Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, December 25, 1862

Christmas. I came off guard duty this morning. We drew half rations for four days and part of that was cornmeal. Our coffee is rye and in small quantities at that. The boys have gone out to see if they can find a stray hog or beef for Christmas dinner. Oh! if I could be at home today.

One o'clock. We just now received marching orders to be ready tomorrow morning. Frank, Bill, Buttons and Boggs of our mess, and Ragan and Doughty of the Peacock mess, fetched in a whole beef, and a few minutes later Abe, John and Scott brought in a whole hog. If we live on half rations it will not be of meat, as we have a hog and half a beef. It is very warm and pleasant today, I lay down and took a nap, but the flies were so troublesome I could hardly sleep.

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. 21-2

Diary of Musician David Lane, July 23, 1863

Haines Bluff, Miss.  We arrived at our old camp yesterday—twenty days from the time we left it—the toughest twenty days of our experience. A dirtier, more ragged and drilled-out lot of men I hope never to see. The first thing I did, after eating a little hardtack and drinking a cup of coffee, was to bolt for the spring, build a fire, boil my shirt, pants and socks, scrub myself from head to heels, put on my clothing wet—though not much wetter than before and return to camp a cleaner, therefore a better man. There have been times when we could not get water to wash our hands and face, to say nothing of our clothing, for a week or more.

It was dark when I returned to camp, but fires were burning brightly in every direction, and around them were gathered groups of men silently reading letters. I hastened to the Orderly and asked him "Have you anything for me?" "Yes, I have four letters for you." My heart gave one great bound of gladness, and, grasping them tightly, I hastened to the nearest fire to learn what news from home. Rumors of a great battle, fought and won by Meade, had been in circulation several days, but no one knew whether true or false. These letters from my wife confirmed them. The threatened invasion took place, was crushed, and Lee was suffered to recross the Potomac at his leisure, as he was allowed to do after Antietam.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 70-1

Diary of Musician David Lane, July 29, 1863

Haines Bluff. We did not leave on the 23d, as was rumored, but are still in our old camp, enjoying a short season of repose preparatory to our voyage up the river. It is a repose much needed by our men. What prompted our commander to hurry us through as he did sixty miles in three days—I cannot conceive. Strict orders were issued against straggling. No man would be allowed to leave the ranks without a written pass from the Surgeon, and all stragglers were to be picked up by the Provost Guard and taken to headquarters for trial by court martial. The General "reckoned without his host." Some men, so great was their respect for discipline, marched in the ranks until they fell, in a dying condition. But most of them cursed the General and his orders and sat down to rest and cool off whenever their judgment told them they were getting too hot, and, when rested, came on again.

After the first day, no attention was paid to orders. Men fell out in such numbers the Provost could not arrest them, and came straggling into camp until nearly morning.

The next morning after our arrival, in the Seventeenth alone, one hundred twenty men were reported unfit for duty, and forty-five are now sick in hospital. Doubtless much of this sickness is the effect of the poisonous liquid we were compelled to use for cooking and drinking purposes. How grateful to us, then, is the delicious, sparkling water that flows in abundance from that romantic spring I described on our first arrival. Before I leave this subject, let me record our experience the week we were encamped before Jackson. The first day we used cistern water, but that soon failed. After that, all that was left for coffee and for cooking purposes was water from an artificial pond, scooped out in a barnyard, and all the battery and camp horses—five or six hundred of them in number—were watered there every day. They were ridden right into the pond! Rather than drink it, I have been three miles to the rear, after having been on duty all day, for a canteen of cistern water.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 71-2

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: November 18, 1862

Orderly Holmes and myself have been on shore again. We went up the beach and found a soldiers' graveyard. We got breakfast at a darky hut, mutton chops and onions, hot biscuit and coffee, all for twenty-five cents. The boat that takes us to and from the Arago is a small affair that used to run up and down the James River. The Rebs have left their mark upon it in the shape of bullet holes most everywhere, but most often on the pilot-house.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 63

