JONES CIVIL WAR JOURNAL: UNION SOLDIERS IN LIBERTY COUNTY, DECEMBER 1861


I give now the testimony of two eye witnesses; and first quote from a brief journal of the experience of the only daughter, now deceased, of Rev. Charles Colcock Jones, D. D., on her father's plantation home, "Montevideo," Liberty county, Ga.

Tuesday, December 1, 1861
Mother rode to Arcadia this morning, thinking the Yankees were no nearer than Way's Station (in an adjoining county), and lingered about the place until late in the afternoon, when she started to return to "Montevideo," and was quietly knitting in the carriage fearing no evil: Jack was driving. Just opposite the Girardeau place, a Yankee sprang from the woods and brought his carbine to bear upon Jack, ordering him to halt, then lowered it so that he could bring it to bear either upon the carriage or Jack, and demanded of mother what she had in the carriage. She replied: "Nothing but my family effects." "What have you in that box behind your carriage?" "My servant's clothing" "Where are you going?" "To my home." "Where is your home?" "Nearer the coast." "How far is the coast?" "About ten miles. I am a defenceless woman, a widow; have you done with me, sir. Drive on, Jack." Bringing his gun to bear on Jack, he called out: "Halt!" He then asked, "Have you seen any rebels?" "We have a Post at No. 3." He then said: "I would not like to disturb a lady, and if you take my advice you will turn immediately back, for the men are just ahead, and they will take your horses and search your carriage." Mother replied: "I thank you for that," and ordered Jack to turn. Jack saw a number of men ahead, and mother would doubtless have been in their midst had she proceeded. (Pursuing, under great difficulties, a circuitous route, for the Confederates had taken up the bridges, and with a faithful negro acting as her voluntary scout, she reached her home and anxious daughter at nine o'clock at night. The journal continues:) I was truly rejoiced to hear the sound of the carriage wheels, for I had been several hours in the greatest suspense, not knowing how mother would hear of the presence of the enemy. (Learning, meanwhile, of the presence of Federal soldiers in the neighborhood, she continues:) Fearing a raiding party might come up immediately, I had some trunks of clothing and other things carried into the woods, and the carts and horses taken away, and prepared to spend the night alone, as I had no idea mother could reach home. After ten o'clock Mr. M - came in to see us, having come from No. 3, where a portion of Hood's command was stationed. Mr. M - staid with us until two o'clock, and fearing to remain longer left, to join the soldiers at 4 1/2, Johnson's Station. He had exchanged his horse for C - 's mule, as he was going on picket duty and would need a swifter animal. This distressed us very much, and I told him I feared he would be captured. It was hard to part under this apprehension, and he lingered with us as long as possible, and prayed with us just before leaving.
Wednesday, December 14, 1861
Mother and I rose early, thankful no enemy had come near us during the night. We passed the day in great anxiety. Late in the afternoon, Charles (the servant man) came into the parlor, just from Walthourville, and burst into tears. I asked what was the matter. "Oh!" he said, "very bad news. Massa is captured by the Yankees, and says I must tell you to keep a good heart." This was a dreadful blow to us and to the poor little children; M - especially realized it and cried all evening! . . .
