Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, January 1, 1862

A great day of sport to usher in the new year. Amongst other amusements in our army, Hancock's Brigade "got up a time on its own hook." At twelve o'clock I went into the parade ground, and found about 10,000 people, soldiers and civilians, collected to witness the sport. Hancock's Brigade is composed of the 5th Wisconsin, 6th Maine, 43d New York, and 49th Pennsylvania Volunteers. The sport commenced by a foot race of one thousand yards, purse $20 for the first out, $10 for second. About twenty started. The 5th Wisconsin took both prizes. Then jumping three jumps, prize $15, won by a member of the 5th Wisconsin. Next, climbing a greased pole, first prize won by a member of 6th Maine. Second, by 5th Wisconsin. Next, a greased pig (a two hundred-pounder) with a face as long as the moral law, or as a "speech in Congress, shorn of his hair, the knot which had been tied in his tail to prevent his crawling through fence cracks, was untied, and his whole skin thoroughly "greased" with soft soap, was turned loose, with the announcement, "get what you can, and hold what you get." The holder was to have the pig and ten dollars. For this prize, there were about four thousand competitors. The word was given, and the "Grand Army of the Potomac" was at last on the move. This chase commenced a little before sun-set. Pig had one hundred yards the start. One fellow far outran all the rest, and as he drew close on to his game, piggy suddenly turned on him with a "booh," and the fellow ran t'other way as if he had seen a rebel. The whole crowd came rushing on piggy, expecting him to run; but piggy stood his ground and said "booh!" "The front line" suddenly brought a halt. But the rear, not prepared for so sudden a check, pressed forward, and the whole came down in a heap. A scream of "murder." Piggy answered "booh." At every "booh" a "line was swept away." The pile of humanity became impassable. Those in the rear, filed to right and left, and by a "flank movement" took piggy in the rear. And now came a hand to hand encounter. As the last streak of the expiring day shed its light upon the excited combatants, it revealed a living mass of four thousand people—and a pig; the pig crowning the heap at the moment when the ray withdrew its light. Night was then made hideous by the screams of murder and replies of "booh." Neither party could distinguish friend from foe; and as I retire for rest, the combat still rages. I do not permit myself to doubt, however, that the morning will bring us the news of "another great victory by the grand army of the Potomac."*

At twelve o'clock last night, just as the old year was being crowded out of existence to make room for the new, I was awoke by a gentle thumbing of a guitar. 'Twas right at the door of my tent. In a moment commenced at the other end of the tent, the soft, sweet notes of a violin; then, from all sides came up, low, soft, sweet sounds, as ever a band of small instruments poured forth. The music stopped for awhile, and a voice asked, "Shall we now strike up with the band?" "No! no! No drum, nor fife, nor horn; — they will disturb the sick, and he will not like that!!" Could a more delicate compliment than was conveyed in this remark have been devised by a soldiery whose business is pomp and noisy war? "He won't like it—it will disturb his patients." I appreciated this. It struck a cord which vibrated in unison with my pride, my vanity, my ambition. I of course acknowledged it; and so deeply felt the compliment that I record it, as worthy of my remembrance. "The hospital boys" got up a handsome supper to-night, at which the Surgeons were guests. It was a very pretty supper, and to me a pleasant affair.

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* Notice that in this athletic contest for prizes, three Eastern and one Northwestern Regiment engaged; all the prizes save one (climbing the pole, which was taken by a Maine sailor) were carried off by the one Western Regiment.

 

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, pp. 70-2

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, April 28, 1863

All quiet in camp to-day, only some little foraging for ducks, chickens, pigs, &c., so that the sons of Uncle Sam's family enjoyed themselves well on this day.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 29-30

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Thursday, October 3, 1861

Left the picket line again, returned to Camp Jackson, started for Darnestown by six o'clock, and arrived there by eight o'clock P. M. Thus ended our stay at Seneca Mills, the most pleasant period of our three years service. Vegetables and fruit, chickens and pigs, were plenty, for we owned the whole plantation of that old rebel Peters, who was sent to Fort Lafayette for treason. The Thirty-fourth New York, having the picket line on the river, always proved good companions. The view of the surrounding country is really imposing, including Sugar Loaf Mountain, the natural observatory of the signal corps. Some remarkable items must not be forgotten—for instance, novel songs of "The Nice Legs;" "Jimmy Nutt's Measuring the Guard Time by the Moon;" "Griffin's Apple Sauce," and "Doughnuts for Horses."

