Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Monday, September 8, 1862

Monday morning. Our first night in Baltimore is over. We had roll-call, to see if we were all here, and then spread our blankets on the ground and were soon sound asleep. Walt. Loucks and I each having a blanket, we spread one on the ground and the other over us. With our knapsacks for a pillow, we slept as sound as if in the softest bed. The dew, however, was heavy, and only for the blanket over us we would have been wet through. As it was, our hair was as wet as if we had been swimming. Sleeping on the ground, in clothing already wet with sweat, and the night being quite cool, has stiffened our joints, so we move about like foundered horses. Had the Rebs come upon us when we first got up we couldn't have run away and we certainly were not in a condition to defend ourselves. But this wore off after a little, and we were ourselves again. As it was in Hudson, so it is here. All sorts of rumors as to what we do next are going the rounds. I have given up believing anything, and shall wait until we do something or go somewhere, and then, diary, I'll tell you all about it.

Night. We put in the day sitting around and swapping yarns, etc. None of us cared to go about, for we were pretty tired, after our hard day yesterday. Shelter tents were given out to-day. One tent for every two men. They are not tents at all, nothing but a strip of muslin, with three sticks to hold them up. There are four pins to pin the corners to the ground. Then one stick is put in like a ridge pole, and the other two set under it. The ends are pinned down as far apart as a man is long, and then the middle raised up. They may keep off rain, if it falls straight down, but both ends are open, and two men fill it full. We have got them up, each company in a row. It is a funny sight to stand on the high ground and look over them. Lengthwise, it is like a long strip of muslin with what a dressmaker calls gathers in it. Looked at from the side it is like a row of capital A's with the cross up and down instead of crosswise.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 20-1

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, August 29, 1862

AT READVILLE.

A busy day for Co. E we have been ordered to camp. Each man was told to carry rations enough for two meals. We formed company for the first time, out of doors, on the Boylston Street mall marched to the Boston and Providence Depot, and after hand-shaking with our friends, went aboard the cars, arriving at Readville, ten miles out, at four o clock and here the troubles and tribulations of many a fine young man began. We found that either the regiment had come too soon or the carpenters had been lazy, for only three of the ten barracks were roofed, and some were not even boarded in, so while the carpenters went at work outside, we went at it inside, putting up and fixing the bunks.

About sunset, we saw a load of straw on the way to our barracks at first we supposed it was for bedding for horses, but we were green. It was to take the place of hair mattresses. Could it be that Uncle Samuel proposed that we should sleep in the straw (I remember when a youngster, of going to Brighton, to see the soldiers just home from the Mexican war, they had straw in their tents to sleep on. I little thought then, that I should be jumping upon the wheels of a wagon, tugging for straw enough for a bed, but such was the fact,) straw was used, but for a very little while by most of us.

After our first supper (and a gay picnic one it was) in this wilderness, we sang songs, told stories, formed new, and found old acquaintances, until after eight o’clock. Then for the first time in camp, we heard “Fall in Co. E;” the roll was called, and it was found that of the one hundred and twenty-five names ninty-nine had reported. Our captain made a little speech, to which of course we did not reply and then for bed. We had (that is the quiet ones) made up our minds for a good night’s rest, so as to be all right for the arduous duties of the morrow. There were some however, who thought noise and confusion the first law of a soldier. It was late, and not until after several visits from the officers that the boys decided to quiet down.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 5-6

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, August 30, 1862

Our first morning in camp. We were rudely awakened and dragged from our bunks at six o’clock, very few being used to such early hours, except perhaps on 4th of July, and were expected to be on the parade ground before our eyes were fairly open.

My advice is if you ever enlist again, start with buckle or congress boots, or none at all, don’t wear laced ones. Why Thereby hangs a tale. One man who wore laced boots was late, consequently had to fall in at the foot of the column. In a minute or two, around came the adjutant and some other officer, who wanted a man for guard. The man who was late at roll-call, was detailed of course. He went without a word was posted on the edge of a pond his orders being “Keep this water from being defiled, allow no privates to bathe here, let only the officers bathe and the cooks draw water to cook with.” The orders were fulfilled, but the poor guard was forgotten, and paced up and mostly down (as it was a pleasant grassy sward,) till eleven o clock. That was his first experience of guard duty, and he always owed a grudge to the sergeant of that guard and his laced boots.

Meanwhile, the company, left standing in the street, with their towels, combs, &c., proceeded to the water, where the pride of many a family got down on his knees, and went through the farce of a toilet, and then back to breakfast.

To-day we have been busy cleaning up and getting ready for our friends from home. It has been as novel a day as last night was new, it is a great change, but we will conquer this, and probably worse.

