Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 2, 1861

Our camp is almost deserted. The tents of eight regiments dot the valley; but those of two regiments and half only are occupied. The Hoosiers have all gone to Cheat mountain summit. They propose to steal upon the enemy during the night, take him by surprise, and thrash him thoroughly. I pray they may be successful, for since Rich mountain our army has done nothing worthy of a paragraph. Rosecrans' affair at Carnifex was a barren thing; certainly no battle and no victory, and the operations in this vicinity have at no time risen to the dignity of a skirmish.

Captain McDougal, with nearly one hundred men and three days' provisions, started up the valley this morning, with instructions to go in sight of the enemy, the object being to lead the latter to suppose the advance guard of our army is before him. By this device it is expected to keep the enemy in our front from going to the assistance of the rebels now threatening Kimball.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 72

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 3, 1861

To-night, half an hour ago, received a dispatch from the top of Cheat, which reads as follows:

All back. Made a very interesting reconnoissance. Killed a large number of the enemy. Very small loss on our side.

 

J. J. REYNOLDS,                 

Brigadier-General.

Why, when the battle was progressing so advantageously for our side, did they not go on? This, then, is the result of the grand demonstration on the other side of the mountain.

McDougal's company returned, and report the enemy fallen back.

The frost has touched the foliage, and the mountain peaks look like mammoth bouquets; green, red, yellow, and every modification of these colors appear mingled in every possible fanciful and tasteful way.

Another dispatch has just come from the top of Cheat, written, I doubt not, after the Indianians had returned to camp and drawn their whisky ration. It sounds bigger than the first. I copy it:

Found the rebels drawn up in line of battle one mile outside of their fortifications, drove them back to their intrenchments, and continued the fight four hours. Ten of our men wounded and ten killed. Two or three hundred of the enemy killed.

If it be true that so many of the rebels were killed, it is probable, that two thousand at least were wounded; and when three hundred are killed and two thousand wounded, out of an army of twelve or fifteen hundred men, the business is done up very thoroughly. The dispatch which went to Richmond to-night, I have no doubt, stated that "the Federals attacked in great force, outnumbering us two or three to one, and after a terrific engagement, lasting five hours, they were repulsed at all points with great slaughter. Our loss one killed and five wounded. Federal loss, five hundred killed and twenty-five hundred wounded." Thus are victories won and histories made. Verily the pen is mightier than the sword.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 72-4

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 4, 1861

The Indianians have been returning from the summit all day, straggling along in squads of from three to a full company.

The men are tired, and the camp is quiet as a house. Six thousand are sleeping away a small portion of their three weary years of military service. This TIME stretches out before them, a broad, unknown, and extra-hazardous sea, with promise of some smooth sailing, but many days and nights of heavy winds and waves, in which some—how many!— will be carried down.

Their thoughts have now forced the sentinel lines, leaped the mountains, jumped the rivers, hastened home, and are lingering about the old fireside, looking in at the cupboard, and hovering over faces and places that have been growing dearer to them every day for the last five months. Old-fashioned places, tame and uninteresting then, but now how loved! And as for the faces, they are those of mothers, wives, and sweethearts, around which are entwined the tenderest of memories. But at daybreak, when reveille is sounded, these wanderers must come trooping back again in time for "hard-tack" and double quick.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 74

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 5, 1861

Some of the Indiana regiments are utterly beyond discipline. The men are good, stout, hearty, intelligent fellows, and will make excellent soldiers; but they have now no regard for their officers, and, as a rule, do as they please. They came straggling back yesterday from the top of Cheat unofficered, and in the most unsoldierly manner. As one of these stray Indianians was coming into camp, he saw a snake in the river and cocked his gun. He was near the quarters of the Sixth Ohio, and many men were on the opposite side of the stream, among them a lieutenant, who called to the Indianian and begged him for God's sake not to fire; but the latter, unmindful of what was said, blazed away. The ball, striking the water, glanced and hit the lieutenant in the breast, killing him almost instantly.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 75

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 6, 1861

The Third and Sixth Ohio, with Loomis' battery, left camp at half-past three in the afternoon, and took the Huntersville turnpike for Big Springs, where Lee's army has been encamped for some months. At nine o'clock we reached Logan's Mill, where the column halted for the night. It had rained heavily for some hours, and was still raining. The boys went into camp thoroughly wet, and very hungry and tired; but they soon had a hundred fires kindled, and, gathering around these, prepared and ate supper.

I never looked upon a wilder or more interesting scene. The valley is blazing with camp-fires; the men flit around them like shadows. Now some indomitable spirit, determined that neither rain nor weather shall get him down, strikes up:

Oh! say, can you see by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?

