Forenoon I drilled
the Co in the manual of arms afternoon we ware on battallion drill & dress
perade & ware down on main street & had our arms inspected I visited
our boys in the hospital morning & night some of them are verry sick one of
Co [F] Capt Vermilion died he is a brother to one that was sent up yesterday
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
I was Officer of the
Guard & was up near all night it was a beautiful night. one of our boys
Josiah Biddison is verry sick & some doubts of his recovery
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
Heavy showers all
day to near evening. The ground is soaked; thousands walk or lay in mud without
covering unless they are among those who have some frail shelter, the latter
being but a small percentage of the whole. I feel fortunate to share the frail
shelter of worthy comrades. It does much to ward off sun and storm; but our bed
in the sand is exposed. We dig trenches to prevent water from running over it,
still it soaks through. Water comes from the upper part in swift brooklets,
sweeping every pool of foulness below. I will record, and hope I may not refer
to it again, this fact: Men unable to go to the swamp sinks, have holes dug
close by where they lay. The rains wash these away or overflow them, and the
filthy contents are carried into our resting places. These violent storms
render the condition of the sick more sad. I met J. B. Hawks of Michigan, and
Peter Shaffer, 22nd N. Y. cavalry, who resides in Nelson, N. Y., today. Shaffer
was taken May 8th on a cavalry raid, was robbed of everything except his
clothes, including $50.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 71
The impression is
growing that the situation is more and more unfavorable every day. Hospitals
are overflowing with sick and no more admittance, though crowds throng at the
gate daily; deaths are rapidly increasing. The numbers laying about, helpless
and speechless, are growing daily. Thompson reported a particular case to the
gate, asking help, and got the answer: "You Yanks help yourselves."
Sergeants of detachments have reported so many cases of insane, helpless and
entirely naked men, and got no satisfaction, that they ceased to do so.
A much worn Atlantic
Monthly of 1861, fell into my hands which I read with interest;
"Concerning Veal," by the author of "Recreations of a Country
Parson," and "Nat Turner, the Slave Insurrectionist of 1831,"
who aroused all Virginia to defend slavery. I noticed today a man with the
whole lower part of his body buried in dirt as a remedy for scurvy.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 72-3
About 4 Oc I awoke
by the sound of the fire & church bells there was a fine frame building
burnt down the blaze looked nice but it was a source of grief to me at 1 Oc
P.M. I was in the city getting 2 sick men of our company that were in the
hospitals to sign the pay roll & the alarm of fire was given I assisted in
running the Ingine to the fire but little dammage done I put in most of this
day getting the men to sign the pay rolls 8 in number
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October
1925, p. 91
We drilled some
& was on dress perade in the rain. I visited the hospitals & talked to
the sick. the Fanny Bulley Steamer arived last night with between 300 & 400
sick & disabled soldiers I assisted some in getting them off
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October
1925, p. 91
The incident at the
creek, where I nearly drew the fire of two sentries, led me to inquire as to
methods prison authorities have for informing new arrivals, of their rules in
reference to the dead line, especially where no line is visible, which is the
case for 60 yards at the point mentioned, parallel with the crossing from south
to north. I learned they never published their rules, every man learns at his
peril, just as I did, or by hearsay. Old prisoners say there never has been a
visible line at this creek crossing; that no man knows where it is except as he
judges the distance from the stockade, or guesses where it would come by
looking at the line where it stops north and south of the creek. The sentry is
left to guess when a man gets over the line, that is not there and shoots
according to his guess. It involves upon the prisoners to post new men, as much
as possible, but comparatively few think to do so. It is a serious matter as
new arrivals nearly every day are apt to transgress the rule ignorantly and
innocently, and if shot they have been murdered in cold blood. During new
arrivals this happens often, as guards are mostly young fellows whose chief
education is to despise Yankees whom it is a Southern virtue to kill, and to
perform this patriotic duty he has been trained to shoot well, and to watch for
a chance. At this point he finds opportunity. Guards are composed of Alabama
and Georgia youths reared under the fire-eating doctrines of Yancey, Cobb and
Toombs, and to believe in the infallibility of the chivalric South, its
institutions, peculiar rights, as superior to all else, whose leaders have led
the Southern mass to engage in a bad war for a bad cause. Probably these
shooting imps know nothing of this, are ignorant of the crime they every day
commit. Not a single instance, so far, were men who were shot seeking to
escape. They were ignorant of any rule and unhindered in their approach to the
stockade by a visible dead line at this point. Hence the shooting has been
unjustifiable by ordinnary prison discipline prescribed by treaties or laws of
war.
