Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Wednesday, November 26, 1862

Moscow. Cold and chilly. Troubled with diarrhea; felt rather bad.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 14

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Sunday, July 3, 1864

New prisoners report favorable progress by our armies. Yesterday there was a powerful rain lasting ten hours. In this part the soil is red and hard, surface flat, and water stood from two to four inches deep. We stood up all night to keep out of it. Those too feeble to do this, were drenched and drowned. It was with great physical and mental effort that I was able to endure the strain as I have been feeble several days.

Four crazy men have been wandering through camp several days. I noticed one today without any clothing, having been naked for two weeks. He lay within four rods of the south gate, arms extended, exposed to the sun, in full view of everybody. His whole body was blistered, his countenance frightfully distorted, giving utterance to unintelligible sounds, frothy matter oozing from his mouth and nostrils, his eyes appearing blind. Another prisoner shot through the hips last night by a guard. One lay near the brook delirious, burning with fever; another near him was unable to speak; one-half buried in the swamp, covered by a mass of maggots and flies. Those who brought him out said his eyes, ears, nose and mouth were filled. Near the sink, in almost every passage, lay half-rotting skeletons, evincing all the signs of deprivation and symptoms of pestilence, and yet alive. All of this and I have not been out of my usual course. Neither do I mention those who have a slight covering to turn the sun. There are hundreds who would require the best treatment to be saved, and perhaps could not be saved. In this absence of medical treatment we resort to simple means to cure ourselves. A very limited supply of red root and white gum bark can be found, on our new lot, and pine bark, which are used to check the almost universal complaints, diarrhoea, dysentery and urinary troubles. I observed several men today had buried their limbs to the knees, as a remedy for scurvy. But the truth is there is no remedy for this condition under the circumstances. Never could we imagine anything so horrible! We might write volumes, and fail to describe the horrible reality. Our people would disbelieve it, and "pooh" as if it were a fabulous tale. Tonight some have a season of prayer near us. One or two most excellent prayers were offered, prayers that would grace pulpits, bearing an earnestness of the soul's devotion. It seemed so much like home, like steadfast faith and adoration, a reflex of the all-reaching Providence, that we felt it good to be there; that hearts are still alive, the finer sympathies not entirely stifled. How much better to see men in such communion, seeking consolation from heaven, than to see them worse than brutes, or fighting demons! No rations today.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 83

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Sunday, October 19, 1862

Corinth. To-day we were told the sad news of the death of one of our number, John Haskins, who died during the night of chronic diarrhea. We had an inspection at 9 A. M. and in the afternoon we paid the last tribute of respect which one man can pay to another, to the remains of our comrade, Haskins. He was buried by the side of the brave five that fell in the battle of Corinth.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 10

Diary of Musician David Lane, July 3, 1863

July 3d, 1863.

We are encamped six miles from Haines Bluff, on a ridge of ground, in a perfect wilderness. I have hardly seen level ground enough, in this State, for a regiment to camp on. I find blackberries in abundance, and, therefore, am content. They have formed a large share of my diet, and have been both food and medicine. Scurvy and diarrhea have entirely disappeared. That which we most need and cannot get is pure water. The streams have all run dry, and unless it rains soon, every spring within reach of us will fail. Water is now so scarce every regiment except the Seventeenth has placed a guard over its own spring, and will not allow others to use it. If we stay here long, we will be compelled to dig wells.

We are now twelve miles from Vicksburg and eight miles from the Big Black. I can still hear the thunder of artillery, morning and eve, at the former place. If Grant celebrates the Fourth inside of Vicksburg, as report says he intends to do, he must do something decisive soon. He may be doing that very thing this minute. When I began writing, his cannon kept up a continual roar. It has almost ceased. Perhaps he is now storming their works.

Our men are still throwing up fortifications. The whole country for fifteen miles around Vicksburg is little less than a fortification. The inhabitants around here did not run away at our approach. Most of them are intensely loyal just now. The reports of want and destitution with which the papers are filled, and which I doubted, are true. Many families draw all their supplies from our Quartermaster. Soon all must do so.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 62-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 24, 1864

Another night cramped up on the cars; another night of painful nipping at napping amidst the roar, the heat and jogging of the train. Everybody wanted to lie down, but everybody was in the way; everybody wanted to straighten out, but no one could. Once in a while one lifts his aching legs over heads and bodies, or stands up to straighten them. Oh, the weary night, the sweat, the heated air of the car, wherein were jammed 80 men till no more could get in, with the doors closed. It is sickening to endure! Not a drop of water to cool thirst, not a moment of ease for weary bodies; no rest for aching heads; not an overdose of patience for one another. Morning came and we were still rolling on through the pine, the barren waste, the plantation, with its mansion aloof, and slave huts; the thatched roof shanty of poor white, and now and then halting at small stations "to feed the hoss."

Villages of any account are far apart. At all these places the negro is chief; Nig does the work, eats the poorest victuals, is an all around man. At every depot, every shed, wood pile and water tank, the darky "am de man." He engineers, fires, he brakes. This animal runs the Confederacy. Everything is very unlike our Northern routes, in wood, in field, in civilization. It appears to me like "Reducing the white man to the level of the negro “—indeed it does, Jeff!” These motley crowds, these black white faces, these white black faces, look like amalgamation, you conservators of an oligarchial, doomed institution upon which you seek to rear an oligarchy!

At 6 a. m. the whistle blows at Macon, Ga., and we stop. The doors open and a few slide to the ground to straighten out, to limber up and to try and get a drink; but few succeeded in getting out, however. A citizen told me the population of Macon was 20,500. It is located in a basin formed by sloping hills around it, near the Ocmulgee River. At 7:30 a. m. we start southward towards Americus about 70 miles south. The country is more thickly inhabited, is a richer region. Fort Valley is 30 miles south of Macon. Here were plenty of customers for anything we had to sell. Men came out with corn bread to exchange for wallets and it didn't take them long to "get shut on't"; both sexes, all colors, all grades. We were not the first load of "hyenas" that had gone down, so they did not come out to see the show, but wanted to know "Whar you'ns all from" and to traffic. It began to be hinted that we were not going to Americus, where the guard had told us our prisoners are; that it is a splendid camp, greensward, beautiful shade trees, nice tents and a right smart river, those that had "been thar a heep o' times with you'ns fellers." We had hoped that such might be our lot; but now everyone was wonderfully ignorant. When asked they would say, "can't tell you sar." At Oglethorpe I asked a citizen how far it was to Americus.

