Private John C. West to Miss Decca Stark, June 23, 1863

CAMP NEAR MILLWOOD, TWENTY MILES                

WEST OF HARPER'S FERRY        ,

JUNE 23RD, 1863.

To Miss Decca Stark, Columbia, South Carolina:

DEAR DECCA: Yours of the 6th inst., with one from Miss Nannie Norton of the same date reached me about eight days ago, and I have not had a moment since to answer you, and even now cannot tell whether I shall be interrupted before I am half done this. I am writing on my knee, with everything packed ready to move at the sound of the bugle. I wrote you last on the 6th of June from near Culpepper Court House. On that day we took a hard march of eighteen miles through the rain, and on very muddy roads. We halted about 10 o'clock at night. I was wet and very tired.

There was an order against making fires, as we were near the enemy, being on the same ground on which Stuart fought them a few days afterwards. Of course I slept; a soldier, if he knows his own interest, will sleep whenever opportunity offers, but there were 10,000 or 12,000 men huddled on the side of the road in a promiscuous mass, just as you have seen cattle about a barn lot; no one knowing how much mud or filth he reposed in until the generous light of day revealed it. It rained a good deal during the night and kept me thoroughly soaked. The next morning we were ordered back to the camp near Culpepper, and marched over the same road by 1 o'clock and remained there until the 9th, when early in the morning about 5 o'clock we heard heavy firing of artillery. This was the opening of Stuart's cavalry fight. We formed and marched to Lookout Mountain, about three miles from Stephenburg, and lay in line of battle upon it until the fortune of the day was decided and then returned to camp.

Colonel Frank Hampton was killed in or near Stephenburg by a pistol shot. He was in a hand to hand encounter, it is said. On the 13th we received orders to be ready to march or fight, but it turned out to be only a march of five miles, which we accomplished in an hour and reached Cedar Run, the scene of one of Stonewall Jackson's battles last August. There were a great many unburied skeletons, presenting a very ghastly appearance. There were forty-nine skulls in one little ditch; the bodies were torn to pieces and scattered about, having been taken from their shallow graves by hogs or other animals. A hand or a foot might be seen protruding from the earth, here and there, to mark the last resting place of the patriotic victims of this horrible war.

We left this camp on the 15th and marched through Culpepper towards Winchester. This was one of the hottest days and one of the hottest marches I have yet experienced. Over 500 men fell out by the road side from fatigue and exhaustion, and several died where they fell; this was occasioned by being overheated and drinking cold water in immoderate quantities, and the enforcement of the order requiring us to wade through creeks and rivers up to our waists without the privilege of even taking off our shoes. I felt quite sick and giddy with a severe pain in my head as I was climbing the hill after wading the Rappahannock, but it passed off, and I kept with the company, though I saw two dead men during the time and several others fall.

Oh! how I would have enjoyed one of mother's mint juleps then as we rested in "the shade of the trees." I slept gloriously that night on a bed of clover and blue grass and thought of the little "pig that lived in clover and when he died he died all over." On the 16th we marched twenty miles without so much suffering, though the day was very warm, and many fell by the way, and like the seed in the parable, “on stony ground," for we were getting towards the mountains. Camped that night near Markham station in another field of clover, though not so comfortable, for I was very cold and slept little. On the 17th marched fourteen miles up hill and down dale through a beautiful, mountaineous region and camped in a splendid grove of oak and hickory about one mile from Upperville, and the neighborhood of some of the most beautiful family mansions I ever saw, All the country we have passed through is perfectly charming, and I cannot see why any Virginian ever leaves Virginia. All that I have seen so far fills my ideal of the "promised land." On the 18th we marched to the Shenandoah, ten miles, and waded it with positive orders not to take off any clothing. The water was deep and cold. I put my cartridge box on my head. The water came to my arm pits. We camped about a mile beyond the river. A tremendous rain drenched us before night, so we were reconciled to the wading. My blankets and everything that I had was soaked, except Mary's daguerreotype, which Colonel B. F. Carter took charge of for me. I slept in clothes and blankets soaked wet. On the 19th we marched down the river about ten miles over a very muddy road, and crossed several little streams about knee deep, and then re-crossed the Shenandoah and marched up through Sniggers Gap to the top of the mountain, and here about dark we experienced the hardest storm of wind and rain I ever saw. It seemed to me as if the cold and rain, like the two-edged sword of holy writ, penetrated to the very joints and marrow.

I laid down but did not sleep a wink until about an hour before day, and woke up cold and stiff. More than half the soldiers spent the night in a desperate effort to keep the fire burning, which was done with great difficulty.

I took off my clothes, one garment at a time, and dried them, and baked myself until I felt tolerably well; but truly a soldier knows not what a day may bring forth. Just as I was thoroughly dried, up came another cloud and soaked us again, and then came an order to fall into line "without arms." We were then marched about half a mile from camp and ordered to build a stone fence about half a mile long. This, several thousand men accomplished in about two hours; though it worked me pretty hard to carry and roll stones weighing from 50 to 200 pounds. After my morning's work I dined with Captain Bachman, who had an elegant dinner, consisting mainly of cow-pea soup. After dinner, while we were taking a sociable smoke and chat, an order came to get ready to leave immediately. I hurried to my company and we started back down the mountain, and it was only after getting into the valley, where the sun was shining, that we discovered that we had been encamped in a cloud on the mountain top, right in the heart of the rain factory, the summer resort of Æolus himself. The division again crossed the Shenandoah, but this time I mounted one of Captain Bachman's caissons and rode over, thus escaping the chill of the waters, though the rain had wet me thoroughly before. I would like for Mrs. Bachman to paint such a scene. It was one of the most splendid for a picture I ever witnessed, 25,000 or 30,000 men, with the wagons and artillery, and horses, all crowding into the stream; a perfect living mass, with towering mountains looking down upon us, and the old stone mill reminding one of the halcyon days of peace and a hundred other incidents which I have not the ability to describe correctly; all united to form one of the most picturesque and wonderful sights my eyes ever beheld.