Our friends began to arrive about three o clock, and by supper-time the barracks were well filled, many remaining to supper so shawls and blankets were spread upon the ground, and we gave them a sample of our food. The coffee was good but so hot, and having no saucer with which to cool the beverage, we had to leave it till the last course. Our plates were plated with tin, but very shallow, and as bean soup was our principal course we had some little trouble in engineering it from the cook s quarters to our tables. We must not forget the bread, it was made by the State, and by the looks, had been owned by the State since the Mexican war. We had never seen the like, and begged to be excused from enduring much of it at a time. (We afterwards found no occasion to grumble at our food, for as you may remember, we were looked after well during our whole service. We had as good rations as any one could wish, but here, within ten miles of home, we felt that this was rough on the boys.)

For a week, little was done but feed and drill us, to toughen us for the dim future, and the furloughs were granted very freely. We were soon astonished to find that we had for a surgeon, a man who meant business. Among other things, he thought government clothes were all that we needed, so spring and fall overcoats and fancy dry goods had to be bundled up and sent home. All our good things were cleaned out, everything was contraband excepting what the government

allowed. We had always thought it a free country, but this broke in on our individual ideas of personal freedom, and we began to think we were fast losing all trace of civil rights, and becoming soldiers pure and simple. Nothing could be brought into camp by our friends unless we could eat it before the next morning but goodies would come, and as we had to eat them, of course we were sick.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 6-7

Diary of Private Louis Leon: May 26, 1864

Received two letters to-day, one from home and one from my brother Pincus, who went to Washington on his way to visit Morris and myself, as he has to get a pass from headquarters before he can see us. He was refused and returned home. Our daily labor as prisoners is that at 5 in the morning we have roll call; 6, breakfast, 500 at a time, as one lot gets through another takes its place, until four lots have eaten; we then stroll about the prison until 1 o'clock, when we eat dinner in the same style as breakfast, then loaf about again until sundown. Roll is called again, thus ending the day. We get for breakfast five crackers with worms in them; as a substitute for butter, a small piece of pork, and a tin cup full of coffee; dinner, four of the above crackers, a quarter of a pound mule meat and a cup of bean soup, and every fourth day an eight-ounce loaf of white bread. Nothing more this month.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 65

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, August 19, 1862

HUDSON CAMP GROUNDS. I have enlisted! Joined the Army of Uncle Sam for three years, or the war, whichever may end first. Thirteen dollars per month, board, clothes and travelling expenses thrown in. That's on the part of my Uncle. For my part, I am to do, I hardly know what, but in a general way understand I am to kill or capture such part of the Rebel Army as comes in my way.

I wonder what sort of a soldier I will make; to be honest about it, I don't feel much of that eagerness for the fray I am hearing so much of about me.

It seems to me it is a serious sort of business I have engaged in. I was a long time making up my mind about it. This one could go, and that one, and they ought to, but with me, some way it was different. There was so much I had planned to do, and to be. I was needed at home, etc., etc. So I would settle the question for a time, only to have it come up to be reasoned away again, and each time my reasons for not taking my part in the job seemed less reasonable. Finally I did the only thing I could respect myself for doing, went to Millerton, the nearest recruiting station, and enlisted.

I then threw down my unfinished castles, went around and bid my friends good-bye, and had a general settling up of my affairs, which, by the way, took but little time. But I never before knew I had so many friends. Everyone seemed to be my friend. A few spoke encouragingly, but the most of them spoke and acted about as I would expect them to, if I were on my way to the gallows. Pity was so plainly shown that when I had gone the rounds, and reached home again, I felt as if I had been attending my own funeral. Poor old father and mother! They had expected it, but now that it had come they felt it, and though they tried hard, they could not hide from me that they felt it might be the last they would see of their baby.

Then came the leaving it all behind. I cannot describe that. The good-byes and the good wishes ring in my ears yet. I am not myself. I am some other person. My surroundings are new, the sights and sounds about me are new, my aims and ambitions are new;—that is if I have any. I seem to have reached the end. I can look backwards, but when I try to look ahead it is all a blank. Right here let me say, God bless the man who wrote "Robert Dawson," and God bless the man who gave me the book. "Only a few drops at a time, Robert." The days are made of minutes, and I am only sure of the one I am now living in. Take good care of that and cross no bridges until you come to them.

I have promised to keep a diary, and I am doing it. I have also promised that it should be a truthful account of what I saw and what I did. I have crawled off by myself and have been scribbling away for some time, and upon reading what I have written I find it reads as if I was the only one. But I am not. There are hundreds and perhaps thousands here, and I suppose all could, if they cared to, write just such an experience as I have. But no one else seems foolish enough to do it. I will let this stand as a preface to my diary, and go on to say that we, the first installment of recruits from our neighborhood, gathered at Amenia, where we had a farewell dinner, and a final handshake, after which we boarded the train and were soon at Ghent, where we changed from the Harlem to the Hudson & Berkshire R. R., which landed us opposite the gates of the Hudson Fair Grounds, about 4 P. M. on the 14th. We were made to form in line and were then marched inside, where we found a lot of rough board shanties, such as are usually seen on country fair grounds, and which are now used as offices, and are full of bustle and confusion. After a wash-up, we were taken to a building which proved to be a kitchen and dining room combined. Long pine tables, with benches on each side, filled the greater part of it, and at these we took seats and were served with good bread and fair coffee, our first meal at Uncle Sam's table, and at his expense. After supper we scattered, and the Amenia crowd brought up at the Miller House in Hudson. We took in some of the sights of the city and then put up for the night.