"Oh, right smart, I reckon; you'ns not going thar though."

"Where are we going?" I asked another.

"Oh, just down thar where all o' you'ns fellers goes."

"How far?"

"Right smart bit, I reckon."

"Well, how many miles?"

"Good bit, fo' mile, reckon—you'ns got any rings?"

"What place?"

"Andersonville, they call it I reckon."

"How do they fare?"

"Right good—don't know; die mighty fast, I har."

A gentleman of leisure said, "You bet they do.”

"It is a hard place, is it?"

"You will see all you want to see before long"

"Have shelter, of course?"

"Guess so-you'll see, pretty soon.”

Heaving a long sigh we cursed their blasted Confederacy and black infamous cause, then took it cool. In 30 minutes the train halted again. There was a newly built storehouse consisting of pine slabs set up on end, and appearances of a hastlily constructed military station. Preparations were made to disimbark. I looked out, saw but one house in the place, country looked barren, uninviting. About half a mile east was a large pen filled with men. At a glance I caught a view of thousands of prisoners; ragged, rusty blankets put up in all conceivable modes to break the blistering sun rays. It was a great mass of grim visages, a multitude of untold miseries. It reminded me first of a lately seared fallow, then a foul ulcer on the face of nature, then of a vast ant hill alive with thousands of degraded insects. The degradation that pervades the lowest and meanest beings in nature struck me as beneficent compared with the desperately barbarous conditions imposed upon the inmates of those roofless walls. Not a shed or a sheltering tree was in the place. Some whose senses were not benumbed, exclaimed, "My God that is the place, see the prisoners; they will not put us in there, there is no room! By this time men were getting off and straggling along the sandy road to the prison. About half way we halted to form and an officer on horseback met us heading a new guard. "Git into fo's thar," was the order. We moved to the right near the south side of the prison near Captain Wirz's headquarters, and formed into detachments of 270 in charge of sergeants. We were suffering from thirst, heat, hunger, fatigue. Presently the commandant of the prison with a lieutenant and sergeant came down the line. I asked to go to the creek and fill some canteens, pleading our suffering condition. In a passion, pistol in hand, the officer turned with a ferocious oath, putting the pistol to my nose saying, “I'll shoot you if you say dot again." Stepping back he yelled:

"If another man ask for water I shoot him."

To the left a poor fellow had squat in the ranks. This officer whom I found to be Captain Wirz, rushed upon him with an oath, kicking him severely and yelled savagely, "Standt up in ter ranks!"

The ground was covered with small bushes. While waiting some worked industriously pulling and packing in bundles to carry in for shelter. After two hours we started, but all were forced by bayonets to drop the bushes. As the column was pouring through the gate, a comrade said "Take a long breath North; it is the last free air we shall breath soon." Oh, how many lingering looks and despondent sighs were cast, as we were driven like brutes into a worse than brutish pen!

We entered the south gate. A narrow street runs nearly through the prison from east to west, the narrowest way. I had reached nearly midway when the column halted. Old prisoners gathered frantically about, begging for hardtack, or something else. The air was suffocating, the sights beheld are not to be described. The outside view was appalling; contact a thousand times more horrible!

On my right, as we entered, I saw men without a thread of clothing upon their dirty skeletons, some panting under old rags, or blankets raised above them. One was trying to raise himself; getting upon his hands and feet, his joints gave way; he pitched like a lifeless thing in a heap, uttering the most wailful cry I ever heard. Such things are frequent. The simile strikes me that they are like beings scarce conscious of life, moved by a low instinct, wallowing in the filth and garbage where they happen to be. On the left the scene was equally sickening. The ground for several yards from the gate was wet with excrement, diarrhoea being the disease wasting the bodies of men scarce able to move. Need I speak of the odor? Then the wounds of eight months were visible and disgusting! We dare not look around! At a halt we asked where are we to go? Why do they not take us on?

"You can't get no further; as much room here as anywhere,” said an Ohio man.

"For God's sake," I said to the anxious gazers that thronged around asking to be given something—"Give me just one hardtack," begged starved creatures—"stand back and give us a chance! We have no hardtack."

Finding a spot eight of us deposited our luggage and claimed it by right of [“]squatter sovereignty." Eight of us are so fortunate as to have five woolen blankets, our party consisting of Orderly Sergeant G. W. Mattison, Second Sergeant O. W. Burton, W. Boodger, Stephen Axtel, Waldo Pinchen, H. B. Griffith, Lloyd G, Thompson and myself. Here we took up our abode together. I obtained three sticks split from pine, saved at the time the stockade was opened, four and six feet long, upon which we erected three of the blankets in the form of a tent. For these I paid 50c, each.

Nothing of the rules and regulations of the prison were announced by the authorities, in consequence of which, I learned after, many a man lost his life by being shot. Soon after arriving I went to the stream to drink and wash. Being ignorant of the supposed existence of a dead line, and, to escape the crowd, I stepped over where it was supposed to be. Immediately I was caught by a man who drew me back shouting: "Come out, they will shoot you!" Looking up I saw the sentries, one on each side with their pieces fixed upon me. I then learned that the order was to shoot any man, without a word, who steps beyond the line, or where it should be. I was partly forced, by the crowding, into that vacancy, and partly tempted by the clear water which was pouring through the stockade a few feet to the west, the water in the stream appearing very filthy. With feelings of thankfulness towards the strangers who frightened that rule into me, I shall ever remember. I thought of the maxim in Seneca, "Let every man make the best of his lot," and prepare for the worst. So I determined to do what I could to inform new men of the danger at this point, for I soon learned that nearly every day, since new prisoners had been coming in, men had been shot at this place under the same circumstances.

