Private John C. West to Mary Stark West, May 25, 1863

CAMP ON THE RAPIDAN,        

MAY 25TH, 1863.

MY PRECIOUS WIFE:

I have written to you by every opportunity I have had since I left home, and have sent letters by mail and by individuals. I wrote to you yesterday by mail and to-day I am writing again because Mr. Robertson, of Texas, in our company, is going home on sixty days furlough and will take the letter to Waco. My letters are in substance pretty much the same because I felt so uncertain about your getting them that I repeated things which I was anxious for you to know; so you must not think that I am especially "exercised" on a particular subject of any character because it is mentioned in successive letters. We are camped in a beautiful grove of large chestnut trees on a hillside, about a mile from Raccoon Ford. We have no tents and the ground is hard and a little rocky. My fine blanket and shawl were stolen between Branchville and Columbia.

I have left my overcoat with Miss Mary E. Fisher, Franklin Street, between Sixth and Seventh, at Richmond, and all of my other effects, except a change of clothing, at Columbia; and since I have come to camp and gotten a haversack (there are no knapsacks) I have taken out one suit of underwear and put all my remaining effects in my carpetsack to be sent to Richmond; so you see my load is quite light. You need never trouble yourself to send me anything but letters and cheerful hopes. We cannot fight and carry baggage, and my supply will last for three years with what mother can send me. It is no use to have clothes which must be thrown away on every march. We are now about to change our camp and have four days rations cooked, but do not know what we are to do or where to go.

I saw Tom Lipscomb yesterday. He is a major in Hampton's Brigade. He told me that Lamar Stark was taken prisoner in the same fight in which Gillespie Thornwell was killed. Some of them have been exchanged and Lamar will soon be. He is being well treated. This is reported by some of the exchanged prisoners. All of the Waco boys are well except Allen Killingsworth. He has been very dangerously sick with flux and high fever. He is not altogether out of danger but a great deal better. We are trying to find a private house for him as we are to leave here to-day. I have said something in previous letters about your coming to Columbia, and have stated my plans so fully in two letters, one by mail and the other by hand, that I will only say here that if it is as easy for you to get through as when I left you may try it if you choose, but leave all the servants at home. You must get a good escort to Jackson, Mississippi.

I opened my Bible on the first day I arrived at camp, and the first place my eyes fell upon was the 104th Psalm. Cannot a God of such power preserve me and you, or take care of you without me. Be cheerful and do not borrow trouble on my account. I forgot to say that we have plenty of bread and meat and the finest water I ever saw. To-day is a chilly, damp day, and it is raining a little. We will sleep wet to-night as there is no way to keep blankets dry. Aunt Mary Stark gave me a blanket in Columbia. Kiss the little darlings for me, and be assured that whatever befalls or awaits me is all right. God does it and He does all things well.

Your husband, faithfully ever,

JOHN C. WEST.

P. S.—John Darby, my old classmate, is our division surgeon, and gives general satisfaction to every one. He is very much in love with Miss M—— P——.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 63-5

Private John C. West to Mary Stark West, June 8, 1863

CAMP NEAR CULPEPPER,        

JUNE 8TH, 1863.

MY PRECIOUS WIFE:

I have determined to write you another letter, although I cannot do so with the satisfaction it usually affords me, for I feel so uncertain whether you will ever read what I write.

In this I shall attempt a hurried sketch of the past ten days, unless I am interrupted by an order to leave before I get through. Already, since I have commenced this, we have received notice to be ready to march at the sound of the bugle, which may mean in ten minutes, or ten hours, so you see under what difficulties I write to my sweetheart. On yesterday week we left our camp on the Rapidan, from which I last wrote you, and took a hot and dusty march of sixteen miles towards Fredericksburg, and on the next morning were ordered to retrace our steps and took the same wearisome march and camped near our old ground, where we remained until Thursday morning at daylight, and then proceeded to this place, making another hot and toilsome march of sixteen miles. We remained here until Saturday at 12 o'clock m., when we started and marched towards the Rappahannock until 10 o'clock at night. This was a severe march. It rained for two hours in the afternoon and I was completely soaked. It kept drizzling on until daylight. About 10 o'clock at night we were ordered to halt and camp, "without fires," as the Yanks were not far off. It was a novel sight to me to see or rather to hear 20,000 or 30,000 men rushing into the woods on the side of the road to (here comes orders to march at 12 o'clock) secure a place to lie down. We all laid down on "the cold ground" like tired hounds after a chase.

