The Civil War diary of Hiram Smith Williams is extremely unusual. A carriage maker and native of New Jersey, Williams only arrived in the Deep South in 1959 and yet enlisted in the Confederate Army. As a middle-class craftsman, he represented neither wealthy Southern planters nor yeoman farmers. Part of the 40th Alabama Volunteer Regiment, he was first in Mobile, where he attempted to transfer to the CSA Navy. Failing that, he went with his regiment to Atlanta to engage in the great battle there.
A careful writer, Williams paid the same attention to his composition as he did to his carriages. Unlike many Civil War veterans, he never revised his diary to embellish his record or heroism. Prized by historians both for providing an unique point of view as well as an exceptionally articulate narrative, Williams' diary is an important addition to any Civil War library.
The Civil War diary of Hiram Smith Williams is extremely unusual. A carriage maker and native of New Jersey, Williams only arrived in the Deep South in 1959 and yet enlisted in the Confederate Army. As a middle-class craftsman, he represented neither wealthy Southern planters nor yeoman farmers. Part of the 40th Alabama Volunteer Regiment, he was first in Mobile, where he attempted to transfer to the CSA Navy. Failing that, he went with his regiment to Atlanta to engage in the great battle there.
A careful writer, Williams paid the same attention to his composition as he did to his carriages. Unlike many Civil War veterans, he never revised his diary to embellish his record or heroism. Prized by historians both for providing an unique point of view as well as an exceptionally articulate narrative, Williams' diary is an important addition to any Civil War library.
This War So Horrible: The Civil War Diary of Hiram Smith Williams, 40th Alabama Confederate Pioneer
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This War So Horrible: The Civil War Diary of Hiram Smith Williams, 40th Alabama Confederate Pioneer
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Overview
The Civil War diary of Hiram Smith Williams is extremely unusual. A carriage maker and native of New Jersey, Williams only arrived in the Deep South in 1959 and yet enlisted in the Confederate Army. As a middle-class craftsman, he represented neither wealthy Southern planters nor yeoman farmers. Part of the 40th Alabama Volunteer Regiment, he was first in Mobile, where he attempted to transfer to the CSA Navy. Failing that, he went with his regiment to Atlanta to engage in the great battle there.
A careful writer, Williams paid the same attention to his composition as he did to his carriages. Unlike many Civil War veterans, he never revised his diary to embellish his record or heroism. Prized by historians both for providing an unique point of view as well as an exceptionally articulate narrative, Williams' diary is an important addition to any Civil War library.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780817391621 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | University of Alabama Press |
| Publication date: | 08/01/2017 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 196 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
About the Author
Hiram Smith Williams, born in New Jersey, was an unusual individual. A skilled carriage maker and carpenter, he traveled throughout the Midwest in the 1850s as an organizer for the Know Nothing Party and the candidacy of Martin Van Buren. When Van Buren failed to win the presidency in 1856, Williams spent two years wandering around Missouri, teaching school and writing poetry. In addition to his political activities, he served as a correspondent for several midwestern newspapers.
In 1859, Williams settled in Livingston, Alabama, where he worked as a carriage maker. He quickly identified with people around him and when the Civil War erupted in 1861, he supported the Southern cause. In 1862, he enlisted in the 40th Alabama Infantry Regiment, and through 1863 he served on detached duty as a skilled naval carpenter in Mobile. While in Mobile, Williams was active in the cultural and social life of the city and frequently appeared in plays as a semi-professional actor.