After being settled Thompson and I took a stroll to find, if possible, a better place, without avail. Passing down the older settled and thickly crowded part where there are small dirt huts which were early erected, I observed a man sitting under an old tent with a book. This was unexpected. "Here is a book of poems," I said to Thompson, halting.

"Yes, sir, Milton's 'Paradise Lost," said he, handing it to me. He was an old prisoner from Rosecrans army, having wintered at Danville, Va., a prisoner since Chickamauga. He told us freely all he knew about our new world, appeared a perfect gentleman, manifested very friendly feeling, urged us to accept his book and call often. The mellow beam of a genial nature shone in his face. Although we did not learn his name that day, we felt him to be a friend. I had a paper, purchased at Augusta, having accounts of Johnston's run before Sherman, how one of Johnston's men cried, "General, we are marching too fast; we don't want to retreat, had rather fight." "We are not retreating, boys, we are only falling back so Sherman won't get round our flank," said Johnston, which I gave him.

The stockade is made from pine trees cut, from the prison ground, into 25 feet lengthts, feet of which is set into the ground, and the timbers are strongly pinned together. Until last winter this was primeval forest, heavily timbered with pine. The sentry boxes are six to eight rods apart near the top of the wall, each box having a roof, the platform being reached by stairs. The ground is said to contain 13 acres, including the lagoon of about two acres, which cannot be occupied except a few islands

in the midst. A small stream runs through from west to east. The water is nearly as black as the mud of its mirey banks, and tastes of it, and nearly divides the camp equally, both the north and south parts sloping towards it. There are some log huts built by the first prisoners when the stockade was opened, from the waste timber left on the ground. Now even the stumps have been dug up for wood. Two large tall pines are left standing in the southeast corner; otherwise there is not a green thing in sight. The dead line is a board laid and nailed on tops of posts, four feet high, about six yards from the stockade. There are two gates on the west side, north and south of the brook. Sinks are dug on the bank near the swamp on the east side, but not sufficient to accommodate a tenth part of the persons on the south side to which it alone is accessible; so the north edge of the swamp, parallel with the stream, is used for the same purpose. Just at dark two mule teams were driven with rations, to be delivered to sergeants in charge of detachments for distribution to their men. We get two ounces of bacon, a piece of corn bread 2x4 inches for one day. There are over 14,000 men here, mostly old prisoners from Belle Isle, Libby and Danville prisons. The bacon is so stale, that a light stroke from the finger knocks it to pieces, leaving the rind in the hand.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 55-60

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 31, 1864

A good work designed to remedy somewhat the unwholesomeness of the place, began today. A squad of men are furnished spades, hand barrows, which they themselves constructed, and carpenter tools, and voluntarily go to work burying the filth and sinks that have overflowed, and cover several yards and is in terrible ferment and alive with vermin. The plan is to cover a portion of the swamp near the east part each side of the stream, about five rods wide by 10 long, with dirt from the banks and erect a framework over the stream for a privy. This will partially supply the wants for the south side, but the north is separated by an impassable marsh. This project is set on foot by persistent pleading of our men with physicians and officers of the military post, as chances have been offered, to get the means for doing it. Through them Wirz has been induced to acquiesce, but like all internal improvements, humane influence has to be brought to bear upon Wirz. He was persuaded by the argument that prison insobordination was more likely to occur under unsanitary conditions, that there was great libality of epidemic that would sweep both the prison and military post. A colonel of the post was inside this morning and talked with some of us. His opinion is that we will soon be exchanged; but I do not indulge in hopes likely to be deferred, which "maketh the heart sick." A day ration was shown him. He said more was allowed; that there was no reason why rations are so small; that more is provided under the regulations; expressed a belief that someone is speculating to our injury and, though he had no authority, he would inquire into the matter.

Weather intensely hot, the sick badly affected and are multiplying. Every day men die, every morning are carried out. The average number of deaths now is said to be 40, although 70 have died some days, the principal disorder being diarrhoea, induced by the nature of the food; it has become chronic. Scurvy which affects mouths and limbs, sometimes back and bowels, is increasing. One doctor speaks of an affection of the spleen. In many homesickness may hasten disease and loss of strength. It seems as inevitable as bodily ailments under these conditions. When men fall hopeless and helpless, griping with pain, it is not unnatural that nostalgia be added to the scale of misery. When these compiaints unite, the days of victims are being numbered.

Prisoners come in from Florida captured on the 18th. They were engaged in collecting horses and cattle for the army. I spoke with a man, prisoner since Gettysburg, who attracts attention, though thin and yellow, he is remarkably smart. His clothing is all worn out. On the way from Richmond a woman gave him a petticoat which reaches just below his knees that whops about his legs as he strolls characteristically through the camp, a sailor's cap on his head, and not another rag on his person.