Diary of Private John C. West, Sunday, April 19, 1863

I rested well last night but had the most hideous dreams all night; Mrs. Brownnigg came in early this morning and asked me into her room; I went and found the fire very comfortable; the doctor came to see me and seems to think I am all right now, but must be careful about my diet; says some good brandy is exactly what I need to recruit on; so I missed it by leaving mine at home. Major Holman called to see me this morning; says he will see my transportation fixed all right; offers relief from the loss of my pocketbook; the doctor does likewise; Mrs. Brownnigg offers me money also. I ate nice toast and drank genuine coffee for breakfast; had chicken soup for dinner; spent most of the day in reading one of Bulwer's novels, entitled, "A Strange Story"; have read fifty or sixty pages, but am not much interested yet. My intention now is to leave here so as to remain at Alexandria the shortest time possible. I learn to-day that Mr. A, my hotel landlord, is tired of soldiers, especially sick ones, and grumbles terribly when one gets out of money at his hotel. If this is true, he is not a true man. I would rather be under obligations to the devil.

Little Bettie Brownnigg is quite a nice girl. Hallie Bacon, several years younger, is in a fair way to be spoiled. There is a young lady, Miss Nora Gregg, staying with Mrs. Brownnigg; she seems to be a clever good girl and is finishing my sock, which wife expected Miss Nannie Norton, of Richmond, Va., to knit for me; she has knit thirty pairs of socks in the last two months; she has a most magnificent suit of soft brown hair.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 19-20

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: August 12, 1861

This is the fourth day that Captain Cunard's company has been lying in the woods, three miles from camp, guarding an important road, although a very rough and rugged one. Companies upon duty like this, remain at their posts day and night, good weather and bad, without any shelter, except that afforded by the trees, or by little booths constructed of logs and branches. From the main station, where the captain remains, sub-pickets are sent out in charge of sergeants and corporals, and these often make little houses of logs, which they cover with cedar boughs or branches of laurel, and denominate forts. In the wilderness, to-day, I stumbled upon Fort Stiner, the head-quarters of a sub-picket commanded by Corporal William Stiner, of the Third. The Corporal and such of his men as were off duty, were sitting about a fire, heating coffee and roasting slices of fat pork, preparing thus the noonday meal.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 50-1

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, December 17, 1862

GOLDSBORO.

There was no time this morning to cook coffee, so we started on a cold-water breakfast, after another cold night, with little good sleep, and marched without incident until four P.M., when we heard the usual cannonade at the front. As soon as the noise of the cannon was heard, then commenced the usual straggling. All have some of course. The attention of our boys was called to a scene upon which we looked with surprise, and which many of our company will never forget. As we passed from the main road to take position on the hill, we saw a man, or what was dressed as a man, in Uncle Sam's clothes, importuned by another to join his command. He would not budge; and the concluding words we heard as we passed by, were: "Damn it, man! just look here: look at this regiment going in; there is not a man there; they are all boys with no hair on their faces, and you afraid!" We pitied the fellow, and often wondered if he joined his company. His pride had evidently gone on a furlough. We halted on a high hill, from which we could see all that was going on, and soon found we were in reserve, which pleased us all. After getting turnips and sweet potatoes,—of which we found a plenty (all planted for us),—we straggled to the edge of the bluff and watched the fight. In a tree close to where we stood was a signal station, and by that we supposed Gen. Foster was near. On the left we could see the railroad which leads into Goldsboro, and the fighting over it; to the right, the bridge; while in front, close to the river, there seemed to be a continuous sheet of flame from our advance and the rebels. Some of our men worked their way to the mill; and a story was told by one of the 17th Mass. Vols., who reached the bridge on his own account, that he saw a train of cars stop there, and, just as it halted, a shot from one of our batteries struck the engine in the head-plate, smashing the engine badly. He could see men jump from the cars in all haste. (This story was told several years after the action; and the fact of those men coming as they did, and perhaps others behind, may have been the reason we left so suddenly, and went to New Berne.)

