Diary of Major Joseph Stockton, March 10, 1863

Disembarked on a sandy ridge and pitched our tents. River very high and swift. Miserable place for a camp, surrounded on all sides by water.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 9

Diary of Major Joseph Stockton, March 23, 1863

Reached as far as we can go today, our progress being stopped by a large rebel fortification called Fort Pemberton, which is about two miles off. We disembarked and were assigned camping ground by General Sanborn, our brigade commander. It is on a clearing—our tents are pitched among decayed pine trees, which have been girdled for the purpose of clearing the ground.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 10

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: November 29, 1862

Hurrah for camp once more! Our tents are being sent ashore and a detail from each company goes to put them up. This began just at night and lasted all night. Nobody slept, for some were working and the rest were thinking of living outdoors again.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 66

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells: December 15, 1862

We struck tents early, packed our effects as snugly as possible, and as on the preceding morning, shouldered our knaps. It rained during our entire march to Holly Springs, the flower city of the South, and on our arrival there the flood gates of heaven opened and the rain poured down on our defenseless heads in torrents. We stood it about two hours before the Colonel culd secure quarters. Three-fourths of a mile up the railroad track we found a very large rebel arsenal, but were wet to the skin long before we reached this shelter. It continued to rain all day without intermission.

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. 17-8

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, October 12, 1861

I find vast trouble in doing justice to the sick, in consequence of the unwarrantable interference of military officers in matters of which they are about as well qualified to judge as would be so many of their mules. The two forts which we built near Chain Bridge, and have left some three miles in our rear, have been officially named Fort Marcy and Fort Ethan Allen. The former encloses about one, the latter about five acres of land, and are both very strong.

Our division now holds the post of honor, the advanced center in the Army of the Potomac. Nobody ahead of us, but in the rear, and the right and left, for miles it is but a city of tents. By night the views over these camps are beautiful; by day the stench and noise is abominable.

Surgeon Owen, of Chester, Penn., to-day enters on the duties of Surgeon of our brigade, and I entertain strong hopes that he will be able to stop the pernicious interference of military officers with matters purely medical.

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. 43-4

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: August 6, 1861

Our camp equipage came up to-day, so that we are now in our own tents.

Four of my companies are on picket, scattered up the valley for miles, and half of the other two are doing guard duty in the neighborhood of the camp. I do not, by any means, approve of throwing out such heavy pickets and scattering our men so much. We are in the presence of a force probably twice as large as our own, and should keep our troops well in hand.

Our scouts have been busy; but, although they have brought in a few prisoners, mostly farmers residing in the vicinity of the enemy's camp, we have obtained but little information respecting the rebels. I intend to send out a scouting party in the morning. Lieutenant Driscoll will command it. He is a brave, and, I think, prudent officer, and will leave camp at four o'clock, follow the road six miles, then take to the mountains, and endeavor to reach a point where he can overlook the enemy and estimate his strength.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 45-6

Diary of Corporal John W. Dennett, January 20, 1863

Started at two P.M., and marched about two miles, and went into camp. This is known as the "mud march." It rained very hard all night. Our tents blew down, and all were completely soaked. It was a very disagreeable night to every one.

SOURCE: John Lord Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 271

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Tuesday, September 9, 1862

Rienzi.  Another day dawned without any orders. Some of the boys pitched their tents. I went out foraging in the afternoon.