Two wells near us are finished which we assisted to dig; the water is excellent. Pinchen has finished his bucket whittled from rations of wood, and hooped with knapsack straps, and it is used to draw water. Griffith and I have sold four tin plates for $1 each. This money helps us live.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 69-70

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, May 14, 1864

Owing to wet clothing and a chill I could not sleep. Before day I was watching the country. At sunrise we were alongside the Little Roanoke River near its confluence with the Staunton. On the bridge over the Staunton several guns were planted, one so near the track that the engine swept it off. This was in expectation of a cavalry raid. We were 46 miles from Danville. Here they retain their slaves and agriculture is in its usual state. As we approach the Dan River the country is admirable, rolling land, rich valleys. The road runs near the river several miles north of Danville, then sight is lost of it. At this point I judge it is larger than the James at Lynchburg. It was after 3 p. m. when we got off the train at Danville and marched through the place, and an hour later when we get into quarters in a large brick building formerly a tobacco warehouse. In passing through we tried to buy bread of women who offered, but guards would not allow. Several buildings were filled with prisoners. As we got near the building we were to enter I saw a man taken at the battle of Chickamauga eight months before, who attempted to talk but was driven away. He was on parole building a high fence back of our prison. We were crowded so thickly into the building that there is scarce room to lie down. While waiting for rations a man passed through with tobacco at $1 in greenbacks and $3 in "Confed" a plug. At length rations came, corn bread and bacon warm. This was new, men had a great relish for it. It was the third day's ration drawn during the nine days we had been prisoners. Danville is four miles from the North Carolina line on the Dan, a branch of the Roanoke River. It has water power for manufacturing, but not developed; lies in a fertile country; the river is boatable to the falls in the Roanoke 40 miles east to Clarkville. Population, 1,900. Close confinement, not being allowed to get faces to windows, although they are heavily barred with strips of oak plank, the nature of our rations and conditions in general, began to work perceptibly on men. Water is insufficient and bad, taken from the Dan, muddy in consequence of rain. Diarrhoea is becoming universal. Bread is coarse, no seasoning.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 46

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 30, 1861

It is now between two and three months since our regiment went into camp. We have had nearly three hundred cases of measles, with about as many of diarrhoea, dysentery and fever. Not one quarter of the regiment but has been sick in some way, and yet last night every man who left home with the regiment slept in camp-not one death by sickness or accident, none left behind, not one lost by desertion! May we not challenge the armies of the world for a parallel? We are sleeping on our arms every night, in anticipation of an attack on Washington, and it seems to be the general belief that we shall be attacked here. I am no military man, and my opinion here is of no account to the world, but to me, for whose especial benefit it is written, it is worth as much as would be the opinion of a Napoleon. That opinion is, that we shall have no fight here—that the enemy is out-generaling us by feints to induce us to concentrate our forces here, whilst he makes a strike and overpowers us elsewhere.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 19-20

Diary of Musician David Lane, December 29, 1862

December 29th, 1862.

As I was sitting by my cosy fire last evening—for we have evenings here, long, dreary ones—thinking of past events and trying, with my weak vision, to pierce the dark future, the thought occurred to me where is all the trust and confidence with which I started out, and which cheered and sustained me until our late defeat? Have we made no advance? Surely we have made blunders, but will we not profit by them? We are learning the art of war—time is required to change a citizen into a soldier. Our officers are being weighed the light weights cast aside or relegated to their class—and the good work will go on until one is found of size and weight to cope with Lee. 'Tis said, "Great generals are born, not made;" that true greatness is also modest, and does not vaunt itself; but our President is on the lookout for him and will find him—never fear—one who has the genius to plan, the will to do, the nerve to dare. As I pondered, hope returned and all my gloomy forebodings fled away.

As I was about to retire for the night, our door was thrown open and some letters were handed in. Among them was one for me. I recognized the well-known hand—tore open the envelope, and, after perusing the welcome contents over and over again, I went to bed and dreamed of home.

Inexpressibly dear, to the soldier, are letters from home. It is interesting to stand by as the mail is being distributed, and, as the names are called, witness the animated, joyful expression that illuminates the countenance of the happy recipients, while those less favored retire to their tents disappointed and sad.

Captain Goldsmith has returned, but will not stay long, as he has sent in his resignation. The regiment is hard at work building winter quarters. Our houses are all built after the same pattern-eight feet by ten in size, five feet high-rafters one-fourth pitch, covered with tent cloth. The different companies are separated by streets one rod wide. The men do not work with very good heart, as they expect orders to leave as soon as finished. They say this has been their experience in the past.

Contrary to expectations, the health of the men does not improve with frosty nights. Diarrhea, colds and rheumatism prevail, with now and then a case of fever.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 24-5

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, July 31, 1861

On the 19th of June, 1861, the 5th Regiment of Wisconsin Vols., being partially organized, went into camp at Madison, Wis. Here it remained for a time, perfecting its organization, drilling and preparing itself for the hardships, the dangers, and the responsibilities to be encountered in the battle-field, against a people warlike and chivalric; a people who are taught to regard physical courage, and recklessness of physical danger, as the noblest qualities of the human race, and a people whose chief pride was to win in fight, whether with individuals or in masses; but a people, who, having entrusted their politics to professed politicians, were misled to believe that, by their brothers of the Northern States of this Union, their rights of property were invaded, and their homes were coveted as a prize for distribution amongst the overgrown population of the North. But to enter into a discussion of the merits of this rebellion, now devastating the most beautiful country known to man, carrying in its march a passover of beggary, of destitution, and of death, is not in accordance with the object of this little book. It is therefore passed over, that the reader may at once be permitted to enter into a detail of the subjects indicated in our preface.

From the time of the commencement of the rebellion, by actual war on Fort Sumter, in April of this year, its settlement by rapid and decisive victories over the rebels was subject of merriment, and looked on as matter of course. We were going to war with a people of not half our numbers, without money, without munitions of war, without navy, without anything in fine of those elements which go to make up the ensemble of a people powerful in war, and we were entering into the strife as a short interlude to the hum-drum vocations of life. "How could a people thus situated hope to compete with the parent Government, rich in every element which makes a great people?" This was the reasoning. In vain were our people told of the character of the Southerners. In vain were they referred to the results of our own rebellion and successful revolutionary war with England. "Oh!" was the reply, "Steamships were not known in those days, and England had to cross the ocean to fight us." "But Hungary, with its population of only 3,000,000, and without revenue, withstood the whole power of Austria, till the hordes of Russia had to be called in to aid in their subjugation." "But Austria had become a superannuated and feeble people." No reasoning would answer. The subjugation of the revolted States was to be a pastime, and could be nothing but a pastime. Thus went on matters, drilling as an amusement, preparatory to the enjoyment of a war, all the results of which were to be on our side, and obtained without sacrifice or suffering.