It is one
continuous, irksome every day recurrence of unpleasant scenes. But one event is
looked for with hopeful pleasure, that is the issuing of rations which never
lacks serious, if not total disappointment. After roll call the sick are helped
to the gates; those ready to die are put on stretchers and carried to the
hospital outside near the south end of the stockade. Of all the grim and
ghastly sights imagination ever depicted, those we see at this hour far excel
in horror. Poor, squalid, yellow faces, eyes sunken and glassy, cheeks hollow
or swollen with scurvy, fevered lips drawn tightly across the teeth, the mouth
agape to breathe or let escape fetid breath, some borne by comrades, others
tottering by the help of staffs or supported by friends; some without half a
suit to cover them, some with terribly swollen limbs, putrid sores, dropsical
distensions and bent forms. One holds his breath to look at them, nay turns
away! Men walk about whom we would call bad corpses if seen in coffins anywhere
else. Such a pitiful look as they give I never saw; their voices are as if the
dead speak.
Two rods to the rear
of us I witnessed the death of a Tennesseean, the last of three brothers who
died on the same spot since March. All were Belle Isle victims. He had laid all
day in the heat and will not be carried out till morning. He gradually wasted
and died without a struggle. It is more remarkable than anything I ever read,
how men lose their sense of life; imperceptibly degree by degree, it goes out
leaving only a latent consciousness of what they have been, what they are, and
a vague, unintelligent hope. Even that departs and his mind ranges in the
narrowest sphere the human spirit can. For weeks he is robbed of himself; an
infant is not more childish or weak; age not so whimsical or broken. He is a
mere human worm! Another singular phase of these conditions: We frequently see
men unable to arise from the sand, threatening to knock down strong men for
trivial things they deem insulting. Men of skeleton forms lock in each others
puny arms in a rage, falling on the ground unable to rise, they still boast of
what they can do. So long bereft of comfort, so long have they only hoped for
bread and liberty from day to day at the hands of merciless authorities, that
reason is extinguished in many, and the lowest, blindest, selfish passion
clings to the rotten thread of life. The phases which life assumes in this
degraded condition, is inconceivable. Some retain the tenderest affection and
the broadest faith, as long as consciousness remains.
I saw a man today in
the last stages of starvation having sickened of his scanty food. His cry was
bread, but when offered that given us, his stomach heaved; he turned his face
with expressions of hopeless agony and exclaimed: "They can get me
something else! could I be at home!" There are many cases which doctors
might term chronic innutrition, where they eat with avidity all they get and
still starve, the food doing no good. Doctors have been made acquainted with
many of these cases, but will not admit to the hospital. Bell Isle boys tell me
they have often dreamed of eating and woke up to go through the motions
frothing at the mouth. In one instance they begged the guard to throw over
pieces of a cow that had been delivered of a calf three days before, some of
which they devoured, raw. They exhibit some rings claimed to have been made
from the bones of a dog, eaten at Belle Isle, kept as a memento.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 66-8
A good work designed
to remedy somewhat the unwholesomeness of the place, began today. A squad of
men are furnished spades, hand barrows, which they themselves constructed, and
carpenter tools, and voluntarily go to work burying the filth and sinks that
have overflowed, and cover several yards and is in terrible ferment and alive
with vermin. The plan is to cover a portion of the swamp near the east part
each side of the stream, about five rods wide by 10 long, with dirt from the
banks and erect a framework over the stream for a privy. This will partially
supply the wants for the south side, but the north is separated by an
impassable marsh. This project is set on foot by persistent pleading of our men
with physicians and officers of the military post, as chances have been
offered, to get the means for doing it. Through them Wirz has been induced to
acquiesce, but like all internal improvements, humane influence has to be
brought to bear upon Wirz. He was persuaded by the argument that prison insobordination
was more likely to occur under unsanitary conditions, that there was great
libality of epidemic that would sweep both the prison and military post. A
colonel of the post was inside this morning and talked with some of us. His
opinion is that we will soon be exchanged; but I do not indulge in hopes likely
to be deferred, which "maketh the heart sick." A day ration was shown
him. He said more was allowed; that there was no reason why rations are so
small; that more is provided under the regulations; expressed a belief that
someone is speculating to our injury and, though he had no authority, he would
inquire into the matter.
