Thanksgiving in Camp - Harper's Weekly - November 29, 1862
During the Thanksgiving season we often hear that the first national Thanksgiving Proclamation was given by Abraham Lincoln in Washington, D.C. on October 3, 1863. What the northern history books fail to mention is that Lincoln, bowing to political pressure, copied the President of the Confederate States of America. Jefferson Davis actually had made the first national Proclamation of Thanksgiving two years earlier in Richmond, Virginia. Here it is:
Proclamation of Thanksgiving, 1861
by President Jefferson Davis
WHEREAS, it hath pleased Almighty God, the Sovereign Disposer of events, to protect and defend us hitherto in our conflicts with our enemies as to be unto them a shield.
And whereas, with grateful thanks we recognize His hand and acknowledge that not unto us, but unto Him, belongeth the victory, and in humble dependence upon His almighty strength, and trusting in the justness of our purpose, we appeal to Him that He may set at naught the efforts of our enemies, and humble them to confusion and shame.
Now therefore, I, Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederate States, in view of impending conflict, do hereby set apart Friday, the 15th day of November, as a day of national humiliation and prayer, and do hereby invite the reverend clergy and the people of these Confederate States to repair on that day to their homes and usual places of public worship, and to implore blessing of Almighty God upon our people, that he may give us victory over our enemies, preserve our homes and altars from pollution, and secure to us the restoration of peace and prosperity.
Given under hand and seal of the Confederate States at Richmond, this the 31st day of October, year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and sixty one.
General Sherman's March Across Georgia - Photo from Harper's Weekly, December 10, 1864
Below is an excerpt from A Woman's Wartime Journal by Dolly Sumner Lunt: An account of the passage over a Georgia plantation of Sherman's army on the march to the sea, as recorded in the diary of Dolly Sumner Lunt.
NOVEMBER 19, 1864.
Slept in my clothes last night, as I heard that the Yankees went to
neighbor Montgomery's on Thursday night at one o'clock, searched his
house, drank his wine, and took his money and valuables. As we were
not disturbed, I walked after breakfast, with Sadai, up to Mr. Joe
Perry's, my nearest neighbor, where the Yankees were yesterday. Saw
Mrs. Laura [Perry] in the road surrounded by her children, seeming to
be looking for some one. She said she was looking for her husband,
that old Mrs. Perry had just sent her word that the Yankees went to
James Perry's the night before, plundered his house, and drove off
all his stock, and that she must drive hers into the old fields.
Before we were done talking, up came Joe and Jim Perry from their
hiding-place. Jim was very much excited. Happening to turn and look
behind, as we stood there, I saw some blue-coats coming down the hill.
Jim immediately raised his gun, swearing he would kill them anyhow.
"No, don't!" said I, and ran home as fast as I could, with Sadai.
I could hear them cry, "Halt! Halt!" and their guns went off in quick
succession. Oh God, the time of trial has come!
A man passed on his way to Covington. I halloed to him, asking him if
he did not know the Yankees were coming.
"No--are they?"
"Yes," said I; "they are not three hundred yards from here."
"Sure enough," said he. "Well, I'll not go. I don't want them to get
my horse." And although within hearing of their guns, he would stop
and look for them. Blissful ignorance! Not knowing, not hearing, he
has not suffered the suspense, the fear, that I have for the past
forty-eight hours. I walked to the gate. There they came filing up.
I hastened back to my frightened servants and told them that they had
better hide, and then went back to the gate to claim protection and a
guard. But like demons they rush in! My yards are full. To my
smoke-house, my dairy, pantry, kitchen, and cellar, like famished
wolves they come, breaking locks and whatever is in their way. The
thousand pounds of meat in my smoke-house is gone in a twinkling, my
flour, my meat, my lard, butter, eggs, pickles of various kinds--both
in vinegar and brine--wine, jars, and jugs are all gone. My eighteen
fat turkeys, my hens, chickens, and fowls, my young pigs, are shot
down in my yard and hunted as if they were rebels themselves. Utterly
powerless I ran out and appealed to the guard.
"I cannot help you, Madam; it is orders."
As I stood there, from my lot I saw driven, first, old Dutch, my dear
old buggy horse, who has carried my beloved husband so many miles, and
who would so quietly wait at the block for him to mount and dismount,
and who at last drew him to his grave; then came old Mary, my brood
mare, who for years had been too old and stiff for work, with her
three-year-old colt, my two-year-old mule, and her last little baby
colt. There they go! There go my mules, my sheep, and, worse than all,
my boys [slaves]!
Alas! little did I think while trying to save my house from plunder
and fire that they were forcing my boys from home at the point of the
bayonet. One, Newton, jumped into bed in his cabin, and declared
himself sick. Another crawled under the floor,--a lame boy he
was,--but they pulled him out, placed him on a horse, and drove him
off. Mid, poor Mid! The last I saw of him, a man had him going around
the garden, looking, as I thought, for my sheep, as he was my
shepherd. Jack came crying to me, the big tears coursing down his
cheeks, saying they were making him go. I said:
"Stay in my room."
But a man followed in, cursing him and threatening to shoot him if he
did not go; so poor Jack had to yield. James Arnold, in trying to
scape from a back window, was captured and marched off. Henry, too,
was taken; I know not how or when, but probably when he and Bob went
after the mules. I had not believed they would force from their homes
the poor, doomed negroes, but such has been the fact here, cursing
them and saying that "Jeff Davis wanted to put them in his army, but
that they should not fight for him, but for the Union." No! Indeed no!