In 1864, he was reassigned to his regiment, part of the Army of Tennessee, which was camped in Dalton, Georgia. From February 1864 until autumn of that year, he participated in the Atlanta campaign as a member of a Pioneer unite, which was composed of men with construction skills. In that capacity he helped build bridges, roads, and fortifications, came in close contact with various unit headquarters, and sometimes worked as a hospital orderly.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
From Mobile to Dalton
FEBRUARY 16 TO MAY 1, 1864
Camp Life
A Record of the Georgia Campaign
By H[iram] S[mith] Williams
VOLUME 1
Proem
Miss Mary J[ane] Walker
Esteemed Friend
You may remember when I was talking of rejoining my Command in January last that I spoke of keeping a journal, and you requested me to send it to you. I promised you to do so, and I now redeem that promise in part, by sending you the first volume of my record embracing a period of some four months. I trust you will read it with a kindly criticism, for did you but know the circumstances under which the greater part of it was written, you would overlook the faults which I know it must contain, not only in the style of composition, but also in the lack of skill displayed in throwing the varied incidents together. Seated by my campfire after a long wearisome day's march, I would jot down the events of the day, while a dozen voices around me would tend to draw my attention to other things. But I will make no longer apology for the faults within, knowing that your good sense will overlook them. You will find more to criticize in the penmanship than aught be, but guess at what you cannot read, and when we are meet again I will translate it. With my best wishes for your health and happiness, Believe me as ever. HSW
Camplife
Tuesday. Feb[ruary] 16th, 1864
Two o'clock has arrived. Military power rules, and military orders are imperative. Military power in the shape of three bars of gold lace running horizontally on the collar of a grey coat, says, very politely of course, "Mr. Williams, you must return to your command in the Army of Tennessee." — We remonstrate, very moderately, of course, but gold lace answers our objections by saying with great firmness, "It is absolutely necessary, sir, that every man belonging to that army must be at his post. The country demands it in the first place, and then, more than that Gen[eral Joseph Eggleston] Johnston demands it."
The straw is placed on that breaks the camel's back. "Gen[eral] Johnston" is the knock-down-argument, conclusive and unanswerable. So we meekly pack our knapsack, put four days rations in our haversacks, bid all our numerous friends, "Goodbye," and march meekly down to the Steamer Senator to be transported across the bay. As I said at the commencement, two o'clock P.M. has arrived. The steam whizzes, the engineer turns the wheels two or three times by way of an experiment, the whistle sounds for the last time, a few hurried "good-byes" are spoken, the planks are hauled in, and we are off. I walk the deck in a kind of trance, trying to realize my situation. I look at the city fast fading away in the dim distance. Where am I? Where am I going? The replies are painful enough. The Eastern shore is nearly reached, and now nothing but the spire of Christ's Church is visible. Mobile has faded away from my vision, perhaps forever. The past, the irrevocable past, must henceforth live only in the sweet associations of memory. Farewell to all, to the pleasant places, the theatre, the social hoards. No more must I enjoy the sweet smiles of lovely women or hear their musical voices whispering kind words. The friends I have found must be left and I must go forth again, alone, to fight on in the battle of life. But why dwell here, let me go on and record the few facts that I find worthy the honor.
At Blakeney we take the cars for Montgomery. Two returning soldiers invited me to occupy a seat next to theirs and in their society I passed away the night very pleasantly. Thanks to the kindness of Mrs. Brandt, I have plenty to eat. With true motherly instinct, she stowed away biscuits, potatoes, pies and meat in my haversacks, so that I will not suffer from hunger.
It is just sunrise when we arrive at Montgomery, of a cold morning. Is it because we are farther North, or is it a change in the atmosphere? Yesterday at Mobile it was very warm, today it is bitter cold. It must be the latter. I will not go on now, but wait a day or two as I wish to visit the Theatre here and see some old friends. So the traveling companions I found yesterday must go on without me.
At 10 o'c[loc]k A.M. called at the theatre and was warmly welcomed by nearly all the actors, they thinking I had come up to play. As soon as they were apprised of their mistake, Mr. [Theodore] Hamilton, one of the managers, invited me to his office and invited me to play Don Jose in "Don Caesar, the Bazan," to-morrow night. At first refused, but finally consented to play one night. In truth, the weather is so very cold that I had about as lieve stay as not, as I am in no hurry to get up to the Army. So the rest of the day I will study and look about town. The Theatre is much nicer than the one in Mobile. It is larger and much better finished off, while it is far easier to speak.
Thursday, Feb[ruary] 18th 1864
I have made my debut to a Montgomery audience, and I feel better. Fortunately I felt in excellent spirits tonight. I felt well both bodily and mentally, and I went on to the stage with the same ease that I would walk into a drawing room, filled with old friends. It was Mr. [Theodore] Hamilton's first attempt at Don Caesar and he was far from perfect. I never did like to play with Miss [Cecelia] Crisp, but I went through with my part finely, felt the designing and intriguing spirit that must have impelled the original Don Jose, providing he had lived, took advantage of the gay, reckless confiding nature of Don Caesar, gained the confidence of the beautiful little dancing girl, and just as I was about to reap the rewards of my labors, I disappear from view while my fate was told after by my executioner, Don Caesar. The Company here is miserable, all the talent outside of Mr. Hamilton and Mr. [Charles] Morton could be put in a nutshell. What persons go on the stage for who have not intelligence enough to conceive the characters they attempt to personify is what I never could learn. They only make asses of themselves by so doing. Now I should like to remain here two months just to see what I could do. But perhaps the time will come, so tomorrow I will pursue my journey on towards Dalton, with the best grace I can put on the matter. It is still very cold [and] unpleasant.
