Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: August 2, 1861

Jerrolaman went out this afternoon and picked nearly a peck of blackberries. Berries of various kinds are very abundant. The fox-grape is also found in great plenty, and as big as one's thumb.

The Indianians are great ramblers. Lieutenant Bell says they can be traced all over the country, for they not only eat all the berries, but nibble the thorns off the bushes.

General Reynolds told me, this evening, he thought it probable we would be attacked soon. Have been distributing ammunition, forty rounds to the man.

My black horse was missing this morning. Conway looked for him the greater part of the day, and finally found him in possession of an Indiana captain. It happened in this way: Captain Rupp, Thirteenth Indiana, told his men he would give forty dollars for a sesesh horse, and they took my horse out of the pasture, delivered it to him, and got the money. He rode the horse up the valley to Colonel Wagner's station, and when he returned bragged considerably over his good luck; but about dark Conway interviewed him on the subject, when a change came o'er the spirit of his dream. Colonel Sullivan tells me the officers now talk to Rupp about the fine points of his horse, ask to borrow him, and desire to know when he proposes to ride again.

A little group of soldiers are sitting around a camp-fire, not far away, entertaining each other with stories and otherwise. Just now one of them lifts up his voice, and in a melancholly strain sings:

Somebody —— “is weeping

For Gallant Andy Gay,

Who now in death lies sleeping

On the field of Monterey.”

While I write he strikes into another air, and these are the words as I catch them:

“Come back, come back, my purty fair maid!

Then thousand of my jinture on you I will bestow

If you’ll consent to marry me;

Oh, do not say me no.”

But the maid is indifferent to jintures, and replies indignantly:

“Oh, hold your tongue, captain, your words are all in vain;

I have a handsome sweetheart now across the main,

And if I do not find him I’ll mourn continuali.”

More of this interesting dialogue between the captain and the pretty fair maid I can not catch.

The sky is clear, but the night very dark. I do not contemplate my ride to the picket posts with any great degree of pleasure. A cowardly sentinel is more likely to shoot at you than a brave one. The fears of the former do not give him time to consider whether the person advancing is friend or foe.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 41-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, May 25, 1864

The air is purified by rain during the night. At first dawn we go to the stream for a bath. Knowing the difficulty to keep clear of lice and dirt, we take the first precaution. Found plenty of the same opinion. Breakfast from our scanty lump of bread and lump of bacon. Roll call at 8 o'clock whereat Rebel sergeants attend. The purpose is to see if all are present. In the event of any being absent, the detachment is deprived of rations for the day whether the missing man appears or not. The bread is of course unsifted meal, mixed without leaven or seasoning, baked in creased cards two feet square. The cry of "raiders" awoke us last night. We were told by old prisoners yesterday, about gangs of thieves composed of brutal men who steal everything that they can use or sell to Rebels; and in some cases they brutally beat and kill. These organizations have grown rapidly since arrival of new prisoners, and act in concert in their nefarious practice. They boldly take blankets from over men's heads, pieces of clothing, anything that can be carried away, standing over men with clubs threatening to kill if they move. They are led by desperate characters said to have been bounty jumpers. They bear the name of raiders. Going among men of our company I found they had not realized their danger; some had lost boots, knapsack with contents, blankets, provisions and other things. In some parts, we hear of pocket picking, assaults with clubs, steel knuckles and knives. This happens every night; in some places at day, especially after new arrivals.

The rumor circulated last night that there was a plot to break out of prison on an extensive plan, has some weight and is the topic of the day. Near the gate an address is posted signed by Henri Wirz, captain commanding prison, saying the plot is discovered; he is fully apprised; warns all to abandon the design; that if any unusual movement is made, the camp will be immediately swept with grape and cannister from the artilery; that all must know what the effect will be on a field so thickly covered with men. Evidently the strictest vigilance is kept over us day and night as shown by the movements of the military posts from the outside.

Inquiring in reference to the matter, I learned that a large number of western men had formed a plan to undermine a section of the stockade from which point the artillery and other arms were most available, and had tunneled along the wall underground, having approached it from a tunnel from the interior with a view, at a given signal, when the wall is sufficiently weakened, to rush upon it with as much force as could be concentrated, push it down and sieze the guns while the Rebels are sleeping. It was a daring plot, easily discovered and defeated.

Thompson and I go in search of "Paradise Lost" to quaff from the Parnassian springs of Milton. After a long search, for we became bewildered in the crowds, we found our friend who welcomed us. After exchanging addresses and a glance with the mind's eye over his field of philosophy, we bore away the prize. Could that great author, Milton, have thought of a title more appropriate to the place into which the work of his genius has fallen? Foe without, foe within, robbery, murder, sickness, starvation, death, rottenness, brutality and degradation everywhere! Fumes of corruption greet our nostrils; the air is impregnated with morbific effluvium. It seems impossible that fearful epidemic can be stayed. A few weeks hence but few may be left to tell the tale of misery. The sacred realm of nature and its virgin purity have been invaded by the crushing power of tyranny and ravished by the cruel hand of false ambition. Where but lately the songs of happy birds rang from lofty pines through heavenly air, today we hear the groans of men in unrestrained agony. On the foul atmosphere is wafted the expiring breath of men wasted and wasting in their prime. Daily they sink as if their feet were planted on a thinly crusted marsh,

and, as they sink, there is nothing to which their hands can cling; no power can reach that would save, while around hisses the foe who madly thrust us into this worse than den of lions.