Jim Manahan, Tom Selman and myself laid down together. I was very wet, but very weary. I spent a few minutes listening to the hum of 10,000 tongues cursing the Yankees, talking of home and thinking of how pleasant it would be to take a bath and a toddy, and how sad my wife would feel if she knew all that I was undergoing. I was glad that she did not know it for I did not suffer when I called to mind that these hardships were for the good of my country and the cause of liberty. Amid all this I could not suppress a laugh to hear the expressions of some wayworn chap as a straggler would creep into the bushes and grope about for a place to spread his blanket. I could hear, "get off my hand," "now you are on my foot," "for heaven's sake," (or something worse), "keep your feet out of my face," "Oh, my back, you are right on top of me," "you weigh six hundred pounds," etc., etc.

In the course of an hour all was quiet save the riding back and forth of couriers, which I could hear all night as our "bed" was not more than a foot from the ruts in the road. I could put my hand out in the mud three or four inches deep, but I slept pretty well, and waked at daylight well and heard the order to retrace our steps to our camp near Culpepper. We formed and started back. It was my turn to stand guard, so I was put as part of the rear guard for our regiment, and marched back to this place, which we reached about 2 o'clock yesterday afternoon. I remained on guard until 8 o'clock this morning. I got by the fire a while last night and looked at your daguerreotype by the light of it, and felt happy in the thought of once more meeting you and talking over the dangers which I am now passing through. I feel sure that we shall meet the Yanks in the course of three weeks, but cannot tell when.

All of our movements are inexplicable to me. We never know anything. Even a colonel cannot tell until he starts from camp in which direction he is going, whether North or South. This secrecy is the secret of the success of this army. I forgot to say above, that, as a matter of amusement, and to keep us from getting stiff, we were marched on last Friday six miles off to witness a review of Stuart's cavalry; it was a grand display; 10,000 or 12,000 mounted men is more than I expected to see at one sight. I saw Wat Taylor, but Lamar Stark was off on duty across the river. We returned to camp at night, making twelve miles "for fun" and left the next day at 1 o'clock, as I stated above, so you will see that we have been on the wing for nearly ten days. This marching and countermarching is what they call "Demonstrations," and if they accomplish the objects for which I left my friends I am perfectly satisfied. The marching is no great trouble to me, but twenty or thirty pounds of baggage gets heavy before night, especially in wet weather, on a slippery hillside—when one is so much fatigued that to sneeze or blow his nose jostles him from one side of the road to the other. I saw a great many poor fellows barefooted in the marches of which I have written, but we got some shoes this morning, and I hope we will get on better. Don't forget Stark's lessons and Mary's letters. Kiss them for me and tell the servants howdy. I must stop now and get ready to leave. I hope to hear from you some of these days. I have not received a line yet.

Your husband, faithfully ever,

JOHN C. WEST.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 69-73

Private John C. West to Miss Decca Stark, June 23, 1863

CAMP NEAR MILLWOOD, TWENTY MILES                

WEST OF HARPER'S FERRY        ,

JUNE 23RD, 1863.

To Miss Decca Stark, Columbia, South Carolina:

DEAR DECCA: Yours of the 6th inst., with one from Miss Nannie Norton of the same date reached me about eight days ago, and I have not had a moment since to answer you, and even now cannot tell whether I shall be interrupted before I am half done this. I am writing on my knee, with everything packed ready to move at the sound of the bugle. I wrote you last on the 6th of June from near Culpepper Court House. On that day we took a hard march of eighteen miles through the rain, and on very muddy roads. We halted about 10 o'clock at night. I was wet and very tired.

