Diary of Private William S. White, October 28, 1861

Our Captain, Robert C. Stanard, died to-day at Camp Deep Creek, of disease contracted in the army. He was a man of warm impulses and generous heart.

Remained in Williamsburg about ten days, when I concluded to call on my Gloucester friends once more, as it would be worse than folly to return to my command in such ill health.

Hired a buggy in Williamsburg and went to "Bigler's Wharf," on the York River; there hired a boat and crossed over the river to Cappahoosic Wharf. At this place I found a member of my company who lived some half a mile from the wharf.

Remained at his father's, Captain Andrews, (a Captain of artillery in the war of 1812) for several days, eating oysters and rolling ten-pins.

Captain Andrews is a jolly specimen of an old Virginia gentleman, whose motto seems to be Dum Vivimus Vivamus.

From Captain Andrews's I went to "Waverly," where I most pleasantly spent ten days, after having been joined by my brother, Rev. Thomas W. White, who insisted on my getting a discharge from the army. Concluded to return to my command, he and I going to Cappahoosic Wharf, he taking the up boat for West Point and I waiting for the down boat for Yorktown. Whilst on the wharf, I was again taken with a severe chill, and remembering my friend, Captain Andrews, I crawled, rather than walked, to his house. I was then seriously ill, but had every attention possible; my physician being Dr. Francis Jones, brother of the owner of Waverly. Dr. Frank, seeming to take a fancy to me, told me if I would come to his house, where he could pay me especial attention, he would promise to get me all right in a week. As soon as I could sit up, I took him at his word, and he put me through a regular course of medicine, watching carefully everything I eat. Kind hearted old Virginian; I wonder if it will ever be in my power to repay him and other dear friends in this good old county for kindnesses to me? When I commenced improving, I felt a longing desire to get back to camp, and accordingly returned to Yorktown in the latter part of November. My company officers now are: Captain, Edgar F. Moseley; First Lieutenant, John M. West; Senior Second Lieutenant, Benjamin H. Smith; Junior Second Lieutenant, Henry C. Carter.

Found they were stationed some twenty miles from Yorktown, and next day started to hunt them up. Hearing they were at Young's Mill, I went to that place, but found the First and Second detachments had returned to their camp, at Deep Creek, on the east side of Warwick River, whilst the Third and Fourth detachments were on picket duty at Watt's Creek, six miles from Newport News. Joined them at that place, having been absent three months. None of the boys ever expected to see me again, and they wondered but the more when I told them that since I had left them I had swallowed enough quinine pills to reach from Newport News to Bristol, Tennessee, were they to catch hold hands.

We remained at Watt's Creek very quietly for a few days, but one night the Yankees brought up a gun-boat and gave us a terrific shelling; when we got up and "dusted."

My mess, composed of Andrew, Dick and Mac. Venable, Gordon McCabe, Clifford Gordon, Kit Chandler, and myself, owned a stubborn mule and a good cart, driven by a little black "Cuffee" whose appellative distinction was "Bob." Now, "Bob" and the mule came into our possession under peculiar circumstances in fact, we "pressed" them into service on some of our trips and kept them to haul our plunder. Bob was as black as the boots of the Duke of Inferno and as sharp as a steel-trap; consequently, we endeavored to give his youthful mind a religious tendency: yet Bob would gamble. Not that he cared for the intricacies of rouge et noir, ecarté, German Hazard, or King Faro, or even that subtlest of all games, "Old Sledge." No, no; he de voted his leisure time to swindling the city camp cooks out of their spare change at the noble game of "Five Corns."

George Washington (Todd) had never heard of that little game, or there would have been a Corn Exchange in Richmond long before the war.

It seems that they shuffled the corns up in their capacious paws and threw them on a table or blanket, betting on the smooth side or pithy side coming uppermost.

Night reigned—so did "Bob," surrounded by his sable satellites, making night hideous with their wrangling.

Say dar, nigger, wha' you take dem corns for? My bet. I win'd dat."

Boom!-boom!—and two nail-keg gunboat shells come screaming over our heads, disappearing into the woods, crashing down forest oaks and leaving a fiery trail behind them.

"Hi -what dat? Golly!" and up jumped Bob, leaving his bank and running into our tent. "Say, Marse Andrew, time to git, ain't it?"

"We must wait for orders, Bob.”

"I woodd'n wate for no orders, I woodd'n; I'd go now," said Bob, as he tremblingly slunk back into his house. But the Demon of Play had left Bob and grim Terror held high carnival within his woolly head.

Boom! Boom!! Boom!!! and as many shells came searching through the midnight air in quest of mischief.

