Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, April 28, 1863

All quiet in camp to-day, only some little foraging for ducks, chickens, pigs, &c., so that the sons of Uncle Sam's family enjoyed themselves well on this day.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 29-30

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Benjamin F. Pearson, January 9, 1863

Forenoon we drilled some in skirmish. 4 Oc we ware on dress perade I was in town a short time afternoon & priced some things Flour is $4.00 per hundred lbs corn meal 2.50 per hundred Dried peaches 50 cents per lb Dried Apples 40 ct per lb cheese 30 to 40c per lb Butter 30 to 35c per lb Honey 40c per lb Chickens 50 cts each potatoes $2.00 per bu Onions 2.00 per bu Green apples 5.00 per barrel or 2 apples for 5 cts

SOURCE: Edgar R. Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1925, p. 103

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, December 4, 1861

The story of yesterday's fight is all bosh. There were no two hundred prisoners taken—no fifteen killed—no fight—not a rebel seen! Munchausen must have been the legitimate son of a camp, or rather, the camp must be the legitimate progenitor of the whole race of Munchausen.

But it is surprising how camp life enhances the capacities of some men. I left home in July a dyspeptic. I came to Camp Griffin, in October, weighing one hundred and thirty-nine pounds. I record here, as something worth my remembering, an extract of a letter written to-day to a friend inquiring how camp life affected my health:

“ * * * I weigh now one hundred and fifty pounds. I have almost recovered my appetite. With other things in proportion, I now take three cups of coffee for breakfast, three cups tea at dinner, two cups at tea, and eat five meals a day, or suffer from hunger. My last meal is usually taken at 11 to 12 o'clock at night, and consists of one or two chickens, or a can of oysters, with a pot of English pickled cauliflower. With that I contrive to get through the night.

"But with the morrow's rising sun

The same dull round begins again."

"Last night, however, I was so unfortunate as to have no chickens. My can of oysters was sour, and I had to put up with a single head of boiled cabbage, half a dozen cold potatoes, and some cold boiled beef. I wonder what I shall do when we get away from the neighborhood of Washington to where there is no market, no oysters, no chickens, no cabbage, no cauliflower, 'no nothin'.' I shall be compelled to settle back to dyspepsia, and have no appetite."

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. 59

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

I have just received a letter from a lady friend of mine aye, and of the soldiers, too, in which she says she "cannot but think of the suffering patriot-soldier, with nothing but a tent above his head, with no covering but a single blanket, and but so little care when sick." This induces me to put on record here, the following description for reference, a long time hence, when, if this war continues, I may wish to read it and compare it with the hospitals then existing, with the improvements which experience shall have causes to be adopted:

My hospital at present consists of five large tents, fourteen feet long by fifteen feet wide. They open into each other at the ends, so as to make of the whole one continuous tent, seventy feet long. This will accommodate forty patients comfortably. On an emergency, I can crowd in fifty-five. In the center of the first tent is dug a hole about three feet in circumference and two and a half deep. From this hole there passes through the middle of the tents a trench or ditch two feet wide and of the same depth, which terminates in a large chimney just outside of the fifth tent. It is covered for about ten feet of its length, at the beginning with broad stones, the next fifteen feet with sheet iron, thence to the chimney with stones and earth. A fire is made in the hole at the beginning of this ditch, which, through its large chimneys, has a great draught. The blaze sweeps through its whole length, and by means of this fire, no matter what the weather, or how changeable, the temperature in the hospitals need not vary three degrees in a month, and at all times, night and day, have full ventilation without varying the temperature. Since the adjustment of the difficulties, I have my full quota (10) of nurses, and these are never, night or day, less than two on watch. The cots for the sick are ranged side by side, with their heads to the wall and feet to the center of the tent, leaving just room between their sides for the nurses to move freely, and for the patients to get up and down, and between their ends for the ditch, on which, over the covering already described, is a ladder or rack, with slats so close as not to admit the feet between them when the nurses and patients are walking on them.