There was an order against making fires, as we were near the enemy, being on the same ground on which Stuart fought them a few days afterwards. Of course I slept; a soldier, if he knows his own interest, will sleep whenever opportunity offers, but there were 10,000 or 12,000 men huddled on the side of the road in a promiscuous mass, just as you have seen cattle about a barn lot; no one knowing how much mud or filth he reposed in until the generous light of day revealed it. It rained a good deal during the night and kept me thoroughly soaked. The next morning we were ordered back to the camp near Culpepper, and marched over the same road by 1 o'clock and remained there until the 9th, when early in the morning about 5 o'clock we heard heavy firing of artillery. This was the opening of Stuart's cavalry fight. We formed and marched to Lookout Mountain, about three miles from Stephenburg, and lay in line of battle upon it until the fortune of the day was decided and then returned to camp.

Colonel Frank Hampton was killed in or near Stephenburg by a pistol shot. He was in a hand to hand encounter, it is said. On the 13th we received orders to be ready to march or fight, but it turned out to be only a march of five miles, which we accomplished in an hour and reached Cedar Run, the scene of one of Stonewall Jackson's battles last August. There were a great many unburied skeletons, presenting a very ghastly appearance. There were forty-nine skulls in one little ditch; the bodies were torn to pieces and scattered about, having been taken from their shallow graves by hogs or other animals. A hand or a foot might be seen protruding from the earth, here and there, to mark the last resting place of the patriotic victims of this horrible war.

We left this camp on the 15th and marched through Culpepper towards Winchester. This was one of the hottest days and one of the hottest marches I have yet experienced. Over 500 men fell out by the road side from fatigue and exhaustion, and several died where they fell; this was occasioned by being overheated and drinking cold water in immoderate quantities, and the enforcement of the order requiring us to wade through creeks and rivers up to our waists without the privilege of even taking off our shoes. I felt quite sick and giddy with a severe pain in my head as I was climbing the hill after wading the Rappahannock, but it passed off, and I kept with the company, though I saw two dead men during the time and several others fall.

Oh! how I would have enjoyed one of mother's mint juleps then as we rested in "the shade of the trees." I slept gloriously that night on a bed of clover and blue grass and thought of the little "pig that lived in clover and when he died he died all over." On the 16th we marched twenty miles without so much suffering, though the day was very warm, and many fell by the way, and like the seed in the parable, “on stony ground," for we were getting towards the mountains. Camped that night near Markham station in another field of clover, though not so comfortable, for I was very cold and slept little. On the 17th marched fourteen miles up hill and down dale through a beautiful, mountaineous region and camped in a splendid grove of oak and hickory about one mile from Upperville, and the neighborhood of some of the most beautiful family mansions I ever saw, All the country we have passed through is perfectly charming, and I cannot see why any Virginian ever leaves Virginia. All that I have seen so far fills my ideal of the "promised land." On the 18th we marched to the Shenandoah, ten miles, and waded it with positive orders not to take off any clothing. The water was deep and cold. I put my cartridge box on my head. The water came to my arm pits. We camped about a mile beyond the river. A tremendous rain drenched us before night, so we were reconciled to the wading. My blankets and everything that I had was soaked, except Mary's daguerreotype, which Colonel B. F. Carter took charge of for me. I slept in clothes and blankets soaked wet. On the 19th we marched down the river about ten miles over a very muddy road, and crossed several little streams about knee deep, and then re-crossed the Shenandoah and marched up through Sniggers Gap to the top of the mountain, and here about dark we experienced the hardest storm of wind and rain I ever saw. It seemed to me as if the cold and rain, like the two-edged sword of holy writ, penetrated to the very joints and marrow.

I laid down but did not sleep a wink until about an hour before day, and woke up cold and stiff. More than half the soldiers spent the night in a desperate effort to keep the fire burning, which was done with great difficulty.

