There was no
drilling afternoon we had batallion drill & Dress perade about noon one of
Capt Sawyers men from Appanoose Co Company C died his wife was by him this is
the 2nd in our Reg evening I attended a Speaking meeting in the 30th Reg we had
a good time
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 92
We drilled forenoon
in manual of arms & afternoon in battallion drill & dress perade Our
Reg took a march through the citty & drilled some on main Street evening I
wrote our Capt a letter visited the hospitals & with our 1st & 2nd
Seargent took a dish of Oisters two of the men of our Reg in Capt Vermilions
Co. ware sent home to be buried
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 93-4
Forenoon I drilled
the Co in the manual of arms afternoon we ware on battallion drill & dress
perade & ware down on main street & had our arms inspected I visited
our boys in the hospital morning & night some of them are verry sick one of
Co [F] Capt Vermilion died he is a brother to one that was sent up yesterday
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
Last night
"raiders" attempted to profit by their vile practices.
"Moseby's" (this name is given one of the chiefs) whistles blew and
was responded to by the subleaders. Suspicious-looking chaps move through parts
of the prison. Presently the cry of "thief," "raiders," and
suppressed voices are heard, like men in a struggle. Again cries of "catch
him," "murder," "Oh, God, they've killed me!" Now and
then one is caught, and cries, and begs dolefully. Then a squad of twenty
strong savage-looking men ran through the streets with clubs; soon there is a
desperate fight. Blows are plainly heard, and savage oaths and cries of fright
and distress. For a time the desperadoes vanish, then reappear. The disturbance
kept up all night; we did not feel safe to lie down unless someone of our tent
watched. I hear of two watches and other things being lost; have seen some men
who got hit. Some Massachusetts boys near us had their blanket seized. Luckily
one awoke as the last corner was drawn from him. He sprang up and so closely
pursued the thief that he dropped it. This morning a fellow had his head shaved
for stealing rations. Toward noon excitement attracted attention to the north
side. Going thither we found a fellow had been seized and was being shorn of
one-half of his hair and whiskers. He had been outside shoemaking and had been
commissioned by the Confederates to come in and take the names of others, of
the same trade, with the view that they might be induced or impressed into the
service, for Rebels are in need of men of all trades; especially men are wanted
to make "government shoes." I saw a man playing the same treasonable
game yesterday and a group of us resolved he should not go unnoticed. Shame on
those men who are willing to sell their birthright for a loathsome crust! Turn
their hands against the cause for which they fought, and virtually balance the
power of brothers in the field! The blood of our brothers would cry out against
us. For a Southerner to do this is treason; for one of our own men to do it,
what is it?
Twice, the first in
two days, has the sun appeared today, but it is still rainy. Several hundred
men arrive from our army in Virginia, the majority of whom are stripped of
blankets and tents. The number of deaths within 24 hours ending at 9 a. m.
today is stated at 160.
A hermit wrote of
his situation in solitude as "a horrible place"; "Better dwell
in the midst of alarms." But we have no choice; we both—
It was not poetical
to call Nature's solitude horrible; nothing is so horrible as subverted,
debased, cruelized, distorted, dying human nature.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 75-6
Four men died last
night. A major from one of the regiments came to see some of his men here. He
doesn't enthuse much over the conditions on board ship.
Night. Hear the
vessel with the 128th has sailed. I am left behind, but I am getting along so
nicely I will surely be able to go soon. Am a little weak and have a
troublesome cough, but upon the whole am much better.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 58
Two more deaths last
night. As I have nothing better to do I will describe what I saw of a military
funeral. It was an artilleryman in a plain pine box over which the U. S. flag
was thrown. His comrades with guns reversed went first. Then came the
gun-carriage with the coffin strapped on and six horses hitched to it. After a
prayer by the chaplain the procession started in order as follows: First, the
fife and drum, playing the dead march. Then an escort of guards, after which
the body, followed by the horse the man had ridden, led by a soldier. He was
saddled and bridled and his dead master's boots were strapped in the stirrups
heels foremost, with his sword hanging from the pommel of the saddle. A
corporal was in charge of the whole. At the grave, three volleys were fired
across the open grave after the body was lowered, and then the procession
marched back in reverse order, the fife and drum playing a lively march. The
soldiers' graves are as close to each other as possible and a pine board giving
the man's name and that of the command to which he belonged is placed at the
head of each.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 59
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
Awakened by the guard
at 4 a. m.; at daylight go on the street receiving a small day's ration, the
fourth issue since our capture. Rain is over; we are delighted to get out-door.