About seven o'clock Gen. Foster rode past our line, saying: "The object of the expedition [the burning of the bridge and partially destroying the connection between the Gulf States and Richmond] is accomplished. We are going to New Berne."

We were immediately formed, and started on the back track with cheers for the general; but we had not gone three miles before we found we were not "out of the woods." Orders came to countermarch, so we turned about, wondering what all the artillery firing meant. We tramped back about two miles or so through the woods, on fire on both sides of the road, turned to the left down hill, and formed line in silence, waiting. We were not allowed to speak or light our pipes, but waited, it seemed, for two hours. The regiment was formed in division column closed in mass; the company behind us being only a few feet away, and in front nothing but the pickets and supposable rebels. After staying here a while we heard the artillery go along the road, and soon followed. We reached camp about ten o'clock, tired and hungry, but no chance to get anything to eat, and a man missing. He turned up afterwards, having settled himself for a nap when we were in the woods. Not finding any one near when he awakened, he concluded to strike out for himself—happily remembering that old broken caisson beside the road, and recollecting on which side he left it on going in, he soon came Russelling" into camp with the rest of us.

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. 27-8

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 Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: Sunday, October 12, 1862

Relay House Station, on the Northern Central R. R. Just where that is I haven't yet found out. We stood up or laid down in the street from noon yesterday until 3 a. M. this morning, when cars came and we went on board. They are box cars, no seats, but they have a roof, and that is what we most needed. We shivered and shook so our teeth chattered when we first got on board, and it was 5 A. M. before the train started. We were no longer curious to know where we were going. We were wet, cold, hungry and thirsty, and from lying on the pavements were so stiff we could hardly get on our feet. The major had to give it up—his leg was hurt worse than he thought. We are sorry not to have him along, for next to Colonel Smith, he is the most soldierly soldier in the regiment. Our two days' rations are gone and we are wondering when we will get another feed.

Noon. We are at Hanover Junction, Pa. We now feel sure we are after the rebel horse thieves, but unless we get a faster move on than this, they will get away with all the horses in the country before we get there. We are waiting for further orders from General Wool. The 144th N. Y. just stopped here, on their way to Baltimore. They are just out, and to hear them complain about being kept on the cars a whole day and night made us laugh.

5 p.m. We are full once more. Doesn't seem as if we could ever get hungry again after the feed we have just had. We are at Hanover, Pa. As the train stopped it seemed as if the whole population were standing beside the track, and nearly everyone had a basket of eatables or a pail of coffee. Men, women and children were there and they seemed to enjoy seeing us eat, even urging us to eat more, after we had stuffed ourselves, and then told us to put the rest in our haversacks. But they are terribly scared at the near approach of the rebel cavalry. We told them to fear no more. We were there, and the memory of the feast we had had would make us their special defenders. They distributed tracts among us, some of them printed sermons, and wound up by asking us to join them in singing the long-meter doxology. We not only sang it, we shouted it; each one took his own key and time, and some, I for one,—got through in time to hear the last line from the others. We left them with cheers and blessings that drowned the noise of the train, and I prayed that if I ever got stranded it might be in Hanover.

GETTYSBURG, PA. Night. The train has stopped outside the village, and a citizen says the Rebs are just out of the village on the opposite side. It is pitch dark and the orders are to show no lights and to keep very still. I have a candle and am squatted in the corner of the car trying to keep my diary going.

The officers are parading up and down along the train trying to enforce the order to be quiet. I am hovering over my candle so it won't be seen, for I must write, for fear I won't get a better chance.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 48-50

Diary of Corporal John W. Dennett, December 16, 1862

After getting a little coffee and hard-tack, we started for our old camp at Potomac Creek. Arrived there at noon, and found the camp occupied by wagon-train of the First Army Corps. It rained hard all day.