The next morning we had breakfast and then reported at the camp grounds ready for the next move, whatever that might be. We found crowds of people there, men, women and children, which were fathers and mothers, wives and sweethearts, brothers and sisters of the men who have enlisted from all over Dutchess and Columbia counties. Squads of men were marching on the race track, trying to keep step with an officer who kept calling out "Left, Left, Left," as his left foot hit the ground, from which I judged he meant everyone else should put his left foot down with his. We found these men had gone a step further than we. They had been examined and accepted, but just what that meant none of us exactly knew. We soon found out, however, Every few minutes a chap came out from a certain building and read from a book, in a loud voice, the names of two men. These would follow him in, be gone a little while and come out, when the same performance would be repeated. My name and that of Peter Carlo, of Poughkeepsie, were called together, and in we went. We found ourselves in a large room with the medical examiner and his clerks. His salutation, as we entered, consisted of the single word, "Strip." We stripped and were examined just as a horseman examines a horse he is buying. He looked at our teeth and felt all over us for any evidence of unsoundness there might be. Then we were put through a sort of gymnastic performance, and told to put on our clothes. We were then weighed and measured, the color of our eyes and hair noted, also our complexion, after which another man came and made us swear to a lot of things, most of which I have forgotten already. But as it was nothing more than I expected to do without swearing I suppose it makes no difference.

The rest of the day we visited around, getting acquainted and meeting many I had long been acquainted with. In the afternoon the camp ground was full of people, and as night began to come, and they began to go, the good-byes were many and sad enough. I am glad my folks know enough to stay away. That was our first night in camp. After we came from the medical man, we were no longer citizens, but just soldiers. We could not go down town as we did the night before. This was Saturday night, August 17th. We slept but little, at least I did not. A dozen of us had a small room, a box stall, in one of the stables, just big enough to lie down in. The floor looked like pine, but it was hard, and I shall never again call pine a soft wood, at least to lie on. If one did fall asleep he was promptly awakened by some one who had not, and by passing this around, such a racket was kept up that sleep was out of the question. I for one was glad the drummer made a mistake and routed us out at five o'clock instead of six, as his orders were. We shivered around until roll-call and then had breakfast. We visited together until dinner. Beef and potatoes, bread and coffee, and plenty of it. Some find fault and some say nothing, but I notice that each gets away with all that's set before him. In the afternoon we had preaching out of doors, for no building on the grounds would hold us. A Rev. Mr. Parker preached, a good straight talk, no big words or bluster, but a plain man-to-man talk on a subject that should concern us now, if it never did before. I for one made some mighty good resolutions, then and there. Every regiment has a chaplain, I am told, and I wish ours could be this same Mr. Parker. The meeting had a quieting effect on all hands. There was less swearing and less noise and confusion that afternoon than at any time before. After supper the question of bettering our sleeping accommodations came up, and in spite of the good resolutions above recorded I helped steal some hay to sleep on. We made up our minds that if our judge was as sore as we were he would not be hard on us. We spread the hay evenly over the floor and lay snug and warm, sleeping sound until Monday morning, the 18th.

The mill of the medical man kept on grinding and batches of men were sworn in every little while. Guards were placed at the gates, to keep us from going down town. I was one of the guards, but was called off to sign a paper and did not go back. Towards night we had to mount guard over our hay. Talk about "honor among thieves," what was not stolen before we found it out, was taken from under us while we were asleep, and after twisting and turning on the bare floor until my aching bones woke me, I got up and helped the others express themselves, for there was need of all the cuss words we could muster to do the subject justice. But that was our last night in those quarters.

The next day the new barracks were finished and we took possession. They are long narrow buildings, about 100 feet by 16, with three tiers of bunks on each side, leaving an alley through the middle, and open at each end. The bunks are long enough for a tall man and wide enough for two men provided they lie straight, with a board in front to keep the front man from rolling out of bed. There are three buildings finished, and each accommodates 204 men. We were not allowed either hay or straw for fear of fire. As we only had our bodies to move, it did not take long to move in. Those from one neighborhood chose bunks near together, and there was little quarrelling over choice. In fact one is just like another in all except location. Walter Loucks and I got a top berth at one end, so we have no trouble in finding it, as some do who are located near the middle. These barracks, as they are here called, are built close together, and ordinary conversation in one can be plainly heard in the others. Such a night as we had, story-telling, song-singing, telling what we would do if the Rebs attacked us in the night, with now and then a quarrel thrown in, kept us all awake until long after midnight. There was no getting lonesome, or homesick. No matter what direction one's thought might take, they were bound to be changed in a little while, and so the time went on. Perhaps some one would start a hymn and others would join in, and just as everything was going nicely, a block of wood, of which there were plenty lying around, would come from no one knew where, and perhaps hit a man who was half asleep. Then the psalm singing would end up in something quite different, and for awhile one could almost taste brimstone. I heard more original sayings that night than in all my life before, and only that the boards were so hard, and my bones ached so badly, I would have enjoyed every minute of it.