A hundred voices join in, and the very mountains, which loom up in the fire-light like great walls, whose tops are lost in the darkness, resound with a rude melody befiting so wild a night and so wild a scene. But the songs are not all patriotic. Love and fun make contribution also, and a voice, which may be that of the invincible Irishman, Corporal Casey, sings:

’T was a windy night, about two o'clock in the morning,

 An Irish lad, so tight, all the wind and weather scorning,

 At Judy Callaghan's door, sitting upon the paling,

 His love tale he did pour, and this is part of his wailing:

 Only say you'll be mistress Brallaghan;

 Don't say nay, charming Judy Callaghan.

A score of voices pick up the chorus, and the hills and mountains seem to join in the Corporal's appeal to the charming Judy:

Only say you'll be mistress Brallaghan;

Don't say nay, charming Judy Callaghan.

Lieutenant Root is in command of Loomis' battery. Just before reaching Logan's one of his provision wagons tumbled down a precipice, severely injuring three men and breaking the wagon in pieces.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 75-7

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 7, 1861

Left Logan's mill before the sun was up. The rain continues, and the mud is deep. At eleven o'clock we reached what is known as Marshall's store, near which, until recently, the enemy had a pretty large camp. Halted at the place half an hour, and then moved four miles further on, where we found the roads impassable for our artillery and transportation.

Learning that the enemy had abandoned Big Springs and fallen back to Huntersville, the soldiers were permitted to break ranks, while Colonel Marrow and Major Keifer, with a company of cavalry, rode forward to the Springs. Colonel Nick Anderson, Adjutant Mitchell and I followed. We found on the road evidence of the recent presence of a very large force. Quite a number of wagons had been left behind. Many tents had been ripped, cut to pieces, or burned, so as to render them worthless. A large number of beef hides were strung along the road. One wagon, loaded with muskets, had been destroyed. All of which showed, simply, that before the rebels abandoned the place the roads had become so bad that they could not carry off their baggage.

The object of the expedition being now accomplished, we started back at three o'clock in the afternoon, and encamped for the night at Marshall's store.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 77

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 8, 1861

Resumed the march early, found the river waist high, and current swift; but the men all got over safely, and we reached camp at one o'clock.

The Third has been assigned to a new brigade, to be commanded by Brigadier-General Dumont, of Indiana.

The paymaster has come at last.

Willis, my new servant, is a colored gentleman of much experience and varied accomplishments. He has been a barber on a Mississippi river steamboat, and a daguerreian artist. He knows much of the South, and manipulates a fiddle with wonderful skill. He is enlivening the hours now with his violin.

Oblivious to rain, mud, and the monotony of the camp, my thoughts are carried by the music to other and pleasanter scenes; to the cottage home, to wife and children, to a time still further away when we had no children, when we were making the preliminary arrangements for starting in the world together, when her cheeks were ruddier than now, when wealth and fame and happiness seemed lying just before me, ready to be gathered in, and farther away still, to a gentle, blue-eyed mother—now long gone—teaching her child to lisp his first simple prayer.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 77-8

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 9, 1861

The day has been clear. The mountains, decorated by the artistic fingers of Jack Frost, loom up in the sunshine like magnificent, highly-colored, and beautiful pictures.

The night is grand. The moon, a crescent, now rests for a moment on the highest peak of the Cheat, and by its light suggests, rather than reveals, the outline of hill, valley, cove and mountain.

The boys are wide awake and merry. The fair weather has put new spirit in them all, and possibly the presence of the paymaster has contributed somewhat to the good feeling which prevails.

Hark! This from the company quarters:

Her golden hair in ringlets fair;

Her eyes like diamonds shining;

Her slender waist, her carriage chaste,

Left me, poor soul, a pining.

But let the night be e'er so dark,

Or e'er so wet and rainy,

I will return safe back again

To the girl I left behind me.

From another quarter, in the rich brogue of the Celt, we have:

Did you hear of the widow Malone,

Ohone!

Who lived in the town of Athlone,

Alone?

Oh! she melted the hearts

Of the swains in those parts;

So lovely the widow Malone,

Ohone!

So lovely the widow Malone.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 78-9

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 10, 1861

Mr. Strong, the chaplain, has a prayer meeting in the adjoining tent. His prayers and exhortations fill me with an almost irresistible inclination to close my eyes and shut out the vanities, cares, and vexations of the world. Parson Strong is dull, but he is very industrious, and on secular days devotes his physical and mental powers to the work of tanning three sheepskins and a calf's hide. On every fair day he has the skins strung on a pole before his tent to get the sun. He combs the wool to get it clean, and takes especial delight in rubbing the hides to make them soft and pliable. I told the parson the other day that I could not have the utmost confidence in a shepherd who took so much pleasure in tanning hides.

While Parson Strong and a devoted few are singing the songs of Zion, the boys are having cotillion parties in other parts of the camp. On the parade ground of one company Willis is officiating as — musician, and the gentlemen go through "honors to partners" and "circle all" with apparently as much pleasure as if their partners had pink cheeks, white slippers, and dresses looped up with rosettes.

