Diary of Private Lewis C. Paxson, Saturday, September 27, 1862

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

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 29, 1862

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

Diary of Private Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Friday December 26, 1862

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

Diary of Musician David Lane, October 9, 1862

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

Diary of Private Bartlett Yancey Malone, February 9, 1862

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 

Diary of Private Bartlett Yancey Malone, February 16, 1862

a clear day and the snow melted a little And Mr. Luther Rudd dide to day about 8 oclock in the morning

SOURCE: Bartlett Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 15

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 1st Lieutenant Joseph Stockton, September 30, 1862

For the past ten days there was nothing of particular interest. Quite a number of men are sick. I was in the hospital today seeing my men and while there one of Co. C men was dying. He was delirious and wanted his gun that he might take his place in the ranks of his company. Poor fellow, before tomorrow's sun he will be marching with that country's host that have already gone before. Some six or eight others have already died but none as yet from my company. We came near having a large fire the other day, but owing to the exertion of the guard under the command of my 1st Lieutenant Randall, it was put out. He was complimented on dress parade for his courage. Some days we are required to go to church which is held by the men being drawn up in a square and our Chaplain Barnes discourses in the center. As we have a number of good singers the music goes off very well, but there is a great deal of opposition to church on the part of the men, some being Catholics and one a Jew. In my company are two Germans who are atheists so there is quite a mixture. On Sunday last, sixty of the men marched down to the church in the city and took communion. Our camp life promises to be tedious in some respects but we are kept busy in batallion and company drills. Colonel Starring is very proficient in the formations.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 2-3

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Joseph Stockton, October 15, 1862

Yesterday we had a very large fire here. About 9 o'clock a fire broke out on the commissary boat "Admiral." I was "officer of the day" and was just about to be relieved by Captain Prior. I hastened to the boat but found her so enveloped in smoke that it would be useless to attempt to save her. The fire soon communicated to the store ship "Philadelphia" which had on board a large lot of loaded shell and cartridges. They soon commenced to explode. General Dodge, Post Commander, soon came along and ordered all hands to commence moving boxes of shells and cartridges that were on shore. Soon the shells on the boat commenced to burst and fly all about; several of the men were knocked down. The danger was very great but most of the men stood it well. Both boats were a total loss. The other day when I was "officer of the day" I had charge of the prison in which were a number of rebel prisoners. No one had a right to enter without a permit from the Provost Marshal, the commanding officer of the post or myself. A sickly looking woman with a baby in her arms, a little girl about five years old beside her, came to me and said she had walked thirty miles to see her husband who had been confined two months on charge of being a guerilla. Her wan and dejected appearance confirmed her story and I escorted her to the sick ward where her husband was lying. The moment she saw him she rushed to his cot, threw her arms around him, the little thing climbed up on his bed, and such tears and exclamations of affection I have never heard before. At the same time another prisoner who was confined for the same offence and who was lying directly opposite, died. His friends crowded around his cot and they gave way to their tears and sobs. I could not but turn away and feel the hot tears trickling down my own cheek; there was not a dry eye in that room. I was the only Union soldier present and the wife turned on her knees toward me and begged that I would let her husband go home with her, that he was dying then, as he certainly was. He, too, begged me for his life, but I, of course, was powerless to act in the matter. The friends of the dead man crowded around and begged that they might be permitted to send his body home, which was granted. I was only too glad to get away from such a scene. I have more than my share of such duty as there are only four captains able for duty, all the rest being sick. Making the grand rounds at night, with an orderly for a companion, is not so pleasant when you have to ride through a dense wood for ten or twelve miles. It would be an easy thing for the Rebs to pick me off and I wonder they don't do it. I had a present from home of a box containing cake, preserves, etc., from several of my young lady friends. It was most acceptable.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 3

Diary of Private Louis Leon: May 24, 1864

One of yesterday's wounded died to-day. This negro company was taken away to-day, as there is no telling what even men without arms will do to such devils, although they have got guns.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 64-5

Diary of Private Bartlett Yancey Malone, January 1, 1862

was a beautyfull day

And William Hester died the last day of Dec. 1861

SOURCE: Bartlett Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 12

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, January 18, 1863

Lee Kelly died last night of small-pox. He came down with a party of twenty-two of us some five weeks since. He was the liveliest of the party from Deckerd, Tenn., to Canton, Miss. Requiescat in pace.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 21

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, January 20, 1863

Yesterday my brother-in-law, Jack Smith, came in as a recruit, and, to my great disappointment, brought me no letters. I am certainly the most unfortunate man in the regiment in that respect. I have numerous friends and relatives at home, besides a wife, whom I love better than myself, and yet I never get a letter or a message, while others who are considered as being friendless get long epistles by every one who comes. Ab. Snell, another of the men who came down with me from Tennessee, died yesterday of small-pox. He was full of life and spirits during the entire trip. God save me from such a fate! Fowler, another of my compagnons du voyage, is reported to be dying of the same vile disease. Colonel Farquharson arrived yesterday, and will take command of the regiment immediately. He is beloved by the entire command.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 21

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, February 6, 1863

We have had no excitement since we left Vicksburg. Nothing has transpired here to cause a "yell" even. We have lived out the allotted time in quarantine, but have received no orders as yet to go back into the world again. There has been no small-pox for over twenty days, and the boys are suffering more from the confinement than from the pestilence. Last night was the coldest of the season. Ice formed to the thickness of a quarter of an inch. Arch Sloan, of our company, died night before last of measles.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 22

Congressman Horace Mann, April 1 1850

WASHINGTON, April 1, 1850.