So long as there is room in the hospital, no patient of my regiment is permitted to be confined to his tent by sickness. The moment he is sick enough to be confined to bed, he is brought to hospital, where he remains constantly under the eye of the Surgeon and nurses till he recovers. There are, to-day, thirty-six in hospital, each, instead of lying with "nothing but a tent above his head, and with no covering but a single blanket," is on a comfortable bed of straw, the tick emptied and refilled once in four weeks, with all the covering they want. I have plenty of good sheets, and not less than two blankets for each, besides what they bring with them. They are never without fresh meat, rarely without rice, potatoes, jellies in abundance, tea, coffee, sugar, milk, and I am now purchasing for them two dozen chickens a week; and I have this day a hospital fund of not less than one hundred and seventy-five dollars, which is increasing every day, from which I can replenish or add to the comforts now allowed.* This is a description of my own hospital. I regret to learn from the U. S. Medical Inspector who has visited me to-day, that other hospitals are not so well provided or so comfortable. I regret it, because there is no reason why all may not be provided just as well, so long as we remain near a good market; and if they are not, there is blame either in medical or military departments, which ought to be corrected.

From ninth of November to this date, the time I was shut out from the medical supervision of the camp, there have been more deaths in the regiment than during the whole five months before, including the sickly season of August, September and October. The health of the regiment now, however, is good, and I hope it will remain so during the winter.

_______________

*It may be a matter of some interest to the reader to know how this hospital fund is realized. It is thus: The soldier is entitled to certain rations every day, and these continue, whether he is sick or well. When well, they are drawn by the captains of companies and distributed to the men. When sick and in hospital, the Surgeon notifies the Commissary of the fact, and they are not issued to the Captain, but credited to the hospital. The Surgeon draws them in whole, in part, or not at all. The days' rations are worth from 17 to 20 cents per man. Now, any economical and honest Surgeon can feed his sick men well when near a market, and save to the hospital fund at least one third of this amount, for the purchase of delicacies. Give him thirty in hospital, he can realize two dollars per month on each man, ($60 per month.) In a neighborhood where markets are very high, this will be proportionally reduced. Where he cannot buy at all, it will be increased.

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, pp. 62-5

Cadet William T. Sherman to John Sherman, December 6, 1837

WEST POINT, N.Y., Dec. 6, 1837.

Dear Brother:

In compliance with your request I sent you a paper shortly after the reception of your letter, which I should have answered much sooner had I not been till within a few days past under the impression that it had been done. This excuse is sufficient, I suppose, for my long delay, especially as a letter from me is not very desirable.

I hope that you still have as favorable opinions as ever with respect to your employment,1 for in my opinion a man's success in his profession depends upon the impressions he receives at the beginning; for if these are favorable, most undoubtedly he will endeavor to succeed, and success will be the necessary consequence. You have now been engaged at that employment about a year and must be by this time quite an expert engineer. I would not be much astonished if when I came home I would find you superintendent of some public work. I have not received many letters from home lately; in fact, I am almost too busy to write many, and if I do not answer all their letters immediately upon their reception, they follow my example apparently, which is the cause of it, I presume; but after our examination in January I will endeavor to be a little more punctual and expect the same of my correspondents. At present we are very much engaged in preparing for the examination which takes place immediately after Christmas. I think I will still have about the same standing as I have now in Mathematics and French, but in Drawing I think I will be among the first five. Preparation for the Christmas spree is now all the go. I have joined in with about a dozen others and laid the foundation for a very good dinner costing about three dollars apiece. I wish we could get ahold of some of our western turkeys, chickens, and the like, which cannot be obtained here except at an enormous price, and as money is something to us like teeth, we are obliged to go without. Winter seems to be very reluctant about setting in. The weather at present is more like spring than winter. This time last winter, the river was closed, and we had fine skating, but no doubt it will soon set in with a vengeance, giving us our full share of north winds, which it generally deals out very liberally to the inhabitants of the Highlands. It is now about half-past nine, and we are obliged to go to bed at ten. You must, therefore, allow me to come to a conclusion, wishing you at the same time to give my best love to all the family when you next write home. Do not fail to write soon.

From

Your affectionate brother,

W. T. SHERMAN.

JOHN SHERMAN, Esqr.

_______________

¹ John Sherman was then, at the age of fourteen, junior rodman in an engineer corps, engaged in the improvement of the Muskingham River, Ohio. Particulars of his life will follow in introducing his letters.