SOURCE: John Lord Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 270-1

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, December 12, 1862

Called up at six this morning; rather stiff in our joints, but still able to have our beds made. We hear this morning that some one took a couple of prisoners last night.

To-day we marched about eighteen miles, camping at nine P.M. No excitement of any kind all day, except hearing of a number of prisoners being taken. Our camp to-night is in a cotton-field, for a change, on the right of the road. And for novelty we try individual fires. Our mess, of about eight, found plenty of rails, but had to get three lots of water, for as fast as one lot would get hot enough for the coffee some one would hit the rail, and over all would go; spoiling our fire and water too. Finally, by ten o'clock, we managed to get supper; then agreed to take turns watching the fire and our spare rails, which we were afraid we should lose. One of the guards falling asleep, our fire went out, also the balance of our rails; but some one foraged around, finding three good ones, and sat on them till morning, that we might have a warm breakfast.

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. 24

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Wednesday, November 27, 1861

The battery left Muddy Branch, with the understanding to go into winter-quarters near Poolesville.

We were told that we should have many drills together with Battery B, no longer Captain Vaughan's battery, who, having had disagreements, left the service. We marched by nine o'clock in the morning. The weather was very unpleasant, raining and freezing all day. Passed through Poolesville at four o'clock, and commenced to pitch tents by five o'clock. Our camp is next to Battery B's, commanded by Lieutenant Perry. We had a good reception by the men, who treated all of us to coffee.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 26-7

Diary of Malvina S. Waring, March 1, 1865

Ballard House, Richmond.—We have taken Richmond, if the Yankees haven't! Yes, we are here; but had some trouble to get settled. The fashionable mode of living is room-keeping, and we are strictly in the fashion. And now how nicely comes in that trunk of provisions my thoughtful papa made me bring, much against my own wishes. On opening it, we found meal, hominy, flour, a side of bacon, some coffee, tea, and a quantity of potatoes. They will help us along wonderfully, as all food products bring a tremendous price in this beleaguered city. Ernestine went to market this morning and paid $10 for a steak for our breakfast. At that rate we can only afford to take a savory smell occasionally! Ernie is simply angelic in spirit—she never loses patience, never gets cross, never says anything she oughtn't to say, even against the Yankees ! The city is crowded to suffocation, the streets thronged with soldiers in uniform, officers gaily caparisoned, and beautiful women, beautifully dressed, though not in the latest Parisian toilettes. I should say there is no more brilliant capital among all the nations. Are there great and somber tragedies going on around us? Is there a war? I thought so before I reached Richmond!

SOURCE: South Carolina State Committee United Daughters of the Confederacy, South Carolina Women in the Confederacy, Vol. 1, “A Confederate Girl's Diary,” p. 277-8