We camped on this side of the river two nights and one day, and on yesterday morning marched for this place, where for the first time, since the reception of your letter, I have had an opportunity to answer it, for the captain carries my paper for me, and frequently, when we stop, the wagon which carries his baggage is not near to us. I have not written to Mary for ten days, and must ask of you the favor of writing to her for me and giving her the principal items of my journey, for I shall hardly ever get an opportunity of sending a letter by hand from here, and the mails are so uncertain that there is little satisfaction in writing. I am glad she does not know of the privations I am suffering, for it would give her more pain than I have felt in enduring them. I saw Captain Bachman again yesterday. He is well and in fine spirits. I have seen James Davis and all the Camden boys and old friends, and schoolmates in McLaws division. They each hold an office of some kind.

They are very lucky in having friends on good terms with the appointing power. I think I could get a place above the ranks, but I doubt my qualifications for a higher place. I can march and shoot, and I love my musket next to my wife and my country, and this constitutes my qualifications for military service. I have quite a severe cold, though I am better to-day than I was yesterday. Don't write this to Mary. I hope we will soon get through our demonstrations and come to the fighting part of the drama.

I have not heard from home yet, though it is more than two months since I left Texas, and there are several letters in the regiment of recent date. I understand there is a large mail for our brigade at the Texas depot, in Richmond, awaiting an opportunity to be sent to us. My love to all, and tell "Theo" to study hard and get his lessons well, for an educated man can make a better soldier, a better ditcher, or well digger, and a more perfect gentleman than an uneducated one.

Your brother, truly,

JOHN C. WEST.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 73-9

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, March 14, 1863

We were expecting a gay time to-day, it being the first anniversary of the capture of New Berne. It was reported that besides a review we were to have various salutes and plenty of beer. We were awakened about five o'clock by a salute, and, although we growled at the early hour, started out to see the fun. We soon found the saluting was done with shotted guns. Belger and Morrison were posted on the river bank, firing as fast as they could. The old "Hunchback," using her 100-pounder, and a little farther down stream, the "Delaware" pegging away at the woods beyond the little fort where the 92d N.Y. Regiment was stationed, they firing also and the river alive with shot and shell from the rebels. We were immediately ordered out in "light marching order," and it looked as if our breakfast as well as our beer would get stale.

Rumors were plenty. About ten o'clock it was reported that we were going across the river to relieve the troops there, but stayed quietly where we were, hearing everything and seeing very little. By four P.M. everything was quiet, and the company returned to barracks. A mail was distributed, and the boys are busy answering letters, for the boat leaves in the morning.

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, pp. 41-2

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, December 25, 1861

Gave passes to all the boys who desired to leave camp. The Major, Adjutant and I had a right royal Christmas dinner and a pleasant time. A fine fat chicken, fried mush, coffee, peaches and milk, were on the table. The Major is engaged now in heating the second tea-pot of water for punch purposes. His countenance has become quite rosy; this is doubtless the effect of the fire. He has been unusually powerful in argument; but whether his intellect has been stimulated by the fire, the tea, or the punch, we are at this time wholly unable to decide; he certainly handles the tea-pot with consummate skill, and attacks the punch with exceeding vigor.

_______________

BLOG EDITORS NOTE: For a punch recipe that includes hot water see 69th Regiment Punch.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 88-9

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant John S. Morgan, Friday, March 3, 1865

Rumor in camp today that Mobile is evacuated. dont know. & that a blockade runner was captured. Evening both rumors false. Jewish smuggling craft loaded with Liquors was seized & confiscated beautiful day but misty rain in the evening

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, Thirty-Third Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, Vol. XIII, No. 8, Third Series, Des Moines, April 1923, p. 576

Diary of Private Edward W. Crippin, January 17, 1862

Saturday morning rained like the mischief last night, Our camp flooded with water. The 10th Ills. have no tents and they are in an awful fix. Our men have not a full ration this morning—a little grumbling consequently—traveling is awful—roads are very mudy     Branches are high and it rains almost continually     The coat tail of the writer get very mudy and is consequently very heavy. WE travel to within one mile of Blanville and encamp for the night. The boys have one dram of whisky to night issued by the Qr. Master     Lieut Allen has been with the teams to day not able to walk, He caught up with us at Lovelaceville.