SOURCE: Rachel Sherman Thorndike, Editor, The Sherman Letters: Correspondence Between General and Senator Sherman from 1837 to 1891, pp. 2-3

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 8, 1863

Then Lieut. Newell told us to "go," and we went, as well as we could, for quarters. Arriving at the granary, and having left our chickens at a negro shanty to be cooked, we turned in, all booted and muddy, and slept through everything till nearly noon. When we started up for breakfast it was a comical sight. Nearly all had turned in their wet clothes, and of course were about as wet when they got up, and very stiff. We found our chickens and ate them. While eating, the 27th guard called us, saying the regiment was under orders and we were to leave immediately. The way those chickens disappeared made those darkies laugh. We went back happy, as we knew when once on board the steamer we could sleep for a while and get rested; for after being on an all-night march of twenty-five miles at least, we were tired out, and felt we would be safer from another trip, for a day or two, than if on shore. We were all on board by half-past four o'clock, and soon after dropped down stream, leaving Plymouth and the 27th in all their glory. The boys who had bunks coming up are forbidden that pleasure now, so a dozen of us congregated together on the deck, outside the cabin, with shelter tents tacked up as roofs ; and we think we are having a better time than those inside, and no "sour grapes" in the mess either.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 38

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, December 29, 1862

A foraging party went out this morning. One of our boys killed five hogs and thirteen chickens, and found two government wagons and two barrels of molasses that the Rebs had taken out from Holly Springs and hidden. At 3 o'clock we had orders to move in twenty minutes for Moscow, a small town ten miles west of LaGrange on the Memphis and Charleston railroad. We marched to the opposite side of Coldwater and camped for the night. Our brigade was in advance of the division and our regiment in advance of the brigade.

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, p. 23-4

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Saturday, September 13, 1862

Rienzi.  The 3rd Section, Lieutenant Hood, went out in front and the first fell back to its old grounds. Foraging party brought in two loads of corn, three neat cattle, one sheep, twelve geese, seven hens, two or three bushels of sweet potatoes.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 5

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, December 20, 1862

After some trouble we managed to get to bed last night about eleven o'clock; but for a long time after that the mules kept us awake; perhaps they were hungry also. The weather was clear and not cold, so we got a little rest. At six o'clock this morning we were ordered on, after a very light breakfast, excepting for a few who may have foraged. There were a few chickens and a little applejack about our mess. To-day has been the hardest of any day of the tramp, and there has been more straggling. The company organization was in the line, but thinned out terribly. We had no noon-rest; but at two o'clock we filed from the road to a field, came to the front, and received a good scolding. Our regiment looked as if it had been through two Bull Runs; only about 150 left, and the rest not "accounted for." In fact there were very few left of those who should do the accounting. The colonel stormed a little, but that did not bring up the men; so, as he was probably as hungry, if not as tired, as we were, he let us go to eating, which was a decided farce. Our haversacks were as flat as our stomachs. We found a few grains of coffee and tobacco-crumbs in the bottom of our bags, and succeeded in digging a few sweet potatoes, which we ate raw. We were told they were very fullsome. We waited here two hours or so for the stragglers, who finally came along. They had been having a fine time, plenty of room to walk, and two hours more to do it in than we had; and, more than that, they were in the majority, so nothing could be done but "Right shoulder shift" and put the best foot forward. About sundown we saw, in crossing a bridge, a wagon-load of hard-tack bottom side up in the creek. Some of the boys sampled the bread, but it was not fit to eat. Shortly after a signboard indicated fourteen miles to New Berne. That was encouraging! The walking was fearful, the roads full of water, in some places waist deep, and covered with a skimming of ice. At last we met a wagon loaded with bread, and after much talk with the driver we got what we wanted. Next we met a man who said it was only twelve miles to New Berne. They either have long miles or else some one made a mistake; we seemingly had been walking two hours or more from the fourteenth mile post, and now it was twelve miles. We came to the conclusion not to ask any more questions, but "go it blind.”

We at last reached the picket-post, seven miles out, and halted to rest and allow the artillery to go through. Here Col. Lee told us we were at liberty to stay out and come into camp Sunday; but most of "E" thought of the letters and the supper we would probably get, and concluded to stand by the flag. After a rest we started again, and at last began to close up and halt often, so we knew we were coming to some place or other.