W. H. Harriman, Zanesville, Ohio, 15th U. S. Infantry, our new acquaintance, is a finely organized man, possessing a calm, genial nature, of sterling intelligence. He has patience, faith, hope, and enjoys their blessed fruits. He has a fine sense of things, takes a comprehensive view of the crisis, how results one way or another, will affect the interests of mankind. The right is clear to him; he has faith it will triumph; regrets that any doubt. His knowledge of things common to schools and men of thought, proves him of a reflective mind; his candor, brotherly conduct, render him a noble companion.

We are camped in the midst of Ohio boys belonging to the 7th cavalry. Thirteen were taken, only seven alive. One has a malignant sore on his arm caused by vaccination. It has eaten to the bone, nearly around the arm; gangrene is spreading. He is very poor; soon must die. (Note—June 13th, he died. He had a wife and comfortable possesions in Ohio.)

A sergeant of the same company is afflicted with scurvy in the feet. They are terribly swollen, nearly black, give almost unendurable pain; still he is kind, cheerfully sings for our diversion in the inimitable tone the western country boys have in their songs, "The Battle of Mill Spring," "Putting on Airs," etc., accompanied by his brother whose limb is contracted from the same disease. (Note—He became helpless, was carried to the hospital in a hopeless condition in June.)

I speak of this as a few incidents among hundreds all over the camp, illustrative of patient suffering of as noble young men as grace family households, under circumstances that have no parallel in affliction.

At 8 o'clock this evening a sentinel fired. Going to the vicinity I learned a man who came in today, knowing nothing of the dead lines, lay down near it, was shot in the side and borne away by friends.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 60-2

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, November 27, 1862

Thanksgiving was a great day in the barracks and a fine day outside, except for those who are on guard. We will recollect them all day, having great pity, but unable to relieve them.

To-day has been talked about and worked up for a week. Turkeys and the fixings have been at a premium, but they say our dinner is safe. The day opened splendidly; just cold enough to induce the boys to play at foot and base ball; some of the officers taking hold and seemingly enjoying the sport.

We had dinner at one P.M. The table, extended nearly the length of the barracks, was covered with our rubber blankets, white side uppermost, looking quite home-like. Our plates and dippers were scoured till we could see our faces in them, and how we hated to rub them up! for, according to tradition, the blacker the dipper and the more dents it had, the longer and harder the service. But it had to be, and was done, and we had to acknowledge "How well it looks!" When we were seated, about a man to every ten was detailed as carver; and a few of us who had engineered to get near the platters were caught and had to cut up and serve. We tried in vain to save a nice little piece or two for ourselves; each time we did it some one would reach for it. At last we cut the birds into quarters and passed them indiscriminately. After the meats we had genuine plum-pudding, also nuts, raisins, &c. After the nuts and raisins were on a few made remarks, but the climax was capped by our Lieut. Cumston, who, after telling us not to eat and drink too much, said, "There is a man in camp from Boston, getting statistics; among others, wishes to find out how many of 'E' smoke." The lieutenant said it would be easier counting to ask the question, "How many did not smoke." Several jumped up proud to be counted; among them a few who did occasionally take a whiff. The joke was soon sprung on them, for when they were well on their feet, Lieut. Cumston remarked that he had a few cigars, not quite a box, and hoped they would go round, but those who did not smoke were not to take any. We had the cigars and the laugh on those who wished to figure in the statistics. It was a big dinner, and we did it justice, and gave the cooks credit for it.

In the evening Company D and ourselves gave a musical and literary entertainment. Our barrack was full, and the audience often applauded the amateurs. The programme was as follows:—

PART I.
Song	“Happy are we to-night boys”
Declamation	“England’s interference”	F. S. Wheeler (Co. D)
Song	“Oft in the Stilly Night”
Declamation	“The Dying Alchemist”	S. G. Rawson (Co. E)
Readings	“Selections”	J. W. Cartwright (Co. E)
Song	“Viva L’America”
Declamation	“Spartacus to the Gladiators”	J. Waterman (Co. D)
Declamation	“The Beauties of the Law”	H. T. Reed (Co. E)
“Contrabands Visit”		Myers and Bryant (Co. E)
Song	“Gideon’s Band”
INTERMISSION
	PART II.
Song	“Rock me to sleep, mother”
Declamation	“Garabaldi’s Entree to Naples”	G. H. Vanvorhis (Co. E)
Song	“There’s music in the air”
Imitation of Celebrated Actors		H. T. Reed (Co. E)
Declamation	“Rienza’s Address to the Romans”	N. R. Twitchell (Co. E)
Old Folks Concert		Father Kemp
Ending with “Home Sweet Home,” by the audience

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 21-2

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: July 4, 1861

The Fourth has passed off quietly in the little town of Buckhannon and in camp.

At ten o'clock the Third and Fourth Regiments were reviewed by General McClellan. The day was excessively warm, and the men, buttoned up in their dress-coats, were much wearied when the parade was over.

In the court-house this evening, the soldiers had what they call a "stag dance." Camp life to a young man who has nothing specially to tie him to home has many attractions—abundance of company, continual excitement, and all the fun and frolic that a thousand light-hearted boys can devise.