SOURCE: Transactions of the Illinois State Historical Society for the Year 1909, p. 234

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, January 19, 1863

Cold, rainy and windy. We lay here all day coaling up, and suffered with the cold. Most of the boys kept warm by drinking whisky. Nearly all have their canteens full. We have details patrolling the town, picking up the stragglers. Still rainy and disagreeable. At 1:30 the boats backed off and started down the river. We stopped a few minutes at the forts, two or three miles below the town. There are fifteen boats in the fleet, among the principal ones are the "Nettie Dean," "Silver Moon," "Minnehaha," "Platte Valley," "Superior," "Maria Denning," "Sunnyside," "St. Louis, "Gate City," "Mary Forsythe," "City of Madison," “Arago," and "Belle Reora." Our regiment lost about fifty men at Memphis, three from our company. At dark we tied up to the Arkansas shore. It was dreary and cold but I went on shore on purpose to put my foot on Arkansas soil. We set our pickets and stayed all night. Abe Van Aukin and I slept under Jim Mitchell's bunk, the same as the night before and slept fine.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, pp. 29-30

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

Have received to-day a box of delicacies from the good people of Middletown, Connecticut, for my hospital. It is a great comfort to us to feel that the —— Regiment is remembered in so many places and by so many good people. The contents are generally in fine order, except that a few of the eatables became saturated by some brandy—the corks in some manner having got out of place. This, however, has not injured them. Indeed, many of the sick boys think that the contact of the "spiritual essence" has rather improved them.

All the talk now is of moving, and if we should not be "put forward" next week, I fear our General will lose prestige with this part of the army.

I have had to forbid one of the female nurses admission to the hospital on account of her improper interference with matters under my supervision. I regret this. She is a capable good nurse, but sometimes some things are just as contagious as others, and she meddled and made trouble. I begin to doubt very much the expediency of having female nurses in field hospitals. They are absolutely necessary in the general hospital, but in the field they are out of place.

We have had time to read and deliberate on the President's Message. It is not what the soldiers expected, or wished. They had prepared their minds for a real sharp-shooter message, but they think this is a "smooth bore," and carries neither powder nor ball. They like Secretary Cameron's talk much better, But new beginners are always impatient to be at it. We may become sobered down before long.

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. 60-1

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

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

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

 

J. J. REYNOLDS,                 

Brigadier-General.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diary of 5th Sergeant Lawrence Van Alstyne: December 21, 1862

Inspection of arms to-day and a sermon by the chaplain. We are thinking and talking of the letters we will get when we have a mail. Uncle Sam keeps track of us someway and sooner or later finds us. We have a regimental postmaster, who is expected every day from the city with a bag full. We have enough to fill him up on his return trip. The Arago is unloading all our belongings, which looks as if we were to stay here. Good-bye, Arago! I wish there was a kettle big enough to boil you and your bugs in before you take on another load. So many are sick the well ones are worked the harder for it. I still rank amoung the well ones and am busy at something all the time. Just now I have been put in place of fifth sergenat, who among other duties sees that the company has its fair share of rations, and anything else that is going. I also attend sick call every morning, which amounts to this. The sick call sounds and the sick of Company B fall in line and I march them to the doctor's office, where they are examined. Some get a dose of whiskey and quinine, some are ordered to the hospital and some are told to report for duty again. Dr. Andrus and I play checkers every chance we get. We neither play a scientific game, but are well matched and make some games last a long time. He is helping my throat and my cough is not so bad lately. Our quarters were turned into a smoke house to-day. An old stove without a pipe is going and some stinking stuff is burning that nothing short of a grayback can stand. It is expected to help our condition, and there is lots of chance for it.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, pp. 75-6

Diary of Private John C. West, Friday, May 22, 1863

Left Raleigh about 9 o'clock yesterday morning. The road from Raleigh to Weldon is the most crooked and through the most broken country I ever saw. Every foot of it is over an embankment or through a deep cut. The land along the route is all poor and barren and yet there are some beautiful residences and the people seem to be doing well. How they live I cannot tell. There were occasionally fine apple orchards and clover fields. I had the good fortune to meet up with Mr. Carpenter, a member of the North Carolina legislature. He was a pleasant companion and had some genuine whiskey, having married the heiress of a distiller. I made also the acquaintance of an old gentleman named Miller, who was on his way to Richmond to see two wounded nephews, one of whom had lost an arm; he also had some whiskey, which he said came from the drug store and must be good. He had also some cakes, good ham and fresh butter, which I enjoyed very much. He is a Baptist and is acquainted with Mr. Lemmond, of Waco, Texas. We reached Weldon about 5 o'clock in the afternoon, and as the cars were not to start until 9 o'clock, I concluded to take a stroll. I obtained a drink of the coldest water I ever drank and observed the address of Captain H. A. Troutman on a box, which put me on the lookout for him. I soon met him and we had a long talk on old college times. He had married a Miss Napier. John Neely is dead; Miss Lou is married to Ed. McClure. Billy Clifton has become a devout Baptist. Charley Boyd, John McLemore and Lucius Gaston are all killed; murdered by fanatical vandals; ten thousand mercenaries cannot pay for such men as these. They helped to make and adorn the character of a noble people. They were all my college friends. We loved each other and cherished common hopes of a happy future.