*          *          *          *          *          *

On the afternoon of the 21st July, 1861, the electric wires brought us the intelligence from Bull Run that our army was whipped, was routed, was scattered in flight. The heart of the whole North received a shock of sadness and of disappointment. Soldiers in camp began to realize that war meant work and danger, and the Regiment of which I was a member at once received orders to be in readiness to march at the earliest possible moment, to hurry to the aid of its companions

in arms. It was in sad plight for the exposures of camp life. ’Twas in the heat of summer, when fevers and diarrhoea prevail in their worst forms. The measles had broken out in camp, and one-third of the soldiers were suffering from disease of some kind. Nevertheless, active preparation went on, and on the fourth day after the receipt of the sad news the Regiment was on its way to battle.

On the 27th of July we reached Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and went into Camp Curtin. For months this had been a rendezvous for regiment after regiment. The grounds had not been cleaned—the weather was intensely hot, without a leaf to intercept the scorching rays of the sun. The stench of the camp was intolerable, and the sickness of the troops rapidly increased.¹

On the 29th of July, at night, we received orders to be ready to march at 3 o'clock next morning. Our destination was supposed to be Harper's Ferry, where we were at once to engage the enemy and to "wind up the war." So great was the excitement (these things were all new then) that very few laid down for rest during the night. At 3 A. M., of the 30th, all tents were struck and rolled up; mess chests were packed, and everyone ready for the order to move. But sunrise came and found us sitting on our packages. The day wore on, I think the hottest I ever experienced. The troops remained exposed to the broiling sun till 2 o'clock P. M., when we embarked on open platform cars, without seats, and without covering. We ran down through the city, crossed the Susquehannah Bridge, halted, and remained sitting or standing in the sun till evening. The heat of the day, determining the circulation to the skin, had brought out the eruption in many cases of measles, and the poor fellows had to sit and suffer, without a place to lie down, or even a back to lean against. At dusk we found ourselves again under way; ran down to York, Pa., about forty miles. It had now commenced raining, and the cars were run out from the depot, and the suffering men who had been all day washed with their own perspiration, were compelled to sit all night in the rain. Sick or well, 'twas all the same. None were permitted to leave the open cars and go back into the depot. Towards morning the rain stopped; the wind shifted suddenly to the Northwest, and it was cold as November. After the long tedious night of suffering, the morning came, and we ran down to Baltimore, arriving there at 8 o'clock on the morning of July 31st.

We had anticipated trouble here. We disembarked, marched with muskets loaded, and bayonets fixed, from north to south through the entire length of the city, without molestation, except from the scowls of secessionists, and the welcoming hurrahs of friends.² At the Camden Street depot we remained in the most uncomfortable condition which it is possible to conceive till sunset, when we were ordered for the twentieth time during the day to "fall in." We disembarked, marched about two and a half miles, and camped on an elevated ground to the north of, and overlooking a large part of the city and bay. The regiment did not get settled till midnight, and many were so exhausted that they threw themselves on the ground, with their clothes still wet from the previous night's rain. The medical department, however, succeeded by 10 o'clock in getting up tents to protect the sick, and they were made as comfortable as the circumstances would permit.

Here the regiment remained till the 8th of August, without any occurrences worthy of note, except that sickness continued to increase, and the knowledge I gained as to how little some military commanders cared for the comfort of their sick men. After we had been here five or six days, the Colonel was positively ignorant of the fact that we had a hospital on the ground, though there were three within fifty feet of his quarters, filled to their utmost capacity with the sick and suffering. I was now receiving but little support in my efforts for their health and comfort.

_______________

¹ I made it my business to visit every tent twice a day, to see that they were thoroughly cleaned, and that the sides of the tent were raised so as freely to admit a current of air. But here the air without was so foul as to improve the condition inside but little. I will here say, however, that the Surgeon of a Regiment who does not visit every tent in his encampment at least once a day, to satisfy himself by personal inspection that it is thoroughly cleaned and ventilated, and that at least once a week the tents are all struck, and the sun admitted for several hours to the ground on which they stand, is not deserving of the position which he holds.

² Only two companies were armed. They were placed one in front, the other in the rear of the Regiment, and so marched through the city.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 5-9

Major-General William T. Sherman to Major-General Ulysses S. Grant, June 2, 1863

HEADQUARTERS FIFTEENTH ARMY CORPS,        

Walnut Hill, June 2, 1863.

Major-General GRANT,
        Present:

DEAR GENERAL: I would most respectfully suggest that you use your personal influence with President Lincoln to accomplish a result on which it may be the ultimate peace and security of our country depends. I mean to his use of the draft to fill up our old regiments.

I see by the public journals that a draft is to be made, and that 100,000 men are to be assigned to fill up the old regiments, and 200,000 to be organized as new troops. I do not believe that Mr. Lincoln, or any man, would at this critical period of our history repeat the fatal mistakes of last year. Taking this army as a fair sample of the whole, what is the case? The regiments do not average 300 men, nor did they exceed that strength last fall when the new regiments joined us in November and December. Their rolls contained about 900 names, whereas now their ranks are even thinner than the older organizations. All who deal with troops in fact instead of theory know that the knowledge of the little details of camp life is absolutely necessary to keep men alive. New regiments for want of this knowledge have measles, mumps, diarrhea, and the whole catalogue of infantile diseases, whereas the same number of men distributed among the older regiments would learn from the sergeants and corporals and privates the art of taking care of themselves, which would actually save their lives and preserve their health against the host of diseases that invariably attack the new regiments. Also, recruits distributed among older companies catch up, from close and intimate contact, a knowledge of drill, the care and use of arms, and all the instruction which otherwise it would take months to impart. The economy, too, should recommend the course of distributing all the recruits as privates to the old regiments, but these reasons appear to me so plain that it is ridiculous for me to point them out to you, or even to suggest them to an intelligent civilian.