Saturday Feb[ruary] 20th/64
In Camp — Yes, here I am in camp once more. It seems very natural to me after 16 months out of camp. Left Montgomery yesterday morning at 8 o'clock and reached Atlanta at two this morning; left there at 8 this morning and arrived in Dalton at 4 P.M. and walked out to the camp, a distance of three miles or so N W. All the boys seemed rejoiced to see me, and proved it by crowding into the little cabin where my mess put up, so as to make themselves and everybody else uncomfortable. Told them all the news I had to tell, and composed some, so as to satisfy them [and] get clear of them at the same time.
What a change from the company in which I first volunteered two years ago. [J. J.] Aughe has lost a leg and has gone. [J. A.] Springsteed is gone. [F. M.] Bradley is wounded, a dozen or more are prisoners at the North, while many of them are dead. Their graves are scattered from Dog River all through Mississippi, at Columbus, Deer Creek, and Vicksburg, to this place. Such is war. Three of my old mess are dead, several are wounded and disabled for life, but otherwise all well. A good omen I hope. We now have a Captain that is a gentleman. As much could not be said for our former one, [William Alexander Campbell] Jones, who, thank heaven, has left us for our good.
Captain [Thomas M.] Brunson is as clever a man as one can find anywhere, and I do not mind soldiering under him. I am tired and need rest.
Tuesday 23rd 1864
In line of battle with a thousand camp fires blazing around us, I make this record. But first, let me go back a day or two and bring my journal up this far with some system. On Sunday I rested in camp. On Monday I assisted to make a target for our regiment to practice. Just after roll call at night our Orderly Sergeant came around and said the order had just arrived for every soldier to pack his knapsacks and be ready to move at a moments warning. As I had nearly all my things packed, I had but very little to do. An hour or so afterwards the order came to cook two days rations. That kept us busy the rest of the night. We were ready early this morning to march, but the order did not come until three o'clock this P.M.
This portion of Georgia is a succession of bold ridges and mountains running a little East of North, by West of South. The vallies between are generally fertile, and form the only tillable land. The boldest of these mountains is called Rocky Face, half way up the Eastern slope of which my Brigade was camped. A stream called Taylor's Creek runs through between this mountain and one half as high to the North forming a gap through which gap runs the Western and Atlantic R[ail] R[oad]. As the gap forms the only natural passage to the East of Rocky Face Mountain, it is expected that the enemy will attempt a passage thereby. I may remark here that when ordered to get ready to march it was the opinion of all of us, officers as well as privates, that we would retreat, or in the language of Camp, "tute." We were, however, wrong in our conclusions, for after marching down to the foot of the mountain and crossing Taylor's Creek, we were formed in line of battle just to the rear of the smaller ridge North of the R[ail] R[oad], where we now lie with our guns stacked, ready for use at a moments warning. The whole army, comprising some twenty-five thousand men is in a similar position, extending for several miles along the ridges. Our position is to defend the gap before described, together with two or three more Regiments [and] 4 batteries of artillery. If the enemy attempt to come this way, the Angel of Death will be busy.
Wednesday 24th
Behind a rough breastwork of logs, I will attempt to narrate the day's history as far as I am concerned. Fortunately for me, the mess I am in had a lot of bacon and flour on hand, so that we cooked up a lot of biscuit and everybody knows, cold biscuit is decidedly preferable to cold corn bread. The latter is the poorest apology for food I know of. Well, we ate our biscuit and a small piece of bacon this morning when we moved our position to the top of the ridge. The forenoon was passed in comparative quiet, but about noon the skirmishing commenced pretty heavy along our entire line. Two companies from my Regiment are out on picket duty, and I suppose they are in it pretty heavy. Our right seems to be the scene of the heaviest fighting as the musketry and cannon fire is continual over there. A large force of the enemy advanced about four o'clock on the gap when two of our batteries opened on them with such force as to drive them back. As yet the enemy has not opened on us here with artillery, but our time will come before long. Night has brought an end to hostilities. Only now and then a picket firing in the front. It seems to be the general impression that to-morrow will bring on the general engagement. We shall see. It is quite cold to-night and I have made up my bed on the side of a steep hill, so steep I have to stick my heels in to keep from sliding down hill.