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

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 23, 1863

Once more we are on the wing. Yesterday morning we were ordered to be ready to march when called on. Of course, the men do not expect to stay anywhere, but it always comes a little tough to leave a pleasant camp just as they get comfortably settled. But military orders are inexorable, and, in spite of regrets, we "struck tents, slung knapsacks," and started on our winding way among the hills. This part of the country is made up of ranges of high hills separated by ravines down which the water has cut channels from ten to twenty feet deep. We marched about three miles on the road leading to Vicksburg and halted on the top of a high hill just large enough to hold our regiment. It was plowed last spring and planted to cotton. Colonel Luce looked indignant, the company officers grumbled, the men swore. General Welch regretted, but Major General Parks ordered the left to rest here, and it rested. But Colonel Luce could still do something. Ordering us in line, he said: "Men, you need not pitch your tents in line in this open field; go where you can make yourselves most comfortable, only be on hand when the bugle sounds." Three cheers and a tiger for Colonel Luce. then a wild break for trees, brush; anything to shelter us from the fierce rays of a Southern sun. We are now nine miles from Vicksburg by the road, six miles in a direct line. We can distinctly hear musketry at that place, which has been kept up almost incessantly the last three days. At intervals the cannonading is terrific. Our Orderly Sergeant rode over there yesterday, to see his brother. He says Grant's rifle pits are not more than twenty-five rods from the Rebels, and woe to the man on either side who exposes himself to the marksmanship of the other. As near as I can learn, matters remain about as they were three weeks ago. Unless General Grant succeeds in mining some of their works, thus affecting an entrance, he will be compelled to starve them out.

We would think, in Michigan, such land as this utterly unfit for cultivation. But the highest hills are cultivated and planted with corn or cotton. Corn, even on the highest hills, I have never seen excelled in growth of stalk. One would naturally suppose that in this hilly country water of good quality would abound. Such is not the fact. Soon as we broke ranks I started out in quest of water. I followed a ravine about half a mile, then crossed over to another, but found none. Blackberries being plentiful, I filled my cap and returned to camp. Some of the boys had been more successful, and after resting a few minutes I took another direction, for water we must have. This time I followed a ridge about half a mile, then began to descend—down, down, I went, seemingly into the very bowels of the earth, and when I reached the bottom found a stagnant pool of warm, muddy water. Making a virtue of necessity, I filled my canteen, returned to camp, made some coffee, ate my berries, with a very little hardtack, and went to bed to dream of "limpid streams and babbling brooks."

This morning my comrade and I arose with the early dawn and started out in search of berries, which we found in great abundance.

A strange stillness pervades our hitherto noisy and tumultous camp. The men are scattered in every direction, lounging listlessly in the shade, not caring even to play cards, so oppressive is the heat. I am sitting in the shade of a mulberry tree, Collier lying on the ground near by; we alternately write or lounge as the mood takes us. Most assuredly I never felt the heat in Michigan as I feel it here. Yet men can work in this climate, and northern men, too. The Eighth and Twentieth have been throwing up fortifications for several days.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 56-8

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Benjamin F. Pearson, October 3, 1862

We had a verry heavy rain before day wett us in our tents I mustered the company & took them out on Dress perade evening I took I. Spooner went to Coz Kelleys then to the Demming house then to an Oyster shop & had a fine dish of Oysters returned to Camp & at 11 Oc nite the rain commenced to pour down & we took it in our tent.

SOURCE: Edgar R. Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1925, p. 91

Diary of Private William S. White, July 2, 1861

We have now at this point eight pieces of artillery and three thousand men. Sent to Yorktown for eight days' rations and our tents.

This is one of the most beautiful camps I ever saw, but the great scarcity of good water makes it undesirable.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 104

Diary of Private Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Saturday January 31, 1863

Details sent out to get all the provisions possible and return by 12 o'clock. I went to town, but did not get my horse shod, met the command as I went out, coming in. Went some ten or eleven miles and camped on creek on steep hillside. Rained all night. I and John Henry slept dry in my Yankee tent. Most Company got into stable and crib.

SOURCE: Ephraim Shelby Dodd, Diary of Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Member of Company D Terry's Texas Rangers, p. 6

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Wednesday, November 27, 1861

The battery left Muddy Branch, with the understanding to go into winter-quarters near Poolesville.

We were told that we should have many drills together with Battery B, no longer Captain Vaughan's battery, who, having had disagreements, left the service. We marched by nine o'clock in the morning. The weather was very unpleasant, raining and freezing all day. Passed through Poolesville at four o'clock, and commenced to pitch tents by five o'clock. Our camp is next to Battery B's, commanded by Lieutenant Perry. We had a good reception by the men, who treated all of us to coffee.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 26-7

Diary of Private Edward W. Crippin, Sunday Morning, September 1, 1861

Roll call as usual at 5½ O'clock Inspection of men & tents at 9 o'clock by the Col. & Lt. Col Pass granted to 8 men to visit Birds Point Also 1 large Squad to attend Church.