And Bob knelt him down and prayed long and loud: "O-h! Lord, Marse, God'l Mity, lem me orf dis hear one time, an' I'll play dem five corns no more. Mity sorry I dun it now." And Robert ever afterward eschewed the alluring game. Returned to our camp at Land's End, on the west side of Warwick river.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 107-10

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

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

CAMP ADVANCE, Sept. 23, 1861.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: July 4, 1861

The Fourth has passed off quietly in the little town of Buckhannon and in camp.

At ten o'clock the Third and Fourth Regiments were reviewed by General McClellan. The day was excessively warm, and the men, buttoned up in their dress-coats, were much wearied when the parade was over.

In the court-house this evening, the soldiers had what they call a "stag dance." Camp life to a young man who has nothing specially to tie him to home has many attractions—abundance of company, continual excitement, and all the fun and frolic that a thousand light-hearted boys can devise.

To-night, in one tent, a dozen or more are singing "Dixie" at the top of their voices. In another "The Star-Spangled Banner" is being executed so horribly that even a secessionist ought to pity the poor tune. Stories, cards, wrestling, boxing, racing, all these and a thousand other things enter into a day in camp. The roving, uncertain life of a soldier has a tendency to harden and demoralize most men. The restraints of home, family, and society are not felt. The fact that a few hours may put them in battle, where their lives will not be worth a fig, is forgotten. They think a hundred times less of the perils by which they may be surrounded than their friends do at home. They encourage and strengthen each other to such an extent that, when exposed to danger, imminent though it be, they do not seem to realize it.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 13-4

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Monday, September 22, 1862

Knapsack drill to-day,—something new to me, though I am told it is to take place every Sunday morning when in camp. As we were not here yesterday, it was put off until to-day. We marched out to the drill ground with our knapsacks on, expecting to practice as usual, except that we were loaded that much heavier. As all our belongings were in our knapsacks, they were quite heavy. We formed in column by companies and were told to "unsling knapsacks." We all had to be coached, but we finally stood at attention with our knapsacks lying on the ground wide open before us. Then the colonel, the major and the captain of the company being inspected, marched along and with the tip of their swords poked over the contents, regardless of how precious they might be to us. And such a sight as they saw! Besides our extra underclothing, some clean and some unclean, there were Bibles, whiskey bottles, novels, packs of cards, love letters and photographs, revolvers and dirk knives, pen and ink, paper and envelopes and postage stamps, and an endless variety of odds and ends we had picked up in our travels.

As soon as the inspection was over with Company A, they were marched back to camp and so all along the line until Company B, the last of all, was reached. When we got back to camp some of the companies had been there long enough to get asleep. Nothing more was required of us, and we put in the time as we chose, provided always that we observed the camp regulations.

I may never have so good a chance, so I will try and explain some of the things we have learned to do and how we do it. Begin with roll-call. The orderly sergeant, Lew Holmes, has our names in a book, arranged in alphabetical order in one place, and in the order in which we march in another. If it is simply to see if we are all here, he sings out "Fall in for roll-call" and we get in line, with no regard to our proper places, and answer to our names as called from the alphabetical list. If for drill, "Fall in for drill!" and then we take our places with the tallest man at the right, and so on, till the last and shortest man is in place on the left. We are then in a single line, by company front. The orderly then points at the first man and says "One," which the man repeats. He then points to the second man and says "Two," which is also repeated. So it goes down the line, the one, two, being repeated, and each man being careful to remember whether he is odd or even. When that is done, and it is very quickly done, the orderly commands, "Right face!" The odd-numbered men simply swing on the left heel one quarter of the way around and stand fast. The even-numbered men do the same, and in addition step obliquely to the right of the odd-numbered man, bringing us in a double line and one step apart, which distance we must carefully keep, so that when the order "Front!" is given, we can, by reversing the movement of "Right face!" come to our places without crowding. When coming to a front, the line is not apt to be straight and the order "Right dress!" is given, when the man on the right stands fast and the one next to him puts himself squarely by his side. The next moves back or forth until he can just see the buttons on the coat of the second man to his right,—that is, with his head erect, he must look past one man and just see the buttons on the coat of the second man from him. That makes the line as straight as you can draw a string. "Left face!" is the same thing reversed. In marching, one has only to keep step with the one next in front of him. If this is done, the blame for irregular time all comes upon the file leaders, which are the two in front; they must keep step together. If Company B is going out to drill by itself it is now ready. If, however, the entire regiment is to drill together, as it has a few times, Company A marches out first, and as the rear passes where Company F is standing the latter falls in, close behind; and so each company, until Company B, which is the left of the line, and the last to go, falls in and fills up the line, Why the companies are arranged in the line as they are is a mystery I have so far failed to find out. From right to left they come in the following order: A, F, D, I, C, H, E, K, G and B. A is said to have the post of honor, because in marching by the right flank it is ahead, and meets danger first if there be any. Company B has the next most honorable position, because in marching by the left flank it is in the lead. There is a great advantage in being in the lead. On a march the files will open, more or less, and when a halt is ordered the company in the lead stops short. The other companies keep closing up the files, and by the time the ranks are closed "Attention!" may sound, and another start be made. The first company has had quite a breathing spell, while the last has had very little, if any. If I were to enlist again, I would try hard to get in Company A, for all the marching we have so far done has been by the right flank, Company A at the head and Company B bringing up the rear. When we reach the field we are generally broken up into companies, each company drilling in marching by the front, wheeling to the right and left, and finally coming together again before marching back to camp.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 34-6

