Showing posts with label 5th WI INF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 5th WI INF. Show all posts

Thursday, July 10, 2025

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 21, 1861

Our camp here was made without consulting the Surgeons. It was laid out without order, and the tents are so close together that teams cannot pass through to remove its rubbish, its offal, and its filth. My Colonel, too, has interfered much with my sanitary orders, particularly those in reference to ventilation. The result is the largest sick list we have had, I have succeeded, however, in getting consent to move the camp to other ground, high and dry, where I am now engaged in ditching the streets, and staking out the ground preparatory to a move, where I hope we shall be able to reduce the list of sick. I believe I omitted in the proper place the record of the first death in our regiment. It occurred on the 3d of this month. The poor fellow died of Nostalgia (home-sickness), raving to the last breath about wife and children. It seems strange that such an affection of the mind should kill strong, healthy men; but deaths from this cause are very frequent in the army; the sufferer, towards the last showing evidences of broken down nervous system, accompanied by most of the symptoms of typhoid fever.

A little incident to-day. A reconnoitering party went out this morning towards Vienna and Flint Hill. At noon, a courier came in with a report that they were fighting. I was ordered to take an ambulance and join my regiment "in the direction of Vienna" immediately. On starting, I met with Surgeon Thompson, of the 43d N. York Vols., told him I was going in search of an adventure, and invited him to go with me. He accepted. We reached our outer lines "in the direction of Vienna," but had not found my regiment. To Surgeon T.'s question, "What now!" I replied that my orders were to "go till I found my regiment." "But are you going to cross the lines into the enemy's country?" My orders are unconditional; will you go with me further?" "Certainly," said the Doctor. Shortly after leaving head-quarters, we met the 1st Regt. Regular Cavalry, who told us they had left one man badly wounded between Flint Hill and Vienna. This man we determined to rescue, if possible. We found him in a house in Vienna. I had now obeyed my order, though I had not found my regiment, and I determined to take this man back with me, though the enemy were all around us. One ball had passed between his ear and skull, a second had passed through the leg, a third had entered the back, just below the shoulder blade, but had made no exit. He was suffering severely from pain and difficult respiration. He could not ride in an ambulance, so Doctor T. volunteered to return to our lines for litter-bearers and an escort, whilst I should remain with our newly made friend. I confess that as I caught the last glimpse of the Doctor's fine black horse dashing over the hill, there was at the ends of my fingers and toes a sensation very much akin to the "oozing out of courage." I was alone in the enemy's country. But there was no other way now, so I dressed the wounds, and waited his return, with what patience I could. He soon returned. We started the man in the direction of our lines, under an escort of eight men.

We mounted our horses, and paying but little attention, got some mile ahead of our escort, when suddenly, eight horsemen, well mounted and armed, came bearing down on us, evidently intending to surround us. They were about a quarter of a mile off when first discovered. "We are in for a trip to Richmond," said Doctor T. "Is it not safer," replied I, "to fight than to be taken prisoners by these fellows?" "I'm in," said the Doctor. We drew our revolvers and waited, one of us, I am certain, in considerable trepidation. By this time they were in hailing distance. We called them to halt, when, to our mutual disgust, we found that we were friends—they were cheated of the capture of two very fine looking rebel officers," and we of a short road to "that borne whence no traveller returns.” A little after dark we reached camp with our man. In civil life, it will hardly be credited that the commanding officer of this regiment, when he found his man so badly wounded, ordered him to be taken from his horse and left, whilst the horse was to be taken away; yet the man states that such is the fact, and that he saved himself from such a fate by drawing his revolver and threatening to shoot the first man who should approach him for that purpose. After the regiment left him, he managed to sit on his horse till he reached Vienna, about three miles from where he was shot.

Since last date, we have had an opportunity of learning something of the military qualities of our brigade officers. We have not been before on ground where we could have our brigade drills; but here we have them.

General Smith, who commands the Division, is a stout, short man, rather under size, from Vermont, I think. He is taciturn, but exceedingly courteous and gentlemanly, and firm and decided. Of his mental calibre, we have not yet had an opportunity to judge. It is a strange paradox of human nature, that whilst we acknowledge that a vast majority of our mentally big men are quiet and reserved, yet when we meet a stranger, if he says little, we fall at once into the opinion that he knows little. How this is with General Smith, I do not know. I am much disposed to construe his quiet and courteous manner favorably; but I confess that whispers from the grove have rather prejudiced me against him.

Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock is the very antipode of General Smith. He is fully as long as his name, with title perfixed, and as for quiet and courtesy—Oh, fie! I saw him come on to the field one morning this week, to brigade drill. He was perfectly sober. He is one of those paradoxes who believe that one man, at least, is to be known by his much talking. He became excited, or wished to appear so, at some little mistake in the maneuvering of his Brigade, and the volleys of oaths that rolled and thundered down the line, startled the men with suspicion that they were under command of some Quarter Master lately made General, who mistook the men for mules, and their officers for drivers. He must be a facetious chap, that General, to wish to excite such suspicions. I think he hails from Pennsylvania, but nobody seems to know much about him, except from his statement that he has been seventeen years in the service, and knows all about it." Wherever he has been, he has certainly acquired a perfect intimacy with the whole gamut of profanity.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 44-7

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 22, 1861

Went to Washington to see off a friend who has been spending a few weeks with me, as mess-mate. I felt sadly at the parting, and being lonely to-night, I cannot help thinking of home, of home! Where is it? One child in Connecticut, the other in Wisconsin, my wife in New York, and I in Virginia. This separation—disintegration of my family saddens me, and I wish it were otherwise. But the maintenance of government demands war, and war demands sacrifices, to which all patriots must yield. The whisperings of yesterday that we were repulsed at Ball's Bluff, or Edward's Ferry, are more than confirmed, and another good man is sacrificed on the altar of his couutry. General Baker fell in the battle. The particulars have not reached us, but I fear that we have been sorely defeated, notwithstanding General McClellan's promise, a short time since, that we should meet with no more defeats. Shall we have this proclaimed through telegraph and press, as another "Great Victory?" I regret that McClellan made that foolish speech. It has lost him the confidence of many of his friends.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 47-8

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 24, 1861

A little skirmish to-day, amounting to almost nothing. A party of four or five hundred went out in the morning, came upon the enemy's pickets, and firing on them, drove them in. Then, on returning, our four or five hundred found five men in the field, drawing manure, and well armed with shovels and dung-forks. We took them all prisoners, without losing a man! Wonder, if by to-morrow, this cannot be magnified into another "Great Victory," to offset the terrible disaster at Edward's Ferry. This "Grand Army of the Potomac" is a great field in which to win glory. Victories make glory, and victories with us are very cheap.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 48

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 25, 1861

We have moved our camp about one hundred rods, are out of the mud, on high dry ground, where the tents can be ventilated and the streets kept clean. I look for a great improvement in the health of the regiment from this.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 48

Wednesday, July 9, 2025

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 29, 1861

A little occurrence of a very unpleasant nature, today. I have, for a long time, felt that my Colonel was interfering with the Medical Department of the Regiment, to an extent not warranted by the rules of war, and greatly to the prejudice of the health of the men. Seeing so many sick around me, I became excited, and said to him that his interference must stop; that I would submit to it no longer. He considered this insubordination, or something worse, and used language which I construed into a threat of Court-Martial. This was not very soothing to my excitement, or my excitability, and I wrote him a defiant note, inviting him to put his threat in execution. I know it is an offence against military law to use either insulting or disrespectful language to superior officers; and I felt that it was against the law of self-respect to submit to be forever trampled on, so as one of these laws had to be violated, I took my choice. Perhaps I did wrong. The result will show.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 48-9

Monday, January 20, 2025

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 1-2, 1861

During these two days the regiment has been busily engaged in moving its camp about four miles. The new camp is to be called Camp Vanderwerken, from the name of a man owning a large property in the immediate neighborhood.

Very shortly after crossing Chain Bridge, our regiment was transferred from Gen. King's to Gen. Smith's brigade, to which we remained attached till about the 28th of September, when Gen. Smith was promoted to the command of a division, and we transferred to a new brigade under command of Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock, an officer of fine appearance, but with rather a narrow forehead, and from what little I have seen of him, I should presume him to be at least excitable, if not irritable. We have been between three and four months organized, and have not yet lost a man by either disease or accident. So after all, the life of a soldier, if his health is properly looked after, is not more exposed to sickness than that of a civilian. I am fast coming to the conclusion that the great mortality of camp life is owing much more to neglect of the proper means within our reach of preserving health, than to any exposures to which the soldier is peculiarly liable.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 39-4

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 8, 1861

To-day our division made a "recognizance in force." Marched to Prospect Hill, on the river turnpike, about four miles, and after settling into bivouac two or three times during the day, brought up about 11 o'clock at night at Lewinsville. Having crawled into my ambulance to rest, I note this before dropping asleep.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 40

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 9, 1861

We have remained bivouaced all day, and there is talk of our moving our camp to this place to-morrow. This will advance us another three miles in the direction of Richmond. On the 8th of August we arrived in Washington two months ago yesterday. We are now eight miles nearer Richmond than then. At this rate when shall we reach that famous city? If we do not go faster, I fear Mr. President Lincoln will never dine there at the head of his armies.