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 15, 1863

We are now on the “heaving sea and the bounding wave.” We were aroused yesterday morning at four o'clock, ordered to prepare breakfast and be ready to march at a minute's notice. At five-thirty the bugle sounded "fall in." We slung our accoutrements, the first time since the battle of Fredericksburg, and in fifteen minutes were en route to the depot, distance about two miles. After some delay we took cars for Aquia Creek, where we arrived at 10 o'clock a. m., and were immediately transferred to transports, bound for Fortress Monroe. The Seventy-ninth New York and Seventeenth Michigan were crowded on the North America, an old Hudson River propeller. There was hardly standing room, much less room to walk about. The day is fine, and the bay, unruffled by a breeze, presents a lively and picturesque appearance. Steamers are continually arriving and departing, sailboats of all sorts and sizes spread their white wings and glide leisurely through the still waters, while the active little tugs go whisking and snorting here and there, assisting larger and more unwieldly vessels. We left Aquia Creek at 10:30 o'clock a. m., expecting to reach the Fortress by nine o'clock next morning. I love the sea in all its forms and phases, and it was with a thrill of joy I took my seat on deck, prepared to enjoy whatever of interest might present itself. The Potomac, at Aquia Creek, is truly a noble stream, if stream it may be called, for there is no perceptible current, being, I judge, one and one-half miles wide, gradually broadening out as it nears the bay, until at its mouth it is nine miles wide. There is a striking contrast between the Maryland and Virginia shores. The Virginia side, nearly the entire distance, presents a rugged, mountainous aspect, with very few buildings in view, while the Maryland shore is level, dotted with farm buildings, and, at frequent intervals a village with its church spires glittering in the sun. In contemplating these peaceful scenes of rural life, the quiet farm houses surrounded by groves of trees, the well-tilled fields, outbuildings and fences undisturbed by war's desolating hand, the genial air of quiet repose that pervades the scene calls up emotions that have long lain dormant. For many long months, which seems as many years, my eyes have become inured to scenes of blood, of desolation and of ruin; to cities and villages laid waste and pillaged; private residences destroyed; homes made desolate; in fact, the whole country through which we have passed, except part of Maryland, has become through war's desolating touch, a desert waste. As I gazed on these peaceful scenes and my thirsty soul drank in their beauty, how hateful did war appear, and I prayed the time might soon come when “Nations shall learn war no more.”

Gradually the wind freshened, increasing in force as we neared the bay, until it became so rough the captain thought it unsafe to venture out, and cast anchor about five miles from the mouth of the river to await the coming of day. I spread my blanket on the floor of one of the little cabins and slept soundly until morning. When I awoke in the morning the first gray streaks of early dawn were illuminating the eastern horizon.

The gale having subsided, we were soon under way, and in about half an hour entered the broad Chesapeake. And here a most grand and imposing scene met my enraptured gaze. Not a breath of air disturbed its unruffled surface. Numerous vessels, floating upon its bosom, were reflected as by a mirror. A delegation of porpoises met us at the entrance to welcome us to their domain; they were twenty-two in number, were from six to eight feet in length; in color, dark brown. It was truly amusing to witness their sportive antics as they seemed to roll themselves along. They would throw themselves head foremost from the water half their length, turning as on a pivot, perform what seemed to be a somersault, and disappear.

A flock of sea gulls fell into our wake, sagely picking up any crumbs of bread that might be thrown them. They are a strange bird, a little larger than a dove, closely resembling them in color and gracefulness of motion. They followed us the whole distance, and as I watched their continuous, ceaseless flight, the effect on the mind was a sense of weariness at thought of the long-continued exertion.

Soon after we entered the bay I observed what I thought to be a light fog arising in the southeast. We had not proceeded far, however, before I discovered my mistake, for that which seemed to be a fog was a shower of rain. I was taken wholly by surprise, for I had been accustomed to see some preparation and ceremony on similar occasions. But now no gathering clouds darkened the distant sky, warning me of its approach, but the very storm itself seemed to float upon the waves and become part of it, and before I was aware, enfolded us in its watery embrace. The storm soon passed, but the wind continued through the day, and, as we neared the old Atlantic and met his heavy swells, they produced a feeling of buoyancy that was, to me, truly exhilerating.

Some of the boys were seasick, and a number "cast up their accounts" in earnest. We entered the harbor about sundown and cast anchor for the night under the frowning guns of Fortress Monroe.

Vessels of war of every class, monitors included, and sailing vessels of all sizes, crowded the harbor. It was a magnificent scene, and one on which I had always longed to gaze.

In the morning we learned our destination was Newport News, distant about five miles. We arrived about eight o'clock, marched two miles to Hampton Roads, our camping ground, pitched tents and, at noon, were ready for our dinner of coffee and hardtack.