I took off my clothes, one garment at a time, and dried them, and baked myself until I felt tolerably well; but truly a soldier knows not what a day may bring forth. Just as I was thoroughly dried, up came another cloud and soaked us again, and then came an order to fall into line "without arms." We were then marched about half a mile from camp and ordered to build a stone fence about half a mile long. This, several thousand men accomplished in about two hours; though it worked me pretty hard to carry and roll stones weighing from 50 to 200 pounds. After my morning's work I dined with Captain Bachman, who had an elegant dinner, consisting mainly of cow-pea soup. After dinner, while we were taking a sociable smoke and chat, an order came to get ready to leave immediately. I hurried to my company and we started back down the mountain, and it was only after getting into the valley, where the sun was shining, that we discovered that we had been encamped in a cloud on the mountain top, right in the heart of the rain factory, the summer resort of Æolus himself. The division again crossed the Shenandoah, but this time I mounted one of Captain Bachman's caissons and rode over, thus escaping the chill of the waters, though the rain had wet me thoroughly before. I would like for Mrs. Bachman to paint such a scene. It was one of the most splendid for a picture I ever witnessed, 25,000 or 30,000 men, with the wagons and artillery, and horses, all crowding into the stream; a perfect living mass, with towering mountains looking down upon us, and the old stone mill reminding one of the halcyon days of peace and a hundred other incidents which I have not the ability to describe correctly; all united to form one of the most picturesque and wonderful sights my eyes ever beheld.

We camped on this side of the river two nights and one day, and on yesterday morning marched for this place, where for the first time, since the reception of your letter, I have had an opportunity to answer it, for the captain carries my paper for me, and frequently, when we stop, the wagon which carries his baggage is not near to us. I have not written to Mary for ten days, and must ask of you the favor of writing to her for me and giving her the principal items of my journey, for I shall hardly ever get an opportunity of sending a letter by hand from here, and the mails are so uncertain that there is little satisfaction in writing. I am glad she does not know of the privations I am suffering, for it would give her more pain than I have felt in enduring them. I saw Captain Bachman again yesterday. He is well and in fine spirits. I have seen James Davis and all the Camden boys and old friends, and schoolmates in McLaws division. They each hold an office of some kind.

They are very lucky in having friends on good terms with the appointing power. I think I could get a place above the ranks, but I doubt my qualifications for a higher place. I can march and shoot, and I love my musket next to my wife and my country, and this constitutes my qualifications for military service. I have quite a severe cold, though I am better to-day than I was yesterday. Don't write this to Mary. I hope we will soon get through our demonstrations and come to the fighting part of the drama.

I have not heard from home yet, though it is more than two months since I left Texas, and there are several letters in the regiment of recent date. I understand there is a large mail for our brigade at the Texas depot, in Richmond, awaiting an opportunity to be sent to us. My love to all, and tell "Theo" to study hard and get his lessons well, for an educated man can make a better soldier, a better ditcher, or well digger, and a more perfect gentleman than an uneducated one.

Your brother, truly,

JOHN C. WEST.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 73-9

Private John C. West to Mary Stark West, June 9, 1863

CHAMBERSBURG, PA., JUNE 9TH, 1863.

MY PRECIOUS WIFE.

I had not intended to write until the 9th of July, or until a battle occurred, but the reception of your most welcome letter on yesterday, of date May 11th and 13th, together with the fact that I have a prospect of a day's rest, have made me conclude to try the experiment of sending a few lines from the enemy's country, 200 miles from Richmond. If I were certain this would reach you I could make it very interesting to you, for I have endured and passed through a great deal which no one can dream of, or picture, except those who have passed through the same trials.

Newspaper writers and correspondents cannot convey any idea of the hardships of a soldier's life when on a march. I wrote to your sister, Decca, from Millwood, twenty miles west of Harper's Ferry, and gave her quite a succinct account of my trials and marches for ten or twelve days previous, and since that time I have had a repetition of the same. I have told her to write to you every two or three weeks, and have written to Miss Nannie Norton, making the same request of her, so that if you do not hear from me, or one of them, you must take it for granted that the letters do not get through the lines, and not think that anything is wrong with me, for I will be preserved safe from all harm. Nothing but a special providence could have saved me in perfect health and strength thus far.