I am assured by many that the President does actually desire to support and sustain the Army, and that he desires to know the wishes and opinions of the officers who serve in the wood instead of the "salon." If so, you would be listened to.

It will take at least 600 good recruits per regiment to fill up the present army to the proper standard. Taking 1,000 as the number of regiments in actual existence, this would require 600,000 recruits. It may be the industrial interests of the country will not authorize such a call, but how much greater the economy to make an army and fight out this war at once. See how your success is checked by the want of prompt and adequate enforcement to guard against a new enemy gathering to the rear. Could your regiments be filled up to even the standard of 700 men for duty, you would be content to finish quick and well the work so well begun. If a draft be made, and the men be organized into new regiments instead of filling up the old, the President may satisfy a few aspiring men, but will prolong the war for years and allow the old regiments to die of natural exhaustion. I have several regiments which have lost honestly in battle and by disease more than half their original men, and the wreck or remainder, with colonel, lieutenant-colonel, major, ten captains, lieutenants, &c., and a mere squad of men, remind us of the army of Mexico—all officers and no men. It would be an outrage to consolidate these old, tried, and veteran regiments and bring in the new and comparatively worthless bodies. But fill up our present ranks, and there is not an officer or man of this army but would feel renewed hope and courage to meet the struggles before us.

I regard this matter as more important than any other that could possibly arrest the attention of President Lincoln, and it is for this reason that I ask you to urge it upon him at this auspicious time. If adopted, it would be more important than the conquest of Vicksburg and Richmond together, as it would be a victory of common sense over the popular fallacies that have ruled and almost ruined our country.

With great respect, your friend and servant,

W. T. SHERMAN,        

Major-General.

SOURCE: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series III, Volume 3 (Serial No. 124), p. 386-8

Major-General Ulysses S. Grant to Julia Dent Grant, May 4, 1862

Monterey Ten. May 4th 1862

D EAR J ULIA ,

Olando Ross has just arrived bringing a letter for me from you and also one from father. The latter seems very anxious that I should contradict the statements made by the newspapers! Dont he know the best contradiction in the world is to pay no attention to them? I am in the best health in the world. I think I must be twenty pounds heavyer than when first arrived at Savanna. I was then much reduced however from Diareah. My weight now must be 150 pounds. Orley says that Missy is one of the smartest little girls to learn in Covington. I wrote to you that when you heard of my arrival any place on the Mississippi river you might join me. We now have our advance within three miles of Corinth. Every day our column moves up closer to the enemy. It is a big job however to get a large Army over country roads where it has been raining for the last five months. If we could go strung along the road where there was no enemy to meet it would be different. Here however the front must be kept compact and we do well to approach a few miles every day. Yesterday Gen. Pope had quite a skirmish with the rebels in getting possession of the town of Farmington three miles of Corinth. Pope lost two men killed & twelve wounded whilst the enemy left thirty dead on the field and lost quite a number taken prisoners. You will hear the result of the attack on Corinth, by telegraph, before this reaches you.—I sent you $250.00 by express the other day. Draw the $100.00 you got from Mr. Safford as a matter of course. I want you to let father have all you can for us to start on at the close of the war but dont stint yourself. I want you and the children to dress well. You can say to father that Nelsons troops made a good march on Saturday and were ordered that evening to march up the river to opposite Pittsburg Landing the next morning, which they did starting at an early hour. After the attack commenced orders were sent hurrying them up. But it is no small matter to march 10,000 men nine miles and cross a river with them when there are no ferry boats and but a small landing overcrouded with steamers.

The papers will get done with this thing after awhile and look upon the first days fight at Pittsburg Landing as one of the best resistances ever made. The enemy outnumbered us three to one that day and we held the field.

Kiss the children for me. Give my love to all at home. Did you get Simp’s watch? I shall not want my citizens clothing until my return to the loyal states. I hope and feel that my return there is not going to be long defered. After one more big battle it certainly cannot be necessary to keep this large army together and I am anxious to go either to Texas or on the coast someplace. Kisses for yourself.

U LYS.

The letter I sent you from Gen. Smith was probably the last he ever wrote. That was written by himself but seeing how badly it was done he had it copied and signed it himself. He was a gallant soldier and one whos esteem was worth having. In Gen. Sherman the country has an able and gallant defender and your husband a true friend.

U

SOURCES: Bruce Catton, “Grant Writes Home,” American Heritage, October 1973, Volume 24, Issue 6, p. 18; John Y. Simon, Editor, The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant, Volume 5: April 1-August 31, 1862, p. 110-1;

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: September 28, 1864

Sent word to Battese by a convalescent who is being sent to the large prison, that I am getting well. Would like to see him. Am feeling better. Good many union men in Savannah. Three hundred sick here, with all kinds of diseases — gangrene, dropsy, scurvy, typhoid and other fevers, diarrhea, &c. Good care taken of me. Have medicine often, and gruel. Land does the writing.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 98

Diary of William Howard Russell: June 20, 1861

When I awoke this morning and, gazing out of my little window on the regiments parading on the level below me, after an arduous struggle to obtain cold water for a bath, sat down to consider what I had seen within the last two months, and to arrive at some general results from the retrospect, I own that after much thought my mind was reduced to a hazy analysis of the abstract principles of right and wrong, in which it failed to come to any very definite conclusion: the space of a very few miles has completely altered the phases of thought and the forms of language.

I am living among “abolitionists, cut-throats, Lancolnite mercenaries, foreign invaders, assassins, and plundering Dutchmen.” Such, at least, the men of Columbus tell me the garrison at Cairo consists of. Down below me are “rebels, conspirators, robbers, slave breeders, wretches bent upon destroying the most perfect government on the face of the earth, in order to perpetuate an accursed system, by which, however, beings are held in bondage and immortal souls consigned to perdition.”