The writer has no very distinct idea of those last seven miles, excepting that he was trying to walk, smoke, and go to sleep at the same time, and could only succeed in swearing rather faintly, and in a stupid sort of manner, at everything and every one. It was dark and foggy, but finally we saw what appeared to be the headlight of a locomotive a long way off. Then the fort loomed up, and we were passing under an arch or bridge, and in a few minutes we reached "E's" barrack, and our troubles were all forgotten. Now we were wide awake; gave three hearty cheers for every one; had all the baked beans and coffee we could stagger under; and then the captain's "Attention for letters" brought us to our feet. Some had as many as a dozen. They had to be read at once, and, notwithstanding our fatigue and the lateness of the hour, read they were.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 29-30

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: July 14, 1861

The Ninth and Fourth Ohio, Fifteenth Indiana, and one company of cavalry, started up the mountain between seven and eight o'clock. The Colonel being unwell, I followed with the Third. Awful rumors were afloat of fortifications and rebels at the top; but we found no fortifications, and as for the rebels, they were scampering for Staunton as fast as their legs could carry them.

This mountain scenery is magnificent. As we climbed the Cheat the views were the grandest I ever looked upon. Nests of hills, appearing like eggs of the mountain; ravines so dark that one could not guess their depth; openings, the ends of which seemed lost in a blue mist; broken-backed mountains, long mountains, round mountains, mountains sloping gently to the summit; others so steep a squirrel could hardly climb them; fatherly mountains, with their children clustered about them, clothed in birch, pine, and cedar; mountain streams, sparkling now in the sunlight, then dashing down into apparently fathomless abysses.

It was a beautiful day, and the march was delightful. The road is crooked beyond description, but very solid and smooth.

The farmer on whose premises we are encamped has returned from the woods. He has discovered that we are not so bad as we were reported. Most of the negroes have been left at home. Many were in camp to-day with corn-bread, pies, and cakes to sell. Fox, my servant, went out this afternoon and bought a basket of bread. He brought in two chickens also, which he said were presented to him. I suspect Fox does not always tell the truth.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 28-9

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, November 2, 1862

We started early this morning by the northerly road; we "fell in "regularly enough, but it was not long before we took the "route step," taking the whole road. A mile or two out we halted and loaded up. Evidently the officers thought there would be plenty of game. We saw or heard little or nothing for about six miles, when we passed a camp-fire, and were told the advance had come across an outpost and killed a man. We still kept up a steady tramp, and about noon the light marching order became heavy again, and whatever useless articles we had on hand were thrown aside. At noon, we halted to feed in a field near a planter's house; the family were all on the piazza. For dinner we had potatoes, chickens, honey, applejack, and persimmons; the last of which are good if eaten with care, but, if a little green, beware! We stayed here about an hour, then packed up and started again, followed no doubt by the blessings of that whole family.

RAWLE'S MILL.

About six o'clock (the time probably when our friends at home were writing to us) we heard the artillery, and, coming to a halt, waited anxiously for the next move. To us it soon came. Companies H, Capt. Smith, and C, Capt. Lombard, were ordered forward, "E" being next in line. For a while we heard nothing of them; but when they were about half-way across the stream the rebels fired into their ranks. They, however, succeeded in crossing, and returned the rebels' fire; but Gen. Foster thought it better to shell them out, so Companies H and C were ordered back; "H" having Depeyster, Jacobs, and Parker wounded; and Co. C, Charles Rollins killed; Sergt. Pond and W. A. Smallidge wounded. Lieut. Briggs was stunned by a shell.

