Diary of Elvira J. Powers: Sunday Evening, April 10, 1864

Attended church to-day at the Second Presbyterian, or "Union Church" as it is called. It is the only one in the city, I am told, where one is sure of hearing sentiments of loyalty. Rev. Mr. Allen is pastor. He does not fear now, under the shadow of Fort Negley, and with so many "blue coats" about, to "Lift up his voice like a trumpet, and show the people their transgressions and the house of Jacob their sins." I believe, however, that he was obliged to leave the place previous to the entrance of our troops.

I saw a pomegranate flower for the first time, to-day. It is of a dark red color, single, about the size of a plum blossom. It is of the same family I think, though cannot analyze it, for want of a botanical work.

In passing through ward 1 of the hospital last Wednesday, and asking advice of the chief nurse—who, by the by, is soon to complete his studies as surgeon—as to what we could do for the benefit of the invalids, he said there were two cases who would die unless some one could by attention and cheerful conversation save them. That they had been sick a long time, were very low, but the trouble now was nervous debility from homesickness and despair of life. Had himself done what he could for them, but was worn out with care of the ward and loss of sleep. And he added:

"The Surgeon has given them up, and I will give them into your charge, and if they live it will be your care which saves them."

"Would anything be injurious for them to eat?"

"No, if you can get them to eat anything you will do better than I can."

Upon inquiring which they were, he pointed them out, when I told him that I had spoken to both only a few moments before, and that one would scarcely notice me enough to tell me his disease, while the other would not answer at all, but drew the sheet over his face.

"Oh, yes," he replied, "they think no one cares for them, that they're going to die, and the worst one is in a half stupor much of the time. But pass your hand gently over his forehead to arouse him, and then you know how to interest him."

He then directed the nurse of this one to go with me and see that everything was done which I directed. The nurse and patient were both from Indiana, and the former going to the side of the bed toward which the face of the sick man was turned, said in a peculiarly pleasant and sympathizing tone:

"William, there's a lady come to see you and she wants to make you well if she can."

Passing my hand over his forehead, as directed, I added as cheerily as possible :

"Yes, William, I've come to see if I can't do something for you; if I shall write some letters for you, or bring you something to eat to make you better."

He roused up and I knew he was listening, but not wishing to excite him too much I then commenced asking of the nurse about his company and regiment, and the length of time he had been sick in that hospital. But I had scarcely done so, when the sick man turned his face down into the pillow, burst into tears and grieved and sobbed like a child, fairly shaking the bed with the violence of his emotion. The nurse bent down to him, and said as if pacifying a sick child:

"Don't fret so, William, this lady loves you, and she's going to try to make you well."

I knew the tears would do him good, but I spoke low and slowly, and the sobs grew less as he listened:

"You've been sick a long time, I know, and have grown discouraged and have thought you were never going to get well, but the Doctor says there is nothing to hinder if you will only try. I was once sick myself with a low nervous fever, and felt just as you do for a long time. And the physician told me at last that I wouldn't live unless I made up my mind to try to live. And I did try and worked hard for it for a long time else I should never have got well. And now if you will do the same and think all the time of what you are going to do when you get well, I will come and see you as often as I can, and bring you anything you wish to eat. Wouldn't you like to have me write for you to ask your wife, mother, or sister, to come and take care of you?

Just then the nurse tells me he is "single" and I repeat the question of his mother and sisters.

"No," he replied, in a sad, grieved, hollow voice, "they wouldn't come."

"Shouldn't I write to his father to tell him how he was." "No," he didn't "want any letters written."

"Could he think of something he could eat."

He said he could not, but the nurse exclaimed:—"Why, William, don't you remember you said the other day you could eat some pickles, if you could get them?" "Yes, I could eat some pickles," said the slow, hollow voice. A little inquiry found that it was possible he could eat a cookie also, so it was arranged that the nurse should call at the home of the Christian Commission, where I was stopping, for the articles.

I also learned that the sick man had not been bathed since having the fever, and his face looked like dried parchment. I made a prescription of castile soap and warm water for his benefit, to be applied to the whole surface of his body—the application to take place immediately after my departure. After the bath, the nurse called and I sent some cookies and a small jar of pickles.