Diary of Private Louis Leon: June 8, 1864

There is nothing new up to to-day, when I received a box of eatables, one or two shirts, and one pair of pants from home. The only way we can pass our time off is playing cards and chess. Six hundred prisoners came in to-day, with them a lady, who is an artillery sergeant. Being questioned by the provost marshal, she said she could straddle a horse, jump a fence and kill a Yankee as well as any rebel. As time in prison is very dull and always the same thing as the day preceding, I shall not mention each day, but only those days upon which something happened.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 65-6

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 31, 1862

Fort Baker, D. C., Aug. 31st, 1862.

I have already learned that—finding much leisure time upon his hands, after all soldierly duties have been performed the private soldier naturally craves something to divert his mind, or, as he puts it, something to pass away the time. Το many men, so situated, a game of cards is peculiarly fascinating. Others spend all their leisure time in fun and mischief; telling outlandish stories, singing vile songs, or playing practical jokes upon their fellows.

Having neither taste or talent in either of these directions, I have deliberately resolved to keep a diary or memorandum of current events, and will transcribe, from day to day, the facts that interest me and the thoughts they may engender. I enlisted August 12th, 1862, was mustered into the service of the United States on the 18th, and was assigned to Company G, of the Seventeenth regiment of Michigan Volunteer Infantry, then in barracks at Detroit, Michigan. Of the ninety-three enlisted men enrolled in Company G, sixty-five were farmers, ten laborers, five carpenters, six shoemakers, three clerks, one baker, one miller, one tinner, and one professional soldier. They range in age from the smooth-faced boy of sixteen years to the fully-developed man of thirty-eight. I judge about the same ratio will apply to the other companies of the regiment, with the exception of Company E, which is composed largely of students from the State Normal School at Ypsilanti. The regiment is largely made up of men verging on middle life, who have left business, wife, and children, dearer to them than life, sternly resolved to meet death on the field of battle, rather than suffer rebellion to triumph and the Nation be torn asunder. We left the barracks at ten o'clock in the forenoon of August 27th, marched three miles to the wharf, where we left our baggage; then escorted General Wilcox around the city until five o'clock p. m., when we marched on board the steamer Cleveland, bound for the City of Cleveland.

The weather was fine, and we reached Cleveland at five o'clock the next morning, and immediately took cars for Washington, D. C., by way of Pittsburg and Baltimore. We arrived at Pittsburg at 7 p. m. of August 28th, and were most enthusiastically received, the whole population, seemingly, escorting us, with shouts, flags, and banners of various devices, to the City Hall, where a bountiful supper was spread for us. The hall was finely decorated. Among other mottoes was: "Pittsburg Welcomes Her Country's Defenders."

We left Pittsburg at nine o'clock in the evening and reached Harrisburg the next day at 10 a. m., where we took breakfast; then, "All aboard for Baltimore." We crossed the Alleghenies in the night, but when morning dawned I went out on the platform and could still see them in the distance, rearing their blue heads in solemn grandeur, forming a most charming back ground to the beautiful picture spread out before us. We were then running with lightning speed down the beautiful Juniata Valley, about sixty miles above Harrisburg, and a more picturesque spot I never beheld.

Hemmed in by long ranges of high hills, some running at right angles to the stream, others parallel with it, now rising in perpendicular bluffs with hardly room for the cars to pass, then receding, formed lovely valleys, dotted here and there with pleasant villages. We reached Baltimore about seven o'clock Friday evening, and were warmly greeted by the loyal citizens. After partaking of a hearty supper, we took cars for Washington at ten o'clock.