I went to supper with Troutman. He boards with the post commissary, who, of course, gets a little of everything. We had light rolls, scrambled eggs, genuine coffee, salmon, etc., for supper. The commissary is run by Mr. Peterson, brother of Judge Peterson, of San Antonio, Texas. We left Weldon at 9 o'clock and jogged along slowly until about 3 o'clock a. m., when we reached Petersburg. I shouldered my carpet-bag, overcoat and blanket and walked a mile to the depot. Cars left Petersburg about 5 o'clock a. m., and ran so slowly that I had ample time to inspect the country. When we came within eight miles of Richmond I observed a large amount of timber felled on either side of the road and fortifications thrown up to prevent the advance of the Yanks. When we came within three miles of Richmond one of the bars which connects the cars broke, and we were detained for half an hour or more, but another engine very opportunely came up behind us and pushed us on to Richmond. I found it a much more beautiful place than I had anticipated. The scenery in crossing James River is especially attractive. I put up at the American Hotel and spent the day in wandering "up and down" and "going to and fro" in it. I called on Miss Wigfall, Mrs. Chestnut, Miss Nannie Norton (who was absent), Miss Mary Fisher, Mr. and Mrs. Barnwell and met there Mrs. Carter. Called at the Cabinet Quarters and delivered to C. S. Senator Hon. James Chestnut, a letter (from Hon. Guy M. Bryan, of Texas) to the president. I went to the Ballard House to see Hon. H. P. Brewster, of Texas; was unable to find him. Delivered Mr. Carter's letter to Mr. Winston, who was too busy to notice me, so I retired. I gave him also the letter to Mrs. Benton. Dined with Colonel and Mrs. Chestnut, in company with Billy Preston, who is now major of artillery. Had fish and corn bread, rice and lettuce for dinner, with iced whiskey to wash it down. After dinner went to the Spotswood Hotel, met Captain Rice and Jimmy Winn, also Minnie Moses, whom I have not seen for eight years. He is a clerk in some of the departments. I returned to Miss Mary Fisher's in the afternoon and left my overcoat in her charge. I am too tired to make comments, though I have seen a great deal to write about. I am writing this in the public room of the American Hotel about 11 o'clock at night. They have charged me $7.50 for supper, night's lodging and breakfast.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 49-52

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 27, 1863

Nicholasville, Ky. We are again enjoying the quiet of camp life. Our miniature tents are pitched in regular order, streets are policed and brigade guards posted to keep our unruly boys within bounds.

Colonel Luce, five line officers and twenty privates have gone home on furlough—others to Cincinnati on leave of absence. Everything indicates a period of rest. Our boys are trying to make up for their privations "down below." Nearly every tent presents the appearance of a market for the sale of fruit or vegetables.

Potatoes, peaches, apples, cabbages, onions, watermelons and green corn are piled in heaps or lie around loose throughout the camp. Then we have artists, too. Two Daguerian cars are running full blast, where the boys get indifferent pictures at one dollar each. I saw a great curiosity today—a relic of bygone ages. About a mile from camp there is a shop where the old-fashioned spinning wheel is manufactured on quite an extensive scale, and they find a ready sale. This is a fair index to the progress of the people. Their manners, forms of speech and customs all point to past ages. They are very loyal and very friendly when sober, but when filled with corn whiskey, hypocrisy and self-interest take a back seat, and they speak their real sentiments with a frankness and fluency that is not at all flattering to us "Yanks." From what I have seen, I conclude all Kentuckians drink whiskey. There are distilleries in every little town, where the "genuine article" is turned out. I called at a farm house one day for a drink of water. The good woman was catechising her son—a lad of ten or twelve years about ten cents she had given him with which to buy some little notion at the store. She gave me a drink of water, then, turning to the young hopeful, angrily inquired, "But where's that ten cents I gave you?" "I guv five cents to Bill." "Where's the other five?" "Bought my dram with it." The explanation appeared satisfactory.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 78-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 30, 1863

Crab Orchard, Ky. We arrived at 10 a. m., making ten miles from Lancaster this morning. Crab Orchard is a lovely town of about one thousand inhabitants. We are encamped about one mile south of the village, in a lovely spot, shut in on all sides by high hills and forests. To the south, far in the distance, the Cumberland Mountains raise their blue peaks as landmarks to guide us on our course when next we move.

From what I see and hear of the surrounding country, the boys will have to depend on their rations for food.

Soldiers are strange beings. No sooner were our knapsacks unslung than every man of us went to work as though his very life depended on present exertions. We staked out streets, gathered stakes and poles with which to erect our tents, and now, at 3 p. m., behold! a city has arisen, like a mushroom, from the ground. Everything is done as though it were to be permanent, when no man knows how long we may remain or how soon we may move on.

Part of our route from Camp Parks lay through a country made historic by the chivalric deeds of Daniel Boone. We passed his old log fort, and the high bluff from which he hurled an Indian and dashed him in pieces on the rocks below. At the foot of the bluff is the cave in which he secreted himself when hard pressed by savages. His name is chiseled in the rock above the entrance. The place is now being strongly fortified.

We had a lively skirmish in Company G this morning. About a week ago the Brigade Surgeon ordered quinine and whiskey to be issued to every man in the brigade, twice daily. During our march the quinine had been omitted, but whiskey was dealt out freely.

Solon Crandall—the boy who picked the peaches while under fire at South Mountain—is naturally pugnacious, and whiskey makes him more so. This morning, while under the influence of his "ration," he undertook the difficult task of "running" Company G.

Captain Tyler, hearing the "racket," emerged from his tent and inquired the cause. At this Solon, being a firm believer in "non-intervention," waxed wroth. In reply he told the Captain, "It's none of your business. Understand, I am running this company, and if you don't go back to your tent and mind your own business, I'll have you arrested and sent to the bull pen. At this the Captain "closed" with his rival in a rough-and-tumble fight, in which the Captain, supported by a Sergeant, gained the day.