I shall not soon forget the morning. We are starting on a long, tedious journey
southward dependent on the mercies of enemies whom we had justly counted
barbarous in respect to the motives of the war they precipitated and are
needlessly waring. The fates of many seem desperate. How many of this long line
of Unionists will return to their Northern homes! How many and who of us will
sleep the last sleep in the far South!
We pass two large
buildings used as hospitals which appear filled. It was an hour and a half
before we reach the cars, a long train of flat and box. I take a seat on the
bottom of a flat. At 10 a. m. we start on a new road from Danville, Va., to
Greenboro, N. C., 48 miles. A guard near me, a man about 55 years old, ventured
to say that he believed the South missed it in going to war; it was not true
that they were forced to it. He believed President Lincoln just such a man as
Henry Clay in his principles, and he was a Clay man all his life.
"That is so,
the South can settle with Abraham Lincoln as easily as with any living
man," I replied. He said:
"I believe
it."
"Then why do we
find you with your gun in the Rebel service?"
"Because I had
to be somewhere; I enlisted in the militia, rather be here than fighting. Had I
not gone in they'd 'scripted me and sent me to the front; but being pretty old
and willing, they have me to do such duty as this."
"How do you
expect to come out with this war and how long will it last?"
"There's no
telling, not right away; there will be some right smart fights before you get
Richmond."
"Will they give
up then?"
"Well, no; I
reckon— it's the hardest place we've got; I reckon it can't be taken."
"Clinging to
Richmond will only continue the war until we completely besiege it; the
shortest way to end it, unless the whole South lay down their arms."
"You are
divided in the North; we think you will get sick of fighting. Heaps o' people
believe you to be a hard race; they want to get rid of you. This is what we
people are told."
"If the South
wants to settle as it is claimed they do, why don't they lay down their arms
and ask for terms?"
"That's it;
they no more want peace than they did when they commenced."
Looking about him,
he said: "Plenty of men have been put in prison and hung for saying what
they believed, they'd send me to the front sure for what I have said."
"We must have
Union and liberty as the ultimate result of this war, or there is no salvation
for North or South. The triumph of the South would be the greatest calamity
that could befall; our triumph the blessing of both."
"You're
right."
"Then as a
Union man whose election do you prefer this fall?” "I think Lincoln is a
good man."
This was an
interesting conversation; I am really in the Confederacy in conversation with a
Union man but a Rebel soldier. After going 25 miles we were ordered off the
train, there being a piece of road six miles not completed. We moved off across
the plantation till we came to a road. Long trains loaded with army supplies
driven by the raggedest negroes I ever saw, began to meet us as we went on the
road. It was amusing to hear their answers as to the distance to the railroad, which
the men were frequently asking. It was very hot several men died on this short
march. We reached the road about 4 p. m. and waited for the train. I was here
introduced to James B. Hawks of the 7th Michigan, by Thompson, which was the
beginning of a new friendship. Hawks had the advantage of a collegiate
education, and pleased us with several declamations still fresh in his memory
although he had endured the hardships of the peninsular campaign. A pile of
supplies lay beside the road. A group of ladies and men came to look at us
though there was few houses in sight. Just dark the train backed up with
several hundred soldiers for Lee's army. Here as at Charlotteville a few
contemplated escape if possible, should we remain after dark. But by dark we
were all driven on board. The order was "Shoot every man that tries to get
out," so Boodger and I were again flanked. It was midnight before we
started. As to the mode of our lodging we were like the Dutchman's hen that
stood up and set.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 49-50
What a night! In
addition to scent from the fearful swamp, we had that of dead men in our rear.
At our feet lay one begging for water groaning with pain. It was conjectured,
because of his hoarse cough, that he had mumps, or measles or small pox, by
some persons. Some dare venture but little here to aid suffering strangers when
it is all one can do to keep alive. All the assistance we could offer was to
give a cup of water. This I gave at arms length. He lay close at our feet but
when we woke in the morning he was gone.