To-night, in one tent, a dozen or more are singing "Dixie" at the top of their voices. In another "The Star-Spangled Banner" is being executed so horribly that even a secessionist ought to pity the poor tune. Stories, cards, wrestling, boxing, racing, all these and a thousand other things enter into a day in camp. The roving, uncertain life of a soldier has a tendency to harden and demoralize most men. The restraints of home, family, and society are not felt. The fact that a few hours may put them in battle, where their lives will not be worth a fig, is forgotten. They think a hundred times less of the perils by which they may be surrounded than their friends do at home. They encourage and strengthen each other to such an extent that, when exposed to danger, imminent though it be, they do not seem to realize it.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 13-4

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 Malvina S. Waring, February 18, 1865

The people of Charlotte received us with unbounded kindness, and are treating us with royal hospitality. They met us in their carriages and, although utter strangers, conducted us, as honored guests, to their beautiful homes. How is that for Confederate Treasury girls? Bet has gone to General Young's, but the others of us have fallen to the lot of Mr. Davidson, and a very enviable lot it is for us, in a home so well ordered and abounding in plenty. I do not know how long we shall be here. Mr. Duncan, who has charge of our division, says until transportation can be secured. Tonight some troops were passing through the city, and I could hear in the far, faint distance, a band playing "Dixie" and "Old Folks at Home." It made me cry, the sound was so sweet, so mournful, so heart-breaking. How fare my old folks at home? Are there any old folks left at my home? Maybe not! Alas! we can hear nothing definite!

SOURCE: South Carolina State Committee United Daughters of the Confederacy, South Carolina Women in the Confederacy, Vol. 1, “A Confederate Girl's Diary,” p. 276

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 11, 1861

I was sick yesterday. Last night took an opiate. This morning, when I awoke, I turned over and looked upon a dirty tin cup, and a greasy tin plate, sitting on a chair beside my bed. It required quite a rubbing of the eyes to recall my faculties, so as to realize where, and what I was. But at last I awoke fairly to the contrast between what I looked on, and the little waiter with its spotless napkin, its cup of beautiful drab-colored coffee, and its nicely browned toast, presented to me by loving ones who had sometimes watched over my restless slumbers in sickness, and waited at early morn with these delicious antidotes to the prostrating effects of opiates. Had there have been "music in my soul" I should have sung, "Carry me back, oh! carry me back.” But I arose, went to work, and am better to-night. I think, however, that it will be some time before I hunger for another meal from a tin cup and tin plate.

Received to-day, from Miss M. H. C., a draft on New York for fifty dollars, to be used for the relief of the sick under my care. This is a bright spot in the darkness around me.

“How far that little candle throws its beams!”

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 12-13

Marcus Spring to John Brown, November 28, 1859

Eagleswood, Nov. 28, 1859.

To John Brown.

My Dear and Venerated Sir: Ever since my dear wife and son's visit of sympathy to you, and your excellent wife's short sojourn with us, I have felt a strong desire to write to you some words of cheering and strengthening sympathy. But I could say nothing, of this kind, that is not better said in the two hymns I here send you, which have been blessings to me, and many others, in times of trial.

With the most earnest wish and prayer that God may be with you to the last, and that in surrendering your life as an offering in behalf of the oppressed, you may also be enabled to feel, towards all who have misunderstood you, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do," and "incline the hearts of this people to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before God," as the only course of true safety, and solid national prosperity and peace,

I remain, sincerely your friend,

Marcus Spring.

_______________

 

 “COURAGE AND HOPE.”

Awake, our souls; away our fears;
    Let every trembling thought be gone;
Awake, and run the heavenly race,
    And put a cheerful courage on.

True 'tis a strait and thorny road,
    And mortal spirits tire and faint;
But they forget the mighty God,
    Who feeds the strength of every saint;

The mighty God, whose boundless powered
    Is ever new and ever young,
And firm endures, while countless years
    Their everlasting circles run.

From Thee, the overflowing spring,
    My soul shall drink a fresh supply;
While such as trust their native strength,
    Shall melt away and drop and die.

Swift as an eagle cuts the air,
    We’ll mount aloft to thine abode;
On wings of love our souls shall fly,
    Nor tire amidst the heavenly road.

                                                        WATTS.
                _______________


“NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE.”

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to thee!
E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me:
Still all my song shall be,
    “Nearer, my God, to Thee, — nearer to thee!”

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I’d be
    “Nearer, my God, to Thee, — nearer to thee!”

There let the way appear steps unto heaven;
All that thou sendest me in mercy given;
Angels to beckon me
    “Nearer, my God, to Thee, — nearer to thee!”

Then with my waking thoughts bright with thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I’ll Raise:

So by my WOES to be  
    “Nearer, my God, to Thee, — nearer to thee!”

Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon and stars forgot, upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be,
    “Nearer, my God, to Thee, — nearer to thee!”

                                                                S. F. ADAMS.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 410-1

Senator Daniel S. Dickinson to Lydia L. Dickinson, April 23, 1850

 PETERSBURG, VA., April 23, 1850.

MY DEAR L. L.—We left Richmond this morning, and reached here about noon. At Richmond, I saw "O'Connor's child," whom you saw last summer at Norwich, and who sent his respects to you. I have had so far the "uppermost rooms at feasts, and greetings in the markets." I cannot get a moment to write. There have been hundreds calling to be introduced, and I have been so busy shaking hands that I could do nothing else. Last evening, a fine moonlight evening, as I was returning from Senator Mason's (don't laugh now), some of the most touching and beautiful music greeted me that I ever heard. It was a negro singing "Lucy Neal," and accompanying it with his banjo. I stopped some time to listen to him, and was charmed with the plaintive melody. We leave for Wilmington this evening.