But these delays are doubtless necessary on the start. War is new to us. Our armies had to be organized and educated to war. Munitions had to be procured, and as most of those belonging to the nation had been appropriated by the South, much of them had to be manufactured. Our navy had to be called home from the four quarters of the world, and innumerable other preparations had to be made, of which we uninitiated are wholly ignorant. Gen. McClellan seems to be active, and we doubt not that under the counsels of the veteran General Scott, matters will be pushed forward as rapidly as circumstances will permit. True, many of us think that Gen. McClellan's "Stand by me and I'll stand by you" speech was not in refined taste—in about as good taste as Pope's proclamation—but as we do not expect or desire exhibitions of delicate taste on the battle-field with an unscrupulous enemy, we overlook the departure from it in our General, and accord to him full confidence, as to both his will and ability to lead us to victory.

We are at present within half a mile of the splendid mansion of the late Commodore Thos. Ap' Catesby Jones. I visited that and his splendid grounds, found them deserted by the whites; a few of the old and almost helpless negroes being left on the place. The soldiers had entered, and made some havoc amongst books and papers. The fine furniture stood in every room in the house, and the walls were covered by the finest paintings, including the family pictures. But the strictest orders, denouncing severe punishment to depredators, were posted about the house, and a strong guard placed to enforce them. I picked up a few articles of little value, except as relics from the home of this once happy and popular family, now in rebellion against the Government to which they were indebted for the favors and protection to which they owed their prosperity. I was strongly inclined to take down the family pictures, and to remove them to where they could be taken care of till happier times befall us, that they might then be returned to the family, by whom they must be held in high estimation, but I feared that the motive would be misconstrued, and that it would lead to trouble.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 40-1

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 10, 1861

We have commenced moving our camp equipage from Camp Vanderwerken to this place, to be named Camp Griffin—I suppose for Capt. Griffin, of one of the batteries of the regular army. Capt. G., with his battery, has been one of us and with us since we crossed the Potomac. We have had much trouble and vexation to-day in establishing medical headquarters for the regiments of our brigade, but after much ordering of us and changing of orders, we are at last to take charge of the stone house of Mr. Jno. N. Johnson, in which, and in the tents we are able to pitch, we hope to make comfortable all the sick of our brigade.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 41-2

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 11, 1861

Sent off ambulances to-day to commence bringing forward the sick of my regiment, and whilst they were gone, after having put my hospital in good order for their reception, I stepped over again to Commodore Jones' house to see how the guards stationed there had succeeded in carrying out their orders. Till I entered the house, I thought I had seen evidences of extreme vandalism, but the wanton destruction here beggars everything I have before witnessed. Furniture broken; feather beds opened, and their contents emptied over house and yard; even those beautiful family pictures were ground to atoms and thrown to the winds. But I need not describe here, for the impression is deeply stamped in memory, more durable and more accurate than words and letters can ever make. Everything destructable was destroyed.*

In handling over the papers I picked up the Commodore's "Journal of a cruise in the U. S. ship Relief-bearing the broad pennant of Commodore Jones-Thos. A. Downer, Esq., Commander," which I have preserved, and also a letter from a son of Commodore Tatnall (late of the rebel Merrimac) to Commodore Jones, written from the Meditterranean, asking to be relieved from duty there, and to be permitted to return to America.†

As it will be a matter of interest to me, in future, to study my predictions as to the course and conduct of this war-to rejoice and be vain over those which prove correct, and to laugh at or be ashamed of those which prove false, I shall continue to record them as I have begun; and here I enter one in which I hope to take interest a long time hence. As I have constantly predicted, we have had no fight here nor shall we have; and I now very much doubt whether we shall have a fight even at Manassas, and for this reason: "After all the feints of the enemy here to draw Gen. Banks from Harper's Ferry had failed, they, seeing that we have got foot-hold in North Carolina, will fall back on their fortifications at Centerville and Manassas, and then presenting a bold front with a small body, will cover the withdrawal of the larger part of their force, which they will distribute in Kentucky, Missouri, Tennessee and Western Virginia, and I very much doubt whether they will retain enough at Manassas to make a respectable fight. Kentucky and Tennessee are to become the theatre of war; and if I am not greatly mistaken, Kentucky will have trying times between this and the first of January. I hope that Gen. McClellan is taking the same view of things, and is preparing to meet it." What I have here marked as a quotation is a copied from a letter this day written to a friend on the prospects of the war.