After the return of these companies, Belger's Battery shelled across the stream for some time, trying to dislodge the enemy. Our company and "I" were sent forward in the same track of "H" and "C," Company I being held in reserve. We had the fight all to ourselves. It was quite a distance to the water, and an illimitable one before we arrived on the other side. It was very nearly waist-deep and very cold. We had gone about over, when they fired, but the shot went over our heads: we were nearer than they thought. After coming out and shaking ourselves, Capt. Richardson deployed the company as skirmishers, and we commenced to feel our way up the slope. Before we were well at it we received another volley, which sadly disarranged the ideas of several of us, some of the boys firing back at their flash; but probably very many of our first volley went nearer the moon than the rebels; and then we jumped for cover. Some found the grape-vines not conducive to an upright position. We got straightened out at last, and gradually worked our way forward; the writer's position being in the gutter (or where the gutter ought to have been) on the left of the road; soon receiving another volley which we answered in good shape, hoping we did better execution than they had done. We could hear those on the right of the road, but could see nothing, and could only fire on the flash of the rebels. After five or six volleys from our side, and as many from the rebels, we were ordered back, recrossed the ford, and found we had met with loss. Charles Morse was shot through the head. His death must have been instantaneous, as the ball went in very near the temple and came out the opposite side. A detail buried him among the pines, very nearly opposite the surgeon's head-quarters. Charles H. Roberts was quite severely wounded in the left shoulder. There were some narrow escapes, and, among the minor casualties, E. V. Moore was struck by a ball in the heel of his boot; he was tumbled over; immediately picked up by the stretcher-bearers and carried to the rear, but would not stay there, and soon found his way to the front again.

The writer, not wishing to be wounded, persistently held his gun ready to ward off all shot, consequently one of the numerous well-aimed shots struck the gun instead of his leg, fracturing the rifle badly; the bullet, after going through the stock of the gun, entered his pantaloons, scraping a little skin from his leg, and finally found its way to his boot.

The surgeon would not report him as wounded or missing, so he had to report back to his company; found his blanket and tried to turn in, but it was no use: the company had more work on hand.

The part of the company who went into the woods on the right of the road, had a clear passage up the hill, as far as the walking was concerned, but they met their share of fighting, happily coming back with no loss. Parsons, Tucker, and Pierce succeeded in taking three prisoners, who were sent to the rear. We were detailed as baggage guard, which duty we did bravely!! Every time the line halted we would lie down, and were asleep as soon as we struck the mud!! Finally we made a grand start, forded the stream again, and, after being frightened to death by a stampede of horses up the road, we found a cornfield, and, after forming line several times for practice with the rest of the regiment, spread ourselves on the ground and hugged each other and our wet rubber blankets to get warm.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 17-8

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, December 2, 1862

Left camp at Lumpkins Mills at six o'clock this morning, the 72d in the advance. General Grant passed us while we were at a halt. I was sitting in a fence corner keeping myself warm with a splendid fire of fence rails. Nell Towner was with the escort; it did me good to see him. Encamped for the night on a cotton plantation. Fence rails, straw, chickens, etc., disappeared as suddenly as if they had been swept off by a hurricane. The men believe in making themselves comfortable. Skirmishing ahead, our forces cross the Tallahatchie river, having to take the artillery apart to get it across on a small flat boat that was found.

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

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Thursday, October 3, 1861

Left the picket line again, returned to Camp Jackson, started for Darnestown by six o'clock, and arrived there by eight o'clock P. M. Thus ended our stay at Seneca Mills, the most pleasant period of our three years service. Vegetables and fruit, chickens and pigs, were plenty, for we owned the whole plantation of that old rebel Peters, who was sent to Fort Lafayette for treason. The Thirty-fourth New York, having the picket line on the river, always proved good companions. The view of the surrounding country is really imposing, including Sugar Loaf Mountain, the natural observatory of the signal corps. Some remarkable items must not be forgotten—for instance, novel songs of "The Nice Legs;" "Jimmy Nutt's Measuring the Guard Time by the Moon;" "Griffin's Apple Sauce," and "Doughnuts for Horses."

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 22

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, November 30, 1862

Sunday morning the regiment was ordered out on grand guard. Went up on hill some two miles from camp—heavy firing heard in the distance—McArthur's division in the advance and the rebels are falling back before him. As I sat on a log this morning about church time I thought of many dear friends wending their way to church and how the church bells were ringing at home, speaking of nothing but peace, while, in dear old St. James, many are listening to the glorious anthems and the litany of the church. I wondered to myself if any there give their thoughts to the absent ones who loved their country better than all the pleasure and comforts of home and are willing to die for it. How different here; everything speaks of war and desolation—foraging wagon trains constantly coming in, bringing cattle, pigs, chickens, turkeys, everything they can lay their hands on. On the other side of the creek are regiments marching forward, their colors flying, bands playing, men chewing, while in the distance is the sound of McArthur's guns or rebel ones returning their fire. I would not be in Chicago if I could.