The other patient to whom I was referred, was scarcely less interesting, but have not time to note the particulars. I visited them again yesterday, and found my directions with regard to each had been carried out, and both were better and glad this time to see me. William rejoiced in the jar of pickles upon his stand, out of which he had gained sufficient appetite to "reckon," he "could eat a few dried peaches, if he could get them." A small jar of those was prepared and sent to him, with a second edition of cookies.

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 23-6

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Sunday, November 2, 1862

Corinth. I walked up to the Battery, the farthest I had walked since my lameness. Saw the boys off; they left their tents standing, their knapsacks etc. under charge of Lieutenant Simpson, and those unfit for the march. The inmates of the hospital were taken to the general hospital under Dr. Arnold, nine in number, viz: Orderly J. G. S. Hayward (fractured ankle), Corporal G. B. Jones (chronic diarrhea; waiting for discharge); W. W. Wyman (waiting for discharge); G. W. Benedict (diarrhea); E. W. Evans (fever); David Evans (convalescent); Alex. Ray (convalescent); E. R. Hungerford (chronic diarrhea); Jenk. L. Jones (bruised ankle), remained in the hospital until [Sunday,November 9, 1862.]

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 11

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Sunday, November 9, 1862

Corinth. Learning that the Battery had gone to camp at Grand Junction, Tenn., Sergeant Hamilton was sent back to bring forward the baggage, etc., etc. and was to start by train in the morning. E. W. Evans, David Evans and myself procured a dismissal from the hospital and bade good-bye to our comrades (who were all doing well except E. R. Hungerford, who was very low) at 6:30 A. M. and reported at the depot. We found the boys and baggage on the platform, but owing to the rush of troops we could not get off today. We laid around all day, exchanged our tents, drew some quartermaster stores.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 11

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Monday, November 10, 1862

Corinth. We were again disappointed, the train leaving us behind and nothing to do but wait another twenty-four hours. In the afternoon E. W. Evans and I went to the hospital where we learned that our comrade E. R. Hungerford had died at about 2 P. M. Sunday, and was to be buried in the evening.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 12

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 9, 1862

Was hauled from off the battle-ground in an ambulance wagon at half past two in the morning. for fear of the enemy opening fire on our hospital or old house in which we remained all night from the day of the fight; having our batteries planted close by, if another engagement would ensue, they would draw the enemy's fire on our building. So we, four in number, were hauled five miles this morning to Antioch church, Boyle county, and thrown out in a pile like wood, for they had been removing wounded off the battle-ground all night until the church was perfectly filled, and under every shade tree nigh at hand. I rolled over and over, as I was so disabled that I could not walk, until I got to a fence, and with loss of blood and pain and fatigue, became sleepy in a short time after being left in this condition, I went to sleep and slept until after the sun was up, and on awaking I found myself completely tight against the above mentioned fence, on account of another wounded soldier dying while I was asleep, with his feet tight down the hill against me and his head up the hill, the ground being somewhat rolling, I called to a citizen close by, that had come to see the wounded soldiers, to come to me and remove the dead man, that I might help myself up by the fence. He removed the person, and throwed a blanket over the body to protect it until better attended to. I lay for six days out under a white oak tree, with my wound dressed once. Making a march of 5 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, pp. 23-4

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 15, 1862

Left or was taken from Antioch church to Perryville to a hospital fitted up for our reception. The first time away from my regiment and company from the time I left for the seat of war, or the first roll call missed, or stacking of arms, or march missed for over a year; and was well cared for in this hospital by the surgeon in charge of us wounded Union soldiers. We were well supplied with food calculated to suit our weak and delicate appetites, from the Union citizens, women and men, of Boyle county, and got along as well as could be expected for the time of our stay in this hospital, remaining eight days in it. Making a march of 6 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 24

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 23, 1862

Left Pcrryville. Orders came for us to be removed to Lebanon hospital; so the same day we were shipped aboard our army wagon train and arrived in Lebanon about 4 o'clock in the evening, and were happily received and met by our General Starkweather, who came to see us for the first time from the front, and sympathized with us for our wounds, and thanked us kindly for our good behavior in the battle. This will show that we remained in the hospital above mentioned eight days, and in this one four days. Making a march of 20 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, pp. 24-5