There comes from the Chaplain's tent a sweet and solemn refrain:

Perhaps He will admit my plea,

Perhaps will hear my prayer;

But if I perish I will pray,

And perish only there.

I can but perish if I go.

I am resolved to try,

For if I stay away I know

I must forever die.

While these old hymns are sounding in our ears, we are almost tempted to go, even if we do perish. Surely nothing has such power to make us forget earth and its round of troubles as these sweet old church songs, familiar from earliest childhood, and wrought into the most tender memories, until we come to regard them as a sort of sacred stream, on which some day our souls will float away happily to the better country.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 79-81

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 12, 1861

The parson is in my tent doing his best to extract something solemn out of Willis' violin. Now he stumbles on a strain of "Sweet Home," then a scratch of "Lang Syne;" but the latter soon breaks its neck over "Old Hundred," and all three tunes finally mix up and merge into "I would not live alway, I ask not to stay," which, for the purpose of steadying his hand, the parson sings aloud. I look at him and affect surprise that a reverend gentleman should take any pleasure in so vain and wicked an instrument, and express a hope that the business of tanning skins has not utterly demoralized him.

Willis pretends to a taste in music far superior to that of the common "nigger." He plays a very fine thing, and when I ask what it is, replies: "Norma, an opera piece." Since the parson's exit he has been executing "Norma" with great spirit, and, so far as I am able to judge, with wonderful skill. I doubt not his thoughts are a thousand miles hence, among brownskinned wenches, dressed in crimson robes, and decorated with ponderous ear-drops. In fact, "Norma” is good, and goes far to carry one out of the wilderness.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 81

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 13, 1861

It is after tattoo. Parson Strong's prayer meeting has been dismissed an hour, and the camp is as quiet as if deserted. The day has been a duplicate of yesterday, cold and windy. To-night the moon is sailing through a wilderness of clouds, now breaking out and throwing a mellow light over valley and mountain, then plunging into obscurity, and leaving all in thick darkness.

Major Keifer, Adjutant Mitchell, and Private Jerroloaman have been stretching their legs before my fireplace all the evening. The Adjutant being hopelessly in love, naturally enough gave the conversation a sentimental turn, and our thoughts have been wandering among the rosy years when our hearts throbbed under the gleam of one bright particular star (I mean one each), and our souls alternated between hope and fear, happiness and despair. Three of us, however, have some experience in wedded life, and the gallant Adjutant is reasonably confident that he will obtain further knowledge on the subject if this cruel war ever comes to an end and his sweetheart survives.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 81-2

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 14, 1861

The paymaster has been busy. The boys are very bitter against the sutler, realizing, for the first time, that "sutler's chips" cost money, and that they have wasted on jimcracks too much of their hard earnings. Conway has taken a solemn Irish oath that the sutler shall never get another cent of him. But these are like the half repentant, but resultless, mutterings of the confirmed drunkard. The "new leaf" proposed to be turned over is never turned.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 82

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, October 16, 1861

Am told that some of the boys lost in gambling every farthing of their money half an hour after receiving it from the paymaster.

An Indiana soldier threw a bombshell into the fire to-day, and three men were seriously wounded by the explosion.

_______________

The writer was absent from camp from October 21st to latter part of November, serving on courtmartial, first at Huttonville, and afterward at Beverly.

In November the Third was transferred to Kentucky.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 82-3

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 19, 1861

Reached camp yesterday at noon. My recruits arrived to-day.

The enemy was here in my absence in strength and majesty, and repeated, with a slight variation, the grand exploit of the King of France, by

"Marching up the hill with twenty thousand men,

And straightway marching down again."

There was lively skirmishing for a few days, and hot work expected; but, for reasons unknown to us, the enemy retired precipitately.

On Sunday morning last fifty men of the Sixth Ohio, when on picket, were surprised and captured. My friend, Lieutenant Merrill, fell into the hands of the enemy, and is now probably on his way to Castle Pinckney. Further than this our rebellious friends did us no damage. Our men, at this point, killed Colonel Washington, wounded a few others, and further than this inflicted but little injury upon the enemy. The country people near whom the rebels encamped say they got to fighting among themselves. The North Carolinians were determined to go home, and regiments from other States claimed that their term of service had expired, and wanted to leave. I am glad they did, and trust they may go home, hang up their guns, and go to work like sensible people, for then I could do the same.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 67-8

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 23, 1861

This afternoon I rode by a mountain path to a log cabin in which a half dozen wounded Tennesseeans are lying. One poor fellow had his leg amputated yesterday, and was very feeble. One had been struck by a ball on the head and a buckshot in the lungs. Two boys were but slightly wounded, and were in good spirits. To one of these-a jovial, pleasant boy—Dr. Seyes said, good humoredly: "You need have no fears of dying from a gunshot; you are too big a devil, and were born to be hung." Colonel Marrow sought to question this same fellow in regard to the strength of the enemy, when the boy said: "Are you a commissioned officer?" "Yes," replied Marrow. "Then," returned he," you ought to know that a private soldier don't know anything."

