"Hood is raising Merry Ned..."

Saturday, October 29, 1864, Petersburg trenches

We have not traded fire with the Yankees in some time. We can hear the infrequent exchange of a few shots in the various distances but this is not substantial. It rarely causes us to look up from our coffee. I say coffee just because I do not know what else to call it; un-coffee perhaps. Our tin boilers have bark floating on top as one part of this drink. We will get used to this as we have everything else, I suppose.

There was something of a fuss on Thursday. The brigade was formed up as if for action. We marched only a little ways, never left the works and went into waiting, for what we know not

It is only by the mercenary generosity of Shehane that I am able to write this diary entry. Having run out of ink, I had to resort to a pointed burnt stick. The company received recently some packages and parcels from Columbia courtesy of Mr. Pickle. Inside one such parcel was a small bottle of ink and a nib pen. Shehane took that parcel. Since he cannot write, I asked him if he would give me the ink and pen. He said that he would not give it to me but would consider a trade. I was instantly offended by him but did not let it show. Holton slipped me a poke of tobacco and I tossed it onto Shehane's lap. He tossed the ink and pen to me and before they reached me, he had already opened the poke and was reaching for his pipe. Both of our addictions were satisfied. I am glad that Shehane is not in our mess.

Our cabin is up. Last year, our chimney was made from hardtack boxes. We do not recall when last we saw one of those. Our chimney is wholly made from sticks and mud. Last year, we made a mistake by not building one cabin large enough to hold our entire mess. This year, we built but one cabin and it holds the entirety of the Dandy Eights. We have four bunks. I sleep on the bottom of one and Castles sleeps above me. At my age, I would suffer a nosebleed if I slept up top. All of us sleep on bedding of pine boughs under our selves. I am the only one in this mess with an overcoat. I feel blessed.

There is one table and six stumps for chairs. Three have backs. I hope we will not have to burn them for firewood before the Spring. Although we are comfortable in our rough diggings, we are a bit nervous. Even though the weather gets colder and wetter by the day, it is not yet so bad to cause a halt to all active campaigning. If need be, if our Lee so desires it, we will leave our works and go after the Yankees and perhaps never see our cabin again. If it means that we can have at the Yankees again, we will not mind abandoning our rustic comforts.

We have had our pay raised but little good will it do us. There is nothing worth buying. Besides, we have gone so long without eleven dollars a month, it will be nothing to go without eighteen dollars a month.

Hood is raising Merry Ned in Tennessee. Even with one leg missing and only one good arm, he has out-witted Sherman and has left him in his dust. Where will he go? Nashville? Memphis? Cincinnati? We shall have to trade for Yankee papers to find out.

Old Pap Price is hurting the Yankees near Kansas City. Perhaps he and Hood will unite and capture St. Louis.

Castles is back from furlough. Aside from a new shirt, he looks no different than when he left. First Sergeant Wade has been detailed away from us to the Quartermaster's Department in Richmond. Marshall is absent, sick. Caskey is absent and not from sickness. We suspect that he has taken, "French Leave."Sadler has been court-martialed after only two months. Blackmon has returned from furlough. Montgomery has left on furlough for three weeks. Langley is still detailed away to the forage train. I wish someone would provide such a train for we human beings. Both Porters are absent. Lieutenant Williamson is in charge of the regiment as he is the senior officer. Perhaps soon, it will be my turn for a furlough.

I must quit this as we have so few candles.


I Send You These Few Lines.


It seems to be a busy time for Tooms even if he thinks there's no campaigning going on. Hood is campaigning in northern Alabama not Tennessee and is heading west towards Decatur, final destination as yet, unknown. Sterling, "Pap", Price had started an offensive in Missouri. It looks on the surface that the fortunes of the Confederacy are rising. What Tooms missed is that Jubal Early had been defeated at the outskirts of Washington and was being pursued south through the Shenandoah Valley by Phil Sheridan.

The little fuss Tooms speaks of was actually the Battle of Hatcher's Run. Grant sent a large part of his army around the far right of the Confederate lines in anticipation of turning Lee's flank and severing rail connections bringing supplies to Confederate troops. Grant ran into a Hornet's nest and eventually recalled his forces as it was looking that a substantial part was about to be cut off and chewed up. The Twelfth and the whole brigade played almost no part in the action. The brigade was an on call reserve should it be needed and it was not.

The circumstances regarding Dennis Castles, George Wade, Medrid Caskey, Wesley Blackmon, James and Julius Porter, William Marshall, Johnathan Montgomery, James Williamson and James Langley are a matter of record.

That James Sheehan could not write is not literary license. His 1919 application for a Confederate veteran's pension featured his mark, not his signature.

Mr. Pickle, Obadiah Pickle, has been mentioned in previous diary entries. He was the field agent for the Central Association for the Relief of South Carolina Soldiers. The Association's primary task was to provide material comforts to the boys at the front.

The Confederate government did see fit to raise the pay to the boys at the front as mentioned above. Between erratic paydays and inflation, the money, if and when the soldiers got it, was not good for much.

Time will tell if either Grant or Lee want to have one more go at each other before Mother Nature calls a halt to everything.