Thursday, December 15, 1861
About ten o'clock mother walked out upon the lawn, leaving me in the dining-room. In a few moments Elsey came running in to say the Yankees are coming, I went to the front door and saw three dismounting at the stable, where they found mother. I debated whether to go to her or remain in the house; the question was soon settled, for in a moment a stalwart Kentucky Irishman stood before me, having come through the pantry door. I scarcely knew what to do. His salutation was: "Have you any whiskey in the house?" I replied: "None that I know of" "You ought to know," he said in a very rough voice. I replied: "This is not my house, so I don't know what is in it." Said he: "I mean to search this house for arms; but I will not hurt you." He then commenced shaking and pushing the sliding doors and calling for the key. Said I: "If you will turn the handle and slide the door you will find it open." The following interrogation took place: "What's in that box?" "Books." "What's in that room?" "You can search for yourself." "What's in that press?" "I do not know, because this is mother's house, and I have recently come here." "What's in that box?" "Books and pictures.""What's that, and where is the key? " "My sewing-machine; I'll get the key." He then opened the side door, and discovered the door leading into the old parlor." "I want to get into that room" "If you will come around I will get the key for you." We passed through the parlor; he ran up the stairs and commenced searching my bed-room. "Where have you hid your arms?" "There are none in the house, you can search for yourself." He ordered me to get the keys to all my trunks and drawers. I did so, and he put his hand into everything, even a little trunk containing needle-work, boxes of hair, and other small things of this description. All this was under color of searching for arms and ammunition! He called loudly for all the keys; I told him my mother would soon be in the house and she would get the keys for him. While searching my drawers he turned to me and asked. "Where is your watch?" I told him: "My husband has worn it, and he was captured the day before at Walthourville." Shaking his fist at me he said: "Don't you lie to me; you have got a watch." I felt he could have struck me to the floor, but looking steadily at him, I replied: "I have a watch and chain, and my husband has them with him." "Well, were they taken when he was captured?" "I do not know, for I was not present." Just at that time I heard another coming up the stairsteps, and saw a young Tennessean going into mother's room, where he commenced a search. Mother came in soon after and got her keys, and there we were following two men around the house, handing them the keys and seeing almost everything opened. The Tennessean found a box, and hearing something rattling in it, he thought there must be coin within it, and would have broken it open, but Dick prevented him. Mother got the key, and his longing eyes beheld a bunch of keys. In looking through the drawers to mother's surprise, Dick pulled out a sword which belonged to her brother, and had been in her possession for thirty years, and she had forgotten it was there. Finding it to be so rusty that they could scarcely draw it from the scabbard, they concluded it would not kill many men in the war, and did not take it away. He turned to mother and said: "Old lady, haven't you got some whiskey?" Mother said: "I don't know that I have." "Well," said he, "I don't know who ought to know if you don't." (The ladies were afraid of the results of their getting liquor.) Mother asked him "if he would like to see his mother and wife treated in this way, her house searched and invaded?" "Oh!" said he, "none of us have wives." Whilst mother walked from the stable with one from Kentucky, he had a great deal to say about the South bringing on the war. Mother asked him, "if he would like to see his mother and sisters treated as they were treating us." "No!" said he, "I would not, and I never do enter houses, and shall not enter yours;" and he remained without, while the other two men searched. They took none of the horses or mules; all being too old.  A little before dinner we were again alarmed by the presence of five Yankees, four of them dressed as marines. One came into the house; a very mild sort of a man. We told him the house had already been searched. He asked "if the soldiers had torn up anything!" One of the marines came into the pantry and asked if they could get something to eat. Mother told them they were welcome to what she had prepared for her own dinner, and if they chose they could eat it where it was. So they went into the kitchen, and cursing the servants, ordered milk, potatoes, and other things. They called for knives, etc. Having no forks out but plated ones, mother sent them, but they ordered Milton to take them back, and tell his mistress to put them away in a safe place, as a parcel of d-d Yankees would soon be along, and they would take every one from her. We hoped they would not intrude upon the dwelling, but as soon as they finished, the four marines came in, and one commenced a thorough search, calling for all the keys. He found difficulty in fitting the keys, and I told him that I would show them to him, if he would give me the bunch. He said he would give them to me when he was ready to leave the house. He went into the attic and instituted a thorough search. Taking a canister, containing some private papers belonging to my dear father, he tried to open it. Mother could not find the key immediately, and told him he had better break it; but she could assure him it contained nothing but papers. "D-n it," he said, "if you don't get the key, I will break it; I don't care." In looking through the trunks, he found a silver goblet, but did not take it. One of the marines came in with a Secession rosette, which mother had given Jack to burn. We were quite amused to see him come in with it pinned upon his coat. He had taken it from Jack. This one was quite inclined to argue about the origin of the struggle. After spending a long time in the search, they went off, taking one mule; they left the carriage horses, as mother told them they were seventeen years old. In a short time we saw the mule at the gate; they had turned it back. After they left, I found that my writing-desk had been most thoroughly searched, and everything scattered, and all little articles, as jewelry, pencils, etc., abstracted. A gold pen was taken from my work-box. Mother felt so anxious about Kate King (a neighbor and friend) that she sent Charles and Niger to urge her to come to us; but they did not reach South Hampton, as they met a Yankee picket which turned them back, and took Charles with them to assist in carrying horses to Midway, promising to let him return.
