Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 17, 1862

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

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

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

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

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Monday, September 22, 1862

Knapsack drill to-day,—something new to me, though I am told it is to take place every Sunday morning when in camp. As we were not here yesterday, it was put off until to-day. We marched out to the drill ground with our knapsacks on, expecting to practice as usual, except that we were loaded that much heavier. As all our belongings were in our knapsacks, they were quite heavy. We formed in column by companies and were told to "unsling knapsacks." We all had to be coached, but we finally stood at attention with our knapsacks lying on the ground wide open before us. Then the colonel, the major and the captain of the company being inspected, marched along and with the tip of their swords poked over the contents, regardless of how precious they might be to us. And such a sight as they saw! Besides our extra underclothing, some clean and some unclean, there were Bibles, whiskey bottles, novels, packs of cards, love letters and photographs, revolvers and dirk knives, pen and ink, paper and envelopes and postage stamps, and an endless variety of odds and ends we had picked up in our travels.

As soon as the inspection was over with Company A, they were marched back to camp and so all along the line until Company B, the last of all, was reached. When we got back to camp some of the companies had been there long enough to get asleep. Nothing more was required of us, and we put in the time as we chose, provided always that we observed the camp regulations.

I may never have so good a chance, so I will try and explain some of the things we have learned to do and how we do it. Begin with roll-call. The orderly sergeant, Lew Holmes, has our names in a book, arranged in alphabetical order in one place, and in the order in which we march in another. If it is simply to see if we are all here, he sings out "Fall in for roll-call" and we get in line, with no regard to our proper places, and answer to our names as called from the alphabetical list. If for drill, "Fall in for drill!" and then we take our places with the tallest man at the right, and so on, till the last and shortest man is in place on the left. We are then in a single line, by company front. The orderly then points at the first man and says "One," which the man repeats. He then points to the second man and says "Two," which is also repeated. So it goes down the line, the one, two, being repeated, and each man being careful to remember whether he is odd or even. When that is done, and it is very quickly done, the orderly commands, "Right face!" The odd-numbered men simply swing on the left heel one quarter of the way around and stand fast. The even-numbered men do the same, and in addition step obliquely to the right of the odd-numbered man, bringing us in a double line and one step apart, which distance we must carefully keep, so that when the order "Front!" is given, we can, by reversing the movement of "Right face!" come to our places without crowding. When coming to a front, the line is not apt to be straight and the order "Right dress!" is given, when the man on the right stands fast and the one next to him puts himself squarely by his side. The next moves back or forth until he can just see the buttons on the coat of the second man to his right,—that is, with his head erect, he must look past one man and just see the buttons on the coat of the second man from him. That makes the line as straight as you can draw a string. "Left face!" is the same thing reversed. In marching, one has only to keep step with the one next in front of him. If this is done, the blame for irregular time all comes upon the file leaders, which are the two in front; they must keep step together. If Company B is going out to drill by itself it is now ready. If, however, the entire regiment is to drill together, as it has a few times, Company A marches out first, and as the rear passes where Company F is standing the latter falls in, close behind; and so each company, until Company B, which is the left of the line, and the last to go, falls in and fills up the line, Why the companies are arranged in the line as they are is a mystery I have so far failed to find out. From right to left they come in the following order: A, F, D, I, C, H, E, K, G and B. A is said to have the post of honor, because in marching by the right flank it is ahead, and meets danger first if there be any. Company B has the next most honorable position, because in marching by the left flank it is in the lead. There is a great advantage in being in the lead. On a march the files will open, more or less, and when a halt is ordered the company in the lead stops short. The other companies keep closing up the files, and by the time the ranks are closed "Attention!" may sound, and another start be made. The first company has had quite a breathing spell, while the last has had very little, if any. If I were to enlist again, I would try hard to get in Company A, for all the marching we have so far done has been by the right flank, Company A at the head and Company B bringing up the rear. When we reach the field we are generally broken up into companies, each company drilling in marching by the front, wheeling to the right and left, and finally coming together again before marching back to camp.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 34-6

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 Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Saturday, September 13, 1862

Washing day. All who are not on duty were let out to go in the stream below the mill and wash. We took off our clothes and rubbed and scrubbed them, until one color, instead of several, prevailed, and then we sat around and waited for them to dry in the sun. From the looks of the wash-water, the clothes should look better than they do. They fitted rather snug when we got into them, but we will soon stretch them out again.