We have marched in heat until stalwart men, apparently much stronger than myself, have fallen dead by the roadside. We have crossed and recrossed streams, waist deep, with water cold and chilling. We have passed four or five nights and days without changing clothes, which were soaking wet during the entire time. Billy Dunklin, Billy Robinson and myself slept one night together on the very top of the Blue Ridge Mountains under a single blanket. It rained and blew furiously during the whole night, and we got up in the morning with our feet and hands shriveled just as you frequently see from remaining too long in the water. On several occasions we have waded streams just at sundown and slept in wet clothes, or sit up naked while our clothes were drying, with a prospect of being ordered to march between midnight and day. A soldier's motto is to sleep at all hazards whenever he has a chance, for it never comes amiss. We crossed the Potomac, at Williamsport, on the 26th of June, and have since marched through Greencastle and on to this place, passing through the most beautiful country I ever beheld, increasing in its charms ever since we left Culpepper. We are now between the Blue Ridge and the Alleghany; the entire landscape covered with the most magnificent farms, orchards and gardens, for miles along the road. The most neat and elegant residences and barns; positively more tastily built than two-thirds of the houses in Waco, and as fine as the dwelling houses anywhere. I have not seen a barn in the last three days that was not more substantially and carefully build and fitted out than any house I have ever seen in the country in Texas.

Wheat is the staple product in this portion of Pennsylvania, and the crops are splendid; just ready to cut. The apple trees are loaded and the cherries delicious. I enclose two varieties of cherry seed, and will endeavor to bring some if I ever get back. The people here have quite a chagrined and subdued look as we march through these towns and villages. A lady encouraged some little girls to sing the "Red, White and Blue” as we passed through Chambersburg. She remarked as I passed, "Thank God, you will never come back alive." I replied, "No, as we intend to go to Cincinnati by way of New York."

My impression is, that we will have a desperate battle in a few days, but I cannot tell, as a soldier who minds his own business knows less than an outsider. I would not have missed this campaign for $500.00. I believe that if successful it will do a great deal towards bringing about a peace or our recognition by foreign powers. All of our company are doing well. Allen Killingsworth is below Richmond on a furlough. Burwell Aycock is nursing his wounds at Chattanooga. Jim Manahan is quite sick to-day, and has not been well for several days. I think he had a sunstroke on one of those fearfully hot days. John Harrington has not been with the company for three months. He is at Richmond. The rest are all well, Selman, Mullins et al. I am rejoiced at your progress in Latin, and in your music, and think that if anything could make me love you more, or cause us to live more happily together, if possible, it will be the consciousness of having the most accomplished wife, as well as the most charming in other respects, in the whole country. I am glad the little boys are with you, and trust they will give you no trouble. It strengthens and encourages me to know that you are cultivating and improving yourself, instead of sitting down listlessly, dipping snuff "for company," or gossiping idly. Guard against the last especially. Tell Stark and Mary not to forget their lessons, or me, and that I will come back some of these days and hear them. You ought to have no difficulty about the war tax. If the tax collector is a man of sense he can give you all the assistance you require, except the money to pay the tax. As far as my salary is concerned, you will have nothing to do with that. You had better send Dr. Combs his money as soon as you can spare it. I have paid all the debts I contracted on the way here except $75 00 to Major Holman. I have $50.00 bounty and $30.00 pay due me in the course of a week, and as there may be a battle soon I will not draw it, but will leave it in the hands of somebody so that you can get it, as I do not wish a Yankee to make anything by rifling my pockets on the battlefield. I intended to finish this sheet but it has commenced to rain and I must bid you good bye and get under my blanket.

May God preserve you and our little darlings until we meet again-be it soon or late. Love to our friends. 

Your husband, faithfully ever,

JOHN C. WEST.

_______________

BLOG EDITOR’S NOTE: I question if the date of this letter (first handwritten, then transcribed and typed and finally published in a book) is at all correct. It is dated in the published book as June 9, 1863 in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, however Private West mentions crossing the Potomac River at Williamsburg, Maryland on June 26 and "have since marched through Greencastle," Pennsylvania. Which leads me to conclude that Private West either misdated the letter originally or there was a transcription error either in the typed manuscript or in the finished book. He also writes that he had not intended to write to his wife until “the 9th of July, or until a battle occurred” and furthermore he makes no mention of the Battle of Gettysburg which occurred between July 1 and July 3. In conclusion, I believe this letter to have been written a day or two after June 26 but before July 1.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 79-84

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones, Tuesday, December 2, 1862