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 27, 1862

Left Lebanon hospital, or was ordered to be sent to Louisville No. 12 hospital, and arrived there the same evening, and was conveyed to the hospital and well cared for. Making a march of 84 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 25

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, November 6, 1862

Left Louisville, and was sent by orders to New Albany, Indiana, hospital No. 6, and a nice place too and well cared for, remaining nine days in this hospital, and making a march of 4 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 25

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: December 13, 1862

Yet in the Gulf of Mexico. Company C lost a man last night. Company G has been turned out of their quarters and a hospital made of it. That crowds the others still more, but at the rate we go on the whole ship will soon be a hospital. 10 a. m. We have stopped at a sandy island, which they say is Ship Island. The man who died last night has been taken off and they are digging a hole in the sand to put him in.

Ship Island so far as I can discover is only a sand bar with a small fort on it, and with some soldiers about it the only live thing in sight. We weighed anchor about 4 P. M. and the next morning, Dec. 14th, stopped off the mouth of the Mississippi for a pilot. I am told this is called the South West Pass, being one of several outlets to the great Mississippi river. It looks like a mud flat that had been pushed out into the Gulf farther in some places than others. As far as the eye can reach the land is covered with a low down growth of grass or weeds that are but little above the water. We passed a little village of huts near the outlet, where the pilots with their families live and which is called "Pilot Town." What they live on I did not learn. The huts are perched on piles driven in the mud, with board walks from one to the other and water under and about the whole.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, pp. 71-2

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: December 16, 1862

The U. S. surgeon from the Marine Hospital has been on board looking us over. Found only four diseases, measles, scurvy, typhoid fever and jaundice. He did not put down the graybacks that keep us scratching all the time. For a long time after they appeared they left me alone, but one morning as I lay on my back in bed writing in my diary one came crawling up over my knee and looked me straight in the face; from that on they have seemed to like me as well as anyone.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 72

Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, Sunday, March 2, 1862

Pleasant morning but the ground is covered with snow tonight. Snowed very hard the middle of the day. It has thawed all the time. Went to church with family. Chaplin Marks of the Pa. 42^nd Reg^t held forth, quite an interesting man. The military on both sides of the River are under marching orders and all ready to move. Doct Barnes of the 27^th came over yesterday & brought his wife. The 27^th is all packed up and ready, stirring times looked for now. The Sick in the camps have been placed in Hospitals. Artillery has been moveing for two or three days past. There is an abundance of it on the Potomac. M^cClellan depends much upon that arm. There is much excitement in the City and much satisfaction expressed now that the immense army here is to move at last. The force must be crushing to “Secesh.” There cannot be less than 250 thousand men on & near the Potomac in the Union Armies under Genl M^cClellan.

SOURCE: Horatio Nelson Taft, The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865. Volume 1, January 1,1861-April 11, 1862, Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Washington D. C.

Diary of 4th Corporal Bartlett Yancey Malone: August 14, 1862

our Regt left thar and marched up toward Gordensvill And I was not able to go with them so they excused me and started me back to the Hospital clost to Richmond And we had to walk to Hanover Junction which was about 4 miles And we had to stay thar all next day for we could not get eny cars to tak us eney futher

SOURCE: Bartlett Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 24

Diary of 4th Corporal Bartlett Yancey Malone: August 16, 1862

we got on the cars about 8 oclock and got to the Hospital about 11 And then I staid at the Hospital untell the 2 day of September

SOURCE: Bartlett Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 24

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, October 8, 1863

CAMP NEAR CHATTANOOGA.

Arrived in camp this evening. My wound is not yet well, but I prefer doing duty to staying in a hospital. The boys are doing well, and in fine spirits. I was greatly disappointed in not getting a letter from home, which came in my absence and was destroyed, under the impression that I would be away for some time. We hold the river above and below Chattanooga, leaving Rosecranz but one outlet through Sequatchie Valley. There seems to be no danger of his attacking us, or of our attacking him. His position has been made very strong. Our siege-guns on Lookout can reach the city at long range.

President Davis is expected every day.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 368

Diary of Elvira J. Powers: Saturday Evening, April 9, 1864

Last Wednesday Miss O. and myself visited Hospital No. 1, for the second time.