Night. A letter from father! So far as I know, he never wrote a letter before. I do not remember that I ever saw his handwriting until now. I expected to hear from him through others, but of getting a letter direct from him, I never even thought. Another was from my sister, Mrs. Loucks. They are all well, getting along first-rate without me. I guess I was not of so much account as I thought. However, I am delighted to hear about them. Captain Bostwick returned this P. M. and has told me all the home news. I almost feel as if I had been home, he told me so much about every thing I wanted to know, and best of all brought me father's letter. I will answer that letter right off, now, and then go to bed, where many of the company already are.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 25

Diary of Private Louis Leon: May 25, 1864

Engle received a letter from his father today, who told him they had seen my parents, and I would hear from them soon. This is the first time that I have heard about my parents since the commencement of the war. Thank God, my parents, as well as my sisters and brothers, are well.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 65

Diary of Private Louis Leon: May 26, 1864

Received two letters to-day, one from home and one from my brother Pincus, who went to Washington on his way to visit Morris and myself, as he has to get a pass from headquarters before he can see us. He was refused and returned home. Our daily labor as prisoners is that at 5 in the morning we have roll call; 6, breakfast, 500 at a time, as one lot gets through another takes its place, until four lots have eaten; we then stroll about the prison until 1 o'clock, when we eat dinner in the same style as breakfast, then loaf about again until sundown. Roll is called again, thus ending the day. We get for breakfast five crackers with worms in them; as a substitute for butter, a small piece of pork, and a tin cup full of coffee; dinner, four of the above crackers, a quarter of a pound mule meat and a cup of bean soup, and every fourth day an eight-ounce loaf of white bread. Nothing more this month.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 65

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, January 17, 1863

Went out this morning for small hog, but couldn't find aged colored individual, so had to go back to camp porkless and in bad humor. Have spent the day in doing nothing at all, and am without energy to think on any subject except that of going home. We are in a most shameful condition here, hundreds of miles from our homes and friends [and fat hogs]. We never see a newspaper or letter, unless some of our Tennessee friends happen to hear of our hiding place, and bring us out these desirable articles. We are badly fed, and have no source of amusement except what is afforded by our camp-jokes and soldier-yarns. We can buy nothing of use or ornament, and, to crown all our miseries, we are in a quarantine which may end in the spring.

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

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, August 8, 1864

Near Chaffin's Bluff, on James River, Va.,        

August 8, 1864.

The weather for the last few days has been intensely hot. It is very dry, and I hope we shall soon have some rain. My health is excellent. We get plenty of blackberries, and all we need is plenty of sugar to go with them.

I expect we shall soon go back to Petersburg, but I am informed that Kershaw's Brigade and several thousand cavalry have left for the Valley. This indicates that the seat of war may soon be around Washington instead of Richmond. I hope we will not be sent to the Valley again, for I detest those tedious marches. However, I am willing to do anything to whip out the Yankees.

Matters are comparatively quiet at present, although we hear more or less cannonading somewhere every day. At this moment I hear the booming of cannon away down on the James River. We are so quiet now that we have nothing to think about but home and our loved ones.

Word was sent from the headquarters of Wilcox's Brigade to McGowan's that a negro was captured at Petersburg the day Grant's mine was sprung (July 30), who claims to belong to a medical officer of McGowan's Brigade. On the provost marshal's register is the name of "William Wilson of New York.” He always claimed that to be his name. I believe it may be my servant, Wilson. If so, the remarkable part of it is that he was captured charging on our breastworks. If I get him, I shall regard him as something of a curiosity in the future.

I received more pay on the 5th, and will send you one or two hundred dollars. I sent Bob the ten dollars for your catskin shoes. I bought an excellent pair of pants from the quartermaster for $12.50. They are made of merino wool. We shall soon have some fine gray cloth issued to the brigade for officers' uniforms. There will not be enough for all, so we will draw lots for it. If I am lucky enough to get any, I will send it to you.

I am very anxious to get a long letter from you giving me all the news. When I can hear from you regularly and know that you are safe and well, I feel satisfied.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 103-5

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, October 2, 1864

Near Petersburg, Va.,        

Sunday, October 2, 1864.