We had expected a row in Baltimore, and were prepared for it, but nothing transpired of a more serious nature than a few personal encounters. One hot-headed fellow jumped on board the officers' car and demanded to see their colors, cursing Unionists and swearing vengeance. Lieutenant Somers, stirred by righteous indignation, struck him a heavy blow in the face and knocked him headlong from the car. A crowd gathered, swords and pistols flashed in the gaslight, epithets were exchanged, and there the matter ended.

We reached Washington Saturday morning, and were assigned to Fort Baker, six miles south of the city.

Fort Baker is pleasantly situated on a high hill that overlooks the surrounding country for many miles. Fifty thousand troops are encamped in sight of us.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 5-7

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, January 11, 1863

To-day we have another beautiful Sabbath. The boys are engaged in cleaning up guns for inspection, and as we are not in the immediate vicinity of the enemy, and have no hope of marching orders, we may expect a day of comparative idleness, which is more to be dreaded than any hardship that could be imposed, as it disposes the men to immoral practices to kill time. In two hours at least half of us will be playing cards, while a few, true to the principles of religion instilled into their hearts in times past, will be reading their Bibles, or engaged in other devotional exercises. The news of the defeat of our army in Tennessee [Murfreesboro] has created quite an excitement in our camp, as nearly all of the soldiers here are from that State. We are impatient for orders to go to the defense of our own homes, and some of the men say they will go whether they get orders or not. As yet, however, good order and discipline have prevailed, and I believe will to the end.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 19

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, January 15, 1863

Nothing of the least possible interest to any one has transpired since our confinement in quarantine. We draw our rations, cook, eat, sleep, and play cards, occasionally varying the monotony by telling yarns, abusing the officers, and telling what we will do when we get back to old Tennessee. The latter seems to be the desire of every heart, and is so strong in some that, added to the fear of the small-pox, it has caused a dozen of Captain ———'s men to take "French leave"—in other words, to desert and go home. Several new cases reported yesterday and to-day. I fear we will suffer greatly before we get rid of this loathsome pest. Having been well vaccinated, I dread being placed in "durance vile" for such a length of time more than I do the effect of the disease; but I may lose my life, or have my good looks spoiled. I pray God that I may escape. Evening. The rain has now ceased, and the wind is blowing strongly from the north. I did not expect to find the cold so intense in this land of "everlasting green," but so it is. A few flakes of snow are now falling, but melt as they touch the earth.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 20

Diary of Private Richard R. Hancock: Friday, November 29, 1861

We returned to camps a little after dark at the same place we started from the morning before. It was a cold, rainy day.

We learned that quite a sad affair had happened in camps that day-the result of card playing. W. K. Natcher had shot and killed George Aiken. Natcher was put under arrest. Both from Company A.

On the above date, Colonel T. E. Bramlette, who was stationed at Columbia with his regiment (First Kentucky Infantry) and a part of Wolford's and Haggard's Cavalry, made the following report of our visit to Burkesville, in a dispatch addressed to General G. H. Thomas:

I received a dispatch before day this morning from Burkesville that two hundred rebel cavalry were at the ferry on the south side of the river. A few of them crossed over and went to Boles', saw and arranged with him and his partners for the slaughter of hogs, and returned. The courier informed me that the men who are acting for the rebels are killing and packing a large number of hogs at Burkesville, viz : J. B. Alexander, J. R. Ryan, James and Sam Boles, and Robert Cross.

I have no doubt but steamboats will be up in a few days and carry off the large amount of pork, wheat, etc., the rebels are gathering upon the river. The rebels are now in possession of the river from Mill Springs down. . . . . . . . . .

I sent Colonel Wolford to the aid of Colonel Haskins with five hundred cavalry, embracing part of Colonel Haggard's command.

As I have before advised, the rebels are at Mill Springs, in force about eight thousand, but as yet have not crossed the river, and I do not believe will.¹

Colonel Haskins, with his regiment, the Fourth* Kentucky Infantry, was now encamped on the north bank of the Cumberland, some ten miles above Mill Springs.

General Zollicoffer, having reached the vicinity of Mill Springs late in the afternoon, established his headquarters at one Mr. A. R. West's, within about one mile of the river. As a portion of Captain Allison's company had gone through with the General, and was still acting as escort for him, Allison and his men put up at the same place.

Colonel Stanton, who had arrived at Mill Springs with two regiments of infantry and McClellan's Battalion and Sanders' company of cavalry, about two days in advance of Zollicoffer, had failed to secure any boats, from the fact that Colonel Haskins had taken the precaution to have them sunk; and for want of transporta[tion] he (Stanton) had failed to cross the river, as directed by Zollicoffer, to cut off Haskins' Regiment.
_______________

¹ Col, Thomas E. Bramlette to Brig.-Gen. George H. Thomas, November 29, 1861

* Afterward the Twelfth.