They were just robing one young boy in his soldier's suit of blue for the last time. He was then borne to the deadhouse. His name was Hickman Nutter, of the 31st Ohio. I secured the Post Office address of his people and that of several others who had died and had no message sent home. I passed the whole of the next day in writing soldiers' letters, and in my journal. My fortitude was sorely tried and really broke down after getting back, to find that in ward 1 alone from two to four boys are dying daily, while the Chaplain has not been in to speak to a single sick or dying boy for two weeks. Wards 2 and 3 have fared little if any better, as is the testimony of ward-masters and nurses. It is his duty also to write to the relatives of those who die, and common humanity would dictate that it be done, and every comforting message sent to them. I was told by the clerk, whose duty it was to collect the names for report in the public prints, that in no single instance had he known the Chaplain to attend to that duty. I was indignant and determined to report him, but was given to understand by more than one Christian minister, that the expression of indignation was considered a bad omen for my future success in hospitals.

"People here," said one, kindly in explanation, "must learn to see and hear of all manner of evil and wickedness going on around them, and be as though they saw and heard not."

Being by nature and birth an outspoken New Englander, and having inhaled freedom of speech from the breezes which blow from the hills of the "Old Bay State," I fancy it will not be very easy becoming initiated into this phase of military service.

We found several interesting cases on passing through wards 1, 2 and 3.

In the first, saw one man in a dying condition, who was brought the night before. He was lifted from the ambulance and brought in by two men, who immediately left without being questioned or saying anything about him. The attendants were busy and expected to find all needed information in the medical papers, which it is rulable and customary to send, but which were not to be found. No one had observed the ambulance or men sufficiently to identify either. The disease could not be determined. There were no wounds and the lungs were in a healthy condition, but he was dying and insensible. A letter was fortunately found in his pocket, from his wife, which gave his name, company and regiment, as being Henry Clymer, Co. K., 128th Indiana.

In passing through ward 2 we came to a handsome young man, who was looking so well compared with others that we were passing without speaking. But the nurse said to us:

"This man is blind!"

Could it be possible! His eyes to a casual observer were perfectly good, but upon a closer examination one saw that the pupil was greatly enlarged and the expression staring and vacant. Questions revealed the fact that he could see nothing except a faint light when looking towards the window. I asked the cause.

"Medicine, the Surgeon here says," was the reply. "I had chills and fever while at the front, and the physician gave me large quantities of quinine, which made me blind. I have the ague now, but the Doctor dare not give any more quinine. I have been blind two weeks."

"Doesn't the Surgeon think the medicine will leave your system, and that you may recover your sight?"

"Well, he doesn't speak very encouragingly says he doesn't know."

And we now see that although the eyes cannot do duty in one way they can in another, for they absolutely rain tears, as he tells us with quivering lips, that his wife does not know anything about it; that he is dreading to send her word by stranger hands, he cannot bear to think that may be he can never write again,—never see her or other friends in this world. He is yet young and life has looked so pleasant; he is a professing Christian, but finds it so hard to bear this affliction. And he sobs like a whipped child, as, kneeling by the head of his low bed, with hand upon his forehead, we listen to this recital and strive to comfort him. We tell him of others afflicted in the same way who have not passed a life of idleness in consequence, but of mental or physical activity. Of those who have risen superior even to this calamity, and in the battle of life have learned

"How sublime a thing it is

To suffer and grow strong."

He says our words have been a blessing, as we take his hand in a good-bye, and with a promise to break the news to his wife, as gently and hopefully as possible. [We do so subsequently and upon the last visit find that he has been gaining his sight so that he can distinguish forms, though not features. Again we stand by his vacant bed and learn that he with many others have been sent North to make room for more sufferers from the front. But he was still gaining his sight.]

In the same ward we find one slight young boy, who looks as if he ought to be at home with his mother, and we sincerely believe is crying because he isn't—though he'd be bayonetted sooner than own it. He draws his sleeve across his red eyes as we approach, and upon our questioning informs us that he is "almost seventeen," and furthermore that he is "nearly half a head taller and two pounds heavier than another boy in his regiment;" but confesses that he is "right tired a' laying this way day after day—fact is I'd a heap sight rather be at home if I could get to go there, for I enlisted to fight, not to be sick!" Now we ask him if he ever thought while lying there that he is suffering in the service of his country, and a quick flash of the eye, a smile and an emphatic "no," tell us that it is entirely a new thought. Then we beg him not to forget that he is, and assure him that it requires a much braver soldier to suffer day after day in a hospital than on the hardest battle-field, and we leave him with a look of heroic endurance on his childish brow.