But we survived the night, and were able to eat everything set before us, when morning and breakfast time came. After breakfast we had our first lesson in soldiering, that is, the men of what will be Captain Bostwick's company, if he succeeds in filling it, and getting his commission, did. A West Point man put us through our paces. We formed in line on the race track, and after several false starts got going, bringing our left feet down as our instructor called out, "Left, Left," etc. A shower in the night had left some puddles on the track, and the first one we came to some went around and some jumped across, breaking the time and step and mixing up things generally. We were halted, and as soon as the captain could speak without laughing, he told us what a ridiculous thing it was for soldiers to dodge at a mud puddle. After a turn at marching, or keeping step with each other, he explained very carefully to us the "position of a soldier," telling how necessary it was that we learn the lesson well, for it would be of great use to us hereafter. He repeated it, until every word had time to sink in. "Heels on the same line, and as near together as the conformation of the man will permit. Knees straight, without stiffness. Body erect on the hips, and inclining a little forward. Arms hanging naturally at the sides, the little finger behind the seam of the pantaloons. Shoulders square to the front. Head erect, with the eyes striking the ground at the distance of fifteen paces." Every bone in my body ached after a little of this, and yet our instructor told us this is the position in which a well-drilled soldier can stand for the longest time and with the greatest ease. This brings my diary up to this date and I must not let it get behind again. There is so much to write about, it takes all my spare time; but now I am caught up, I will try and keep so.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 1-7

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: August 8, 1864

NED CARTER THE BLACKSMITH.

When I first came here I was pretty well used up, but thanks to my friends, Garland of company C and Wheelock and Aldrich of my own company (who are attaches of this hospital), and also to Miss Dame for their attention, kindness and favors, I am feeling the best now I have any time this summer. For their sympathy, attentions and kind offices, I am under a debt of everlasting gratitude.

Within a week two of my sick men have died and another is fast going.

One of them was a character in his way. As near as one can guess the age of a darky I should judge he was about 60 years old, and rather an intelligent man. He always called himself Ned Carter the blacksmith, and delighted in having others call him so. He would talk by the hour of old times, about his old master, and the good times and good cheer they used to have at Christmas time. When I first took this ward I saw that Ned was a sick darky and told him to have things his own way; if he felt like sleeping in the morning and didn't want to come out to roll call I would excuse him. I noticed that he seldom went for his rations, but would send his cup for his coffee and tea.

He said there was very little at the kitchen he could eat. I asked him what he could eat. He said he thought some cracker and milk would taste good. I took his cup up to Miss Dame and asked her if she would give me some condensed milk and a few soda crackers for a sick darky. She gave them to me, and Ned Carter the blacksmith was happy. The convalescent camp is not allowed anything from the sick kitchen, except by order of Doctor Fowler, so any little notion I get from there is through the kindness of Miss Dame or my friend Wheelock. I have often carried Ned a cup of tea and a slice of toast, with some peach or some kind of jelly on it, and the poor fellow could express his gratitude only with his tears, he had no words that could do it. One morning after roll call I went to his little tent and called Ned Carter the blacksmith. I got no response, and thinking he might be asleep I looked in. Ned Carter the blacksmith was gone, but the casket that had contained him lay there stiff and cold.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 144

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Sunday, April 26, 1863

This morning the dark overhanging clouds are threatening rain. The Seventh are ordered to quarter themselves in the few scattering houses yet remaining in South Florence. Hark! the drum beats for an assembly. The Seventh are ordered to their camping ground on the hill. Colonel Rowett calling the regiment to attention, informs them of the wanton destruction of property out on the plantations, and orders the First Sergeant to call the roll, who reports all present or accounted for, and as usual the Seventh is clear. Though no one would ever suspect any of the Seventh guilty of pillaging houses or stealing, yet a general order is applicable to allhence the roll call by the first sergeants of the regiment. After this the soldiers return to their houses where they remain comfortable during the night.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 151-2

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: June 28, 1863

The boys of the 20th left at Vicksburg joined our regiment to-day. We were very anxious to hear how the siege was progressing, and, to our surprise, learned that it was going right on as usual, without our assistance. It was interesting to hear of the blowing up of Fort Hill by our division, but we did not ascertain the number killed, though the explosion 

Hoisted two or three, 

And blew a darky free 

From slavery to freedom. 

This negro, blown up with other chattels in the fort, was dropped into our lines and taken to General Logan's headquarters, none the worse for his trip. When asked what he saw, he said, “As I was comin' down I met massa gwine up." Nothing, however, was gained by blowing up the fort, except planting the stars and stripes thereon, by our troops who made the charge after the explosion; but our colors were removed, for safety, after dark. While our men lay all the afternoon on the side of the fort, the rebels threw into their ranks hand-grenades which killed and wounded quite a number. Our boys, however, would occasionally catch them and toss them back to the place from which they came, just in time to explode among their owners. 