In returning to camp, we followed a path which led to a place where a regiment of the rebels had encamped one night. They had evidently become panic-stricken and left in hot haste. The woods were strewn with knapsacks, blankets, and canteens.

The ride was a pleasant one. The path, first wild and rugged, finally led to a charming little valley, through which Beckey's creek hurries down to the river. Leaving this, we traveled up the side of a ravine, through which a little stream fretted and fumed, and dashed into spray against slimy rocks, and then gathered itself up for another charge, and so pushed gallantly on toward the valley and the sunshine.

What a glorious scene! The sky filled with stars; the rising moon; two mountain walls so high, apparently, that one might step from them into heaven; the rapid river, the thousand white tents dotting the valley, the camp fires, the shadowy forms of soldiers; in short, just enough of heaven and earth visible to put one's fancy on the gallop. The boys are in groups about their fires. The voice of the troubadour is heard. It is a pleasant song that he sings, and I catch part of it.

"The minstrel 's returned from the war,

      With spirits as buoyant as air,

 And thus on the tuneful guitar

      He sings in the bower of the fair:

 The noise of the battle is over;

     The bugle no more calls to arms;

A soldier no more, but a lover,

     I kneel to the power of thy charms.

Sweet lady, dear lady, I'm thine;

     I bend to the magic of beauty,

Though the banner and helmet are mine,

     Yet love calls the soldier to duty."

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 68-9

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 24, 1861

Our Indiana friends are providing for the winter by laying in a stock of household furniture at very much less than its original cost, and without even consulting the owners. It is probable that our Ohio boys steal occasionally, but they certainly do not prosecute the business openly and courageously.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 69-70

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 26, 1861

The Thirteenth Indiana, Sixth Ohio, and two pieces of artillery went up the valley at noon, to feel the enemy. It rained during the afternoon, and since nightfall has poured down in torrents. The poor fellows who are now trudging along in the darkness and storm, will think, doubtless, of home and warm beds. It requires a pure article of patriotism, and a large quantity of it, to make one oblivious for months at a time of all the comforts of civil life.

This is the day designated by the President for fasting and prayer. Parson Strong held service in the regiment, and the Rev. Mr. Reed, of Zanesville, Ohio, delivered a very eloquent exhortation. I trust the supplications of the Church and the people may have effect, and bring that Higher Power to our assistance which hitherto has apparently not been with our arms especially.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 70

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 27, 1861

To-night almost the entire valley is inundated. Many tents are waist high in water, and where others stood this morning the water is ten feet deep. Two men of the Sixth Ohio are reported drowned. The water got around them before they became aware of it, and in endeavoring to escape they were swept down the stream and lost. The river seems to stretch from the base of one mountain to the other, and the whole valley is one wild scene of excitement. Wherever a spot of dry ground can be found, huge log fires are burning, and men by the dozen are grouped around them, anxiously watching the water and discussing the situation. Tents have been hastily pitched on the hills, and camp fires, each with its group of men, are blazing in many places along the side of the mountain. The rain has fallen steadily all day.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 70-1

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 28, 1861

The Thirteenth Indiana and Sixth Ohio returned. The reconnoissance was unsuccessful, the weather being unfavorable.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 71

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: August 16, 1861

The opinion seems to be growing that the rebels do not intend to attack us. They have put it off too long.

A scouting party will start out in the morning, under the guidance of "old Leather Breeches," a primitive West Virginian, who has spent his life in the mountains. His right name is Bennett. He wears an antiquated pair of buckskin pantaloons, and has a cabin-home on the mountain, twelve miles away.

A tambourine is being played near by, and Fox, with a heart much lighter than his complexion, is indulging in a double shuffle.

There are many snakes in the mountains: rattlesnakes, copperheads, blacksnakes, and almost every other variety of the snake kind; in short, the boys have snake on the brain. To-day one of the choppers made a sudden grab for his trouser leg; a snake was crawling up. He held the loathsome reptile tightly by the head and body, and was fearfully agitated. A comrade slit down the leg of the pantaloon with a knife, when lo! an innocent little roll of red flannel was discovered.

The boys are very liberal in the bestowal of titles. Colonel Hogseye is indebted to them for his commission. The Colonel commands an ax just now. Ordinarily he carries a musket, sleeps and dines with his subordinates, and is not above traveling on foot.

Fox's real name, I ascertained lately, is William Washington. His brother, now in the service of the surgeon, is called Handsome, and Colonel Marrow's servant is known by the boys as the Bay Nigger.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 55-6