They are not friends to the slave. We have never made the poor,
cowardly negro fight, and it is strange, passing strange, that the
all-powerful Yankee nation with the whole world to back them, their
ports open, their armies filled with soldiers from all nations, should
at last take the poor negro to help them out against this little
Confederacy which was to have been brought back into the Union in
sixty days' time!
My poor boys! My poor boys! What unknown trials are before you! How
you have clung to your mistress and assisted her in every way you
knew.
Never have I corrected them; a word was sufficient. Never have they
known want of any kind. Their parents are with me, and how sadly they
lament the loss of their boys. Their cabins are rifled of every
valuable, the soldiers swearing that their Sunday clothes were the
white people's, and that they never had money to get such things as
they had. Poor Frank's chest was broken open, his money and tobacco
taken. He has always been a money-making and saving boy; not
infrequently has his crop brought him five hundred dollars and more.
All of his clothes and Rachel's clothes, which dear Lou gave her
before her death and which she had packed away, were stolen from her.
Ovens, skillets, coffee-mills, of which we had three, coffee-pots--not
one have I left. Sifters all gone!
Seeing that the soldiers could not be restrained, the guard ordered me
to have their [of the negroes] remaining possessions brought into my
house, which I did, and they all, poor things, huddled together in my
room, fearing every movement that the house would be burned.
A Captain Webber from Illinois came into my house. Of him I claimed
protection from the vandals who were forcing themselves into my room.
He said that he knew my brother Orrington [the late Orrington Lunt, a
well-known early settler of Chicago]. At that name I could not
restrain my feelings, but, bursting into tears, implored him to see my
brother and let him know my destitution. I saw nothing before me but
starvation. He promised to do this, and comforted me with the
assurance that my dwelling-house would not be burned, though my
out-buildings might. Poor little Sadai went crying to him as to a
friend and told him that they had taken her doll, Nancy. He begged her
to come and see him, and he would give her a fine waxen one. [The doll
was found later in the yard of a neighbor, where a soldier had thrown
it, and was returned to the little girl. Her children later played
with it, and it is now the plaything of her granddaughter.]
He felt for me, and I give him and several others the character of
gentlemen. I don't believe they would have molested women and children
had they had their own way. He seemed surprised that I had not laid
away in my house, flour and other provisions. I did not suppose I
could secure them there, more than where I usually kept them, for in
last summer's raid houses were thoroughly searched. In parting with
him, I parted as with a friend.
Sherman himself and a greater portion of his army passed my house that
day. All day, as the sad moments rolled on, were they passing not only
in front of my house, but from behind; they tore down my garden
palings, made a road through my back-yard and lot field, driving their
stock and riding through, tearing down my fences and desolating my
home--wantonly doing it when there was no necessity for it.
Such a day, if I live to the age of Methuselah, may God spare me from
ever seeing again!
As night drew its sable curtains around us, the heavens from every
point were lit up with flames from burning buildings. Dinnerless and
supperless as we were, it was nothing in comparison with the fear of
being driven out homeless to the dreary woods. Nothing to eat! I could
give my guard no supper, so he left us. I appealed to another, asking
him if he had wife, mother, or sister, and how he should feel were
they in my situation. A colonel from Vermont left me two men, but
they were Dutch, and I could not understand one word they said.
My Heavenly Father alone saved me from the destructive fire. My
carriage-house had in it eight bales of cotton, with my carriage,
buggy, and harness. On top of the cotton were some carded cotton
rolls, a hundred pounds or more. These were thrown out of the blanket
in which they were, and a large twist of the rolls taken and set on
fire, and thrown into the boat of my carriage, which was close up to
the cotton bales. Thanks to my God, the cotton only burned over, and
then went out. Shall I ever forget the deliverance?
To-night, when the greater part of the army had passed, it came up
very windy and cold. My room was full, nearly, with the negroes and
their bedding. They were afraid to go out, for my women could not
step out of the door without an insult from the Yankee soldiers. They
lay down on the floor; Sadai got down and under the same cover with
Sally, while I sat up all night, watching every moment for the flames
to burst out from some of my buildings. The two guards came into my
room and laid themselves by my fire for the night. I could not close
my eyes, but kept walking to and fro, watching the fires in the
distance and dreading the approaching day, which, I feared, as they
had not all passed, would be but a continuation of horrors.
Confederate Digest is my way of celebrating America's proud Southern heritage. This blog is dedicated to the memory of William Elisha Conn, who died April 26, 1862, as a private in the Georgia/Confederate volunteer infantry. He was only 24-years-old at the time of his death, leaving behind his grieving 19-year-old widow and two babies, one of which grew up to become my great grandfather. William Elisha was a poor tenant farmer whose ancestors came to the United States from Ireland as indentured servants. He and three of his brothers fought for freedom from governmental tyranny and in defense of their homes and families against a hostile, invading Union army. Three of the four brothers were killed; the other was captured. The four Conn brothers, plus numerous cousins and uncles, along with hundreds of thousands of brave Confederates, young and old, black and white, fought for the principles of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution with the hope that their sacrifice would not be forgotten. Deo Vindice!
I am a freelance writer and photographer, and also a retired pastor and syndicated newspaper columnist. My writing credits include authoring six books and more than 300 articles which have appeared in a large variety of magazines and scores of newspapers.
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