SOURCE: Richard R. Hancock, Hancock's Diary: Or, A History of the Second Tennessee Confederate Cavalry, p. 86-7

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: July 3, 1863

Uncle Sam's cashier has arrived at last, and we have been paid for two months' service. The married men are quite anxious to send their money home to their wives and little ones. It is risky sending money North from here, yet, to some, more dangerous to keep it. I saw two boys sitting on a log, today, playing poker at five cents a game. Five cent currency is paid in a sheet, and, as either lost the game, a five cent piece was torn off.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 74

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, January 28, 1863

STEAMER Ben Deford, FERNANDINA, FLA.,

January 28, 1863.

 While superintending the transfer of the wounded from the John Adams last night, I sent ashore for mattrasses, but without success. This morning I have been ashore and procured a bale of fine hay from Quartermaster Seward, a gentleman who was my partner at euchre on the Delaware and who is now very prompt in doing what he can for us, so that now our men are about as comfortably placed as if they were in a hospital. Yesterday I saw how difficult it is to keep down vandalism when a town is to be burned. In this respect the blacks are much more easily controlled than the whites. Of course we have a right to appropriate what we need in the service of Uncle Sam, but I would be as severe as the Colonel is on individual appropriations. My only regret about burning the town is that we did not give those “unprotected ladies” the protection of our flag and then burn every house. I find the same feeling among officers here in Fernandina. If we are ever to put down this ungodly rebellion, we must act on the broadest principles of justice. If I offer my life in the defence of my country I shall not be slow nor economical in my demands upon my enemies. This is true justice and wise humanity. Just now two companies were sent to St. Mary's on the Planter to load brick; I let Dr. Minor go with them. That I did not go myself instead was the bravest thing I have done since I came to Dixie.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 351-2

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: June 18, 1863

Aiming at the Court House.

I was relieved from guard at 9 A. M. and returned to camp. There has been very heavy firing all day, and it is rumored that Pemberton will try to break through our lines; but if he tries that game he will find it dangerous enough. It is no easy matter to climb over the bulwark of steel now encircling this city.

The weather is getting altogether too hot for comfort. A few sunstrokes have occurred, but without proving fatal so far. One poor fellow even dropped at midnight, when I have been-moonstruck. There are more ways than one of shirking a battle, for which purpose some are even willing to part with a finger or toe.

 If the rebels are short of provisions, their ammunition seems to hold out, for they are quite liberal in their distribution of it. But when Sherman begins firing from the east, McClernand from the west, McPherson from the rear, and the mortars from the north, then look out for big fire-works.

The cannon are all pointed towards the town, but some of the shells fall far short of it. When these burst in mid-air, we can see a small round cloud of smoke left behind, and then there is a sharp lookout for fragments to be scattered in every direction. Our artillerymen have had such good practice during the siege, that they can generally drop a shell wherever they want to.

Boys at the front have time for sport which is not to be interrupted even by stray shells. I noticed four of our boys playing euchre, when a shell from the enemy came careering just above their heads; but they treated it with entire indifference. Another group I saw playing “seven-up” under a blanket caught at the four corners in the hammers of muskets stuck in the ground, and thereby forming a very good shelter from the sun. A shell burst right over this group, scattering its fragments all around, but even this failed to disturb the game, further than to call forth the timely comment, “Johnny passes.”

A game of euchre, with a shell for trumps.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 56-8

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: April 1, 1862

WE LOSE OUR MAJOR.

I learn that Major McCafferty has resigned and is going to leave us. I am sorry to learn that his ambition for fame is so soon gratified. I think a good deal of the major and shall miss him very much. He is a man of great good nature and a good deal of a humorist, and at times he makes considerable sport for the boys. The major's resignation creates a vacancy which, according to military rules will be filled by the ranking captain which is Capt. Pickett of company A. This will change the formation of the line, bringing company B on the left, and ranking second in the line. So, step by step, we ascend the ladder of fame.

LIVING HIGH.

. . . . . . . We are now living in clover, having little else to do but to keep ourselves, clothes, arms and equipments clean and in good order. We do a little guard duty and the rest of the time is spent in reading, writing, card-playing and walking about town, seeing the fun and enjoying ourselves. Our rations are of good quality and variety. We now have our fresh beef three times a week, with all the soft bread we want. With our government rations, and what we can buy, such as oysters, fresh fish, chickens, eggs, sweet potatoes, etc., we are running at a high rate of speed. We often contrast this with our life at the inlet.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 52

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: January 19, 1862

HATTERAs Isi.AND AND INLET.