Prisoners from
Butler report having helped tear up the Petersburg railroad. The stockade is to
be enlarged. There has been a call for men to go outside to work on the timber.
The old pen is so densely crowded that we are willing to help enlarge the
prison. The Rebels are much hurried, being fearful of the reported raid from
Kilpatrick. It is said some who went out in the squad to work are put on
fortifications, refuse and are sent in. Some may be willing to do this for more
grub, but we understand they were parolled on honor and then ordered to work by
the commandant as he pleased. It is shameful if men assent to work on Rebel
works, that they should be ordered to do so, is more shameful, and outside the
laws of war.
Rations are cut down
one-half; barely enough for two meals a day. We could eat all at one. Steward
Brown has been out to the hospital a day or two. He tells me that 31 died
yesterday, 39 today in the so-called hospital, saying nothing of the prison. He
says they are miserable mockeries of hospitals, a discredit to the medical
profession; but that the doctors are seemingly power-less in the matter, being
under orders and practically destitute of medicines. All medical supplies, he
says, furnished by the Rebel commissaries at Richmond, are sent to the military
posts and are very scant and held by the physicians having charge of that
department for use among their own soldiers. Brown is lately from England,
pretty well versed in medicine, having had 30 years' study and practice in
British hospitals and in military service. He professes neutrality, but was
taken while helping care for our wounded in the Battle of the Wilderness, May
5th.
He is allowed more
liberty than a Yankee. He says a bunch, that is still quite sore on my
forehead, was caused by a spent bullet.
Hiram Morse of Co.
F, 76th regiment, admitted to the hospital today. He sickened on corn bread,
lost appetite, became helpless from diarrhoea and attendant fever; has wasted
rapidly to a skeleton, helpless in body, crazed in mind. He has been kept alive
by crust coffee and a little black tea we happened to have, since he got here.
Many are becoming so homesick and downhearted, that they believe any report,
good or bad. It is no place to get sick; courage must be kept up though rations
go down.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 68-9
Evacuated Fort
Stockton today. Marched into Memphis through mud nearly knee deep. Slept in an
old building near the railroad depot. Heard today of Adjutant Bacon's death. He
was one of the best soldiers ever met. Our regiment has met with a serious
loss, one that cannot well be replaced. "Peace to his ashes."
SOURCE: Joseph
Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph
Stockton, p. 7
Guard duty is the
order of the day. Private Wright of my company died the past week, the first of
Co. A that was with the company. Give me marching and field duty at all times
in preference to this kind of duty.
SOURCE: Joseph
Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph
Stockton, p. 8
George H. Cornwall
died at six A.M. yesterday, and was buried to-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
Arthur Sullivan died at twelve o'clock in the hospital. He was buried with funeral services in the forenoon of Dec. 28. The company marched to the grave with the remains.
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. 271
Bonfires in honor of the election of Mr. Chapin, for Mayor of Baltimore, was what so mystified us last night. The latest reports said there were riots in the city and it was being burned by the rioters. It was quite a relief to find out the truth, although we knew the city was there as soon as daylight appeared. The first death in our regiment occurred to-day in the hospital at Baltimore; it was that of John H. Smith, Hudson, N. Y. He was sick when we came here and was taken to the hospital at once. There are a few sick in our camp hospital, but nothing very serious as yet. At dress parade, a notice was read that we had been placed in General Emory's Brigade. I am sorry I cannot remember what other regiments make up the brigade, but I know the 150th N. Y. was not one. The Dutchess County regiment, lately organized, is the one hundred and fiftieth that New York has sent out, and we are greatly in hopes they may be with us all through the war.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 46-7
day was also a nice
one And William Jeffrus of our Company dide this morning And we had a Preacher
to preach in our camp today and his text was in the Second Book of Kings 6
chapter and 15 and 16 and 17 virses.
SOURCE: Bartlett
Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 18
John Wenseinger,
teamester, died of wound in bowels received yesterday. He made a will and was
buried.
SOURCE: Lewis C.