Last Thursday afternoon we received orders to be in readiness to move to the north side of the James River, and at about nine o'clock that night we started. We traveled until about two hours before day, and were nearly to Drury's Bluff when we were ordered back because the Yankees were making a demonstration on our right. That afternoon (Friday) our brigade and Lane's North Carolina had a considerable fight on the right. We drove them nearly two miles to their breastworks. It was a nice victory for us and our loss was small. The Fifteenth Regiment lost eight killed on the field and had about twenty wounded. I have never before known so large a proportion to be killed. Spencer Caldwell was killed. Colonel Bookter of the Twelfth Regiment and three officers of the Thirteenth were killed—none that you know. Billie was in it, but was not hurt. His company had one killed and but one wounded. Lang Ruff's boys were both in it, but were not hurt. I saw them all this morning and everybody was in fine spirits.

Our cavalry had a fight yesterday afternoon on the extreme right, and it is reported that General Dunnovant was killed. We are expecting the Yankees to attack us again. Grant is evidently doing his best for Lincoln's election. He must have been heavily reinforced. I hope to hear good news from Forrest. If Sherman is forced away from Atlanta and we can hold Richmond this winter, I believe we shall have peace.

We need ten or fifteen thousand more men here, and we could easily get them if the able-bodied exempts would come on here, but they seem to have become hardened to their disgrace. If the South is ever overcome, the contemptible shirkers will be responsible for it. They should have seen our poor fellows Thursday night coming in wounded and bleeding and shivering with cold; but these very men who suffer and have often suffered in this way are the last ones to say surrender.

I received your letter on Thursday, but have not been able to answer it until now. The weather is beautiful this afternoon, but it has been wet and was very disagreeable the day we had the fight.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 106-7

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, October 12, 1864

Near Petersburg, Va.,        

October 12, 1864.

I have not received a letter from you for several days, as there seems to be something wrong with the mails again.

Grant has come to a dead halt before Petersburg and Richmond. It is believed that the next fight will take place across on the north side of the James River. The Richmond papers state that there is encouraging news from Georgia, but they will not tell us what it is, because they say they do not want Grant to find out about it. Hood may have Sherman in a tight place.

About twelve thousand men from Richmond have been sent into the trenches at the front. Many of them were in the Government service and many others were gentlemen of leisure. The authorities sent everybody. The police would capture men in all parts of the city and send them under guard to some point to be organized and put under the command of officers who happened to be in Richmond from the army. A man told me these officers were seized in the same way on the streets, and that the authorities would even send out and capture a colonel and put him in command of the whole battalion. A medical officer would sometimes be seized. He would plead that he was due at his command and that he was a noncombatant, but they would tell him he was the very man they needed to attend to the wounded. It delights soldiers to hear of these things. It does them good all over. The soldiers are accustomed to these sudden dashes at the front, but the miserable skulkers almost die of fright.

We are building chimneys and fixing up things in our camp as if we are to remain here. If I were sure of it, I would have you come out and stay with me awhile. It is useless for me to try to get off now while we are so tightly pressed I saw Billie this morning. I carried a haversack full of biscuits and ham to him. I will have ham, light bread and coffee for breakfast in the morning. I have been living well this year.

We have a new chaplain in our brigade named Dixon. I heard him preach yesterday, and he does very well. If Congress would pass a conscript law bringing the preachers into the army we could have chaplains. They have acted worse in this war than any other class of men.

We are having rain to-night and I am very glad to see it, for the weather was dry and the roads were dusty.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 108-9

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, January 3, 1864

Camp near Orange Court House, Va.,

January 3, 1864.

The cars ran off the track below Gordonsville yesterday, consequently we have no mail to-day. You do not know how anxious I am to hear from you. Your letters relieve the distress of my mind like a soothing balm placed upon a painful wound. I am sure I could forget the loss of our dearest earthly object much sooner if I could only be with you; but time will blunt the keenest thorns of anguish. I shall walk over and see your brother this evening if he does not come to see me before then. He was quite well when I last saw him, and had been busy repairing the roads.

The weather remains intensely cold, but the wind has abated somewhat to-day. I think yesterday was the coldest day I ever experienced, and it was made worse by the strong biting wind which blew incessantly. It is most severe on the wagoners and others who are out and exposed so much. When I saw the First South Carolina Regiment starting off on picket yesterday morning in the bitter cold I felt for them, but they seemed full of the life and vigor which the troops of Lee's army always display under the most trying circumstances.