Witnessing boat collisions and wrecks is getting old, and the boys are amusing themselves by writing letters, making up their diaries, playing cards, reading old magazines and newspapers which they have read half a dozen times before; and some of them are actually reading their Bibles. Of all the lonely, God-forsaken looking places I ever saw this Hatteras island takes the premium. It is simply a sand-bar rising a little above the water, and the shoals extend nearly 100 miles out to sea. The water is never still and fair weather is never known; storms and sea gulls are the only productions. Sometimes there is a break in the clouds, when the sun can get a shine through for a few moments, but this very rarely happens. The island extends from Cape Henry, Virginia, to Cape Lookout, North Carolina, with occasional holes washed through it, which are called inlets. It is from one-half to two miles wide, and the only things which make any attempt to grow, are a few shrub pines and fishermen. I don’t think there is a bird or any kind of animal, unless it is a dog, on the island, not even a grasshopper, as one would have to prospect the whole island to find a blade of grass, and in the event of his finding one would sing himself to death. The inlet is very narrow, not over half a mile in width, and the channel is still narrower, consequently it makes an indifferent harbor. Still it is better than none, or as the sailors say, any port in a storm. But as bad as it looks and bad as it is, it is, after all, a very important point, perhaps as important in a military point of view as any on the coast. It is the key or gate-way to nearly all of eastern North Carolina, and places us directly in the rear of Norfolk, Va. This island is not without its history, if we may believe all the fearful and marvelous stories that have been written of it, of its being the habitation of wreckers and buccaneers in ye good old colony times.

THEATRICALS.

The boys are up to all sorts of inventions to kill time. In the amusement line the officers have started an exhibition or theatre up in the saloon. It is a clever device to break the dull monotony; to cheer up the loneliness and homesickness which seem to prevail. The exercises consist of recitations, dialogues, singing and music, and make a very good evening's entertainment. A limited number from each company are nightly admitted, and I can see no reason why it will not prove a success, as there seems to be no lack of talent, music or patronage. For a comic performance, one should be down in the after-cabin of an evening, especially about the time the officer of the day, who is a lieutenant, comes around to silence the noise and order the lights out. This after-cabin is a sort of independent community, having its own by-laws, and throwing off pretty much all restraint and doing about as it pleases. The officer of the day is pretty sure to keep out of the cabin during the day, but comes to the head of the stairs in the evening, and gives his orders. Very little attention will be given them, until finally he will venture down stairs, when he will be greeted by an hundred voices with, “Officer of the day! turn out the guard!” And a hundred more will respond, “Never mind the guard!” and this will be kept up until they finally drive him out. Sometimes, after the officer of the day has sailed to restore order, the colonel will come to the stairs and say, “Boys, it is getting late; time to be quiet.” That is the highest known authority, and order will come out of confusion immediately. Without any disparagement to the lieutenants, the boys have a great respect for Col. Upton; he has only to speak and his wishes are cheerfully and instantly complied with.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 23-4

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: May 12, 1863

DeGolier's Battery going into action at the Battle of Raymond.

Roused up early and before daylight marched, the 20th in the lead. Now we have the honored position, and will probably get the first taste of battle. At nine o'clock slight skirmishing began in front, and at eleven we filed into a field on the right of the road, where another regiment joined us on our right, with two other regiments on the left of the road and a battery in the road itself. In this position our line marched down through open fields until we reached the fence, which we scaled and stacked arms in the edge of a piece of timber. No sooner had we done this than the boys fell to amusing themselves in various ways, taking little heed of the danger about to be entered. A group here and there were employed in “euchre,” for cards seem always handy enough where soldiers are. Another little squad was discussing the scenes of the morning. One soldier picked up several canteens, saying he would go ahead and see if he could fill them. Soon after he disappeared, he returned with a quicker pace and with but one canteen full, saying, when asked why he came back so quick—“while I was filling the canteen I heard a noise, and looking up discovered several Johnnies behind trees, getting ready to shoot, and I concluded I would retire at once and report.” Meanwhile my bedfellow had taken from his pocket a small mirror and was combing his hair and moustache. Said some one to him, “Cal., you needn't fix up so nice to go into battle, for the rebs won't think any better of you for it.”

John Calvin Waddell, Corporal Co. E., 20th Ohio.
Killed May 12,1863.