Friday, December 16, 1861
Much to our relief, Prophet came over this morning with a note from Kate, to know if we thought she could come to us. Mother wrote her to come immediately, which she did in great fear and trembling, not knowing but that she would meet the enemy on the road. We all felt truly grateful she had been preserved by the way. About four in the afternoon we heard the clash of arms and noise of horsemen, and by the time mother and I could get down stairs we saw forty or fifty men in the pantry, flying hither and thither, ripping open the safe and crockery cupboards. Mother had some roasted ducks and chickens in the safe. These the men seized, tearing them to pieces like ravenous beasts. They were clamoring for whiskey and for the keys. One came to mother to know where her meal and four were. She got the pantry key, and they took out all that was there, and then threw the sacks across their horses. Mother remonstrated, but their only reply was, "We'll take it." They flew around the house, tearing open boxes. One of them broke open mother's work-box with an andiron. A party of them rifled the pantry, taking away knives, spoons, forks, tin plates, cups, coffee-pot, and everything they wished. They broke open the old liquor case and carried off two of the gallon bottles, and they drank up all the blackberry wine and vinegar which mother had in the case. It was impossible to utter a word, for we were completely paralyzed by the fury of the mob. A number of them went into the attic, into a little store-room mother had there, and carried off twelve bushels of meal which mother had put there. Mother told them they were taking all that she had for herself, daughter, friend, and five little ones, but scarcely any regarded her voice, and those that did laughed and said they would leave a sack, but they only left some rice, which they did not want, and poured a little meal upon the floor. They called for men's shirts and men's clothes. We asked for their officer, hoping to make some appeal to him, but they said "they were all officers." We finally found one man who seemed to have a little show of authority, which was indicated by a whip which he carried. Mother made an appeal to him, and he came up and ordered the men out. They brought a wagon and took another from the place to carry off their plunder. It is impossible to imagine the perfect stampede through the house, all yelling, cursing, quarreling, and going from one room to another in wild confusion. They were of Kilpatrick's Cavalry; and we look back upon their appearance in the house as some horrible nightmare! (In narrating this scene afterwards, the writer of the diary said to me, "The atmosphere seemed blue with oaths.") Before leaving, they ordered all the oxen to be gotten up early next morning.
Saturday, December 17, 1861
About four o'clock we were roused by the sound of horses, and from that until sunrise squads of six and ten were constantly arriving. We felt a dark time of trial was upon us, and we knew not what might befall us. Feeling our weakness and peril, we all went to prayer, and continued in prayer for a long time, imploring personal protection and that the enemy might not be permitted to come nigh our dwelling. We sat in darkness, waiting for the light of morning to reveal their purposes. In the gray twilight we saw one man pacing before the kitchen, and afterwards found that he had voluntarily undertaken to guard the house, as far as he could. In this we felt that our prayer had been answered. As soon as it was light, Kate looked out and discovered an officer near the house, which was a great relief of our feelings. Mother went down and begged him that he would not allow the soldiers to enter the house, as it had already been three times searched. He said "it was contrary to orders for men to be found in houses, and the penalty was death; and, so far as his authority extended, no man should enter the house." He said they had come on a foraging expedition and intended to take provisions, etc. Upon mother inviting him in to see some of the work of the previous evening, he came in and sat awhile in the parlor. The Yankees made the negroes bring up the oxen and carts, and took all the chickens, turkeys, etc., that they could find; they also took off all the syrup from the smoke-house and some fresh pork. Mother saw everything stripped from the premises, without the power of uttering one word. Finally they rolled out the carriage, and took that to carry in it a load of chickens(!). Everything was taken that they possibly could. The soldier who was our voluntary guard was from Ohio, and when mother thanked him and told she wished she could make him some return for his kindness, he said: "I could not receive any, and only wish I were here to guard you always." They took off Jack, Pulaski, June, Martin, little Pulaski, and Ebenezer, also George, but said they might all return if they wished, as they only wanted them to drive their carts as far as their wagon train. One said the carriage should return, and afterwards said mother must send for it if she wanted it. He knew very well