We have a pleasant camping ground, lying on the beach, where we can watch the vessels as they pass and can pick up oysters by the bushel when the tide is out.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 30-3

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: June 29, 1861

It is half-past eight o'clock, and we are still but eight miles from Clarksburg. We were informed this morning that the secession troops had left Buckhannon, and fallen back to their fortifications at Laurel Hill and Rich mountain. It is said General McClellan will be here to-morrow, and take command of the forces in person.

In enumerating the troops in this vicinity, I omitted to mention Colonel Robert McCook's Dutch regiment, which is in camp two miles from us. The Seventh Ohio Infantry is now at Clarksburg, and will, I think, move in this direction to-morrow.

Provisions outside of camp are very scarce. I took breakfast with a farmer this morning, and can say truly that I have eaten much better meals in my life. We had coffee without sugar, short-cake without butter, and a little salt pork, exceedingly fat. I asked him what the charge was, and he said "Ninepence," which means one shilling. I rejoiced his old soul by giving him two shillings.

The country people here have been grossly deceived by their political leaders. They have been made to believe that Lincoln was elected for the sole purpose of liberating the negro; that our army is marching into Virginia to free their slaves, destroy their property, and murder their families; that we, not they; have set the Constitution and laws at defiance, and that in resisting us they are simply defending their homes and fighting for their constitutional rights.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 11-12

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 17, 1862

Two letters to-day, and two papers, all from home. Seems as if I had been there for a visit. I wonder if my letters give them as much pleasure? I expect they do. It is natural they should. I know pretty nearly what they are about, but of me, they only know what I write in my letters, and in this, my everlasting letter, as I have come to call my diary. It is getting to be real company for me. It is my one real confident. I sometimes think it is a waste of time and paper, and then I think how glad I would be to get just such nonsense from my friends, if our places were changed. I suppose they study out these crow's tracks with more real interest than they would a message from President Lincoln. We are looking for a wet bed again to-night. It does not rain, but a thick fog covers everything and the wind blows it in one side of our tents and out the other.

Maybe I have described our life here before, but as no one description can do it justice I am going to try again. We are in a field of 100 acres, as near as I can judge, on the side of a hill, near the top. The ground is newly seeded and wets up quickly, as such ground usually does. We sleep in pairs, and a blanket spread on the ground is our bed while another spread over us is our covering. A narrow strip of muslin, drawn over a pole about three feet from the ground, open at both ends, the wind and rain, if it does rain, beating in upon us, and water running under and about us; this, with all manner of bugs and creeping things crawling over us, and all the while great hungry mosquitoes biting every uncovered inch of us, is not an overdrawn picture of that part of a soldier's life, set apart for the rest and repose necessary to enable him to endure several hours of right down hard work at drill, in a hot sun with heavy woollen clothes on, every button of which must be tight-buttoned, and by the time the officers are tired watching us, we come back to camp wet through with perspiration and too tired to make another move. Before morning our wet clothes chill us to the marrow of our bones, and why we live, and apparently thrive under it, is something I cannot understand. But we do, and the next day are ready for more of it. Very few even take cold. It is a part of the contract, and while we grumble and growl among ourselves we don't really mean it, for we are learning what we will be glad to know at some future time.