Enroute. Advanced about five miles, starting at about 8 o'clock, marched south, leaving Waterford on our left. Halted some three hours on the road, it raining continually. We were passed by General Hamilton and staff, also General Grant and suite. Came into camp at 4 P. M. some three miles from the Tallahatchie in open field near large mansion used as Quinby's headquarters. Stretched our tarpaulin and slept sound.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, pp. 16-7

Diary of 5th Sergeant Lawrence Van Alstyne, January 17, 1863

On account of my cough, which is worse when I lie down, I have walked about evenings or sat and chatted with others about the camp fire until tired enough to sleep, and last night crawled in near midnight where my two bedfellows were asleep. Soon after I got into a drowse from which I was awakened by a coughing spell and saw Walt standing by the help of the tent pole and groaning in agony. Soon I heard him say "I'll end it all right now," and with that he pitched over towards his knapsack and by the noise I thought he was after his revolver. I jumped across Jim, who lay asleep in the middle, and snatched the gun out of his hand before he had it out of the case. Out in the company street I threw the three revolvers and then grabbed for a sheath knife which I knew was there, getting hold of the handle just as he grabbed the sheath. By this time Story was in the game and we both had our hands full getting him down and quiet. I went for Dr. Andrus, who after lighting a candle and looking in Walt's eyes, told us to take him over to the hospital. The struggle had put him in agony and it was pitiful to see how he suffered. We staid with him the rest of the night and by morning he was helpless. Every joint seemed as stiff as if no joint was there. For the next five days I did little but watch him and help in any way I could to make him more comfortable. Then he and others were taken to the general hospital in the city, where they will at least be warm. We have had a cold rain and the camp is a bed of mud. The wind sifts through the cracks in this old shed and although a stove was kept running, it was too cold for comfort. I have slept but little in the last five nights, but the doctor has kept dosing me and I feel better than when this time with Walter began. Letters from home have made the world seem brighter and the men in it better.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 82-3

Diary of Private John C. West, Monday, June 8, 1863

On the morning of the 6th, Saturday, we were ordered to be prepared to march at 12 o'clock. We started about 1 o'clock towards the Rappahanock. It rained in the afternoon, and I was soaked to the skin, and the road very muddy. We dragged along until 10 o'clock at night and were then ordered to camp without fires. We slept on the wet ground in a perfect heap; 10,000 or 12,000 men lying promiscuously on the side of a public road, like so many tired hounds, was a novel sight, or rather sound, to me. I slept soundly, except when waked up by the rain falling in my face. At daylight on Sunday morning we were ordered to form and were marched back over the same road to our camp near Culpepper, a distance of sixteen miles. We remained there until morning, when we moved to this place, about half a mile farther from Culpepper. This marching and countermarching is what the military authorities call making a demonstration. It is a tiresome and monotonous business, but if it accomplishes the purpose for which I left home I will be satisfied.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 58-9

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, January 19, 1863

Cold, rainy and windy. We lay here all day coaling up, and suffered with the cold. Most of the boys kept warm by drinking whisky. Nearly all have their canteens full. We have details patrolling the town, picking up the stragglers. Still rainy and disagreeable. At 1:30 the boats backed off and started down the river. We stopped a few minutes at the forts, two or three miles below the town. There are fifteen boats in the fleet, among the principal ones are the "Nettie Dean," "Silver Moon," "Minnehaha," "Platte Valley," "Superior," "Maria Denning," "Sunnyside," "St. Louis, "Gate City," "Mary Forsythe," "City of Madison," “Arago," and "Belle Reora." Our regiment lost about fifty men at Memphis, three from our company. At dark we tied up to the Arkansas shore. It was dreary and cold but I went on shore on purpose to put my foot on Arkansas soil. We set our pickets and stayed all night. Abe Van Aukin and I slept under Jim Mitchell's bunk, the same as the night before and slept fine.

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, pp. 29-30

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, January 24, 1863

Rained all day; slept in the boat last night.

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. 31

Diary of Private William S. White, July 1, 1862

We remained in position all night, and a more uncomfortable night I never spent; 'twas almost a matter of impossibility to sleep, but nature must at length claim its own, and so we slept at last as only broken down soldiers can.

This morning the enemy threw a few shell toward us, but we made no reply.

