Concise Edition: American Voices: Sherman’s March Through Georgia

DOLLY SUMNER LUNT

“We must make old and young, rich and poor, feel the hand of war,” General William Tecumseh Sherman wrote to General Grant late in 1864, indicating his intention to carry the war to the South’s civilian population. Dolly Sumner Lunt of Covington, Georgia, soon found out what Sherman meant. Born in Maine in 1817, Dolly Sumner went south to teach school, married a slave owner, and, after his death, ran the family’s plantation, apparently in a benevolent fashion. Her wartime journal describes the plantation’s fate at Sherman’s hands.

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 … 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 … looking for her husband. … 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 should kill them anyhow.

“No, don’t” said I, and ran home as fast as I could.

I could hear them cry “Halt! Halt!” and their guns went off in quick succession. Oh God, the time of trial has come. …

I hastened back to my frightened servants [slaves] and told them they had better hide, and then went back to the gate to claim protection and a guard. But like demons they [Sherman’s troops] rushed in! … The thousand pounds of meat in my smokehouse is gone in a twinkling, my flour, my meat, my lard, butter, eggs … all gone. My eighteen fat turkeys, hens, chickens … 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 … ; then came old May, my brood mare, … with her three-year-old colt. … There they go! There go my mules, my sheep, and worse than all, my boys [younger slaves]. … Their parents are with me, and how sadly they lament the loss of their boys. Their cabins are rifled of every valuable. … 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. …

Sherman himself and a greater portion of his army passed my house that day … ; they tore down my garden palings, made a road through my back-yard and lot field … desolating my home — wantonly doing it when there was no necessity for it. …

As night drew its sable curtains around us, the heavens from every point were lit up with flames from burning buildings.

SOURCE : Eyewitnesses and Others: Readings in American History (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1995), 1: 413–417.