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

Diary of Musician David Lane, September 21, 1862

Maryland Heights, Va., September 21st, 1862.

Toward evening of the 13th we left Frederic City and marched out on the National Turnpike toward South Mountain, and halted for supper and a few hours rest near Middleton. It was nearly midnight. We had made a rapid march of several miles, and were tired, and hungry as wolves. Hardly had we stacked arms when Lieutenant Rath inquired: "Where's John Conley?" John could not be found; he was already off on an expedition of his own. "Well, then," said Rath, "send me the next best thief; I want a chicken for my supper."

Our foragers soon returned; the Lieutenant got his chicken, and we privates were fairly well supplied with the products of the country. It strikes me as a little strange, the facility with which a soldier learns to steal his grub. It must be the effect of heredity. Perhaps, in the dim past, when our ancestors went on "all fours," and roamed the forests in search of food; possibly at a more recent date, but before a name was given to the deed; they formed the habit of taking what they wanted wherever it could be found, provided they had the physical power, or mental cunning, to accomplish it, and this habit, thus formed, became instinct, and was transmitted to their descendants. At daylight we were on the move, headed for South Mountain. We had an inkling—how obtained I do not know; mental telepathy, perhaps, that occult, mysterious power that enables us to divine the most secret thoughts of men-that a mass meeting was to be held on that eminence to discuss the pros and cons of secession, and that we, the Seventeenth, had received a pressing invitation to be present. The Pike was in fine condition. Our men stepped off briskly, with long, swinging strides that carried them rapidly over the ground. We marched in four ranks, by companies, and were led by our gallant Colonel Withington. Company G was seventh from the front, which gave me a view of over half the regiment. And it was good to look upon. Only two weeks from home, our uniforms were untarnished. Dress coats buttoned to the chin; upon our heads a high-crowned hat with a feather stuck jauntily on one side. White gloves in our pockets; a wonder we did not put them on, so little know we of the etiquette of war.

As we neared the mountain, about nine o'clock in the morning, I scanned its rugged sides for indications of the presence of our friends, the enemy, and, as I looked, I saw a puff of smoke, and on the instant a shell sped howling above our heads, bursting some half a mile beyond.

Every man of us "bowed his acknowledgments;" then, as by one impulse, every spine became rigid; every head was tossed in air; as if we would say: "My Southern friend, we did the polite thing that time. No more concessions will you get from us and—may God have mercy on your souls." Of our exploits on South Mountain I will not write. They will be woven into history and will be within the reach of all. About thirty of our brave boys were killed, and over one hundred wounded. Captain Goldsmith was wounded in the shoulder and Lieutenant Somers in the side. A number of Company G boys were wounded, but none were killed in this battle.

Eli Sears, the best, the most universally beloved of the regiment, is dead. He died the second day after the battle. A rifle ball, early in the engagement, struck him in the left breast and passed entirely through him. When I saw him he was so low he could only speak in whispers. He gave me his hand, with a pleasant smile, and told me he had but a few more hours to live. Bitterly do I mourn his loss. So kind, so thoughtful, always preferring another to himself. He died as heroes die, as calm and peaceful as an infant on its mother's breast. Albert Allen, Carmi Boice and Charlie Goodall were in the thickest of the fight and escaped unhurt.

The Seventeenth has been baptised in blood and christened "Stonewall." The battle of Antietam was fought on Wednesday, September 17th, three days after South Mountain. The Seventeenth did not lose so many in killed—eighteen or twenty, I think, although the list is not yet made out—and eighty or ninety wounded. Company G lost three killed, among whom was Anson Darling. We crossed the Antietam River about 1 p. m., and about three o'clock charged up the heights, which we carried, and advanced to near Sharpsburg. Here, our ammunition giving out, we fell back behind the hill and quietly sat down ’mid bursting shells and hurtling balls until relieved. As we sat waiting, a spent ball—a six-pounder—struck a tree in front of us. Not having sufficient momentum to penetrate, it dropped back upon the toe of my comrade on my left. With a fierce oath he sprang to his feet and shouted, "Who the h--l? Oh!"