Living out here in the woods is quite different from camping before Vicksburg. Yet all is life and bustle wherever we are, from reveillé at daybreak, to tattoo at night. Each man must answer to his name in ranks at roll-call in the morning, and must be properly dressed. Some of the most ludicrous scenes of army life are to be witnessed at this exercise. A few of the old fashioned, steady fellows, as a general thing appear quite thoroughly dressed; but as you go down the ranks from the head where they stand, you will begin to find, now and then, a man who has but one boot or shoe on, with the other but half way on. Another boy will be putting on his blouse-having grabbed it in the dark—of course wrong side out. Another has tossed his blouse over his shoulders, and is trying to hide close to his right-hand man. Still another, trying to get his pants on between his bed and the line, has caught a foot in the lining, and hops along like a sore-footed chicken. I saw one fellow come out, at the foot of the company, wrapped only in a blanket. The orderly, however, sent him back to be better uniformed; he could not play Indian at morning roll-call. The last one of those who have overslept, makes his appearance holding on to his clothes with both hands. Some answer to their names before taking position in the ranks, and in fact, even some before they are fairly out of bed. A company which has for its orderly a person who is a little lenient, fares well; but if he is inclined to strain his authority, he is bound to have its ill-will. After roll-call, some of the half-dressed return to bed for another snooze, while the rest complete their toilet. After that comes the splitting of rails, building of fires, and a general rush for breakfast, which winds up the duties of the morning. 

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 66-8

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, January 13, 1863

January 13, 1863.

. . . When I sit down at evening it always seems as if there could be but one subject to write upon, the music of these religious soldiers, who sing and pray steadily from supper time till “taps” at 8.30, interrupted only by roll-call at eight. The chaplain's pagoda-like school-house is the scene of earnest prayers and hymns at evening. I am sure the President is remembered more faithfully and gratefully in prayer by these christian soldiers than by any other regiment in the army. It is one thing for a chaplain to pray for him, but quite another for the soldiers to kneel and implore blessings on his head and divine guidance for his thoughts. These men never forget to pray earnestly for the officers placed over them; such prayers ought to make us true to them.

This afternoon, for the first time, our men are getting some money — not direct from the Government, but through that constant friend to them — Gen. Saxton, who waits for Government to refund it to him. The real drawback to enlistments is that the poor fellows who were in the Hunter regiment have never been paid a cent by the Government. Without reflection, one would suppose the offer of freedom quite sufficient inducement for them to join us. But you must remember that not the least curse of slavery is ignorance and that the intellectual enjoyment of freedom cannot, by the present generation, be so fully appreciated as its material gifts and benefits. Just think how few there are, even in New England, who could bravely die for an Idea, you will see that the infinite love of freedom which inspires these people is not the same that fills the heart of a more favored race. . . .

Before breakfast this morning I stood on the shore and listened to the John Brown hymn, sung by a hundred of our recruits, as they came up the river on the steamer Boston, from St. Augustine, Fla. Our Lieut. Col. [Billings]¹ went down last week for them and today we have received into our regiment all but five, whom I rejected in consequence of old age and other disabilities. It seemed hard to reject men who came to fight for their freedom, but these poor fellows are a hindrance in active service, and we might be compelled to leave them to the mercy of those who know not that “It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”

. . . I wish you could see how finely the Colonel appears in my dress coat. His was sent from Worcester quite a time before I left New England, but has never reached him. Very likely some miserable colonel of a poor white regiment appropriated it. I pity those who get so demoralized by association and wish they could have the benefit of our higher code. As I am less for ornament than for use here, I offered my coat to the Colonel, and was glad to find that Theodore [a tailor in Worcester] had applied his “celestial ” principle “ under the arms,” so that a Beaufort tailor could easily make an exact fit for the upper sphere. To sick soldiers it is unimportant whether I have one or two rows of buttons, and my handsome straps fit just as well on my fatigue coat as on the other. . . .

At this moment the camp resounds with the John Brown hymn, sung as no white regiment can sing it, so full of pathos and harmony. I know you will think me over enthusiastic about these people, but every one of you would be equally so, if here. Every day deepens my conviction that if we are true to them they will be true to us. The Colonel arrives at the same conclusion. When I think of their long-suffering at the hands of the whites, and then of their readiness to forgive, I feel a reverence for the race that I did not know before coming among them. You need not fancy that I find them perfect; it has not been my fortune to find mortals of that type, — even in Worcester, — but I do find them, as a people, religious, kind hearted, forgiving and as truth loving as the average of whites, more so than the Irish of the lowest rank.