Affectionately your father,

D. S. DICKINSON.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, p. 429-30

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Thursday, May 14, 1863

This morning we take the train for Bethel, and in about one hour we arrive at this outpost and are conducted to the barracks lately vacated by the Forty-third Ohio. We find the Seventh Iowa stationed here, who very cordially welcome the Seventh Illinois as their “Brother Crampers.” The two Sevenths soon come to a mutual conclusion that they can run this part of the line and impart general satisfaction to all concerned. It is said that smiles are not wanting for the “vandals” in these parts. In the afternoon the regiment is paraded to receive Adjutant General Thomas, who is expected to arrive on the afternoon train. After his arrival and reception by the troops, he addresses us for a short time upon the issues growing out of the emancipation proclamation, and then proceeds on his way towards Corinth.

We remain at Bethel from the fourteenth of May until June 7th, 1863. The Seventh will long remember Bethel and Henderson, Tennessee. How they stood picket; how they patroled the railroad; how they drilled; how they run the lines and sallied forth into the country; how they mingled with the chivalry and partook of their hospitality; how they sat down and talked with the beautiful, and how they listened to their music, “Bonnie Blue Flag” and “Belmont;" how the citizens flocked to our lines; how the boys traded “Scotch snuff” to the gentle ones for chickens, butter and eggs. Yes, Bethel and Henderson will long live on memory's page.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 170-1

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Tuesday, April 21, 1863

Reinforcements still continue to come, and we still remain quiet. Why we do not move we cannot tell. Perhaps the General is waiting for all expected reinforcements to arrive. Captain Smith with Company E is sent on a foraging expedition to Dickenson's plantation, coming back in the evening well supplied. This evening the Seventh seem in a gleeful mood. Around every camp fire they are now singing “Bonnie blue flag,” — “Rally round the flag, boys,” making the mountain gorges re-echo with patriotic songs. No discord here; no discontent manifest-all seem united in the great work of saving the Union.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 149-50

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: February 11, 1864

The Expedition.

The morning of February 6th found us in line on the parade ground, New York and Massachusetts shoulder to shoulder. Capt. Phillips, wanting a brave and valiant veteran on the left of his company, assigned me to that post of honor. I reckon the reason for it was that two of his sergeants were on the sick list. While standing in line, waiting the order to march, a scene is transpiring which to us of the 25th is altogether new and strange. The ladies living here in camp are all out, and wetting their handkerchiefs with their tears, are watching the preparations to leave. They are struggling under a fearful burden of anxiety which will not be removed until our return. Groups of men and women are standing around, taking each other by the hand and kissing their good-byes. Our Brooklyn friends are visibly affected, while the 25th boys look on stoically. While men and women with streaming eyes are bidding perhaps their last farewells, these roughened, hardened sons of Mars look with unpitying eye on this affecting scene and laugh. I confess I should have taken a greater interest in the thing and my sympathies would have flowed more freely if I could have taken a hand in the kissing.

We marched into town where the brigade line was formed, consisting of the 139th and 118th New York, two regiments of colored troops and one U. S. battery, (the 2d I think). The mounted rifles were to follow later. This comprised the whole force under command of Brig. Gen. Wistar, whoever he is. The line of march was taken up the country on the road towards Richmond. Arriving at the woods, about a mile from town, the column was halted and a detail made to act as skirmishers. The 139th being on the advance furnished the detail. In this detail the 25th was largely represented, and was under command of Major Mulcay. The major marched his command a few rods into the woods, formed his skirmish line and ordered them forward, the column following. I now began to hear plenty of talk about bushwhackers and business for the boys ahead. Capt. Phillips fell back to the rear of his company, marching by my side. I thought this a good opportunity to scrape an acquaintance, and commenced talking to him, but he did not seem to be in a mood for conversation and said as little as possible. He commenced a low, suppressed whistle of a single strain of Rally 'Round the Flag. I tried all means I could think of to draw him out, but finding I could do nothing with him, I turned my attention to the major and his skirmishers. He was as busy with them and as particular as if they were out for skirmish drill, and kept talking to them all the time about preserving their distances and alignments.

After a time, the boys started up a rabbit, and half a dozen of them gave chase, shouting and yelling till they were out of sight in the woods, where they waited for the major to come up. The major lectured them a little about charging without orders and warning them of the great danger they were in from bushwhackers. All the thanks he got from those heartless fellows for all his care and solicitude was: “Oh! damn the bushwhackers!” and as soon as another rabbit or squirrel was started up, away they would go again. Capt. Phillips, who meanwhile had kept up his whistle, suppressed it long enough to say: “Your boys are taking great risks in running off into the woods in that way; some of them will get shot by bushwhackers.” I said I thought our boys had very little fear of bush whackers, and would sooner have the fun of chasing them than rabbits, besides I thought there was little danger from bush whackers, for when a force like this was marching through they preferred keeping at a safe distance.