Nothing doing to day. John Brown & Elijah Hickman went into Town to day without a pass—came back drunk Compelled to tie Hickman—will be put on extra duty to-morrow Weather pleasant-continues dry.

SOURCE: Transactions of the Illinois State Historical Society for the Year 1909, p. 224

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 7, 1861

On the high land overlooking the Potomac, about six or seven miles above the Navy Yard at Washington, we have, since our arrival here, thrown up a small fort, formed extensive abattis, and made redoubts and fortifications to command the turnpike leading down the river, and the bridge over which any enemy must pass from any direction above here to reach Washington. This looks like business. The earthwork fort is small, but very strong, and its large siege guns, from twelve to eighteen feet long, with their sullen faces watching up and down the road in every direction, give it a most formidable appearance. A brigade (I have not learned what one) has just advanced beyond us to commence another fort, about two miles to the southwest of us. Neither fort has yet been officially named, but the one just finished is called by the soldiers Fort Mott; the one about to be built they will for the present distinguish by the name of Fort Ethan Allen. In this manner we are closing on the enemy by slow approaches, or parallels. Let Dupont and Butler, from North Carolina, advance to meet us, whilst Fremont takes care of the Mississippi, and we shall have an early closing up of the war. Every day's observation more and more satisfies me that the enemy will not fight us here.

9 P. M.—Our fort is completed, and we have just received orders to cook three days rations, and be ready to move at a moment's notice.

I will here note, once for all, the manner of the soldiers taking care of themselves in a storm, when they have no tents. They all have "rubber blankets." Two forks are set, and a pole laid from one to the other, some four or five feet from the ground. A kind of lean-to roof is made by placing brush or poles against this, one end resting on the ground, the other end resting on the pole. To make this roof water-proof, the rubber blankets are stretched, like tiles on a roof, and no water gets through. In moderate weather the men cuddle together under this, and are reasonably comfortable. In cold weather they make large log fires in front of these "bivouacs," and pass the nights without freezing.

An order was received to-day from the War Department, that in future no labor shall be required of soldiers on the Sabbath, except what is absolutely necessary for our defence.

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. 25-6

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 15, 1861

I am alone to-night, and tired enough to lie and sleep for twenty-four hours, did not the scenes around call up associations which banish repose, and yet invite it. In the deep, deep woods, in a deep, deeper valley, with a mountain rising high on either side of me, and the semi-roaring babble of a large mountain brook, leaping over stones and precipices just in front of my lonely tent; the night speaks of the wildness of nature, and carries back my imagination to the times when the red man revelled here in the luxury of his mountain hunt. The song of the catydid talks to me of the rural home of my childhood, while the scream of the screech-owl right over my head awakens mingled feelings of aboriginal wildness, and of the ruins of civilization. The night is still, and over the mountain comes the strain of vocal music, with the accompaniment of a martial band, from more than a mile away, where with a regiment of Vermonters our chaplain is holding religious exercises, and "Dundee's sacred strain," mellowed by the distance, is in harmony with all around me. These are my nearest settled neighbors to-night, and so far away that I am outside of all their guards, yet near enough to hear the "Halt! who comes there?" of the picket, as he hails the rock, loosened from above, as it comes rushing down the mountain side. The tattoo of the night drums, too, as it comes rumbling over the mountains, and calls the soldier to his hard, but welcomed bed, awakens in the reflecting mind sad stories of the passions of men; of happy homes, deserted; of families, once united, now separated, perhaps forever; of the once freeman, to whom the dungeon now denies all hope of liberty again; of a country, once a unit, which held the world at bay, now an object of the ridicule or pity of nations which but a few short months before trembled at her power; of reflections which, I fear, must convince that "war is the normal condition of man." There were threats of an attack on us yesterday and to-day. My hospital was in an exposed position, and my sick must be moved. At dark I commenced moving to a more secure place; selected this beautiful ravine; got my tents here, but not deeming it best to disturb the sick by moving them in the night, am here alone to take care of my tents and stores. And how beautifully the moon sheds its reflections over this quiet little valley, and brightens, as with myriads of diamonds, the ripplings of the little mountain streams! How deliciously sweet the fresh odor of the clean grass, untainted by the stench of the camp. But hark! I hear at this moment, from Fort Corcoran, "the three guns," a signal of approaching danger, and in another moment the "long roll" may summon us to scenes of trouble. I am still stubborn in the belief that the enemy is only making a feint, and that we shall have no fight here. The long roll does not call me. The “three guns” must have made a false alarm, and so I will retire and "bid the world good-night."