Just here the firing began in our front, and we got orders: “Attention! Fall in—take arms—forward—double-quick, march!” And we moved quite lively, as the rebel bullets did likewise. We had advanced but a short distance—probably a hundred yards— when we came to a creek, the bank of which was high, but down we slid, and wading through the water, which was up to our knees, dropped upon the opposite side and began firing at will. We did not have to be told to shoot, for the enemy were but a hundred yards in front of us, and it seemed to be in the minds of both officers and men that this was the very spot in which to settle the question of our right of way. They fought desperately, and no doubt they fully expected to whip us early in the fight, before we could get reinforcements. There was no bank in front to protect my company, and the space between us and the foe was open and perfectly level. Every man of us knew it would be sure death to all to retreat, for we had behind us a bank seven feet high, made slippery by the wading and climbing back of the wounded, and where the foe could be at our heels in a moment. However, we had no idea of retreating, had the ground been twice as inviting; but taking in the situation only strung us up to higher determination. The regiment to the right of us was giving way, but just as the line was wavering and about to be hopelessly broken, Logan dashed up, and with the shriek of an eagle turned them back to their places, which they regained and held. Had it not been for Logan's timely intervention, who was continually riding up and down the line, firing the men with his own enthusiasm, our line would undoubtedly have been broken at some point. For two hours the contest raged furiously, but as man after man dropped dead or wounded, the rest were inspired the more firmly to hold fast their places and avenge the fallen. The creek was running red with precious blood spilt for our country.   One by one the boys were dropping out of my company. The second lieutenant in command was wounded; the orderly sergeant dropped dead, and I find myself (fifth sergeant) in command of the handful remaining. In front of us was a reb in a red shirt, when one of our boys, raising his gun, remarked, “see me bring that red shirt down,” while another cried out, “hold on, that is my man.” Both fired, and the red shirt fell—it may be riddled by more than those two shots. A red shirt is, of course, rather too conspicuous on a battle field. Into another part of the line the enemy charged, fighting hand to hand, being too close to fire, and using the butts of their guns. But they were all forced to give way at last, and we followed them up for a short distance, when we were passed by our own reinforcements coming up just as we had whipped the enemy. I took the roll-book from the pocket of our dead sergeant, and found that while we had gone in with thirty-two men, we came out with but sixteen—one-half of the brave little band, but a few hours before so full of hope and patriotism, either killed or wounded. Nearly all the survivors could show bullet marks in clothing or flesh, but no man left the field on account of wounds. When I told Colonel Force of our loss, I saw tears course down his cheeks, and so intent were his thoughts upon his fallen men that he failed to note the bursting of a shell above him, scattering the powder over his person, as he sat at the foot of a tree. My bunkmate and I were kneeling side by side when a ball crashed through his brain, and he fell over with a mortal wound. With the assistance of two others I picked him up, carried him over the bank in our rear, and laid behind a tree, removing from his pocket, watch and trinkets, and the same little mirror that had helped him make his last toilet but a little while before. We then went back to our company after an absence of but a few minutes. Shot and shell from the enemy came over thicker and faster, while the trees rained bunches of twigs around us.

Hand-tohand conflict.

Although our ranks have been so thinned by to-day's battle our will is stronger than ever to march and fight on, and avenge the death of those we must leave behind. I am very sad on account of the loss of so many of my comrades, especially the one who bunked with me, and who had been to me like a brother, even sharing my load when it grew burdensome. He has fallen; may he sleep quietly under the shadows of those old oaks which looked down upon the struggle of to-day.

We moved up to the town of Raymond and there camped. I suppose this will be named the battle of Raymond. The citizens had prepared a good dinner for the rebels on their return from victory, but as they actually returned from defeat they were in too much of a hurry to enjoy it. It is amusing now to hear the boys relating their experiences going into battle. All agree that to be under fire without the privilege of returning it is uncomfortable—a feeling which soon wears off when their own firing begins. I suppose the sensations of our boys are as varied as their individualities. No matter how brave a man may be, when he first faces the muskets and cannon of an enemy he is seized with a certain degree of fear, and to some it becomes an occasion of an involuntary but very sober review of their past lives. There is now little time for meditation; scenes change rapidly; he quickly resolves to do better if spared, but when afterward marching from a victorious field such good resolutions are easily forgotten. I confess, with humble pleasure, that I have never neglected to ask God's protection when going into a fight, nor thanking him for the privilege of coming out again alive. The only thought that troubles me is that of falling into an unknown grave.

The battle to-day opened very suddenly, and when DeGolier's battery began to thunder, while the infantry fire was like the pattering of a shower, some cooks, happening to be surprised near the front, broke for the rear carrying their utensils. One of them with a kettle in his hand, rushing at the top of his speed, met General Logan, who halted him, asking where he was going, when the cook piteously cried, “Oh General, I've got no gun, and such a snapping and cracking as there is up yonder I never heard before.” The General let him pass to the rear.