I gave my old black coat to my brother. It fits him well and he is very much pleased with it. He has been keeping a chicken and it is now nearly grown, so we intend to have a big dinner soon, and will make a pot of dumplings and also have stewed corn and Irish potatoes.

I have been living in the same tent with Dr. Tyler. We slept together and were very comfortable, but I got a tent for myself yesterday and will have a chimney built to it and be ready to move in by the time he gets back. He and I are good friends and always get along very agreeably together, but he is too fond of drinking and gambling to suit me.

News is very scarce here now, and it would be difficult for me to write you a longer letter.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 84-6

 

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, May 17, 1864

Field Hospital near Spottsylvania Court House, Va.,

May 17, 1864.

I received your letter of the 3d inst. this morning. You express regret that I do not receive your letters. I do receive them regularly, but you evidently do not receive mine.

We are still in "statu quo," the two armies confronting each other. I expect you know as much about the situation—or more-than I do, for, although we are right here, we know nothing unless we see the newspapers. I sent a telegram to Father on the 7th inst. from Orange Court House that my brother Billie had passed through the battle of the Wilderness safe.

We left there late that afternoon for Spottsylvania. I went over part of the battlefield as we were leaving, and saw that the Yankees had not taken time to bury their dead except behind their breastworks. We had no breastworks as far as I could see. In hurrying on we double-quicked much of the way. I understand that the dead are very thick on the battlefield near this place.

The weather cleared off yesterday, but it looks like rain again to-day. I never was more tired of rain. We all still have plenty to eat.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 98

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, June 1, 1864

Between Chickahominy and Pamunky Rivers, Va.,

June 1, 1864.

Your letters of the 24th and 26th ult. both reached me last night. The mails seem to be more regular now than for some time past.

There was not much fighting yesterday. It was only skirmishing. A few men were wounded in our brigade, only one of them being in my regiment. About an hour ago I heard heavy musketry on the extreme right of our lines, but it was far to the right of our division. We have every confidence that we shall be able to hold Richmond this summer. General Lee has an enormous army here now, and we all hope that Grant will attack us as soon as possible.

Jack Teague wrote me that Jim Spearman had been conscripted and assigned to light duty. Jack is very anxious for me to return to South Carolina as soon as possible, but it is no use to hand in a resignation at such busy times as these. I may send it in, though, whenever we get quiet again, so that it will be attended to. The longer I delay it the more apt it is to be accepted.

I was glad to know that you have the wool for my suit. I was proud of my old brown suit of last winter, but when I get a Confederate gray I shall be proud of it, sure enough. I have not drawn any money since last January, but as soon as I do I will replenish your purse. I should like so much to see your catskin shoes.

The weather is becoming quite warm. The dust is very bad and we are needing rain again. I have not seen your brother for several days, but suppose he is well. I have nothing more of importance to write at present, but will write you again to-morrow.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 99-100

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

Near Bunker Hill, Jefferson County, Va.,        

July 17, 1863.

You will see by this letter that we have gotten back into “Old Virginia" again. It seems that our invasion of the North did not prove successful. We fought a dreadful battle at Gettysburg, Pa. It was the greatest battle of the war. We drove the Yankees three miles from the battlefield to a long range of high hills, from which it was impossible to dislodge them. General Lee had to fall back to keep them from getting the advantage. My brother was not hurt in the battle. Milton Bossard, Captain Cromer, Buford Wallace, Mr. Daniel's two sons and many others from Newberry were killed; but it is better for us all to be killed than conquered.

We have had some very disagreeable marching, as it has rained so much, but I have gotten hold of an old horse, which helps me along very much.

We have plenty of beef and bread to eat. We gathered up thousands of beeves in Pennsylvania-enough to feed our army until cold weather. This is a great consideration.

My servant got lost in Maryland. I do not think it was his intention to leave, but he was negligent about keeping up and got in rear of the army and found it too late to cross the river.

One of your letters came to me in Pennsylvania, and three since we left there.

We hear that Vicksburg has fallen. That is unfortunate, but I do not feel at all discouraged. Countries have been overrun, and then not conquered.

When we get settled down in camp again I will try to write you a longer and better arranged letter. We don't know what minute we may move, and under such circumstances I never can write with any satisfaction. I have George's picture yet. It is a wonder I did not lose it.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 59-60

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, October 8, 1862

Berkeley County, Va.,        

October 8, 1862.