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 22

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, November 30, 1862

Sunday morning the regiment was ordered out on grand guard. Went up on hill some two miles from camp—heavy firing heard in the distance—McArthur's division in the advance and the rebels are falling back before him. As I sat on a log this morning about church time I thought of many dear friends wending their way to church and how the church bells were ringing at home, speaking of nothing but peace, while, in dear old St. James, many are listening to the glorious anthems and the litany of the church. I wondered to myself if any there give their thoughts to the absent ones who loved their country better than all the pleasure and comforts of home and are willing to die for it. How different here; everything speaks of war and desolation—foraging wagon trains constantly coming in, bringing cattle, pigs, chickens, turkeys, everything they can lay their hands on. On the other side of the creek are regiments marching forward, their colors flying, bands playing, men chewing, while in the distance is the sound of McArthur's guns or rebel ones returning their fire. I would not be in Chicago if I could.

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

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: August 1, 1864

I RECEIVE AN APPOINTMENT.

The ward next me on the left is a colored one, and contains from 60 to 80 men, according to recruits and drafts. Until recently they have been pretty much on their own hook, no one seeming to care for them. Some days ago Doctor Sadler asked me if I would take charge of them. I said I should like to do anything where I could be of any use.

He gave me my instructions and some blank reports, and set me up in business. My duties are to attend roll-calls, surgeon's calls, keep an account of arrivals, discharges, desertions, deaths, march them up to the kitchen three times a day for rations and make my report to him every morning. Entering on the discharge of my duties the first thing I did was to set them to work cleaning and fixing up their quarters, so they would be more comfortable.

A couple of hours' work showed a great improvement in the condition of things, and while it was being done it gave me a chance to find out who among them were the worst off and needed the most care and favors. A sick nigger is a curious institution and you can't tell so well about him as you can about a sick mule. He can put on the sickest look of anything I ever saw and appear as though he would die in seven minutes, but a nigger is never really sick but once, and is then sure to die. There is no more help for one than there is for a sick pig. I have three that are sick and I have no more faith in their getting well than I have that Gen. Lee will drive Gen. Grant from before Petersburg. Two of them are now unable to attend the surgeon's call in the morning and the other I expect will be in a few days. I have about 10 hobbling around with canes, spavined, ring-boned and foundered. The others are simply a little war-worn and tired.

The kitchen is about 30 rods from the camp, and when I march them up there there are so many lame ones they straggle the whole distance. Doctor Sadler called my attention to this and said he should like to see them march in little better order. I replied: “Surgeon, come out in the morning and see the parade; you will see them marching a 28 inch step and closed up to 18 inches from stem to stern.” He promised he would. The next morning at breakfast call I formed every one of those darkies that carried canes on the right, and the very lamest I put at the head of the column, and gave them a send-off. It was a comical show, they marched at the rate of about one mile an hour, and those in the rear kept calling out to those in advance : “Why don ye goo long dar! Hurry up dar; shan' get breakfas' fo' noon.” They kept closed up a good deal better than they kept the step as the rear crowded the advance to push them along. We were cheered along the route as almost everybody was out to see the fun. We marched in review before the doctor, and by the way he laughed and shook himself I thought he was well satisfied with the parade, at any rate he complimented me on my success when I carried in my morning report.

One day one of my fellows came to me for a pass to go fishing. He said he could catch as many bull-heads as would do us two for three days. I gave him a pass, but didn't see anything of him again for four days. When I asked him where he had been so long, he looked pretty sober for a minute or two, and then rolling around the whites of his eyes and showing his teeth, said: "Yah, yah, yah! ize no idee ize don gon so long; yah, yah, yah."

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 142-3