A little after noon the cavalry overtook us, and we halted to let them go past us. I was surprised to see such a force; there was a whole brigade, numbering between 3000 and 4000, under command of Col. Spear, who had been sent down from the army of the Potomac, landing at Yorktown, and had now overtaken us. I could now begin to see through a glass darkly. This is the raid on Richmond, of which I had heard some hints before. The cavalry of course are the principal actors, and we are simply the supporting column.

The cavalry past us, we again started. The general hurried us up, wishing to keep as near the cavalry as possible, but the major's skirmish line rather retarded us. It was finally thought that with a large cavalry force in advance the skirmish line was not absolutely necessary, and it was withdrawn. The march was forced till past the middle of the afternoon, when it began to tell on the Brooklyn boys, some of them giving out. They were unaccustomed to such severe marching, and it took hold of them severely. We made a halt of an hour for rest and lunch, and before starting, Col. Roberts made a short address. He thought we were on the eve of a severe battle, and he hoped and believed his regiment would stand up and quit themselves like soldiers, and if successful in our undertaking we should deserve end receive the plaudits of the country. In such a battle, there must necessarily be some victims, but just who, we are of course ignorant, but each one is hoping it will not be him. I laughed, and one of the boys asked what pleased me. I said if the colonel did not look out he would have us all whipped before we sighted the enemy. We pushed along till into the evening; the boys were getting pretty well played out and would make frequent halts without any orders.

There was one of the general's aids who seemed to take a great interest in getting us along, and his interest from some cause or other (probably his canteen) seemed to increase with the evening. The boys would be groping their weary way through the darkness, when some one would give a whistle and they would all squat in the road. This aid would ride up in a great passion and order them up, telling them if they didn't get along faster he would put a regiment of colored troops on the advance. The response to that threat would be: “Bring on your niggers!” This officer had another provoking habit which he came well nigh paying dearly for. There were occasional mud holes in the road caused by the rains; some of them two or three rods across. The boys would flank these to keep their feet from getting wet and sore, but this officer attempted to drive them through, saying it took up the time tanking them. At one of these places he was going to drive them through anyway or it would be the death of some of them. I was quietly going around, and halted to see how he made it work with them. He was swearing at them, wheeling his horse right and left among them, and making himself about as disagreeable as he could. Just then I heard the ominous click of rifle locks, and heard some one ask him if he was aware those rifles were loaded. He seemed to catch on to the idea, and got himself out of that as quickly as possible, and was heard from no more during the march. Soldiers are human, with feelings and passions like other men; they can and do stand a great deal, but they cannot stand everything any more than a stone drag.

The night wore on, the boys were well nigh exhausted and made frequent halts. The colonel would sympathize with them, and encourage them by saying he hoped the day's march was nearly over, telling them to keep up courage and a few miles more the end would be reached. At one of these halts the major showed some impatience, and riding up to the colonel said:

“Colonel, I really do not understand the meaning of this?”

“What's the matter now, major?"

“Why, every few moments this entire regiment will simultaneously sit down?”

“Oh, well, major,” the colonel replied, “the boys are tired; they have come a long way and are pretty well played out; change places with some of them, major, and you will understand it better.”

That seemed to be satisfactory to the major and he rode off, but it cheered the boys up wonderfully and they made quite a distance before halting again.

It is curious how sometimes the most trifling act or expression will raise up the almost exhausted energies of men and inspire hope when almost on the verge of despair. As an instance of this, the boys while marching along had for some time preserved a dead silence; not a word had been spoken, and all seemed to be absorbed in their own reflections, when suddenly I stumbled over a stump. Gathering myself up I exclaimed: “There, I know just where that stump is!" The effect was like magic; all within the sound of my voice broke out in a loud and hearty laugh, and for a time forgot their fatigue and trudged lightly along.

We reached the end of our day's tramp at New Kent sometime after midnight, having made a march of thirty miles. Many of the boys were so exhausted that they threw themselves down on the ground and were soon fast asleep. I prepared some coffee, and while it was boiling, washed myself up, and after drinking my coffee, rolled up in my blanket and was soon asleep.

We slept about three hours when we were routed up, and a little after daylight were again on the march. The boys were pretty stiff and sore, but a mile or two took the kinks out of their legs and limbered them up so they were about as good as new. Nothing transpired worthy of note luring the forenoon's march, unless it was that Capt. Phillips kept up his suppressed whistle of that same strain of Rally 'Round the Flag. I tried to rally him and get him to talking, but it was of no use; he was entirely absorbed in his own reflections, ruminating, as I thought, over the probable chances of leaving a widow and orphan children as a legacy to his country.

Before noon we reached what is called the Baltimore cross roads, about two miles from Bottom bridge which crosses the Chickahominy river. Here we met the cavalry coming back, and Col. Spear reported to Gen. Wistar that on reaching the river he found all the bridges up and a considerable force of the enemy, with infantry and artillery guarding the river. With our small force and only one battery he thought it would be useless to attempt to force the passage of the river. On learning this I felt relieved, for if we couldn't cross the river to them, they certainly couldn't cross it to us, and in all probability they had no desire to do so.

Presently an alarm was raised that the enemy was coming up the White House road. The 139th was ordered down the road to meet them. We went about a quarter of a mile and formed a line of battle. A few cavalry went down the road a couple of miles and when they returned reported no enemy in sight or hearing, a circumstance I did not regret. We then went back and were dismissed for dinner.