_______________

¹ Col. Liberty Billings.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 344-5

Diary of Captain Luman Harris Tenney: Sunday, January 1, 1865

After roll call earned a breakfast by chopping wood. Made a good fire. Drew a load of bricks from the country. Many of the boys are suffering from poor boots and short rations. Have worked some today, but conscience clear.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 141

Diary of Captain Luman Harris Tenney: Wednesday, January 4, 1865

Charge of picket. This morning failed to get out at roll call. Did not hear the bugle. My first failure since I have been an officer in the 2nd Ohio. A very cold windy day. Reserve at a large stone barn.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 141

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: September 26, 1863

Unsaddled after roll call. Pretty early orders came to fall back at noon. Cos. C and E with Col. Purington, Majs. Seward and Nettleton went over the river and burned block houses and bridges. Co. C had charge of firing two large blockhouses. Built large piles of light trash inside and out. At the word all set fire. Maj. remained with reserve. Marched 8 miles and camped. 2nd rear guard. About 500 recruits went back with us. East Tennessee encouraging.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 90

Captain Charles Wright Wills: February 9, 1863

Ninth. — Papers of the 6th give me much pleasure. The dashing move of the ram “Queen of the West,” the gallant fight of our soldiers at Corinth, are certainly enough good news for one day. At noon roll call to-day, I spoke to my men of the resolutions passed by the officers at Corinth and approved by the soldiers, and told them that a chance would be offered them in a few days to vote on similar ones. They received the latter statement with a cheer that plainly showed their mind on the subject. I believe that the whole regiment with a proper action of the officers for a few days, will denounce copperheadism, even in terms strong enough to suit the Chicago Tribune. 'Twill be the officers fault if we don't. If we were only officered properly throughout there would never have been a word of dissatisfaction in the regiment. That is rather a solemn subject. I have advised my men to whip any enlisted man they hear talking copperheadism, if they are able, and at all hazards to try it, and if I hear any officer talking it that I think I can't whale, I'm going to prefer charges against him. Doing plenty of duty now; on picket every other day. Last night I had command of a guard at General Hospital No. I, or rather we guarded it in the day time, relieved at 9 p. m. and went on again at daylight. I had some friends in the hospital, steward, warden and clerks, and they made it very pleasant for me. That is they fed me on sanitary cake, butter, etc., induced me to drink some sanitary wine, beer, etc., and also to sleep between sanitary sheets, with my head on a sanitary pillow, etc., and again this morning to accept a bottle of sanitary brandy and a couple of bottles of sanitary porter. All of which I did, knowing that I was sinning. I write you this that you may feel you are doing your country some good in forwarding the above articles for the benefit of the soldiers. You will of course, give these encouraging items to your coworkers.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 154-5

Diary of Private Charles Wright Wills: 6 p.m., Sunday, May 12, 1861

Several men from Alabama arrived here to-day with their backs beaten blue. We caught another spy last night. The drums rolled last night at 11 and we all turned out in the biggest, dark and deepest mud you ever saw. It was a mistake of the drummer's. Six rockets were let off and he thought that they stood for an attack but they were only signals for steamboats. We thought sure we were attacked, but the boys took it cool as could be, and I think never men felt better over a prospect for a fight. Two hundred troops have landed since I commenced writing this time. Just now the clouds seem to be within 100 yards of the ground. Prospect of a tremendous storm. I am writing standing up in ranks for evening roll call.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 14

Diary of Private Charles Wright Wills: 11 a.m., Sunday, May 5, 1861

Cairo. The bells are just ringing for church. I intended going, but it is such hard work getting out of camp that I concluded to postpone it. Anyway, we have service in camp this p. m. This is an awful lazy life we lead here. Lying down on our hay constitutes the principal part of the work. As our routine might be of interest to you, I will give it. At 5 a. m. the reveille is sounded by a drum and fife for each regiment. We arise, fold our blankets in our knapsacks and prepare to march. We then “fall in,” in front of our quarters for roll-call; after which we prepare our breakfast and at the “breakfast call” (taps of the drum at 7) we commence eating; and the way we do eat here would astonish you. At 9 a. m. we fall in for company drill. This lasts one hour. Dinner at 12. Squad drill from 1 to 3 and supper at 5:30. At 6 p. m. the whole regiment is called out for parade. This is merely a review by the colonel, and lasts not more than 30 minutes and often but 15. After 8 p. m. singing and loud noises are stopped; at 9:30 the tattoo is beat when all are required to be in quarters, and at three taps at 10 p. m. all lights are put out, and we leave things to the sentries. Our company of 77 men is divided into six messes for eating. Each mess elects a captain, and he is supreme, as far as cooking and eating are concerned. Our company is considered a crack one here and we have had the post of honor assigned us, the right of the regiment, near the colors. Our commanders, I think, are anticipating some work here, though they keep their own counsels very closely. They have spies out in all directions, down as far as Vicksburg. I think that Bradley's detective police of Chicago are on duty in this vicinity. We also have two very fleet steamers on duty here to stop boats that refuse to lay to, and to keep a lookout up and down the Mississippi river. Yesterday, p. m., I noticed considerable bustle at headquarters which are in full view of our quarters, and at dark last night 20 cartridges were distributed to each man, and orders given to reload revolvers and to prepare everything for marching at a minute's notice, and to sleep with our pistols and knives in our belts around us. That's all we know about it though. We were not aroused except by a shot at about 2 this morning. I heard a little while ago that it was a sentinel shooting at some fellow scouting around. The Rebels have a host of spies in town but I think they are nearly all known and watched. The men confidently expect to be ordered south shortly. Nothing would suit them better. I honestly believe that there is not a man in our company that would sell his place for $100. We call the camp Fort Defiance, and after we receive a little more drilling we think we can hold it against almost any number. We have 3,300 men here to-day, but will have one more regiment to-day and expect still more.

