue. One of our party commented that the war must already be over since the Yankees were here. One could hear music from every location as well as cannon fire which we were told was merely practice. The mood was festive and the air smelled of confidence.

We boarded some fine-appointed passenger cars and headed for Columbia. At Orangeburg, we stopped to take on wood. While there, I had a chance to talk with a few of the slaves who were loading the tender. They were owned by the railroad, some for more than a decade.

Once in Columbia, we left the train and were met by a lieutenant, a sargeant and three privates, all of whom looked fresh off of the farm. They were to escort us a ways to the terminal of the Charlotte and South Carolina Railroad where we boarded another train for the trip to Lightwood Knot Springs, our new home for the forseeable future. When we arrived and took in the spectacle that greeted our eyes, I overhead one of our party exclaim, "It looks like a grand circus". We shall see.