This Baltimore is the junction of several roads; the one we came up from New Kent extends on to Richmond, one runs south to Charles City, one northeast to White House, and another runs north over into Northumberland, where once lived a little boy who owned a little hatchet and couldn't tell a lie. It was fortunate for him and the country that he lived at that time for if he had lived in these times the chances are more than a thousand to one that he couldn't have told the truth. There are some half a dozen farm houses scattered round in sight, and also the convenient blacksmith shop is located here.

In the little square formed by the intersection of the roads stands an interesting old building—the church in which Gen. Washington was married. It is a long, low, rather narrow building, without belfrey or ornament of any kind outside or in. It is without paint or even whitewash, and shows the rough marks of age and neglect. It is divested of its seats, having been used for an army hospital. I entered this historic old church and found it half full of the boys cutting their monograms in the ceiling; I uncovered my head in profound reverence for the place and the distinguished parties who were here joined in the holy bonds of wedlock. Here George and Martha mutually pledged themselves each to the other, to share together their joys and sorrows along the pathway of life until death should bring a separation, and well they kept their vows, for I have never learned that either of them ever applied for a divorce, although it is said Martha in prosperous gales was something of a shrew. For this little bit of history I am indebted to one of my Brooklyn friends who had made a previous visit here.

After waiting here a couple of hours the column re-formed and marched back over the road we came nearly to the woods, where we halted to let the cavalry go past us. After passing us they halted to feed their horses and themselves, and while waiting for them an alarm was raised that the enemy were coming through the woods on our flank. Down came the fences and a regiment of darkies filed into the field, and deployed as skirmish

Every few moments they would look back to see where their support was, while their teeth and the whites of their eyes resembled bunches of tallow candles hanging in a dark cellar-way. The alarm of course was a false one, but the colored troops fought nobly.

We arrived back at New Kent about night, and bivouacked on a large field near the village. New Kent is the county seat, and is not much unlike other country places they call towns in Virginia. It contains a court house, jail, church, two or three stores, tavern, a small collection of houses and the inevitable blacksmith shop. There is no such thing in Virginia as a schoolhouse; they have no use for such things. All they want is law and gospel, and I have not been able to find out that these give them a great degree of culture and refinement. More than 200 years ago the colonial Gov. Berkley said: “I thank God there are no public schools in Virginia, and I hope there will be none for the next hundred years.” His hopes have been doubly realized, which probably accounts for the present state of affairs in Virginia.

Getting into camp we built fires, made coffee and began to make ourselves comfortable. Some time in the evening the major happened along where a few of us were standing around a fire of burning rails. He began to upbraid us for burning the rails, telling us if we wanted fires we must go into the woods and get our fuel. I said to the major I thought it was all right to burn the rails; as we were sort of guests on the gentleman's place, I presumed he would be entirely willing and glad to contribute a few rails for our personal comfort during the night. He went off muttering something about destruction of property while the boys added more rails to the fire.

Next morning the march was resumed, Capt. Phillips came out looking bright and pert as a wildcat, the low whistle was no longer heard and he was as full of orders to his company as a major-general. We arrived back on the afternoon of the 9th, and as we sighted Camp West, the ladies were all out on the parade ground, waving their handkerchiefs in greeting of our return. It was like the old Roman armies returning from conquest, when fair maidens, with white waving arms, would welcome their coming. Now another scene ensued; fair women and brave men close in the fond embraces of love and thanksgiving for their miraculous deliverance. I could but feel that the 25th boys were rather slighted in not receiving a share of the kisses, for who can tell that but for them their friends might not now be dwellers in the Hotel de Libby. On the whole we have had rather an interesting excursion, having seen some forty odd miles of the county. It was very woody and I think the poorest I have ever traveled in for chickens, applejack and peach and honey. But the chickens and applejack didn't matter so much as the orders in regard to foraging were very strict. These officers in command here seem to think the proper way to conduct a war is not to hurt anyone or damage their property. The result was not much different from what I expected, and reminds me of the old couplet:

The king of France with 50,000 men marched up the hill

And then marched down again.

I reckon we must have gone very near where Pocahontas befriended Capt. Smith. The history of that little romance is that Smith was captured while ascending the Chickahominy river, and taken higher up the river to Powhatan’s lodge, and that was said to be some twelve miles below where the city of Richmond now stands. So I reckon we must have been in the vicinity where that occurred; I should like to have stayed there two or three days, or at least long enough to have selected some romantic spot as being the place where that drama was enacted, and if possible gathered a few stones and erected some sort of rude monument to the memory of the young lady.

Before dismissing his regiment, Col. Roberts thanked them for their cheerful obedience to orders, endurance and good order while on the march, and especially his new allies, who throughout the long march neither faltered, complained or straggled.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 117-23

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: June 29, 1863

The 4th of July is fast approaching, and if we do not get our prize by that time, we will have a little celebration out here in the woods, for we have flags, drums and plenty of spread-eagle speakers, and we can omit the cannon, of which kind of music we have had a surfeit. Yes, we have all the material for a patriotic celebration, but I had hoped we should waive the old flag in Vicksburg that day.

I was sick last night, and up many times before day; and as I walked among the sleepers, I was astonished at the snoring; the variety of sounds made was as great as that of a brass band.