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. 30-1

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 15, 1863

We are now on the “heaving sea and the bounding wave.” We were aroused yesterday morning at four o'clock, ordered to prepare breakfast and be ready to march at a minute's notice. At five-thirty the bugle sounded "fall in." We slung our accoutrements, the first time since the battle of Fredericksburg, and in fifteen minutes were en route to the depot, distance about two miles. After some delay we took cars for Aquia Creek, where we arrived at 10 o'clock a. m., and were immediately transferred to transports, bound for Fortress Monroe. The Seventy-ninth New York and Seventeenth Michigan were crowded on the North America, an old Hudson River propeller. There was hardly standing room, much less room to walk about. The day is fine, and the bay, unruffled by a breeze, presents a lively and picturesque appearance. Steamers are continually arriving and departing, sailboats of all sorts and sizes spread their white wings and glide leisurely through the still waters, while the active little tugs go whisking and snorting here and there, assisting larger and more unwieldly vessels. We left Aquia Creek at 10:30 o'clock a. m., expecting to reach the Fortress by nine o'clock next morning. I love the sea in all its forms and phases, and it was with a thrill of joy I took my seat on deck, prepared to enjoy whatever of interest might present itself. The Potomac, at Aquia Creek, is truly a noble stream, if stream it may be called, for there is no perceptible current, being, I judge, one and one-half miles wide, gradually broadening out as it nears the bay, until at its mouth it is nine miles wide. There is a striking contrast between the Maryland and Virginia shores. The Virginia side, nearly the entire distance, presents a rugged, mountainous aspect, with very few buildings in view, while the Maryland shore is level, dotted with farm buildings, and, at frequent intervals a village with its church spires glittering in the sun. In contemplating these peaceful scenes of rural life, the quiet farm houses surrounded by groves of trees, the well-tilled fields, outbuildings and fences undisturbed by war's desolating hand, the genial air of quiet repose that pervades the scene calls up emotions that have long lain dormant. For many long months, which seems as many years, my eyes have become inured to scenes of blood, of desolation and of ruin; to cities and villages laid waste and pillaged; private residences destroyed; homes made desolate; in fact, the whole country through which we have passed, except part of Maryland, has become through war's desolating touch, a desert waste. As I gazed on these peaceful scenes and my thirsty soul drank in their beauty, how hateful did war appear, and I prayed the time might soon come when “Nations shall learn war no more.”

Gradually the wind freshened, increasing in force as we neared the bay, until it became so rough the captain thought it unsafe to venture out, and cast anchor about five miles from the mouth of the river to await the coming of day. I spread my blanket on the floor of one of the little cabins and slept soundly until morning. When I awoke in the morning the first gray streaks of early dawn were illuminating the eastern horizon.

The gale having subsided, we were soon under way, and in about half an hour entered the broad Chesapeake. And here a most grand and imposing scene met my enraptured gaze. Not a breath of air disturbed its unruffled surface. Numerous vessels, floating upon its bosom, were reflected as by a mirror. A delegation of porpoises met us at the entrance to welcome us to their domain; they were twenty-two in number, were from six to eight feet in length; in color, dark brown. It was truly amusing to witness their sportive antics as they seemed to roll themselves along. They would throw themselves head foremost from the water half their length, turning as on a pivot, perform what seemed to be a somersault, and disappear.

A flock of sea gulls fell into our wake, sagely picking up any crumbs of bread that might be thrown them. They are a strange bird, a little larger than a dove, closely resembling them in color and gracefulness of motion. They followed us the whole distance, and as I watched their continuous, ceaseless flight, the effect on the mind was a sense of weariness at thought of the long-continued exertion.