that this was impossible, as all the harness had been taken from the place. A little later mother walked to the smoke-house, and found an officer taking her sugar, which had been put to dry; he seemed a little ashamed at having been caught, but did not return the sugar. He was mounted upon Audley King's pet horse, and said as he rode off: "How the man who owns this horse will curse the Yankee who took him when he goes home and finds him gone!" He had Mr. King's servant mounted upon another of his horses, and no doubt knew he was near (in hiding) when he made the remark. Immediately we went to work, removing the salt and the remainder of the sugar into the house, and while we were doing so a Missourian came up and advised us to get everything into the house as quickly as possible, and he would protect us while doing so. He said he had enlisted to fight for the Constitution, but since then the war had been turned into another thing, and he did not approve this Abolitionism, for his wife's people all owned slaves. He told us, what afterward proved false, that ten thou- infantry would soon pass through Riceboro, on their way to Thomasville. Soon after this some twenty rode up, and caught me having a barrel rolled toward the house, but they were very gentlemanly and only a few of them dismounted. They said "the war would soon be over, as they would have Savannah in a few days." I told them "Savannah was not the Confederacy." They replied: "We admire your spunk." They inquired for all the large plantations. All the poultry that could be found was taken off. Squads came all day until dark. The ox-wagons were taken to Carlarotta to be filled with corn.
Sabbath, December 18, 1861
We passed this day with many fears, but no Yankees came to the lot, although many went to Carlarotta (another settlement on the same plantation), and were engaged in carrying off the corn, the key of the corn-house having been taken from Cato (the driver) the day before. A day comparatively free from interruption was very grateful to us, although the constant state of apprehension in which we were, was very distressing. In the afternoon, while engaged in reading and seeking protection from our Heavenly Father, Capt. Winn's Isaiah came, bringing a note from Mr. M - to me, and from Mr. John Stevens to mother, sending my watch. This was the first intelligence from Mr. M - . How welcome to us all, although the note brought no hope of his release, as the charge against him was taking up arms against the United States. Capt. Winn had been captured, but released. We were all in such distress that mother wrote Mr. Stevens, begging him to come to us. We felt so utterly alone, that it would be a comfort to have him with us.
Monday, December 19, 1861
Squads of Yankees came all day, so that the servants scarcely had a moment to do anything for us out of the house; the women finding it entirely unsafe for them to be out at all. The few stray chickens and some sheep were killed. These men were so outrageous at the negro houses, that the negro men were obliged to stay at their houses for the protection of their wives, and in some instance rescued them from the hands of these infamous creatures.
Tuesday, December 20, 1861
A squad of Yankees came after breakfast, rode into the pasture, drove up some oxen, and went into the woods and brought out mother's horse wagon, to which they attached the oxen. Needing a chain for the purpose, they went to the well and took the chain from the buckets. Mother sent out to - .

 Here the journal ends. I add, that when the first troops searched the house, the ladies, offering to help them in their examination for cannon and muskets in their trunks(!), adroitly flung the linen taken from those first examined over trunks containing all their silver; and leaving everything just as the first invaders of the home had deranged it, subsequent marauders were misled; and so woman's wit got the better of Yankee shrewdness. Throughout all this long and trying experience, in which three unprotected females and five young children were exposed to the rudeness of Sherman's soldiers, the servants, one and all, old and young, were perfectly respectful and faithful; indeed, our families, ruthlessly robbed of all provisions by United States soldiers, would, for all they cared, have suffered from hunger, had it not been that their slaves provided them with food.

The last entry in the journal was December 20th. January 4th, the writer of the journal (her husband a prisoner in Savannah, with good prospect of being sent for the war to a Northern prison), and with fifty Yankee soldiers clamoring to enter the house, who only were kept out by the pluck of a lone woman, a friend, gave birth to a daughter. The invaders would not be said nay, until this lady said: "You compel me to be plain, and to say that a child is being this moment born in the house;" when they raised a general yell, stuck spurs to their horses, and disappeared down the avenue!

Source: Mallard, R.Q., D.D. Plantation Life Before Emancipation, Whittet & Shepperson, Richmond, Virginia, 1892, pages 211-229
Submitted by Bob Franks