Here is a good-faced German, who is moaning with pain from an amputation. It is twenty days since the operation, but he suffers terribly every few moments from a spasmodic contraction of the muscles. And we also find upon conversing, that the fact of the amputation hurts his feelings in more ways than one, and we must needs tell him to bear the pain like a good brave soldier, and that it will grow less and less each day, and really last but a few days more altogether, and that as to being without a limb he will not be the only one capable of exhibiting such a proof of the service rendered his country, that it is an honor rather than a disgrace to lose limbs while battling for the right; and now the hero's look of determination settles over his features also. But just as we turn to leave, he expresses his opinion that two or three more such "cookies" as we brought him the other day wouldn't hurt him, indeed,

"Dey was mosht as goot vot my moder used to make."

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 19-23

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, December 16, 1862

We packed up twice to change our camp today, but the order was countermanded each time. The arsenal is a very extensive building and the rebels turned out one hundred small arms per day. We are preparing it for an extensive hospital. Quartered here again tonight. I went up to the depot and while there met old Captain Backman, of Co. C, 12th Ind. Reg. He is now sutler in the same regiment, which is located but a few miles below here doing picket duty on the railroad.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 18

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Sunday, October 5, 1862

Corinth, Miss. As it is seen from the last date, I have not written any for some time and I must write of the past from memory. Not getting any better, I went to the Company hospital on September 24 and there was treated for fever of which I had but a very slight touch. On the morning of October 1 every man that could not join his platoon was to be sent to Corinth as the Battery was going to move, so I and four others were put in the ambulance and driven to the depot, but the cars did not come till 2 P. M. When they came, they loaded all the commissary stores in the rooms. E. R. Hungerford and myself were lucky enough to get into the box car. We got to Corinth in about two hours, and after waiting an hour we were taken in a mule wagon to the Seminary Hospital situated on a hill about one mile and a half from Corinth.

We were put in a comfortable tent and lay there unmolested until the 3rd, when early in the morning heavy firing was heard and continued all day. We learned that the cannon had been attacked by the rebels consisting of Price, Breckinridge, Van Dorn and one other commander. In the afternoon we had to move down under the hill, we being right in the range of the guns should they open fire in that direction at night. We were ordered to have everything packed so as to leave at a moment's notice. At about 12 o'clock at night we were ordered out on the road, while the tents were struck and cots piled. Presently the teams began driving in and loading men and cots. At last our turn came, but not until the rebs had opened fire on the town with three guns throwing shells. We had to pass under the fire. The shells whistled over our heads in every direction, while off went the mules as fast as they could trot. It certainly was a rough ride. They drove us through town and left us on the east of it about ½ mile. By this time it was nearly day-light and the guns used by the rebs throwing shells were taken. About 9 o'clock the engagement became general. The noise of the musketry, occasionally broken in upon by the loud peal of artillery, made it truly terrific. The fight lasted about three hours, when the rebs were obliged to skedaddle.

All of this time we had heard nothing from the Battery. We supposed that it had been engaged, when at 12 o'clock Dr. Miller came around and told us that the Battery had been engaged that morning, and had been taken and retaken, but he could not give us a list of the casualties. We heard nothing more from the Battery until to-day, G. M. Spencer came with a list of casualties. He informed us that the sick and wounded were gathered in a company hospital about a quarter of a mile to the south. We remained in the general hospital until [Tuesday, Oct. 7.]

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 8-8

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Tuesday, October 7, 1862

Corinth. The doctor came to take our names to be sent to a Northern hospital as they had no room for us [in the general hospital]. I asked permission to join the Company hospital, which was granted, so in the afternoon we joined our comrades; found the wounded all in good spirits.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 8

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Tuesday, October 14, 1862

Corinth. Having learned the locality of our Battery, it being encamped on the south side of the town, the wounded men were removed to the general hospital, and the sick were taken to the Battery, with the exception of N. B. Hood and Byron Babcock.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 9