I have the most comfortable quarters now I have ever had. Our tent is composed of five pieces of canvas, each piece the size of our small tents—two for the top, or roof, the eaves three feet from the ground. The sides and ends are made to open one at a time or all at once, according to the weather. Three of us tent together, and we have plenty of room. We have bunks made of boards, raised two feet from the ground. This, with plenty of straw, makes a voluptuous bed. I received a letter from home last evening, dated August 13th. Oh, these vexatious postal delays; they are the bane of my life. I wonder if postmasters are human beings, with live hearts inside their jackets, beating in sympathetic unison with other hearts. I wonder did they ever watch and wait, day after day, until hope was well-nigh dead, conscious that love had sped its message and was anxiously awaiting a return. A letter from home! What thrilling emotions of pleasure; what unfathomable depths of joy it brings the recipient. It is not altogether the words, be they many or few, but the remembrances they call forth; the recognition of the well-known handwriting; old associations and past scenes are brought forth from the storehouse of the memory and held up to view. The joy of meeting—the agony of parting—all are lived over again.

We are having brigade inspection today, which is suggestive of a move, but our artillery has not turned up yet, and we will not take the field without it.

The health of our men has improved wonderfully since we reached Kentucky. A more rugged, hearty set of men I never saw than the few who are left. But, as I look around upon the noble fellows, now drawn up in line for inspection, a feeling of sadness steals over me. One short year ago nine hundred ninety-eight as brave, true men as ever shouldered gun marched forth to battle in their country's cause. Of all that noble band, only two hundred in line today. Where are the absent ones? Some, it is true, are home on furlough, but not all. They have left a bloody track from South Mountain's gory height through Antietam, Fredericksburg and Vicksburg to Jackson, Mississippi.

Oh, how I miss familiar faces!

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 86-89

Diary of Major Joseph Stockton, April 18, 1863

Received four months' pay, which was of the greatest service to the officers and men and put all in a good humor. Sutlers shops were patronized extensively and the express office crowded with soldiers sending money to the loved ones at home. On the other side, gambling is carried on extensively till the sharpers have fleeced the green ones out of their last cent. Officers try their best to prevent it, but the men will steal away whenever they can get a chance. It is about as hard to keep them from gambling as getting whisky, and where an officer could not get a drop men can get all they want.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 12

Diary of Private John C. West, Tuesday, May 5, 1863

Yesterday evening there were heavy clouds and a good deal of lightning in the North; after supper laid down on the deck and slept very comfortable until awakened by a heavy rain; gathered up my blanket and crowded into the state room, which proved to be almost suffocating. I was very sleepy, so went down in the engine room and slept until morning, crosswise on two barrels of rum; waked up quite refreshed to enjoy the beautiful scenery on the banks of the Ouachita, among the most picturesque of which was a high bluff on which was a single grave; a romantic lady, the wife of a pilot, was buried there by her request, where her gentle spirit might keep vigil over the destinies of her husband. We stopped during the morning to take an old rail fence for fuel; a soldier shot a hog, which gave us fresh pork for dinner; found some very nice mulberries on shore and wished my children, little Stark and Mary, had some of them. Had a very pleasant trip on to Hamburg; went ashore there and got transportation to Trinity; after supper proceeded down to the river and met the steamer, Tucker; stopped and had a talk and got the Natchez Courier.

Forgot to say above that I met Dr. Rock on this steamer; learned from him that Lieutenant Brandon was at Pine Bluff on the 8th of April, and was going to Virginia. Dr. Rock is on his way to Richmond. We reached Trinity about 12 o'clock at night, on Tuesday, the 5th, and have not stopped long enough during the day to write up this diary, and at night had no light; left the Trinity in a skiff with five others; proceeded up the Ouachita for about six miles; then into Brushy Bayou; after following this for about two miles the thorns and bushes were so troublesome that we had to get to land and walk about four miles, while the negroes worked the skiff through. In this walk I got far enough ahead of the skiff to take a nap; laid down on the ground and slept gloriously for an hour; would have enjoyed it more with a blanket to lie on. At the end of this walk we had a very good breakfast by paying five dollars a dozen for some eggs and furnishing our own coffee, and then paying two dollars a piece for breakfast. After breakfast pulled the skiff overland into Cane Bayou, and proceeded up this for six miles to Turtle Lake, a beautiful sheet of water three miles long; from this we entered Cocoda Bayou, which we followed for eight miles into Concordia Lake, up which we rowed for seven or eight miles, which landed us about three miles from Natchez. All this skiff trip is through just such a country as an alligator would thrive in; affording fine facilities for fishing and duck shooting; no one but a Newfoundland dog would enjoy it. We procured a cart to take our baggage to the Mississippi river; crossed in a skiff to Natchez; remained there all night and left Thursday morning for Brookhaven; stopped at Dr. Holden's and got the second good dinner I have had since I left home; reached McDaniel's at dark and found it quite a nice place, and met here that rare creature of the West an old maid; she seems to be quite a nice person and I think has been doomed to this state of single felicity by circumstances for which she is not responsible. We got a good breakfast at 4 o'clock in the morning, which enabled us to reach Brockhaven (where I am now writing) by 10 o'clock. On the road to this place I passed a bridge which Grierson's Cavalry had destroyed, and here I see the remains of the depot which they burned. These are the first practical examples of Yankee vandalism I have seen during the war. I expect to leave here to-day at 2 o'clock.