Thursday 25th
The morning opened gloriously. Too fine a morning for men professing to be civilized to be engaged in cold blooded butchery, but then this is war. I was up early this morning and after breakfast fixed up my things ready for anything that might happen. The forenoon passed in expectancy. After a cold dinner on corn bread and a little meat (I have saved two biscuit for breakfast to-morrow) we sat down to pass away the time as best we might. Some were reading, some sleeping, some doing nothing, and some playing cards. I was engaged in the latter source of amusement with Lieut[enant John T.] T[erry] and two others, when suddenly whizz — zzz a Yankee shell went over our heads and bursted, scattering a thousand fragments in every direction around us. "Well" said Lieut[enant] T[erry], "I think we had better leave this place," [and] such a scattering I never saw before. Every one sought the friendly shelter of a tree, where I, not to be outdone by old veterans, listened to the bursting of shells in fancied security. There is something awful in the bursting of a shell and the shrill hiss of a minnie ball that has to be heard to be fully appreciated. After an hour or so, we were moved down the hill, where we again took up our station. The firing was very rapid and continued until nearly dark. The enemy made a charge on our line and reached part way up the hill, but were repulsed, and two companies of some 20 men each, taken prisoner. Our battery of Parrot guns on the hill done some fine execution, killing a large number of the enemy and wounding many. Some of our Regiment were brought in wounded from picket, but none killed so far.
Most of the afternoon I passed below the ridge reading a book, only dodging every time a shell bursted over me. It is still cold and clear, rather pleasant weather for this kind of life. It is a wonder how well I stand it, much better than I ever expected to do after my life of comfort in Mobile.
To-morrow we will either have a fight or else the enemy will retreat back.
Friday 26th
The day is passed and I am still alive. Early this morning one of our Captains went up to the top of the ridge and soon returned, saying "Now boys we'll have it. The Yanks are coming in two splendid columns. A most magnificient array." I confess that I began to feel somewhat uncomfortable. As long as I could not see the enemy, I felt a certain sense of security, but now that there was a prospect of meeting them face to face, just the thought caused a tremor to run over me, more than all the shelling of yesterday combined. After waiting some hour or so for them, one of my Lieutenants went up the hill and returned with the rather pleasing intelligence that they had all filed off to our right and had disappeared behind a ridge, some two miles off. The whole day has been devoted to skirmishing, as we have had no general engagement today. I think the main body of the enemy has gone, leaving some skirmishers behind to protect their rear.
This afternoon our line of pickets were doubled with the intention of advancing. We had two days rations in our haversacks and the impression prevailed that we shall advance ere long. I doubt it.
Last night it was very cold and the prospect for to-night is still more dreary. The boys are now in very good spirits, and I think they would make a very good fight now.
To-morrow will decide it.
Saturday 27th
The Tragedy is over. We are still in line of battle, but will return to camp to-morrow. Now for the events of the day. Last night was the coldest we have had since we have been out. It was so cold that I got up at three o'clock, as I could not sleep. Built a good fire and managed to pass the remainder of the night quite comfortably. The forenoon was passed in quiet, the skirmishing becoming lighter in the distance. Some of our boys came in with some prisoners, who reported the enemy all gone. They have tried our position and strength [and] have returned to get a heavier force no doubt before trying it again. They were under the impression that nearly all our army had gone to Demopolis to reinforce Pope. In that, they were right, but not quick enough, as nearly all the troops sent down there have returned and are now with us.
About 1 o'clock P.M. we received orders to fall in. Done so when orders were given to "Forward March!" On reaching the top of the ridge the valley below us was black with lines of armed men. At least a mile ahead of the column extended regiments and Brigades easily distinguished by their battle flags and bands of musicians. Following the R[ail] R[oad] some time we then took the wagon road and through the dust and dirt pursued our way. After going some three miles we halted for rest. Rested an hour perhaps, then we were "about faced" and back we marched again to our original position. I do not understand the movement nor no one else. It very forcibly reminded me of "Hudibras'" account of a similar movement by a hero of the olden time.
The King of France and 20000 men Marched up a hill, then marched down again
To apply it I have only to alter it thus,
Our General Johnston With 20000 men Marched up to Tunnel Hill And then, marched back again.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "This War So Horrible"
by .
Copyright © 1993 The University of Alabama Press.
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