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* It is worthy of remark here, that thus whilst this wanton destruction was going on, a half a mile away, everything on the place of Mr. Johnson, (a loyalist, whose house and garden were in the very midst of the encampments,) though unguarded was unmolested; every article he had to dispose of was bought and paid for, at high prices, by the soldiers. Even thus early could we read the soldier's aversion to guarding, or having guarded the property of rebels.

† This letter I handed to a lady connection of the Tatnall family, who was with me at the time, and she found means of restoring it to them.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 42-3

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 12, 1861

I find vast trouble in doing justice to the sick, in consequence of the unwarrantable interference of military officers in matters of which they are about as well qualified to judge as would be so many of their mules. The two forts which we built near Chain Bridge, and have left some three miles in our rear, have been officially named Fort Marcy and Fort Ethan Allen. The former encloses about one, the latter about five acres of land, and are both very strong.

Our division now holds the post of honor, the advanced center in the Army of the Potomac. Nobody ahead of us, but in the rear, and the right and left, for miles it is but a city of tents. By night the views over these camps are beautiful; by day the stench and noise is abominable.

Surgeon Owen, of Chester, Penn., to-day enters on the duties of Surgeon of our brigade, and I entertain strong hopes that he will be able to stop the pernicious interference of military officers with matters purely medical.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 43-4

Sunday, October 6, 2024

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 25, 1861

We had a great time to-day, having sent out this morning some six thousand troops, with about one hundred wagons, on a foraging expedition. This evening they returned, loaded with hay, oats, corn, cows, sheep, hogs, and one Irishman—all captured from the enemy. In this deserted and desolated country, where we have for weeks been enjoying (?) rural life without a sign of pig or poultry, without even those indispensable concomitants of civil life-the cries of babies, or the flapping in the wind of confidential garments from clothes lines in the back yard*—the sight of the woolly bleaters called back reminiscences of savory mutton and warm under-dresses, with whispered wishes for the time when we may return to the pleasures of civil life.
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*A something whispers to me that if this should ever be read by housekeeper, it may call up unpleasant reminiscences of "ironing days." I hope not.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 37

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 30, 1861

(I shall not, in this book, feel obliged to give the proceedings.and doings of every day. Whilst in camp, sometimes for whole weeks, one day was so like the others that to state the occurrences of each would be but a repetition of words. As most of this fall and winter were spent in one place-Camp Griffin-I shall refer only occasionally to occurrences or events, without feeling the necessity of confining myself accurately to dates.)

During the past week I have been much shocked by the growing tendency to drunkenness amongst the officers of the army. I do not doubt but that if the soldiers could procure spirituous liquors, they would follow the example set them by their much loved officers.

I have been som[e]what amused for a few days by the antics of an officer of high rank, who has been shut up by sickness in his tent, and under my supervision. He entered the army about the time I did, and had for some time been a much esteemed member in good standing of the Good Templars. He had been from camp a few days—I think to Washington—and returned sick. He had been with me but a short time when his vivid imagination began to convert the stains on his tent into "all manner of artistic beauties— figures of beasts and men, and of women walking on the walls of his tent, feet upwards." Fie, fie! Colonel; if I did not know that you were a Good Templar and a married man, I should think such fancies were unbecoming. 'Tis a good thing to be a Templar and a married man, but still "All is not gold that glitters."

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 38

Thursday, August 22, 2024

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 23, 1861

As a description of the appearance of the country in which we were settled, I here introduce a letter written at this date to a friend:

CAMP ADVANCE, Sept. 23, 1861.


A short time since I undertook, from a single feature in the marred and distorted face of this country, to give you some idea of the effects of the war on Virginia, and of how dearly she is paying for her privilege of being shamefully servile to South Carolina. It may not be uninteresting for you, now, to know, to know something of its general appearance as it is, and as it was; and yet when I tell you that my attempt to describe one scene fell far short of the reality, you may imagine something of the difficulty of undertaking, in a single letter, to convey any adequate idea of the whole. When Gov. Pickens said last spring to the Carolinians: "You may plant your seeds in peace, for Virginia will have to bear the brunt of the war," he cast a shadow of the events which were coming on the head of this superannuated "mother of States and of statesmen."