Reached Jackson at 6 o'clock and found the train for Meridian about to start and had no time to get transportation, and so have to remain here against my will until to-morrow evening. All these days which I have been delayed I had hoped to spend in Columbia, South Carolina.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 33-6

Diary of Private John C. West, Wednesday, May 13, 1863

Left Montgomery in a crowded train of cars; when we reached the coal station found a suspicious personage, of whom the guard took charge; he had no papers and said he was a substitute for a nephew of Dr. Green, of Fort Valley, and that his papers were in possession of a squad who had left him at Montgomery, he having some other friends there, and becoming too convivial to leave. He said he had paid a policeman one hundred dollars to let him out and then walked to the coal station. I wrote a letter for him to Dr. Green, explaining the circumstance and asking his assistance. This little affair gave the curious some excitement.

About the time I reached West Point a gentleman named J. J. Thrasher, of Atlanta, introduced himself and made inquiries about Mrs. Nelson, wife of Col. Allison Nelson, or "Mary," as he affectionately termed her. He seemed to know all about the family and gave me their history and said their father, Mr. Green, was one of his best friends. He also asked after Mr. Knight; spoke very highly of him and said that his father, his uncles and aunts, Mr. and Mrs. Mangum and Avery, had all died within the last three months. I gradually became sociable enough with Mr. Thrasher and his daughter to enjoy their lunch very much, the first delicacies of the kind that I have seen since I left Texas.

Soon afterwards a very kind old gentleman named John A. Broughton asked me to take a seat by him, and informed me that he had once been to Texas and farmed in Fayette county, but concluded to return. He is about the third man I have met who was ever able to get away from Texas after being once fixed there. He is, however, worth a million of dollars and has only two children. He offered me money and divided his lunch with me. I parted with him at Madison about 12 o'clock at night.

The cars being very much crowded, I offered a neat looking person a seat by me. He seemed to be very communicative, and gave me a full history of his experiments in distilling, and of his daughter's progress at Northern schools, which he greatly preferred to Southern. He told me his name was ———, and that he was a first cousin of Judge ———, of —— in Texas, whom I knew very well. He gave me a very minute account of the circumstances under which the Judge left Georgia. It amounted in substance to this: The Judge took part and assisted an editor in writing a very scurrilous article, commenting on the conduct of a state senator, Mr. ———.

The senator was offended and was about to call the editor to account for the article, when the editor shot and killed him, and Judge ——— left because he feared that his testimony would convict his friend. My informant added further that it was thought by some that the trial would develop facts which might show Judge to be accessory to the killing, etc. This entire circumstance, of which I had heard vague and indefinite rumors in Texas, was related to me voluntarily, without a hint on my part that I had ever heard of it before, and without a question to draw him out particularly on the subject. He seemed to be very candid and loquacious on all subjects, and gave me a very minute history of his own domestic affairs.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 37-9

Excursion to Hyde Park.

Under the excellent lead of H. E. Sargent, Esq., of the Michigan Central Railroad, a very pleasant excursion party visited Hyde Park from this city, drawn mainly from the Massachusetts delegation. They passed several hours in the spacious parlors and verandahs of the Hyde Park House, extracted divers corks, and made the city in good style about 6 o’clock. Gilmore’s splendid Boston Band, who are to give their concert at Metropolitan Hall this evening, accompanied the party, and discoursed notes on which here is surely no “discount.”

SOURCE: “Excursion to Hyde Park,” The Press and Tribune, Chicago, Illinois, Wednesday, May 16, 1860, p. 4, col. 6

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, June 22, 1864

The first day of the month that it has not rained. The man shot last night is carried out dead this morning. By trading some, we are enabled to increase our rations to about half we could eat under normal conditions.

Selden, the Rebel quartermaster, has set up a sutler shop on main street on the north side, with a view of absorbing Yankee money men are starved to spend. The fact that some of the stuff on sale is the same as that issued to prisoners justifies suspicion that he had a reason for cutting down our rations. He attempts to whitewash this matter by putting two prisoners in charge, Charles Huckleby, of the 8th Tennessee, and Ira Beverly, of the 100th Ohio. Nevertheless we are told by Rebel sergeants that he has a commission from Richmond. He only appears, however, once every day. These boys expect to live better while in his service, but admit that the profits are "gobbled" by Selden; that he furnishes the stuff and fixes prices. It seems an unlikely place to make money, but the few who have any spend it fast and pay high prices. While exchange in Federal money is prohibited by Rebel law, it is openly done everywhere by Rebels, and in this case by a "C. S. A." military officer. Articles in stock consist of flour, molasses, small sticks of wood, plug tobacco, a vicious sort of whisky made from sorghum. These things appeal to starved appetites of thousands; and those who have money cannot resist the temptation to let it go. Though this is poor stuff, it is better than the scant rations irregularly issued. We have to pay from 25c to $1 for an onion, 10c to 40c for miserable apples, 25c a pint for meal, 40c for wormy hog peas, 40c for 1½ pint of flour, 10c for small piece of wood. With the advent of this institution rations grow less in quantity and quality. It is simply a scheme of this Rebel quartermaster to catch greenbacks, watches, rings, and things of value which men eagerly put up. It is not instituted with a view to benefit us. If such were the object, why do they extort such prices, why are rations cut down, why are we cheated out of one day in five by not getting rations?