Now I am about it, and nothing better to do, I will say something about our kitchen, dining room and cooking arrangements. Some get mad and cuss the cooks, and the whole war department, but that is usually when our stomachs are full. When we are hungry we swallow anything that comes and are thankful for it. The cook house is simply a portion of the field we are in. A couple of crotches hold up a pole on which the camp kettles are hung, and under which a fire is built. Each company has one, and as far as I know they are all alike. The camp kettles are large sheet-iron pails, one larger than the other so one can be put inside the other when moving. If we have meat and potatoes, meat is put in one, and potatoes in the other. The one that gets cooked first is emptied into mess pans, which are large sheet-iron pans with flaring sides, so one can be packed in another. Then the coffee is put in the empty kettle and boiled. The bread is cut into thick slices, and the breakfast call sounds. We grab our plates and cups, and wait for no second invitation. We each get a piece of meat and a potato, a chunk of bread and a cup of coffee with a spoonful of brown sugar in it. Milk and butter we buy, or go without. We settle down, generally in groups, and the meal is soon over. Then we wash our dishes, and put them back in our haversacks. We make quick work of washing dishes. We save a piece of bread for the last, with which we wipe up everything, and then eat the dish rag. Dinner and breakfast are alike, only sometimes the meat and potatoes are cut up and cooked together, which makes a really delicious stew. Supper is the same, minus the meat and potatoes. The cooks are men detailed from the ranks for that purpose. Every one smokes or chews tobacco here, so we find no fault because the cooks do both. Boxes or barrels are used as kitchen tables, and are used for seats between meals. The meat and bread are cut on them, and if a scrap is left on the table the flies go right at it and we have so many the less to crawl over us. They are never washed, but are sometimes scraped off and made to look real clean. I never yet saw the cooks wash their hands, but presume they do when they go to the brook for water.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 28-31

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 3, 1865

The report that the United States Government had appointed commissioners to meet ours is contradicted. On the contrary, it is believed that Gen. Grant has been reinforced by 30,000 men from Tennessee; and that we shall soon hear thunder in Richmond.

Gen. Lee writes urgently in behalf of Major Tannahill's traffic for supplies, in Northeastern North Carolina and Southeastern Virginia, for the army. Large amounts of commissary stores are obtained in exchange for cotton, tobacco, etc ; but the traffic is in danger of being broken up by the efforts of bureau officials and civilian speculators to participate in it—among them he mentions Major Brower (Commissary-General's office, and formerly a clerk)—and asks such orders as will be likely to avert the danger. The traffic is with the enemy; but if conducted under the exclusive control of Gen. Lee, it would be of vast benefit to the army.

The House of Representatives yesterday passed a singular compensation bill, benefiting two disbursing clerks and others already rich enough. I have written a note to Senator Johnson, of Missouri, hoping to head it off there, or to so amend it as to make it equable and just. All the paths of error lead to destruction; and every one seems inclined to be pressing therein.

The freezing of the canal has put up the price of wood to about $500 per cord—judging from the little one-horse loads for which they ask $50.

One o'clock P.M. Dark and dismal; more rain or snow looked for. Certainly we are in a dark period of the war—encompassed by augmenting armies, almost starving in the midst of plenty (hoarded by the speculators), our men deserting and others skulking duty, while Congress and the Executive seem paralyzed or incapable of thought or action.

The President was better yesterday; but not out. They say it is neuralgia in the shoulder, disabling his right arm. Yet he orders appointments, etc., or forbids others.

Major Noland, Commissary-General, has refused to impress the coffee in the hands of speculators; saying there is no law authorizing it. The speculators rule the hour—for all, nearly, are speculators! God save us! we seem incapable of saving ourselves.

No news to-day from Georgia and South Carolina—which means there is no good news. If it be true that Gen. Thomas has reinforced Grant with 30,000 men, we shall soon hear news without seeking it! The enemy will not rest content with their recent series of successes; for system of easy communication will enable them to learn all they want to know about our weak points, and our childish dependence on the speculators for subsistence.

After leaving thirty days' supplies in Charleston for 20,000 men—all the rest have been ordered to Richmond.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 407-8

Diary of Private William S. White, June 14, 1861

Arrived at Bethel Church this morning about 9 A. M., and immediately set to work to get breakfast—such a breakfast: salt pork, black Rio coffee and hard crackers. Well, such is a soldier's life, and we mustn't complain. The Zouaves are having even a harder time of it than we, for their rations have not yet arrived. Most of their officers seem to be gentlemen, but some of them are very cruel to their men. The Second Louisiana regiment came down a few hours since.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 101

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, October 26, 1862

ARRIVAL AT NEW BERNE.