Chain Bridge is about seven miles from the Capitol in Washington, and crosses the Potomac at the head of all navigation; even skiffs and canoes cannot pass for any distance above it, though a small steam tug runs up to the bridge, towing scows loaded, principally, with stone for the city. The river runs through a gorge in a mountainous region, and from here to Georgetown, a suburb of Washington, is unapproachable on the Virginia side. There are very few places where even a single footman can, with safety, get down the precipitous banks to the water. The river then is a perfect barrier to any advance by the enemy from this side, except at Georgetown, Chain Bridge, and Long Bridge, at the lower end of Washington City. On the Columbia side is a narrow plateau of land, along which runs the Ohio and Chesapeake Canal, and a public road. These occupy the entire plateau till you come near Georgetown, where the country opens out, making room for fine rolling farms of exceeding fertility, with here and there a stately mansion overlooking road, city, canal and river, making some of the most beautiful residences I ever beheld. On Meridian Hill, a little north of the road from Washington to Georgetown, stands the old Porter Mansion, from which one of the most aristocratic families in America were wont to overlook the social, political, and physical movements of our National Capital; from which, too, they habitually dispensed those hospitalities which made it the resort, not only of the citizens of Columbia and Maryland, but also of the F. F. V.'s, for whom it had especial attractions. All around it speaks in unmistakable language of the social and pecuniary condition of those who occupied the grounds. Even the evidences of death there speak of the wealth of the family. The tombstone which marks the place of repose of one of its members, and on which is summed up the short historical record of her who sleeps within, tells of former affluence and comfort.


A little further on we pass the Kalorama House—the name of the owner or the former occupant I have not learned, but it is one of the most magnificent places that imagination can picture. You enter the large gate, guarded by a beautiful white cottage for the janitor, and by a circuitous route through a dense grove of deciduous and evergreen forest, you rise, rise, rise, by easy and gradual ascent, the great swell of ground on which stands the beautiful mansion, shut out from the view of the visitor till he is almost on the threshold, but overlooking even its whole growth of forest, and the whole country for miles around.

You next pass Georgetown. The plateau begins to narrow, and the dimensions of the houses grow correspondingly less, but they are distributed at shorter intervals till you reach the bridge.


This is what it was. What is it? In passing the Porter mansion, the stately building, with its large piazza shaded by the badly damaged evergreens, and covered more closely by the intermingling branches of every variety of climbing rose, of the clamatis and the honeysuckle, invite you to enter, but the seedy hat and thread-bare coat appearance of the old mansion, give notice that the day of its prosperity is passing away. You would cool yourself in the shade of its clumps of evergreens, but at every tree stands tied a war horse, ready caparisoned for the "long roll" to call him into action at any moment, and, lest you be trampled, you withdraw, and seek shelter in the arbor or summer house. Here, too, "grim-visaged war presents his wrinkled front," and under those beautiful vines where fashion once held her levees, the commissary and the soldiers now parley over the distribution of pork and beef and beans. In the sadness, inspired by scenes like these, you naturally withdraw, to a small enclosure of white palings, over the top of which is seen rising a square marble column. As you approach, large letters tell you that ELIZABETH PORTER lies there, and the same engraving also tells you that she is deaf to the surrounding turmoil, and has ceased to know of the passions which caused it. That marble rises from a broad pedestal, on one side of which are two soldiers with a pack of cards, and the little pile of money which they received a few days ago, is rapidly changing hands. On the opposite side are two others busily engaged in writing, perhaps of the glories and laurels they are to win in this war; but I venture the opinion, never once to express an idea of the misery and despair of the widows and orphans at whose expense their glories are to be won! On the third side of the pedestal stand a tin canteen, two tin cups, and a black bottle! The fourth awaits a tenant. Again, for quiet, you approach the mansion. As you step on the threshold, half lost, no doubt, in musing over what you have witnessed, instead of the hospitable hand extended with a cordial "Walk in, sir," you are startled by the presented bayonet, and the stern command to "halt; who are you and your busines?" A good account of yourself will admit you to spacious rooms with black and broken walls, soiled floors, window sills, sash and moulding, all disfigured or destroyed by the busy knife of the universal Yankee. This room is occupied by the staff of some regiment or brigade. The next is a store room for corn, oats, hay, and various kinds of forage. The house has been left unoccupied by its owners, and is now taken possession of by any regiment or detachment which happens to be stationed near.