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 77-8

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: August 20, 1861

These mountain streams are unreliable. We had come to regard the one on which we are encamped as a quiet, orderly little river, that would be good enough to notify us when it proposed to swell out and overflow the adjacent country. In fact we had bragged about it, made all sorts of complimentary mention of it, put our tents on its margin, and allowed it to encircle our sick and wounded; but we have now lost all confidence in it. Yesterday, about noon, it began to rise. It had been raining, and we thought it natural enough that the waters should increase a little. At four o'clock it had swelled very considerably, but still kept within its bed of rock and gravel, and we admired it all the more for the energy displayed in hurrying along branches, logs, and sometimes whole trees. At six o'clock we found it was rising at the rate of one foot per hour, and that the water had now crept to within a few feet of the hospital tent, in which lay two wounded and a dozen or more of sick. Dr. McMeens became alarmed and called for help. Thirty or more boys stripped, swam to the island, and removed the hospital to higher ground-to the highest ground, in fact, which the island afforded. The boys returned, and we felt safe. At seven o'clock, however, we found the river still rising rapidly. It covered nearly the whole island. Logs, brush, green trees, and all manner of drift went sweeping by at tremendous speed, and the water rushed over land which had been dry half an hour before, with apparently as strong a current as that in the channel. We knew then that the sick and wounded were in danger. How to rescue them was now the question. A raft was suggested; but a raft could not be controlled in such a current, and if it went to pieces or was hurried away, the sick and wounded must drown. Fortunately a better way was suggested; getting into a wagon, I ordered the driver to go above some distance, so that we could move with the current, and then ford the stream. After many difficulties, occasioned mainly by floating logs and driftwood, and swimming the horses part of the way, we succeeded in getting over. I saw it was impossible to carry the sick back, and that there was but one way to render them secure. I had the horses unhitched, and told the driver to swim them back and bring over two or three more wagons. Two more finally reached me, and one team, in attempting to cross, was carried down stream and drowned. I had the three wagons placed on the highest point I could find, then chained together and staked securely to the ground. Over the boxes of two of these we rolled the hospital tent, and on this placed the sick and wounded, just as the water was creeping upon us. On the third wagon we put the hospital stores. It was now quite dark. Not more than four feet square of dry land remained of all our beautiful island; and the river was still rising. We watched the water with much anxiety. At ten o'clock it reached the wagon hubs, and covered every foot of the ground; but soon after we were pleased to see that it began to go down a little. Those of us who could not get into the wagons had climbed the trees. At one o'clock it commenced to rain again, when we managed to hoist a tent over the sick. At two o'clock the long-roll, the signal for battle, was beaten in camp, and we could just hear, above the roar of the water, the noise made by the men as they hurriedly turned out and fell into line.

It will not do, however, to conclude that this was altogether a night of terrors. It was, in fact, not so very disagreeable after all. There was a by-play going on much of the time, which served to illuminate the thick darkness, and divert our minds from the gloomier aspects of the scene. Smith, the teamster who brought me across, had returned to the mainland with the horses, and then swam back to the island. By midnight he had become very drunk. One of the hospital attendants was very far gone in his cups, also. These two gentlemen did not seem to get along amicably; in fact, they kept up a fusillade of words all night, and so kept us awake. The teamster insisted that the hospital attendant should address him as Mr. Smith. The Smith family, he argued, was of the highest respectability, and being an honored member of that family, he would permit no man under the rank of a Major-General to call him Jake. George McClellan sometimes addressed him by his christian name; but then George and he were Cincinnatians, old neighbors, and intimate personal friends, and, of course, took liberties with each other. This could not justify one who carried out pukes and slop-buckets from a field hospital in calling him Jake, or even Jacob.

Mr. Smith's allusions to the hospital attendant were not received by that gentleman in the most amiable spirit. He grew profane, and insisted that he was not only as good a man as Smith, but a much better one, and he dared the bloviating mule scrubber to get down off his perch and stand up before him like a man. But Jake's temper remained unruffled, and along toward morning, in a voice more remarkable for strength than melody, he favored us with a song:

Ho! gif ghlass uf goodt lauger du me;

  Du mine fadter, mine modter, mine vife:

Der day's vork vos done, undt we'll see

  Vot bleasures der vos un dis life,

 

Undt ve sit us aroundt mit der table,

  Undt ve speak uf der oldt, oldt time,

Ven we lif un dot house mit der gable,

  Un der vine-cladt banks uf der Rhine;

 

Undt mine fadter, his voice vos a quiver,

  Undt mine modter; her eyes vos un tears,

Ash da dthot uf dot home un der river,

  Undt kindt friendst uf earlier years;

 

Undt I saidt du mine fadter be cheerie,

  Du mine modter not longer lookt sadt,

Here's a blace undt a rest for der weary,

  Und ledt us eat, drink, undt be gladt.