On the whole, the impression left upon my mind by what I had seen in slave states is unfavorable to the institution of slavery, both as regards its effect on the slave and its influence on the master. But my examination was necessarily superficial and hasty. I have reason to believe that the more deeply the institution is probed, the more clearly will its unsoundness and its radical evils be discerned. The constant appeals made to the physical comforts of the slaves, and their supposed contentment, have little or no effect on any person who acts up to a higher standard of human happiness than that which is applied to swine or the beasts of the fields “See how fat my pigs are.”

The arguments founded on a comparison of the condition of the slave population with the pauperized inhabitants of European states are utterly fallacious, inasmuch as in one point, which is the most important by far, there can be no comparison at all. In effect slavery can only be justified in the abstract on the grounds which slavery advocates decline to take boldly, though they insinuate it now and then, that is, the inferiority of the negro in respect to white men, which removes them from the upper class of human beings and places them in a condition which is as much below the Caucasian standard as the quadrumanous creatures are beneath the negro. Slavery is a curse, with its time of accomplishment not quite, at hand — it is a cancer, the ravages of which are covered by fair outward show, and by the apparent health of the sufferer.

The Slave States, of course, would not support the Northern for a year, if cotton, sugar, and tobacco became suddenly worthless. But, nevertheless, the slave-owners would have strong grounds to stand upon if they were content to point to the difficulties in the way of emancipation, and the circumstances under which they received their damnosa hereditas from England, which fostered, nay forced, slavery in legislative hotbeds throughout the colonies. The Englishman may say, “We abolished slavery when we saw its evils.” The slave-owner replies, “Yes, with you it was possible to decree the extinction — not with us.”

Never did a people enter on a war so utterly destitute of any reason for waging it, or of the means of bringing it to a successful termination against internal enemies. The thirteen colonies had a large population of sea-faring and soldiering men, constantly engaged in military expeditions. There was a large infusion, compared with the numbers of men capable of commanding in the field, and their great enemy was separated by a space far greater than the whole circumference of the globe would be in the present time from the scene of operations. Most American officers who took part in the war of 1812-14 are now too old for service, or retired into private life soon after the campaign. The same remark applies to the senior officers who served in Mexico, and the experiences of that campaign could not be of much use to those now in the service, of whom the majority were subalterns, or at most, officers in command of volunteers.

A love of military display is very different indeed from a true soldierly spirit, and at the base of the volunteer system there lies a radical difficulty, which must be overcome before real military efficiency can be expected. In the South the foreign element has contributed largely to swell the ranks with many docile and a few experienced soldiers, the number of the latter predominating in the German levies, and the same remark is, I hear, true of the Northern armies.

The most active member of the staff here is a young Englishman named Binmore, who was a stenographic writer in London, but has now sharpened his pencil into a sword, and when I went into the guard-room this morning I found that three fourths of the officers, including all who had seen actual service, were foreigners. One, Milotzky, was an Hungarian; another, Waagner, was of the same nationality; a third, Schuttner, was a German; another, Mac something, was a Scotchman; another was an Englishman. One only (Colonel Morgan), who had served in Mexico, was an American. The foreigners, of course, serve in this war as mercenaries; that is, they enter into the conflict to gain something by it, either in pay, in position, or in securing a status for themselves.

The utter absence of any fixed principle determining the side which the foreign nationalities adopt is proved by their going North or South with the state in which they live. On the other hand, the effects of discipline and of the principles of military life on rank and file are shown by the fact that the soldiers of the regular regiments of the United States and the sailors in the navy have to a man adhered to their colors, notwithstanding the examples and inducements of their officers.

After breakfast I went down about the works, which fortify the bank of mud, in the shape of a V, formed by the two rivers — a fleche with a ditch, scarp, and counter-scarp. Some heavy pieces cover the end of the spit at the other side of the Mississippi, at Bird's Point. On the side of Missouri there is a field intrenchment, held by a regiment of Germans, Poles, and Hungarians, about 1000 strong, with two field batteries. The sacred soil of Kentucky, on the other side of the Ohio, is tabooed by Beriah Magoffin, but it is not possible for the belligerents to stand so close face to face without occupying either Columbus or Hickman. The thermometer was at 100° soon after breakfast, and it was not wonderful to find that the men in Camp Defiance, which is the name of the cantonment on the mud between the levees of the Ohio and Mississippi, were suffering from diarrhoea and fever.

In the evening there was a review of three regiments, forming a brigade of some 2800 men, who went through their drill, advancing in columns of company, moving en echelon, changing front, deploying into line on the centre company, very creditably. It was curious to see what a start ran through the men during the parade when a gun was fired from the battery close at hand, and how their heads turned toward the river; but the steamer which had appeared round the bend hoisted the private signs, by which she was known as a friend, and tranquillity was restored.

I am not sure that most of these troops desire anything but a long residence at a tolerably comfortable station, with plenty of pay and no marching. Cairo, indeed, is not comfortable; the worst barrack that ever asphyxiated the British soldier would be better than the best shed here, and the flies and the mosquitoes are beyond all conception virulent and pestiferous. I would not give much to see Cairo in its normal state, but it is my fate to witness the most interesting scenes in the world through a glaze of gunpowder. It would be unfair to say that any marked superiority in dwelling, clothing, or comfort was visible between the mean white of Cairo or the black chattel a few miles down the river. Brawling, rioting, and a good deal of drunkenness prevailed in the miserable sheds which line the stream, although there was nothing to justify the libels on the garrison of the Columbus Crescent, edited by one Colonel L. G. Faxon, of the Tennessee Tigers, with whose writings I was made acquainted by General Prentiss, to whom they appeared to give more annoyance than he was quite wise in showing.

This is a style of journalism which may have its merits, and which certainly is peculiar; I give a few small pieces. “The Irish are for us, and they will knock Bologna sausages out of the Dutch, and we will knock wooden nutmegs out of the Yankees.” “The mosquitoes of Cairo have been sucking the lager-bier out of the dirty soldiers there so long, they are bloated and swelled up as large as spring ’possums. An assortment of Columbus mosquitoes went up there the other day to suck some, but as they have not returned, the probability is they went off with delirium tremens; in fact, the blood of these Hessians would poison the most degraded tumble bug in creation.”

