General William T. Sherman, with his 60,000 men, has cut a swath across insurgent territory, a swath twenty to forty miles wide, and three hundred miles long.
All day the news comes.
All items confirm the success of his march.
Sherman’s men have foraged off the country; their devastation of property has been extreme; miles of railroad track have been ripped up; rolling stock has been captured; his forces advanced ten or twelve miles a day. The Confederate press refers to his march as a scourge.
Savannah—that was Sherman’s gift on Christmas.
Now, across the nation, a million and a half slaves have been freed.
Wednesday we went to Richmond by boat, a party of us, the day clear. Most of Richmond is gutted. Smoke is rising from burned buildings, buildings burned by the retreating Southern army. I walked a main street, holding Tad’s hand, our escort with us. Along both sides of the street were derelict people, blacks and whites, hungry people, uncertain what our presence meant to them.
I walked into the capitol building, sat hesitantly at the desk of President Jefferson Davis. Sitting there, the escort nearby, I remembered a pubic statement made by Davis, that blacks are children, that slavery is their training school.
In the streets we were met by cheering blacks; they wished to crowd around, realizing we meant no harm.