Tired of this desolation in the midst of a crowd, you pass through long rows of white tents, across the little valley which separates you from the hill of Kalorama. Your stop here will be short, for after having climbed the long ascent and reached the house, you find the windows all raised, and anxious lookers-out at every opening. From the first is presented to your view a face of singular appearance, thickly studded with large, roundish, ash-colored postules, slightly sunken in the center. The next presents one of different aspect—a bloody redness, covered here and there with scaly excrescences, ready to be rubbed off, and show the same blood redness underneath. In the next, you find another change—the redness paling, the scales dropping, and revealing deep, dotted pits, and you at once discover that the beautiful house of Kalorama is converted into a pest house for soldiers. Shrinking away from this, you pass through a corner of Georgetown, and then enter the narrow valley between the high bluffs and the Potomac. Onward you travel towards the bridge, never out of the sight of houses, the fences unbroken, the crops but little molested, the country in the peace and quietness of death almost; for the houses, farms, crops, are all deserted, in consequence of the war which is raging on the opposite side of that unapproachable river; and you travel from our National Capital through seven miles of fine country, inviting, by its location and surroundings, civilization and refinement in the highest tone, without passing a house—save in Georgetown—in which the traveler would find it safe to pass a night—indeed I can recall but one which is inhabited by whites. On all these farms scarcely a living thing is to be seen, except the few miserably-ragged and woebegone—looking negroes, or some more miserable—looking white dispensers of bad whisky, who seem to have taken possession of them because they had been abandoned by their proper occupants. The lowing of herds is no longer heard here; the bleating of flocks has ceased, and even Chanticleer has yielded his right of morning call to the bugle's reveille. "If such things are done in the green tree, what may we expect in the dry?" Cross the bridge into Virginia, and you will see.


Gloomy as is the prospect just passed, it saddens immeasurably from the moment you cross the Virginia line. In addition to the abandonment and desolation of the other side, destruction here stares you in the face. Save in the soldier and his appendants, no sign of life in animal larger than the cricket or katy-did, greets you as you pass. Herds, flocks, swine, and even fowls, both wild and domestic, have abandoned this country, in which scenes of civil life are no longer known. Houses are torn down, fences no longer impede the progress of the cavalier, and where, two months ago, were flourishing growths of grain and grass, the surface is now bare and trodden as the highway. Even the fine growths of timber do not escape, but are literally mowed down before the march of the armies, lest they impede the messengers of death from man to man. And this is in the nineteenth century of Christianity—and these the results of the unchristian passions of fathers, sons and brothers, striving against the lives and happiness of each other. Alas! Poor Virginia! Your revenues are cut off, your industry paralysed, your soil desecrated, your families in exile, your prestige gone forever.


But as so many others are writing of exciting scenes, I fear you will grow impatient for my description of the last battles for my account of anthropophagi—of men who have their heads beneath their shoulders—but I have no tact for describing unfought battles, or for proclaiming imperishable glories won to-day, never to be heard of after to-morrow. When we have a fight worth describing, I shall tell you of it. In the meantime I am "taking notes," and "faith I'll print 'em." If the rebels will not give us a fight to make a letter of, I will, at my first leisure, for fear my men forget their Hardee and Scott, have a graphic dress parade, in which our different regiments shall contribute at least a battalion, to pass review before you. Then let him who loses laugh, for he who wins is sure to. Till then good night.


SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 31-7

Friday, May 10, 2024

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 1, 1861

I cannot but feel depressed at what seems to be great imbecility in the management of our military affairs. By whose fault, I know not. Here we are with one hundred and fifty thousand troops, and we can stand on our National Capitol and see the rebels fortifying on Munson's Hill. I wonder if Gen. McClellan does not need a rest to hold his glass steady whilst he looks at them.

We have just received news of Dupont's having got a foothold in North Carolina. This places us in rear of the enemy, and brightens our prospects wonderfully, if our army there will only press their advantage.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 20

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 2, 1861

The following extract from a letter which I have just written to a friend, is the sum and substance of my thoughts, journalized for to-day. "Major will not write his mother whether an attack on Washington is expected. I will tell you what I think: From the dome of the Capitol we can see the rebels throwing up works just beyond Arlington. Every day or two we have picket skirmishing.

On Wednesday night we had, within a short distance of Washington, seven men set as picket guards. The next day I saw one of the seven wounded in the side by a musket ball. The other six were killed. Almost everybody here is looking for an attack, but I do not believe we shall have one. I have no doubt that Beauregard would like to draw us out to attack him; that he would then retreat, with the hope of drawing us into his nets as he did at Bull Run. But he will not attack us here.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 20-1

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 6, 1861

I introduce the following letter to a friend, as sufficiently explicit as to the occurrences since the last date:

CHAIN BRIDGE, VA., Sept. 6, 1861.

 

I commence this letter with the reiteration, Poor Virginia! That State, which for forty years has stood as the guiding star of our galaxy of States,—that State, which alone could, six months ago, have assumed the position of umpire to the belligerents, and which only would have been respected in the assumption—now stands at the very foot of the list. In the commencement of this contest she degraded herself by offering to become the cat's paw for South Carolina, and was still farther degraded by South Carolina rejecting the proposition to become her menial. By her officious subservience, however, she got her paw into the fire, and how dreadfully it is burned only those who are on her soil can form any idea. Everywhere is the destruction going on. Her soil is the battle-field, and, so far as the destruction of property is concerned, it matters but little which party is successful. Armies must have room to move and manœuvre, soldiers will have the fruits and vegetables which grow around their encampment, and camp life is a poor fertilizer of that moral growth which marks the line of "meum et tuum."