Mr. Calhoun died this morning. . . . The opinion is that the South will be relieved. He has carried his doctrines of disunion so far, that his political opponents have made capital out of his extravagances. He had done all the political thinking for South Carolina for twenty years. That State has known but one will, and that was his. It is the most oligarchical State in this Union, perhaps in the world. The spirit of its people has rendered it so. I regret his death politically: I think it will tend to canonize him, and give a sort of sanctity to his enormities. Men will attack his seditious and treasonable doctrines with less earnestness than if he were alive; for it always looks, or can be made to look, like cowardice to assail a dead man. His private life has been, I believe, unimpeachable; but his public course has been one of the greatest disasters that has ever befallen the country. His errors have all originated in his disappointed aspirations for the Presidency. Oh, if we could only look a few years into the future, or, throwing ourselves forward a few years into the future, look back, what different motives of action would be suggested to our minds !

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 298

Diary of Private Louis Leon: November 28, 1863

To-day the whole army is throwing up breastworks. The sharpshooters are out in front, my corps out to-day. We made ourselves small pits to lay in as a protection from the Yankee bullets. These pits are just about large enough to hold two or three men. Pinkney King, Sam Wilson and myself are in one. We are shooting at the enemy all day. They are returning the compliment. Late this evening we saw some of them opposite our pits, trying to get into a house. We jumped out of our pits and fired at them several times, when poor King was shot and died in a few minutes. Another man was sent to relieve in his place, and we held our position.. The other corps of sharpshooters fought all day.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 53

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, April 16, 1863

April 16.

Up to three days ago, good old John Quincy was getting on nicely, but lockjaw came upon him and today he was buried. He never murmured at his fate, but his religious conversation made everybody about him cheerful. I very much regretted the impossibility of having him under my immediate care.

Our men keep remarkably well out here, this kind of life exactly suits them.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 389

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, December 17, 1863

Richmond, Va.,        

December 17, 1863.

I was delayed about ten hours at Charlotte, N. C., and did not arrive in Richmond until seven o'clock this morning. The weather was very agreeable for traveling and I had no trouble with my trunks.

I ate but once out of my haversack the whole way here. My appetite was gone, for the death of our dear little George, together with parting from you in such deep grief, made me sadder than I ever felt before in all my life. The heaviest pang of sorrow came upon me when I entered the train to leave. Since my arrival here the excitement of the city has revived my spirits somewhat. I visited both houses of the Confederate Congress to-day and saw Colonel Orr and others from our State, and also the distinguished men from other States.

I have no fear that there will be any trouble about my staying over my furlough. Had I remained at home a week longer not a word would be said. I shall go on to Orange Court House to-morrow and will write you a longer letter when I reach our camp.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 83-4

Diary of Congressman Rutherford B. Haye s: May 24, 1866

Cincinnati—Our darling little George died today at half-past one P. M. He was attacked with scarlet fever three or four weeks ago. After a week or two we thought him out of immediate danger, and I returned to Washington. A week ago he seemed so much worse that I was dispatched that he was sinking. I came home a week ago tomorrow. I found him low and was prepared for the worst. He was a very handsome child; abundant waving light hair; very large blue eyes and a broad, full forehead. He looked like my sister Fanny. His corpse reminds us of hers.

He was born in Chillicothe. I heard of his birth at Harrisonburg, Virginia, about the 5th of October, 1864, while with Sheridan in his Valley campaign. I named him George Crook after our favorite corps commander, General Crook. His cousins in Chillicothe were very fond of him. They called him "the little general" or "the little soldier." The brothers called him "the king," because he had his own way. He was a large child, weighing ten pounds when he was born. Born September 29, he was nineteen months, twenty-five days old.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 3, p. 25-6

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, March 7, 1863

March 7.

This morning, at ten, the John Adams hove in sight. The officers report fog so dense as to prevent running her over the bar at Fernandina. If the rebels are not duller than I think them, we shall suffer for this most annoying delay.

The poor fellow whom I mentioned yesterday, died this morning. Were our men obliged to sleep aboard a few nights more, such deaths would be frequent. Yet I have everything done to prevent disease that, under the circumstances, can be done. Yesterday I found several ill on the Burnside, including Col. Montgomery and one of our best artillerists. Today all are in good condition and anticipating a fight.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 371