 

So idt ever vos cheerful mitin;

  Vot dtho' idt be stormy mitoudt,

Vot care I vor der vorld undt idts din,

  Ven dose I luf best vos about;

 

So libft up your ghlass, mine modter,

  Undt libft up yours, Gretchen, my dear,

Undt libft up your lauger, mine fadter,

  Undt drink du long life und good cheer.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 58-62

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: April 3, 1865

Another clear and bright morning. It was a quiet night, with its million of stars. And yet how few could sleep, in anticipation of the entrance of the enemy! But no enemy came until 9 A.M., when some 500 were posted at the Capitol Square. They had been waited upon previously by the City Council, and the surrender of the city stipulated—to occur this morning. They were asked to post guards for the protection of property from pillage, etc., and promised to do so.

At dawn there were two tremendous explosions, seeming to startle the very earth, and crashing the glass throughout the western end of the city. One of these was the blowing up of the magazine, near the new almshouse—the other probably the destruction of an iron-clad ram. But subsequently there were others. I was sleeping soundly when awakened by them.

All night long they were burning the papers of the Second Auditor's office in the street—claims of the survivors of deceased soldiers, accounts of contractors, etc.

At 7 A. M. Committees appointed by the city government visited the liquor shops and had the spirits (such as they could find) destroyed. The streets ran with liquor; and women and boys, black and white, were seen filling pitchers and buckets from the gutters.

A lady sold me a bushel of potatoes in Broad Street for $75, Confederate States money—$5 less than the price a few days ago.

I bought them at her request. And some of the shops gave clothing to our last retiring guards.

Goods, etc. at the government depots were distributed to the poor, to a limited extent, there being a limited amount.

A dark volume of smoke rises from the southeastern section of the city, and spreads like a pall over the zenith. It proceeds from the tobacco warehouse, ignited, I suppose, hours ago, and now just bursting forth.

At 8½ A.M. The armory, arsenal, and laboratory (Seventh and Canal Streets), which had been previously fired, gave forth terrific sounds from thousands of bursting shells. This continued for more than an hour. Some fragments of shell fell within a few hundred yards of my house.

The pavements are filled with pulverized glass.

Some of the great flour mills have taken fire from the burning government warehouses, and the flames are spreading through the lower part of the city. A great conflagration is apprehended.

The doors of the government bakery (Clay Street) were thrown open this morning, and flour and crackers were freely distributed, until the little stock was exhausted. I got a barrel of the latter, paying a negro man $5 to wheel it home—a short distance.

Ten A.M. A battery (United States) passed my house, Clay Street, and proceeded toward Camp Lee. Soon after the officers returned, when I asked the one in command if guards would be placed in this part of the city to prevent disturbance, etc. He paused, with his suite, and answered that such was the intention, and that every precaution would be used to preserve order. He said the only disturbances were caused by our people. I asked if there was any disturbance. He pointed to the black columns of smoke rising from the eastern part of the city, and referred to the incessant bursting of shell. I remarked that the storehouses had doubtless been ignited hours previously. To this he assented, and assuring me that they did not intend to disturb us, rode on. But immediately meeting two negro women laden with plunder, they wheeled them to the right about, and marched them off, to the manifest chagrin of the newly emancipated citizens.

Eleven A.M. I walked down Brad Street to the Capitol Square. The street was filled with negro troops, cavalry and infantry, and were cheered by hundreds of negroes at the corners.

I met Mr. T. Cropper (lawyer from the E. Shore) driving a one-horse wagon containing his bedding and other property of his quarters. He said he had just been burnt out—at Belom's Block—and that St. Paul's Church (Episcopal) was, he thought, on fire. This I found incorrect; but Dr. Reed's (Presbyterian) was in ruins. The leaping and lapping flames were roaring in Main Street up to Ninth; and Goddin's Building (late General PostOffice) was on fire, as well as all the houses in Governor Street up to Franklin.

The grass of Capitol Square is covered with parcels of goods snatched from the raging conflagration, and each parcel guarded by a Federal soldier.

A general officer rode up and asked me what building that was—pointing to the old stone United States Custom House—late Treasury and State Departments, also the President's office. He said, "Then it is fire-proof, and the fire will be arrested in this direction." He said he was sorry to behold such destruction; and regretted that there was not an adequate supply of engines and other apparatus.

Shells are still bursting in the ashes of the armory, etc.

All the stores are closed; most of the largest (in Main Street) have been burned.

There are supposed to be 10,000 negro troops at Camp Lee, west of my dwelling.

An officer told me, 3 P.M., that a white brigade will picket the city to-night; and he assured the ladies standing near that there would not be a particle of danger of molestation. After 9 P.M., all will be required to remain in their houses. Soldiers or citizens, after that hour, will be arrested. He said we had done ourselves great injury by the fire, the lower part of the city being in ashes, and declared that the United States troops had no hand in it. I acquitted them of the deed, and told him that the fire had spread from the tobacco warehouses and military depots, fired by our troops as a military necessity.

Four P.M. Thirty-four guns announced the arrival of President Lincoln. He flitted through the mass of human beings in Capitol Square, his carriage drawn by four horses, preceded by out-riders, motioning the people, etc. out of the way, and followed by a mounted guard of thirty. The cortege passed rapidly, precisely as I had seen royal parties ride in Europe.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 467-70

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Monday, February 24, 1862

Orders came in the afternoon to get ready to march the coming day. New knapsacks were issued, and rations kept ready for three days. Great times in camp, especially in the sixth detachment, all the rations on hand being sold to Benson's for whiskey. Who would not remember S. that evening, the stove, and O! Su!

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 33