We are pretty well supplied with news here; all the dailies are offered for sale in camp, but we are so far out of the way that the news they bring is two days old before we get them. Transcripts and Unions are sent to us by the office free. I wish you would send me the Register once and a while, and put in a literary paper or two, for we have considerable time to read. We have a barrel of ice water every day. Milk, cake and pies are peddled round camp, and I indulge in milk considerably at five cents a pint. Everything is much higher here than above. Potatoes, 50 cents; corn, 60 cents, etc. It has been raining like blue blazes since I commenced this, and the boys are scrambling around looking for dry spots on the hay and trying to avoid the young rivers coming in. Almost all are reading or writing, and I defy anyone to find 75 men without any restraint, paying more respect to the Sabbath. We have not had a sick man in camp. Several of the boys, most all of them in fact, have been a little indisposed from change of diet and water, but we have been careful and are now all right. There are 25, at least, of us writing here, all lying on our backs. I have my paper on a cartridge box on my knees.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 10-11

Diary of 1st Lieutenant John S. Morgan: Thursday, April 27, 1865

Genl Inspection at 9 A. M. co come in at 11, an extra Roll call was ordered by Genl Benton at 1. P. M all absentees to be reported to Div Head Quarter. Cos A. & B. were sent out to patrol & bring in soldiers found pillaging, several were sent in, A soldier from Forests army says that his men declare publicly if he does not disband them if Jonston surrenders they will kill him & go home, a slight shower at 1 P. M. and sprinkles semi occasionally during the afternoon after supper walk down to the river, call in to see Lt Cory, & after return to camp take a stroll with Lt Sharman. No boats in, no mail, no news!

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, 33rd Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 13, No. 8, April 1923, p. 596

Major Wilder Dwight: March 21, 1862

camp Near Winchester, Virginia, March 21, 1862.

If you had looked upon our camp at sunrise reveillé, this morning, you would have seen a dreary, wintry picture. The mules gathered closely about their wagons in the scourging snow-storm with sullen endurance, their tails drawn tightly down, and standing in a vicious attitude of expectant kicking. The horses crossly laying back their ears with half-closed eyes and hanging necks. The soldiers standing up to their roll-call in the attitude of the traveller in the spelling-book, against whom the wind is striving to gain the victory of the fable. The ground whiter than the morning's early light, but only serving to darken the tents into a cheerless and gloomy hue. The air itself thick with snow and sleet. The camp-fires just beginning to smoke, and men hopelessly endeavoring to allure a blaze from black coals and dripping wood. The camp-kettles and mess-pans crusted with ice, suggestive of anything else than a warm breakfast. Would you not expect every mind of the thousand men, remembering also their two thousand wet feet, to be in harmony with the scene? Yet, I know not how it is, from some inherent perverseness perhaps, I was in excellent spirits.

The order has now come to march. Our destination is Centreville, en route, perchance, for the enemy. At any rate, I have grown philosophical again.

I buried hope yesterday, had a glorious wake, and resolved to sink every other wish in the absorbing one of the progress of the war without or with the Massachusetts Second, as it may happen.

We cross the Shenandoah at Snicker's Gap. The march is one of about sixty miles, and will occupy at least four days.

General Banks, who has just returned from Washington, seems in good spirits. He gives, however, a depressing account of the Congressional and political folly which continues to assail McClellan. If McClellan were all they charge him to be, their lips should be sealed.

Every good man will now seek to strengthen the hand and animate the purpose of the General under whose guidance the decisive campaign begins

The weather is breaking away, and promises no very severe penance for our march, though it is not fun that is before us next week. No news yet of Howard, I suppose. It is clear that he has been in one of the hottest battles of the war. You will not hear from me again till Centreville probably.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 214-5

Francis H. Wigfall to Louise Wigfall

Camp near Chesterfield Station.