Paxson, Diary of Lewis C. Paxson: Stockton, N.J., 1862-1865, p. 6
CAMP MILLINGTON,
BALTIMORE. On account of the heat we were not taken out for drill to-day. We
have cleaned up our quarters, for since getting our new and comfortable tents
we are quite particular about appearances. There is a friendly rivalry as to
which of the ten companies shall have the neatest quarters. All being exactly
alike to start with, it depends upon us to keep them neat and shipshape. The
cooks have tents as well as we, and altogether we are quite another sort from
what we were a week ago. It has been a regular clean up day with us. The brook
below us has carried off dirt enough from our clothing and bodies to make a
garden. While we were there close beside the railroad, a train loaded with
soldiers halted, and while we were joking with the men, someone fired a pistol
from another passing train, and a sergeant on the standing train was killed—whether
it was by accident or purposely done, no one knows; or whether the guilty one
will be found out and punished, no one of us can tell. But I wonder so few
accidents do happen. There are hundreds of revolvers in camp and many of them
in the hands of those who know no better how to use them than a child.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 40-1
Were aroused early
this morning with the word the Yankees are in Nolensville. Went up at double
quick and found them there. Fought them there all day until night, falling back
to our old Camp at Mr. Page's. Staid there tonight. Our loss, one piece of
cannon and a few men—McClure of Company E killed.
SOURCE: Ephraim
Shelby Dodd, Diary of Ephraim Shelby
Dodd: Member of Company D Terry's Texas Rangers, p. 4
Pleasant Valley, October 9th, 1862.
We moved from Antietam day before yesterday, in order, as reported, to be nearer our supplies. However, as soldiers know nothing of movements until after they are made, we may leave here today. As I was writing the last sentence, I learned we are to move this afternoon, about two miles, where we will have more room and better accommodations. The order to march is always welcome to me. I hate the monotony of camp life. The same is true of nearly all our regiment. We want to finish up our work and go home to our families—for nearly all have families. From our old camp to the present one is about twelve miles—the toughest twelve miles I ever traveled. Our route lay over the Elk Ridge Mountain, about six miles winding up its steep, rocky sides, the remaining half down the opposite side, the midday sun pouring his fierce rays against its rocky surface, making the heat well-nigh unbearable. There was not even a whispering breeze to cool our throbbing brows. Two men of our brigade melted down and died, while hundreds fell out by the way and came straggling into camp next morning. The movement was foolishly conducted on the principle of a forced march when there was no call for haste. I was quite lame at the time, having cut a deep gash in my heel a few days before, which compelled me to walk on the toe of that foot. This made walking over such a road and for so long a distance rather difficult. I fell behind the regiment for the first time, but came into camp about sundown. Some companies left nearly every man by the roadside.
On Friday Robert Covert and myself went down to the river to wash our clothing. The day was hot, and Robert went in to bathe. I was sitting on the shore, in company with others of my regiment, dreamily watching the sportive antics of the bathers, when my attention was attracted to Robert by what I thought to be a peal of laughter.
With an exclamation of horror I sprang to my feet. "My God, boys, he's sinking, drowning!" He had made but two or three strokes when taken with cramps and rendered helpless. I will long remember the pleading look, the agonized cry, as he rose to the surface. There was no time for thought; he was going down the second time; in a moment he will be beyond our reach. I cannot swim, but I seized a long pole and plunged in. It was not quite long enough to reach the place where he went down, but at that instant a man stripped for a swim rushed past me, and, holding to the end of my pole, threw his shirt to Robert as he came to the surface. He caught it, and we pulled him to the shore.
I am frequently asked how I like soldiering. For a wonder, I am not disappointed. If anything, it is more endurable than I expected to find it. There are hardships as a matter of fact, it is all hardship—but I was prepared for all that. I expected to suffer—to endure—and find myself the gainer by it. While others say: "If I had known, I would not have enlisted," I can say with truth I am glad I did. If I can be of service to my country, I will be satisfied. That which troubles and annoys me most, others do not seem to mind. It is the intolerable, nauseating stench that envelops a military camp. My olfactories have become SO acutely sensitive I can smell an encampment "afar off." Many complain of the strictness of military discipline. That does not trouble me. The law is a "terror to evil doers.” I am thankful for the many kind friends I have found here. I hail with delight the President's proclamation. I believe it is a step in the right direction.
SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 15-7
the Sabath was a very pritty
day And Thomas Grinsted dide to day he was a private in Captian Leas Company
SOURCE: Bartlett Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 14