That night, while on picket, when all my comrades were wrapped in slumber, and silence reigned where, a few hours before, the tumult of battle raged, my willing thought turned to my Northern home. The most vivid pictures arose before me—so real—could they be imagination? And as I gazed upon these fancied visions and pressed them to my soul as a living reality, I asked myself the question, "Can this be homesickness?" The answer came, quick and decisive: No; I have never seen the time—even for one short moment—that I could say to myself, “If I had not enlisted, I would not." On the contrary, if, after the little experience I have had, and the little knowledge I have gained, I had not enlisted, I would do so within the hour.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 10-13

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Saturday, August 24 & Sunday, August 25, 1861

Quiet. Great slaughter amongst turkeys and chickens!

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 18

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, February 22, 1863

Last night we tied up at the mouth of Red river, and this morning found our boat aground; but, after several hours' work, got her safely off and proceeded a few miles up stream, when we tied up again to take on wood and allow the men to cook. In a short time, the crew had stolen all the chickens in the neighborhood. The New Orleans Rats, of which this command is mainly composed, can beat the world stealing. [What say you, Rats?] I saw several coming in with honey and the bees swarming around it. During our memorable "big drunk" mentioned on a previous page, some one, more drunk than economical, threw away his shoes, and, on waking the next morning and finding himself minus this important article of dress, had to go bare-foot or steal from his neighbor. The latter plan suited his inclination, and the consequence was, a man in a different company was found to be shoeless and the thief with a tolerable pair of boots on. So it goes one man is bare-foot all the time, but a different man every day.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 66

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Sunday Afternoon, August 21, 1864

Six companies of the Seventh, and six companies of the Fiftieth Illinois Infantry, under the command of Colonel Rowett, leave Rome on a scout. We march about nine miles out on the Kingston road and go into camp for the night. Hogs, chickens, roasting-ears and fruit abound in abundance. We live high to-night. After all is quiet in camp, scouts are sent out to see if they cannot discover something hostile said to be threatening these parts.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 249

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: March 21, 1864

We again receive marching orders; Forrest said to be crossing the Tennessee at Eastport. We are ordered to reconnoiter. Oh! how sleepy the soldiers become; some fall off of their mules while riding along the road. About two o'clock, A. M., we come to a halt at Lawrenceburg, and feed and lay down to sleep, but very little do we obtain, for at day-light the bugle blows. The command is divided. Companies H and F, commanded by Captain Ring, proceed to Waynesboro; nothing hostile here. The report that Forrest was crossing the Tennessee has proved to have been only an idle rumor. We go into camp for the night. We feast to-night upon chickens, ham and honey. A scout is sent to Clifton, Tennessee river, this evening, to see and learn what he can about the movements of Forrest.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 228-9

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, [March 15, 1863]—Evening

Evening.

About six, the Burnside came down the river with horses, hogs, chickens and prisoners. They took Col. Bryant, just as he returned to his plantation after running his negroes into the back country. They report great quantities of cotton and cattle up the river, so I hope we really are to have fresh beef again.

It is nothing like as damp and unwholesome here as in South Carolina. The same amount of exposure there that our men have had here, would have given the hospital twenty or thirty cases of pleurisy and pneumonia, while today, we have but a single case of acute inflammation. There is coughing enough to keep back several rebel regiments. I see no reason, however, why the officers should not get intermittent fever from this handsome river, by and by. It looks as if midsummer might load it with miasma and alligators. . . .

I am gradually confiscating furniture for my spacious chamber in the best house of a beautiful town, as if it were my final residence. I enjoy the long cedar closet that opens out of my room. The fragrance is so sweet I cannot understand why moths object to it. having a perfect bath room, without any water in it and costly gas fixtures without any gas! The war has greatly deranged the machinery of this town. Almost everywhere, except in this house, I have found the lead pipes cut by the rebels and used, I suppose, for bullets. When Colonel Sanderson left here he placed his house in charge of a Union man, saying that it would naturally be the headquarters of any Union commander. Hence the more perfect preservation of the property.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 375-6