Longstreet's division has been relieved to-day by Magruder, and my company has been ordered back to the rear. As we moved back the terribly bloody and disastrous was commencing, but we did not participate in it. Here Lee's army received a check which enabled McClellan, who conducted his retreat in masterly style, to make good his escape.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 124

Diary of Private William S. White, July 2, 1862

We moved back a mile or so to the rear, and as we considered this a safe place our horses were "unhitched, unharnessed," etc., for the first time since the morning of the 26th, and we prepared ourselves for a good sleep—something we had not enjoyed for nearly a week. Towards morning it rained very hard for about three hours, but being so nearly broken down it did not even arouse me. It is a great wonder that this did not again cause a relapse, as I was still badly salivated. However, the excitement kept me up, and that being over I begin to feel the effects of my imprudence.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 124

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Benjamin F. Pearson, December 23, 1862

5 Oc morning I went out and brought in the picket guard and we loosed cable & started, we landed on Island No. 36 Arkansas & wooded Mississippi County, 45 miles above Memphis. 5 Oc we landed at Memphis and at 7 Oc we was called of the boat & formed in line marched into Court Square & formed in columns by companies ordered to load & lay down in line on our arms. it is a beautifull place with new trees & blue grass, so we all laid on the grass and had a good sleep. I wrote a letter in there by the gass light to my children. the people are much excited & are expecting an attact on the citty & are rejoicing at our arivel.

SOURCE: Edgar R. Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1925, p. 100

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Benjamin F. Pearson, December 27, 1862

10 Oc I was released I have been on duty for 24 hours without any sleep, there is strong expectation here of an attack & our officers are having the buildings near our embankment torn down & to hurry it on the Negroes set fire to two and burnt them down, there is perhaps from one to two hundred houses will be torn down and some verry costly ones. 9½ Oc night we recd an order to report our company at Head quarters in 15 minutes armed and equiped ready to go into action many of our men was asleep but before the time we ware on hand & Co H of our Reg & 2 companeys of the 120 Ill were put in line & marched by our Major Woodward to the south Sallyport of this Fort Pickering & there awaited an attack & as they did not come Genl Asboth & Major Woodward marched us about a mile outside & posted our comps in different plases to watch & open on them if they came & we divided our Co & Cap Fee took one and I the other platoon & we posted some rods apart, he & a part of his men got a sleep but I & my men did not sleep any I awoke him & some of his men twice, one of his men got down in front of us & we commenced firing on him

SOURCE: Edgar R. Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1925, p. 101

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Benjamin F. Pearson, Sunday, December 28, 1862

A light frost in the morning & our Co was in it all night guns in hand & no blankets with us & no rebels came to let us try our guns or grit and it was luckey for them. I am now sleepy, have slept none since thursday night it is at least 65 hours since I slept & I believe I could go 24 more. I took dinner with G N Udell of Centerville, Appanoose Co Iowa at his Boarding house in the citty of Memphis with the family of the Seargent of the 17 Reg Iowa Vol afternoon we rambled through the citty viewed A Jackson's monument in Center of Court Square & seen the work of traytor hands the defacing of his words that ware cut in his monument (The Federal union must be preserved)

SOURCE: Edgar R. Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1925, p. 101

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant John S. Morgan, Saturday, February 25, 1865

Slept well, rained all night. At 10. a. m. start through pass. aground at 11. Brown with 4 co of our Regt passes us here. Men runing short of rations & begin to complain at 2 P. M. Small steamer Mustang comes to our relief. transfer men and baggage. Ship floats fast an hour again right in the pass abreast of Ft Powell, when she gets off Mustang runs alongside and transfers back. 3 reb deserters from Mobile come to us on Mustang. about 5.30 Ship touches at Ft. Gaines. thence to 4 mile above Ft. Morgan, at 7. P. M. disembark, march through sand ¾ of mile to camp. on the beach of Gulf. sleep within 200 yds of Gulf. breakers Ligh & night clear. a Grand sight. 30 000 men here now.