. . . My home is in a wild pine grove and sweetest melancholy, poesy's child, keeps watch and ward over my innocent spirit. I sit on my bench and muse on the time when the Yank-Yanks shall meet me in battle array and when, “Virginia leaning on her spear,” I shall retire on my laurels with one arm and no legs to some secluded dell to sigh away my few remaining years in blissful ignorance. But a truce to such deep Philosophy. We are all jogging along as usual. All the day I long for night, and all the night I long for its continuance. In fact it is very disagreeable to get up to attend Reveillé rollcall, as I do every fourth morning, and it is vastly more pleasant to remain in my comfortable (?) bed and have no other care upon my mind than that of keeping warm with the least exertion possible. But then comes that inevitable too-diddle-tooty, too-diddle-tooty, &c, &c, &c, and up I have to jump and go out in the cold to hear that Von Spreckelson and Bullwinkle are absent and look at the exciting process of dealing out corn in a tin cup.  . . . The snowing began before daylight yesterday morning and kept it up with scarcely an interval until late last night. It fell to a depth of about nine inches. This morning, the 1st, 4th, and 5th Texas Regiments came by our camp, marching in irregular line of battle, with their colors gotten up for the occasion, and with skirmishers thrown out in advance, and passing us, attacked the camp of the 3rd Arkansas, which is immediately on our right. A fierce contest ensued, snow balls being the weapons. The Texans steadily advanced, passing up the right of the camp; the Arkansians stubbornly disputing their progress, and their shouts and cheers as they would make a charge, or as the fight would become unusually desperate, made the welkin ring. A truce was finally declared and all four regiments marched over the creek to attack Anderson's brigade. After crossing they formed in line, deployed their skirmishers, and at it they went. The Georgians got rather the best of the fight and drove them back to the creek, where they made a stand and fought for some time. They then united and started back across the Massoponax for Genl. Law's brigade. Just before arriving opposite our camp they saw another brigade coming over the top of the hill behind their camp (i. e., Anderson's) and back they went to meet them. How that fight terminated I don't know.  . . . I suppose this rain and snow will retard the movements of the enemy too much for them to attempt to cross for some time to come.  . . . Yesterday and to-day have been lovely days and I trust that the weather will clear up and continue so. I expect Burnside feels very grateful for the interposition of the elements to give him an excuse for deferring a little longer the evil day on which he is forced to attack us or be decapitated.  . . . I saw in my ride the other day a body of Yankees, apparently a Regiment, drawn up in line, firing. They were using blank cartridges I suppose. This looks as though they had some very fresh troops. If that is the case they had better keep them out of the fight, as they will do precious little good in it. . . .

Christmas eve we went to see the Hood's Minstrels perform. One of the best performances was “We are a band of brothers” sung by three make-believe darkies, dressed entirely in black, with tall black hats and crepe hatbands, looking more like a deputation from a corps of undertakers than anything else — and was intended, I suppose, as a burlesque upon Puritanism. At all events it was supremely ridiculous.  . . . I understand that several of the tailors in Charleston have committed suicide lately, driven to it by the ruinously low rates at which their wares (no pun intended) are now selling. They can only obtain two hundred and fifty dollars for a second lieutenant's uniform coat and pantaloons. Poor wretches! They should bear their burdens with more patience, however, and remember that (according to the newspaper) the hardships of this war fall on all alike and must be endured by high and low, rich and poor, equally. I saw Col. Jenifer who told me he had met Papa and Mama at a party at Col. Ives's in the city of Richmond. Isn't that dissipation for you? Do they have cake “and sich” at parties now, or is it merely “a feast of reason and a flow of soul?” And in conclusion tell me of my overcoat. Have you seen it? If not, has anybody else seen it? If not, how long will it be, in all human probability, and speaking well within the mark, before somebody else will see it?  . . . My old one has carried me through two winters and is now finishing the third in a sadly dilapidated condition. There is a sort of “golden halo, hovering round decay,” about it, which may perhaps be very poetical, but is far from being practical as regards its weather resisting qualities. . . .

SOURCE: Louise Wigfall Wright, A Southern Girl in ’61, p. 114-7

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, November 6, 1861

“Tattoo” roll call is just over and I shall take the interval till bed-time to write you a brief letter.

The mail came in a short time ago, and I received your very pleasant letter of the 2d. I always kept very quiet about Captain Curtis' going away, because I couldn't bear to believe it possible. For two or three months, we have lived in the same tent and have been together constantly, and I think he felt almost as badly when he went away as I did. I shall not think anything about getting a position in the cavalry regiment, as the chances are so small. I know Captain Curtis will do all he can for me. I should like to be a cavalry officer for several reasons. It is the highest grade of the service, and it is more dignified to have two or three horses and ride, than to go on foot; then, after you are well drilled, you are sure of more active service than in infantry.

Lieutenant Williams will undoubtedly have this company, although nothing has yet been done about it. He had the luck to be second on the roll of first lieutenants; I am sixth, so you see my captaincy is in the distance. I have got a fine wood fire burning in a fireplace in my tent; it makes it very comfortable. The weather is very cold, freezing almost every night.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 30

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Monday, May 9, 1864

The weather is warm and pleasant and things are growing fine. The order of the day in camp is as follows: Reveille at 4 o'clock, roll call and breakfast call at 6, doctor's call at 6:30, guard mount and company inspection from 8 till 9, company drill 9 to 10, dinner call and roll call at 12 noon; in the afternoon, company drill from 2 to 3 o'clock, dress parade and supper call at 6, tattoo and roll call at 8, taps at 8:30, when all lights must be out and every man not on duty must be in his bunk. This is the way the days pass with a soldier in camp, in time of war.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 186