About nine this morning we saw our first of Rebeldom, and after taking a pilot, and passing several ugly-looking rips and bars, leaving Fort Macon on our left, we disembarked from the steamer to the wharf, which had a railroad depot on the farther end of it. The place is called Morehead City. But if this is a city, what can the towns and villages be? We stayed in this shed or depot awhile, and were then ordered on the train of open cars. Here we waited for two mortally long hours in a pelting rain, water on each side of us, water over us, and gradually, but persistently, water all through our clothes, and not a drop of anything inside of us.

Notwithstanding the rain storm was severe, we had considerable to interest us after we started, which was between two and three o'clock. There had been fighting along the line of road a year previous, and every few miles we passed picket-posts, occupied by Mass. regiments. We cheered them and they responded. Once, where we stopped to wood-up, we saw a settlement of negroes, and some of the boys bought or hooked their first sweet potatoes here. Others of us contented ourselves with trying to keep our pipes lighted, our tobacco dry, and the cinders out of our eyes. Most all of us came to the conclusion that North Carolina was a tough place, barren and desolate, and hardly worth the cost of fighting for it.

We arrived at New Berne about six o'clock, wet through, hungry, tired, and ready for our feather beds, but found our hotel for that night was not supplied with any such articles of furniture.

Our company, with some others, was quartered in a big barn of a building built of green boards, which had shrunk both side and end ways, and for beds we had the floor, with a few bundles of hay scattered around. We could not expect much of a supper, but we managed some way, and then turned in, wet as we were. Soon after, we were called up and informed that coffee and beef, with compliments, from the Mass. 24th Reg't, were awaiting. We accepted, with thanks, and made quite a supper. Then we turned in again,—some on bundles of hay, others on the floor. Those on the hay had a hard time of it, as the bundles were shorter than we were, and we had a tendency also to roll off. So after several ineffectual attempts, many gave it up and started from the building to find better quarters. Finally, we found some wood, made a rousing fire in an old sugar boiler, and stood around it in the rain, trying to keep warm, if not dry.

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. 15

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 5, 1862

Still in Hudson. Was routed out twice last night, for no particular reason as far as I can discover, unless it was to make a miserable night still more miserable. After forming in line and standing there, half asleep, for awhile, the order, "Break Ranks" would come and we would go back to our bunks, and so the night wore away. At 4.30 we were called again, marched out for our morning ablutions, and then marched back again, wide awake, but pretty cross and ugly. We signed receipts for one month's pay in advance, and then had breakfast. We did nothing more until dinner time and were then told to take our haversacks and canteens with us. After dinner we were each given a day's supply of bread and a canteen full of coffee, and told to be ready to march at any minute.

Six P. M. On board the steamship Oregon, bound for New York City. We had a busy time getting off. Crowds upon crowds of people lined the way from the camp ground to the steamboat landing. The windows and the house tops were also full. I don't see where so many people came from. Men, women and children were waving flags, handkerchiefs or anything else that would wave. They cheered us until hoarse. Bands played, every steam whistle in Hudson was blowing, in fact every thing that could make a noise did so. Through it all we marched, reaching out every little while for a final handshake, and a last good-bye. Everyone seemed to know everybody else. I presume I shook hands with a hundred that I never saw before and may never see again. But the heartiness of it all, and the sincerity showed so plainly, that by the time the landing was reached the tears were washing the dust from our faces. I am glad it is over. No matter what comes next, it cannot be more trying than that march through Hudson.

Later. The sail down the Hudson is glorious. It is all new to me. As soon as we were clear from the dock I got into the quietest place I could find and told my diary about it. I wish I could better describe the doings about me. This will do to remind me of it all, if I ever see these scribblings again, and if not those that do see them may turn their imagination loose, feeling sure that it cannot overdraw the picture. But there is no use trying to write any more. Confusion reigns, and I am going to put away my dairy and take a hand in it.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 15-7