Our editor is particularly angry about the recent seizure of a Confederate flag at Columbus by Colonel Oglesby and a party of Federals from Cairo. Speaking of a flag intended for himself, he says, “Would that its folds had contained 1000 asps to sting 1000 Dutchmen to eternity unshriven.” Our friend is certainly a genius. His paper of June the 19th opens with an apology for the non-appearance of the journal for several weeks. “Before leaving,” he says, “we engaged the services of a competent editor, and left a printer here to issue the paper regularly. We were detained several weeks beyond our time, the aforesaid printer promised faithfully to perform his duties, but he left the same day we did, and consequently there was no one to get out the paper. We have the charity to suppose that fear and bad whiskey had nothing to do with his evacuation of Columbus.” Another elegant extract about the flag commences, “When the bow-legged wooden-shoed, sour craut stinking, Bologna sausage eating, hen roost robbing Dutch sons of —— had accomplished the brilliant feat of taking down the Secession flag on the river bank, they were pointed to another flag of the same sort which their guns did not cover, flying gloriously and defiantly, and dared yea! double big black dog — dared, as we used to say at school, to take that flag down — the cowardly pups, the thieving sheep dogs, the sneaking skunks dare not do so, because their twelve pieces of artillery were not bearing on it.” As to the Federal commander at Cairo, Colonel Faxon's sentiments are unambiguous. “The qualifications of this man, Prentiss,” he says, “for the command of such a squad of villains and cut-throats are, that he is a miserable hound, a dirty dog, a sociable fellow, a treacherous villain, a notorious thief, a lying blackguard, who has served his regular five years in the Penitentiary and keeps his hide continually full of Cincinnati whiskey, which he buys by the barrel in order to save his money — in him are embodied the leprous rascals ties of the world, and in this living score, the gallows is cheated of its own. Prentiss wants our scalp; we propose a plan by which he may get that valuable article. Let him select 150 of his best fighting men, or 250 of his lager-bier Dutchmen, we will select 100, then let both parties meet where there will be no interruption at the scalping business, and the longest pole will knock the persimmon. If he does not accept this proposal, he is a coward. We think this a gentlemanly proposition and quite fair and equal to both parties.”

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, Vol. 1, p. 332-6

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: July 3, 1863

My son Custis stayed out all night, sleeping on his arms in the farthest intrenchments. A little beyond, there was a skirmish with the enemy. We lost eight in killed and wounded. What the enemy suffered is not known, but he fell back, and ran toward the White House.

This morning, Mr. Ould, agent for exchange of prisoners, reported that “not a Yankee could be found on the face of the earth.” And this induced a general belief that the enemy had retired, finally, being perhaps ordered to Washington, where they may be much needed.

The Secretary of War, believing the same thing, intimated to Gen. Elzey (who for some cause is unable to ride, and therefore remains in the city) a desire to send several regiments away to some menaced point at a distance. In response, Elzey writes that none can be spared with safety; that the enemy had apparently divided his force into two bodies, one for Hanover, and the other for the Chickahominy, and both strong; and he advised against weakening the forces here He said he had not yet completed the manning of the batteries, the delay being in arming the men — and he hoped “Hill could hold out.”

We have 3400 convalescents at Camp Lee, and as many more may be relied on for the defense of the city; so we shall have not less than 22,000 men for the defense of Richmond. The enemy have perhaps 35,000; but it would require 75,000 to storm our batteries. Let this be remembered hereafter, if the 35,000 sent here on a fool's errand might have saved Washington or Baltimore, or have served to protect Pennsylvania — and then let the press of the North bag the administration at Washington! Gen. Lee's course is "right onward," and cannot be affected by events here.

My friend Jacques (clerk) marched out yesterday with the Department Guard; but he had the diarrhoea, and was excused from marching as far as the company. He also got permission to come to town this morning, having slept pretty well, he said, apart from the company. No doubt he did good service in the city today, having his rifle fixed (the ball, I believe, had got down before the powder), and procuring a basket of edibles and a canteen o. strong tea, which he promised to share with the mess. He said he saw Custis this morning, looking well, after sleeping on the ground the first time in his life, and without a blanket.

We have nothing further from the North or the West.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 368-9

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: June 24, 1863

A rainy, unpleasant day, such as they say Englishmen commit suicide in. Melancholy. Kept pretty close to the tent. Read Independent of May 28th, and some in "Barnaby Rudge." In the evening wrote part of a letter to Fannie. Am about free of diarrhoea. Feel encouraged.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 75

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: June 13, 1863

Another hot sultry day. Flies swarm about the commissary by thousands — a continual fight to keep them off. Got some lemons for Henry and some candy. Independent and Congregationalist came. Good sermon by Beecher. Both Thede and I are bothered with diarrhoea.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 73-4

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: June 6, 1863

After breakfast and morning work issued rations — beef —  at daylight. Felt rather tired after the work. Cleaned a carbine I had used for some time. Rather hard job. Another dry sultry day. Thede feels under the weather. Both have the diarrhoea. Boys went for strawberries, but could not get any. Paymaster here.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 72

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: May 14, 1863

Went down to H Co. after morning work and played chess. Beat Capt. N. three times and John Devlin four times. Cleaned up my revolvers. Col. Abbey appointed acting Brigade Com. Says Thede can be detailed here. Good. He has been sick with diarrhoea. Getting a little better. In evening read in “Les Miserables.” Has been a pleasant day. Girl of McGuire's buried today. Alarmed last night. Morgan coming.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 69

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: May 13, 1863

Took our horses out. Issued beef. Cleaned up and went over to town. Col. Abbey bought me a good woolen hat. John Ritter moved over to town — Div. saddler — good place. Took Thede some cheese. Diarrhoea. Sorry. Played chess with A. B. — got the worse. Rainy evening. No letters.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 69