This letter is written on sheets taken from the former residence of Hon. W. W. Slade, once a member of Congress from Virginia. I rode around with a foraging party. We entered his fine old mansion, and I could not but weep over the sad changes which I could see had taken place within a few hours, Within no living soul was left. The soldiers entered; for a time I stood back, but when I did go in what a sight presented itself! Already the floors were covered knee-deep with books and papers, which it must have required a long life of toil and trouble to amass, fine swinging-mirrors shivered into thousands of pieces—a fit emblem of the condition to which efforts are being made to reduce this glorious government—each piece reflecting miniature images of what the whole had shown, but never again to reflect those pigmy images in one vast whole. In the large and spacious drawing-room stood the ruins of one of those old-fashioned sideboards, around which had grown so much of the reputation of Southern high life and hospitality; its doors, wrenched from their hinges, lay scattered on the floor; large mahogany sofas, with their covers torn off, marble-top tables, stationery, china, stoves and spittoons, were there in one promiscuous heap of ruins. I stepped into the library, hoping to bring away some relic that had been untouched by the soldiers, but I was too late—all here was ruin. In a corner I picked up a few yellow pamphlets, and read "Constitution and By-Laws of the National Democratic Association." Sadly enough I left the house, and seated myself, to rest and think, on the spacious verandah. For a moment I looked on the vast orchards, the beautiful flower garden, the long rows of laden grape vines, the broad acres of corn and clover, and thought, "What a place and what a condition to pass old age in comfort and quiet," and my heart began to lighten. How momentary the lightning, for just then company after company from the different regiments came up; gates were thrown open, fences thrown down, and horses, cattle and mules were destroying all these evidences of prosperity and comfort. And this is but one feature in the great haggard countenance of war which stares at us whenever we look at Virginia's "sacred soil." Alas, poor Virginia! This subject alone would give interest to a whole volume, but I must leave it.

On Tuesday night, at half-past ten o'clock, the "long roll" brought our brigade, of five regiments, to their feet, when we found ourselves under orders to march at once for the Virginia side of the river, where, it was said, a large body of rebels had been collecting just at night. We had had slight skirmishing in that neighborhood for several days, and now the crisis was expected, and our regiment was to have a chance. All was excitement, and in half an hour from the alarm we were ready to start. By the time we arrived here it had commenced raining—we found no enemy—bivouaced for the night, and slept in the rain to the music of the tramp, tramp of infantry, and the rattling, roaring tear of artillery wagons over the roughly macademized road which passed by our encampment. Yesterday it rained all day, as if every plug had been pulled out; still we kept on our arms and ready for action—our general and brigade officers dashing about all the time, and warning us to be ready for an attack. Day before yesterday a scouting party of our brigade went in pursuit of a party of cavalry who had been seen hovering about us. When they came in sight the cavalry took to their heels, leaving to us only three large contrabands, who "tink massa oughten to run away from poor nigga so, heah! heah! They just run and leab us to de mercy of de darn abolishuns, heah! heah!" They report that around Fairfax and Centreville there are sixty or seventy regiments, who are well provisioned, but that there is a great deal of sickness among them, measles being the prevailing disease. We had, when we left Kalarama, about twenty-five in the hospital, whom we left there under the charge of Dr. There are three or four here who have sickened in consequence of exposure to the two days and two night's rain, but they will be out in a day or two. We have not yet lost a man by disease or accident, though I hear that one man yesterday received a musket ball through his cap, but as it did not hit his head it is thought he will recover. The musket was carelessly fired by some soldier in our camp.

A little occurrence to-day has caused quite a stir in our camps, and I deem it worthy to be noted here for my remembrance. Capt. Strong, of the Second Regiment of Wisconsin Volunteers, was with a small party on picket guard. He strolled away from his company, and suddenly found himself surrounded by six of the rebel pickets. Being out of reach of help from his men, he surrendered himself a prisoner. After a short consultation as to whether they should kill the "d----d Yankee" on the spot, they concluded that they would first take him into camp. They demanded his pistols, which he took from his belt and presented. But at the moment when the rebels were receiving them, they both went off, killing two of his captors on the spot. But there were four left, two on foot, two on horseback. He dashed into a pine thicket, they discharging their pieces after him and immediately giving chase. He struck into a deep hollow or ravine leading down to the Potomac. It was so precipitous that the horsemen could not follow. But when he emerged from it near the river; he found himself confronted by the two horsemen who had ridden around and reached the spot in time to head him off. He had received a shot through his canteen. Immediately on seeing his pursuers he fired again, killing one more of them, and simultaneously he received another shot through his cheek. He continued firing with his revolvers till he had made in all eleven shots. By this time the fourth man had been unhorsed. The footmen did not pursue, and he made his way into camp. This is the story, though some are so uncharitable as to discredit it, notwithstanding one hole through his canteen and another through his cheek.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 21-5