A rumor circulates that Pemberton has made an attack on our lines at Vicksburg, trying to cut his way out, but failed of his purpose. From a prisoner brought in, I have learned, by questioning, that the rebel authorities have made numerous drafts for young and old, to refill their ranks, and I think their army now must be as strong as it can ever be. By conscription and terrorism they have forced into the field every available man. With the North it is not so, for the old song, “We are Coming, Father Abraham, Three Hundred Thousand More,” is being sung there yet, with good will, and volunteers are still pouring in to fill up what may be lacking in our ranks. We can thus throw renewed forces against failing ones.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 68-9

Diary of Caroline Cowles Richards: After August 20, 1862

The New York State S. S. convention is convened here and the meetings are most interesting. They were held in our church and lasted three days. A Mr. Hart, from New York, led the singing and Mr. Ralph Wells was Moderator. Mr. Noah T. Clarke was in his element all through the meetings. Mr. Pardee gave some fine blackboard exercises. During the last afternoon Mr. Tousley was wheeled into the church, in his invalid chair, and said a few words, which thrilled every one. So much tenderness, mingled with his old time enthusiasm and love for the cause. It is the last time probably that his voice will ever be heard in public. They closed the grand meeting with the hymn beginning:

“Blest be the tie that binds

Our hearts in Christian love."

In returning thanks to the people of Canandaigua for their generous entertainment, Mr. Ralph Wells facetiously said that the cost of the convention must mean something to Canandaigua people, for the cook in one home was heard to say,

“These religiouses do eat awful!”

SOURCE: Caroline Cowles Richards, Village Life in America, 1852-1872, p. 144-5

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: June 16, 1862

HOT WEATHER. 

It is so hot most of the time we are scarcely able to do anything more than keep ourselves as comfortable as possible. All duty is suspended except guard duty and dress parade, and we are getting almost too lazy to eat; in fact do miss a good many meals unless they happen to have something we like. We lie around in our tents or in the shade of the trees from 9 o'clock in the morning till 4 in the afternoon, brushing away the flies, and trying to keep cool. I thought I had seen some flies at home but they are no comparison to what we have here. I really believe there are more flies in this camp than there are in the whole state of Massachusetts. Besides they are regular secesh ones, and by the way they bite, one would think he was among a nest of hornets. I am often reminded of the old minstrel song: 

“If you perchance in summer time 

Should visit Carolina's sultry clime, 

And in the shade should chance to lie 

You'd soon find out the blue tail fly.” 

We were visited last evening by a thunder storm which makes it quite comfortable today. For several days past the weather has been very hot, the thermometer ranging about 100 degrees in the shade. Just before sunset last evening the clouds began to gather and we soon heard the low mutterings of thunder. We knew very well what that meant and set about fastening our tents by driving down the pins a little firmer. We got ready for it just in season, and such a storm! a regular bombardment, with rivers of water, lasting about two hours. Why our thunder storms at home are only a slight skirmish compared with this. After four or five days so hot we can but just live we get one of these storms, and then we have one cool, comfortable day. It is so cool today I expect the colonel will have us out for drill towards night. He says when it is cool we must work a little or we shall get so lazy we can’t stir, and will forget all we ever knew. 

DRESS PARADE. 

Next to a good choir of singers, the colonel takes great pride in a dress parade; and he certainly has good ones, as good, perhaps, as any regiment here. The boys like to please him and at dress parade put in their best work, especially if there happens to be a good many looking on. They have got so used to him, they can anticipate the order, and it is executed together as one man. I reckon Gen. Foster thinks pretty well of us, as he is out here two or three times a week to witness our dress parades. 

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 61-2

Diary of Caroline Cowles Richards: March 26, 1862

I have been up at Laura Chapin's from 10 o'clock in the morning until 10 at night, finishing Jennie Howell's bed quilt, as she is to be married very soon. Almost all of the girls were there. We finished it at 8 p. m. and when we took it off the frames we gave three cheers. Some of the youth of the village came up to inspect our handiwork and see us home. Before we went Julia Phelps sang and played on the guitar and Captain Barry also sang and we all sang together, “O! Columbia, the gem of the ocean, three cheers for the red, white and blue.”

SOURCE: Caroline Cowles Richards, Village Life in America, 1852-1872, p. 140

Diary of Caroline Cowles Richards: December 1 1861

Dr. Carr is dead. He had a stroke of paralysis two weeks ago and for several days he has been unconscious. The choir of our church, of which he was leader for so long, and some of the young people came and stood around his bed and sang, “Jesus, Lover of My Soul.” They did not know whether he was conscious or not, but they thought so because the tears ran down his cheeks from his closed eyelids, though he could not speak or move. The funeral was from the church and Dr. Daggett's text was, “The Beloved Physician.”

SOURCE: Caroline Cowles Richards, Village Life in America, 1852-1872, p. 137

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Monday, April 7, 1862

Last night was a doleful night as the soldiers laid in this wilderness by the Tennessee. All night long there was a chilling rain, and the April wind sighed mournfully around the suffering, wounded warriors. Many a wounded soldier died last night. During the weary hours the insatiate archer was making silent steps.

"One quivering motion, one convulsive throe,

And the freed spirits took their upward flight.”

Would that God would roll back the storms of war and temper the hearts of men ere any more human blood flows down like rivulets to crimson the beautiful waters of the Cumberland and Tennessee. But oh! it seems that more blood must flow; that away up yonder, in those cottage homes, where the prairie winds blow, more tears must sparkle, fall and perish; that more hearts must be broken-more hopes dashed down—more doomed

"In their nightly dreams to hear

The bolts of war around them rattle."