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, Thirty-Third Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, Vol. XIII, No. 8, Third Series, Des Moines, April 1923, p. 575

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, February 19, 1863

Left camp on the 16th on a scout to hunt up Blythe's forces. Orders came upon us suddenly to prepare two days rations and go in light marching order. Men strapped a rubber and one common blanket across their shoulders and were soon ready, all glad of the change as camp life had become very monotonous. Our force consisted of some 500 cavalry, 800 infantry (our regiment and part of the 11th) and two pieces of artillery. It had been raining for some time and the roads were horrible. Marched about twenty-one miles the first day. The rebels had burned all the bridges and we had to cut down trees to cross over the streams. Rained the first day. About 6 o'clock in the evening we went into camp, without any tents. Sleep was almost impossible. Reached Blythe's camp on the morning of the 17th, but the bird had flown. Company A were thrown out as skirmishers and moving forward in that way came upon Blythe's camp. They had been forced to retreat so fast that they had left all their camp utensils and provisions covered up with leaves and hid under branches of trees cut down. We destroyed everything we could find and commenced our march homeward, Co. A as rear guard. We kept skirmishing with the Rebs who would come just near enough to get a shot at us. Raining hard all the time. Marching terrible through a swamp when it was so dark you could not distinguish the men in front, we waded through water for an hour; when we came to Horn Lake river it was so swollen and deep from the rain that we could not ford it and as all the bridges have been burned down we cut down two large trees which fell across the stream and by the light of a single lamp crossed on these. We went into camp about four miles from the river but sleep was impossible owing to the rain. I sat on a log most of the night and tumbled off once in the mud from being asleep. I was a tough looking picture. Next morning we reached camp and all glad to get back. It was on this march that an incident occurred which was very amusing. We had halted and stacked arms at noon near a farm house where the men went for chickens, geese, pigs and everything eatable they could get, when all at once a lot of the men came rushing out of the yard yelling what was thought to be "Rebs." Men rushed for their arms-officers mounted, when it was discovered instead of Rebs it was bees. A lot of men in search of provisions had come upon a number of bee-hives and in trying to get the honey upset the hives and the whole swarm of bees set upon them. They were routed and fled, the bees attacked the horses and men so vigorously that we had to move the regiment.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 8

Diary of Private John C. West, Wednesday, April 15, 1863

I went to the supper table last night too sick to eat anything; left the table and laid down on a lounge until the hotel keeper could show me a room; I retired early and slept well; got up this morning all right, but did not go to the breakfast table; took a lunch from my own haversack; walked out in town; went to the ten-pin alley and spent an hour rolling; had not played a game before for eight years, and enjoyed it very much; smoked a cigar, a notable scarcity in these times, and returned to the hotel, where I wrote a letter to Judge Devine, and one to my dear wife; may heaven's choicest blessings rest upon her and my sweet children; went to the dinner table and found the landlady apologizing for some defect and two young females discussing the merits of the Episcopal and Baptist faith; got through dinner somehow and walked down to the quartermaster's office; got the Vicksburg Whig; stretched myself out on the counter; read and took a nap; got up; went to the armory and would have enjoyed looking over the work very much but felt sick; it produces four Mississippi rifles per day at $30.00 a piece on contract with the state; I am now sitting at the foot of the hill below the armory.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, p. 16-7

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Sunday, September 7, 1862

Rienzi.  Arose to the sound of the bugle at 3 A. M. Prepared for a general inspection, but Captain, apprehending a move, did not call us out. Drew good bunks from the old camp of 2nd Missouri. After roll call at 9 P. M. I went to bed hoping to have a good night's rest, but I was doomed to disappointment, for ere two hours had elapsed, we were awakened by Corporal Dixon telling us to pack up all our clothing and be in readiness to march. We of course obeyed and waited for further orders, when about midnight, "Strike your tents" was given. This done, the mules began driving in, loading was commenced, the horses harnessed, and by one o'clock all was ready to march. That which could not be taken was piled up ready for the march, but the order did not come, so we were obliged to pick our place and lay down for a short and uneasy sleep.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 4

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Monday, September 8, 1862

Rienzi.  To-day was spent in anxious waiting. I stood guard for the first time while we were momentarily expecting orders to leave; slept in the open air.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 4

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Wednesday, September 10, 1862

Rienzi.  This was another day of idle waiting; most of the boys slept in tents last night, and it was supposed we would have to stay here. I went out foraging in the morning.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 4