Soon after we entered the bay I observed what I thought to be a light fog arising in the southeast. We had not proceeded far, however, before I discovered my mistake, for that which seemed to be a fog was a shower of rain. I was taken wholly by surprise, for I had been accustomed to see some preparation and ceremony on similar occasions. But now no gathering clouds darkened the distant sky, warning me of its approach, but the very storm itself seemed to float upon the waves and become part of it, and before I was aware, enfolded us in its watery embrace. The storm soon passed, but the wind continued through the day, and, as we neared the old Atlantic and met his heavy swells, they produced a feeling of buoyancy that was, to me, truly exhilerating.

Some of the boys were seasick, and a number "cast up their accounts" in earnest. We entered the harbor about sundown and cast anchor for the night under the frowning guns of Fortress Monroe.

Vessels of war of every class, monitors included, and sailing vessels of all sizes, crowded the harbor. It was a magnificent scene, and one on which I had always longed to gaze.

In the morning we learned our destination was Newport News, distant about five miles. We arrived about eight o'clock, marched two miles to Hampton Roads, our camping ground, pitched tents and, at noon, were ready for our dinner of coffee and hardtack.

We have a pleasant camping ground, lying on the beach, where we can watch the vessels as they pass and can pick up oysters by the bushel when the tide is out.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 30-3

Diary of Private William S. White, June 22, 1861

Early this morning we were awakened by a heavy wind storm and we had as much as we could do to keep our tents from being blown away. Sent off a gun from Brown's Second Company on a scouting expedition.

SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 102

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty: June 26, 1861

Arrived at Clarksburg about midnight, and remained on the cars until morning. We are now encamped on a hillside, and for the first time my bed is made in my own tent.

Clarksburg has apparently stood still for fifty years. Most of the houses are old style, built by the fathers and grandfathers of the present occupants. Here, for the first time, we find slaves, each of the wealthier, or, rather, each of the well-to-do, families owning a few.

There are probably thirty-five hundred troops in this vicinity—the Third, Fourth, Eighteenth, Nineteenth, and part of the Twenty-second Ohio, one company of cavalry, and one of artillery. Rumors of skirmishes and small fights a few miles off; but as yet the only gunpowder we have smelled is our own.

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 10

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Wednesday, September 24, 1862

New tents were given us to-day. "A" tents they are called; I suppose because they are in the shape of a letter A. They are like the roof of a house cut off at the eaves, and one gable split open for us to enter, with strings sewed fast to one side and buttonholes in the other so we can close them up tight. A detail from each company has been clearing up the ground and laying out for an all winter stay. The officers have moved back to the more level portion of the field, which brings our lines of tents on much better ground than before. A long and wide street has been laid out and is being graded off, on the west side of which the officers' tents are ranged, the colonel's tent in the middle and a little in the rear of the tents of the captains and lieutenants, which are directly in front of their respective companies. On a line with Colonel Cowles' tent are those of the lieutenant colonel (which by the way has no occupant yet, he being off somewhere on detached service), the major, quartermaster, adjutant, surgeon and chaplain. Back of these is a big tent called the Hospital, which so far has not been of much use. Then in front of all these are the companies' quarters, the ten company streets running off at right angles to the broad street along which the company officers' tents are now being placed. A wide space is left in front of Colonel Cowles' tent, and runs clear through camp, nothing being on it but a flag-pole, which is to stand directly in front of the colonel's tent and in line with the tents of the company officers. So many hands make light work of any job, but I am only telling how it is to be, for only the laying out is completed and the grading begun.

We that were not detailed for the work were taken out to the great sandy plain toward what I am told is Chesapeake Bay and given a lesson in battalion-drill.

The 135th N. Y. was with us, and from the crowds of people who were there I suppose battalion drill is something worth seeing. But it was anything but fun for us, and we came back to camp hungry, tired, and with as much dust on us as would stick. We were glad enough to crawl into our old shelter tents. It is well I wrote the most of the day's doings before we went out, for it is hard work to put this little finish to it. Good-night, diary.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 37-8