Hark! we hear a rumble and a roar. It is a rattle of musketry and the terrible knell from the cannon's mouth. We are marched to the front, where we find Nelson engaged. His hounds of war are let loose. Inroads are being made. The Seventh is filed into position and ordered to lie down. Though the enemy has given ground, they still show stubbornness. We are now in a sharp place; there is some uneasiness here. A cold chill creeps over the soldiers. How uncomfortable it is to be compelled to remain inactive when these whizzing minies come screaming through the air on their mission of death. From such places, under such circumstances, the Seventh would ever wish to be excused, for it grates harshly with the soldier, and is exceedingly distressing when he is prevented from returning compliment for compliment, as the Seventh will testify to-day. But we do not remain here long, for from this place of inactivity, we are moved to a place of action. The battle is raging furiously. The army of the Ohio and the army of the Tennessee are striking hand to hand. The tables are turning; step by step the rebels are being driven. Position after position the Seventh is now taking. The sharp, positive crack of their musketry makes a terrible din along their line. It is apparent that the rebels are retreating. Another day is waning; a day of sacrifice; a day in which has been held a high carnival of blood on Shiloh's plain. Many patriot, loyal soldiers died to-day, and as they died, many of them were seen to smile as they saw the old flag, the pride of their hearts, riding so proudly over the bloody field. Many shed a tear of joy as they beheld the beautiful streams of light falling on the crimson wings of conquest.

The rebels are now flying. Nelson is making a terrible wreck in the rear of the retreating army. Kind reader, stand with me now where the Seventh stands; look away yonder! Your eye never beheld a grander sight. It is the northwest's positive tread. They move firmly; there is harmony in their steps. Ten thousand bayonets flash in the blazing sunlight. They are moving in columns on the bloody plain. Their tramp sounds like a death knell. The band is playing “Hail to the chief.” Its martial anthems seem to float as it were on golden chords through air, and as they fall around the weary soldier their hopes of glory beat high. They are retreating now; the rear of the rebel army is fast fading from Shiloh's. field. Before the north west's mighty power how they dwindle into littleness, as turrets and spires beneath the stars. They are far away now, and the great battle of Shiloh is over; the fierce wild drama is ended; the curtain falls; the sun is hid, and night has come. The Seventh goes into camp on the battle-field; their camp fires are soon burning, and those noble ones, who have fought so well, lie down, worn and weary, to rest themselves. They have passed through two days of fearful battle; amid thunder, smoke and perils they bore their tattered flag, and when the storm-king was making his most wrathful strides, it still waved in the wind and never went down, for strong arms were there and they held it up. But how painful it is to know that some comrades who were with us in the morning, are not with us now. They have fallen and died-died in the early morning of life. And why did they die? A royal herald will answer, for a country, for a home, for a name. Come walk with me now while the tired soldiers are sleeping. Who is this who lays here beneath this oak, in such agony, such convulsive throes? It is a soldier in gray; a wounded rebel who fought against the old flag to-day. But he is dying; his life is almost gone; he is dead now. Oh! how sad it makes one feel to see a soldier die, and how we pity him who has just died; pity him because he has fallen in such a desperate cause; pity him because no royal herald will ever write his name on the sacred scroll of fame.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 54-7

Diary of Caroline Cowles Richards: May 1861

Many of the young men are going from Canandaigua and all the neighboring towns. It seems very patriotic and grand when they are singing, “It is sweet, Oh, 'tis sweet, for one's country to die,” and we hear the martial music and see the flags flying and see the recruiting tents on the square and meet men in uniform at every turn and see train loads of the boys in blue going to the front, but it will not seem so grand if we hear they are dead on the battlefield, far from home. A lot of us girls went down to the train and took flowers to the soldiers as they were passing through and they cut buttons from their coats and gave to us as souvenirs. We have flags on our paper and envelopes, and have all our stationery bordered with red, white and blue. We wear little flag pins for badges and tie our hair with red, white and blue ribbon and have pins and earrings made of the buttons the soldiers gave us. We are going to sew for them in our society and get the garments all cut from the older ladies' society. They work every day in one of the rooms of the court house and cut out garments and make them and scrape lint and roll up bandages. They say they will provide us with all the garments we will make. We are going to write notes and enclose them in the garments to cheer up the soldier boys.

It does not seem now as though I could give up any one who belonged to me. The girls in our society say that if any of the members do send a soldier to the war they shall have a flag bed quilt, made by the society, and have the girls' names on the stars.

SOURCE: Caroline Cowles Richards, Village Life in America, 1852-1872, p. 131-2

Diary of Caroline Cowles Richards: May 20, 1861

I recited “Scott and the Veteran” today at school, and Mary Field recited, “To Drum Beat and Heart Beat a Soldier Marches By”; Anna recited “The Virginia Mother.” Every one learns war poems now-a-days. There was a patriotic rally in Bemis Hall last night and a quartette sang, “The Sword of Bunker Hill” and “Dixie” and “John Brown's Body Lies a Mouldering in the Grave,” and many other patriotic songs. We have one West Point cadet, Albert M. Murray, who is in the thick of the fight, and Charles S. Coy represents Canandaigua in the navy.

SOURCE: Caroline Cowles Richards, Village Life in America, 1852-1872, p. 132