When I left Charlestown yesterday morning the weather was delightful and I felt so buoyant and fresh that it caused me to walk too fast, and to-day I am very sore and stiff. I found four letters from you, and they were a treat, for I had had no intelligence from you since July. I never get homesick in camp when I hear that you and George are well.

Our army has been here for three weeks. We are fourteen miles from Charlestown and ten miles northeast of Winchester. There is smallpox in Winchester, and General Lee has ordered the entire army vaccinated.

The weather is dry and pleasant and the men are in better health than I have ever seen them. This rich valley is full of provisions and the army is well fed. It is said that vast quantities of provisions of every kind are being sent from this valley into the interior to prevent the Yankees from getting them, and that when we have eaten out everything in this region we shall retire toward the interior. We have at present no prospect whatever of a fight. If our victory at Sharpsburg had been complete, doubtless we should now be in Pennsylvania.

Dr. Chapman got sick at Richmond, and we have heard nothing from him since. He had become so disagreeable that we had enough of him.

I have tried to be very faithful to my duty since I have been in the army, and I get along finely with the other doctors.

I will close this letter, so good-by, my dear wife and little boy.

SOURCE: Dr. Spenser G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 33-5

William T. Sherman to Ellen Ewing Sherman, January 27, 1861

SEMINARY, January 27, 1861.

. . . Since my last I have three letters from you. . . The mails have been much disordered by a break on the Mississippi Railroad. In my last I sent you a copy of a letter written to Governor Moore, to which I have received no answer.¹ He is very busy indeed, legislature and convention both in session at Baton Rouge, giving him hardly time to think of the Seminary. . .

The ordinance of Secession will pass in a day or so², but the legislature was adjourned till February 4, so that no business can be transacted there for some days. It don't take long to pull down, and everybody is striving for the honor of pouring out the deepest insult to Uncle Sam. The very men who last 4th of July were most patriotic and exhausted their imaginations for pictures of the glories of our Union, are now full of joy and happiness that this accursed Union is wrecked and destroyed.

This rapid popular change almost makes me monarchist, and raises the question whether the self interest of one man is not a safer criterion than the wild opinions of ignorant men. From all I can read Missouri and Kentucky will go with the crowd South and will be more seriously affected than any other part of the country.

As soon as I hear from Governor Moore I will let you know when to expect me. I know that he, the governor, will feel inclined to get rid of me instanter, but Dr. Smith wants me to stay for a successor, and he has no successor in his mind. If he proposes I shall stay till March, I will feel disposed to agree to it for pecuniary reasons, but I think the governor will feel hurt at my letter, and will be disposed to get rid of me. At all events, my position being clearly defined I cannot be complicated by these secession movements. I do feel a little mean at being made partially accessory to the robbing of the Baton Rouge Arsenal by receiving a part of the stolen property. . .

_______________

¹ See pages 341-343, 350-351. – ED.

² It was passed on January 26, 1861. – Ed.

SOURCE: Walter L. Fleming, General W.T. Sherman as College President, p. 351-3

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: August 5, 1863

This morning we are thirty miles from Corinth. We pass Purdy about noon, halt and feed close by, after which we move on and arrive in camp at seven P. M. All seem glad to get back to Corinth. This morning we interest ourselves in reading the letters that have accumulated during our absence. These do the soldiers good, and in consequence they are cheerful to-night.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 188

Diary of Brigadier-General Rutherford B. Hayes: Wednesday, March 8, 1865

Busy replying to letters from divers[e] office-seekers. They come by the dozens.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 565

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: July 16, 1864

Bright and cool—the canopy assuming a brassy aspect from the drought.

Alack! all the rejoicings are checked, and the public seems to have been hoaxed by the officer who reported that a Washington paper of the 13th inst. contained an account of the surrender of Baltimore to the Confederate States forces. The paper of that date, it appears, contains nothing of the kind, or else the account has been suppressed, to subserve some military purpose. But our people bear the disappointment well, not doubting but success will ultimately come.

There is a rumor that we sank two of the enemy's transports today in James River.

An immense mass of letters, etc.—175 bags—has just come in; the first mail matter that has arrived from beyond the breaks in the Danville Railroad, perpetrated by Wilson's raiders.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 249-50