Thursday, May 9, 2024

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 7, 1861

On the high land overlooking the Potomac, about six or seven miles above the Navy Yard at Washington, we have, since our arrival here, thrown up a small fort, formed extensive abattis, and made redoubts and fortifications to command the turnpike leading down the river, and the bridge over which any enemy must pass from any direction above here to reach Washington. This looks like business. The earthwork fort is small, but very strong, and its large siege guns, from twelve to eighteen feet long, with their sullen faces watching up and down the road in every direction, give it a most formidable appearance. A brigade (I have not learned what one) has just advanced beyond us to commence another fort, about two miles to the southwest of us. Neither fort has yet been officially named, but the one just finished is called by the soldiers Fort Mott; the one about to be built they will for the present distinguish by the name of Fort Ethan Allen. In this manner we are closing on the enemy by slow approaches, or parallels. Let Dupont and Butler, from North Carolina, advance to meet us, whilst Fremont takes care of the Mississippi, and we shall have an early closing up of the war. Every day's observation more and more satisfies me that the enemy will not fight us here.

9 P. M.—Our fort is completed, and we have just received orders to cook three days rations, and be ready to move at a moment's notice.

I will here note, once for all, the manner of the soldiers taking care of themselves in a storm, when they have no tents. They all have "rubber blankets." Two forks are set, and a pole laid from one to the other, some four or five feet from the ground. A kind of lean-to roof is made by placing brush or poles against this, one end resting on the ground, the other end resting on the pole. To make this roof water-proof, the rubber blankets are stretched, like tiles on a roof, and no water gets through. In moderate weather the men cuddle together under this, and are reasonably comfortable. In cold weather they make large log fires in front of these "bivouacs," and pass the nights without freezing.

An order was received to-day from the War Department, that in future no labor shall be required of soldiers on the Sabbath, except what is absolutely necessary for our defence.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 25-6

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 10, 1861

Our regiment has received two months pay to-day, and to-night all are boisterously happy. We had been notified to have our muster-rolls ready, and we should be paid off on the first day of this month. The rolls were ready but the pay was not. We had received no pay since we entered Uncle Sam's service. We had had to use all our little private means to buy uniforms and outfit for the war, and there was not money enough in the whole regiment to pay for washing one shirt. We were all in debt, and momentarily expecting orders to march into the deserted parts of Virginia. What were we to do? We could not think of leaving so. Day before yesterday we had intimations from our commanding officers that we should remain a day or two longer where we are, and our troops who heretofore had been constantly impatient to advance, were now overjoyed at the delay, not doubting but that it was to receive our pay, and oh how many dreams of little presents to be sent home before we should be plunged into the wilderness. Perhaps some thought of photographs for sweethearts and wives. But scarcely had the joyous echoes from the rocky hills around us died away, when we were officially informed that there was no money in the treasury. It was a damper. I at once made business to the city; saw the paymaster; through him and my friends, got audience of the Secretary of the Treasury; told a story of our penury (and such a story). I got the money which the paymaster had failed to procure. To-day we have been paid off, and to-night I ride a high horse in the affections of the regiment. If they do not dismount me before their money is all expended, their constancy will be greater than my knowledge of human nature generally warrants me in expecting. We are all joyous to-night.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 26-7

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 11, 1861

Had some skirmishing to-day. Took some prisoners, who state that within twelve miles of us is the center of operations of about one hundred thousand rebels, who are preparing to attack us and march on Washington. This, if true, falsifies all the predictions of this journal, that there is no considerable force of the enemy in front of us, and that we shall have no general engagement here. Nevertheless, my opinion is unchanged.

This morning quite a body of troops, infantry, cavalry and artillery, passed us, on the road going in the direction of where the enemy are supposed to be. By twelve o'clock artillery firing was distinctly heard some four miles in the direction which they took. In the afternoon we were hurriedly called to march to the support of our retreating men.

We met them about two miles this side of where the fight was. They claim to have gained a great victory, but they brought in no prisoners; no guns captured. Why was that. These reports of victories are very unreliable affairs. All kinds of stories are going through the camp, but I shall record none of them till they have assumed a shape worthy to be remembered.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 27-8