Thomas Runyan,* of Company A, was wounded by a musket ball which entered the right eye, and passing behind the left forced it out upon his cheek. As the regiment passed, I saw him lying by the side of the road, tearing the ground in his death struggle.

_______________

* NOTE.—When the regiment was being mustered out in July, 1865, Thomas Runyan. who had been left for dead, visited the regiment. He said he came "to see the boys." He was of course, totally blind.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 15-9

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: January 1, 1862

A DULL DAY.

The new year is ushered in with a light fall of snow and very cold weather. There is just snow enough to prevent drills or any sports the boys may have been anticipating. Altogether the day will be a dull one. The sutler, anticipating our removal, has not much to sell or steal. The sutler is regarded as the common enemy of the soldier, and when forced contributions are levied on him it is considered entirely legitimate and rather a good joke. The boys will have to content themselves with card playing and writing letters home. We have just got a new stove running in my tent, and Long Tom is detailed today to supply it with wood. I think we shall make a comfortable day of it, if Tom does his duty. Things certainly begin to look like leaving; the harbor is full of vessels, transports, gunboats and supply ships. Appearances indicate that somebody will hear it thunder somewhere along the southern coast before very long.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 16

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: Monday, October 31, 1864

Spent the day in camp. Wrote home. Read some in "Dombey & Son." A great deal of poker going on, commencing with Hdqrs.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 134

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: May 25, 1864

Troops crossed the North Anna. Regt. camped near the train. Read in “Villette” and played a little at cards.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 117

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: October 29, 1863

Boys went out for forage, every man for himself, horses having stood hungry all night. Lay and slept considerably during the forenoon. Boys got some apples. Saw the boys play poker some. Am glad I have not the habit of playing. Col. sent for wagons to come up. Mail sent for. Bosworth went. Getting uneasy.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 95

3rd Sergeant Charles Wright Wills: January 10, 1862

Bird's Point, January 10, 1862.

Since daylight yesterday morning we have been all ready with five days' rations and expecting every moment the orders to fall in and commence a march. We were delayed untill 11 a. m. to-day by a fog so dense that boats could not run even from Cairo to this point. All that time we were in the greatest suspense and after everybody had conjectured all their conjectures, we were yet perfectly in the dark in regard to our destination. All the troops here, save enough for guard duty, are going. I believe I'm within bounds when I say that 75,000 different lies have been circulated here in the last 36 hours, and all in regard to the present expedition. Well the suspense is over and we (think we) know that Columbus is our goal.

At 11 a. m. to-day the fog was dispersed by a cold north wind, and immediately two gunboats steamed down the river, giving us the first intimation of our route. They were shortly followed by other gunboats and then by steamers loaded to their utmost capacity with soldiers. All afternoon they have been going down. The last boat that I saw was towing a couple of flats loaded with ambulances, or “soldier-buggies.” I think all the troops have gone from Cairo and the boats that carried them will be back and take us at daylight to-morrow noon. I think they are landing them about six miles this side of Columbus, maybe not so far from there. General McClernand is taking his whole stock in the soldier business with him. It's a permanent thing certain. If this really means Columbus, and I don't see how it can be anything else, it has been managed with more secrecy than any expedition, besides, up to this time in war. I never guessed it within the possibilities of a month. These generals, we have three of them here (Grant, Paine and McClernand) may know their business, but we of the ranks don't understand what kind of truck 20,000 men want with the army at Columbus. And 10,000 is, I'm sure, considerably outside of the number that will move from here. There are probably 10,000 more at Paducah, that I think are also going. Well, maybe we'll get the place, hope we will. If we don't it won't be the men's fault, for we do hate that hole. It's funny what an effect this soldiering has on men. I suppose there is no mistake about our being within two days, at farthest, of a great battle, and yet these men don't to any eye show a sign of even a shadow of care or concern. Since I commenced this I don't believe that one of them has given it a thought. To save my neck I can't get up enough excitement to kill a flea or even to warn him. The boys are almost all playing cards. Sam Nutt and my chum Hy thought they didn't get enough supper to-night, so they put about a peck of beans in to boil and have just got them in eating order. I suppose Sam can plant more beans than any other living man of his weight. They have also a lot of pig's feet between them. Little Ame Babcock and Ike McBean are going with us to-morrow. Colonel Kellogg goes with five companies of his regiment. The Canton company does not go. I am not real well now but I wouldn't miss this trip to Columbus to save my life. I've had my heart set on being at that fight a long time and I'm [going] if I can walk two miles.


January 13, '62. I wrote this letter and thought I wouldn't send it untill we'd start and save myself a chance of being fooled, but now I'll send it to show how badly I was misled.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 53-4