Weather intensely
hot, the sick badly affected and are multiplying. Every day men die, every
morning are carried out. The average number of deaths now is said to be 40,
although 70 have died some days, the principal disorder being diarrhoea, induced
by the nature of the food; it has become chronic. Scurvy which affects mouths
and limbs, sometimes back and bowels, is increasing. One doctor speaks of an
affection of the spleen. In many homesickness may hasten disease and loss of
strength. It seems as inevitable as bodily ailments under these conditions.
When men fall hopeless and helpless, griping with pain, it is not unnatural
that nostalgia be added to the scale of misery. When these compiaints unite,
the days of victims are being numbered.
Prisoners come in
from Florida captured on the 18th. They were engaged in collecting horses and
cattle for the army. I spoke with a man, prisoner since Gettysburg, who
attracts attention, though thin and yellow, he is remarkably smart. His
clothing is all worn out. On the way from Richmond a woman gave him a petticoat
which reaches just below his knees that whops about his legs as he strolls
characteristically through the camp, a sailor's cap on his head, and not
another rag on his person.
Two wells near us
are finished which we assisted to dig; the water is excellent. Pinchen has
finished his bucket whittled from rations of wood, and hooped with knapsack
straps, and it is used to draw water. Griffith and I have sold four tin plates
for $1 each. This money helps us live.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 69-70
This afternoon, when riding down to Huttonville, I met three or four hundred sorry-looking soldiers. They were without arms. On inquiry, I found they were a part of the secession army, who, finding no way of escape, had come into our lines and surrendered. They were badly dressed, and a hard, dissolute-looking lot of men. To use the language of one of the soldiers, they were "a milk-sickly set of fellows," and would have died off probably without any help from us if they had been kept in the mountains a little longer. They were on their way to Staunton. General McClellan had very generously provided them with provisions for three days, and wagons to carry the sick and wounded; and so, footsore, weary, and chopfallen, they go over the hills.
An unpleasant rumor is in camp to-night, to the effect that General Patterson has been defeated at Williamsport. This, if true, will counterbalance our successes in Western Virginia, and make the game an even one.
The Southern soldiers mentioned above are encamped for the night a little over a mile from here. About dusk I walked over to their camp. They were gathered around their fires preparing supper.
Many of them say they were deceived, and entered the service because they were led to believe that the Northern army would confiscate their property, liberate their slaves, and play the devil generally. As they thought this was true, there was nothing left for them to do but to take up arms and defend themselves. While we were at Buckhannon, an old farmer-looking man visited us daily, bringing tobacco, cornbread, and cucumber pickles. This innocent old gen[tle]man proves to have been a spy, and obtained his reward in the loss of a leg at Rich mountain.
SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 30-1
Capt. Parke too
unwell for duty to day No news everything going on smoothly as usual.
SOURCE: Transactions
of the Illinois State Historical Society for the Year 1909, p. 226
Sick lady, Mrs. Lull, took our office by permission.
SOURCE: Lewis C. Paxson, Diary of Lewis C. Paxson: Stockton, N.J., 1862-1865, p. 6
Started on our march to Memphis. Quimby's [sic] division are to guard a train of 600 empty wagons. The day's march was a terrible one. Raining and roads muddy, and cut by the wagon trains many of which were filled with sick soldiers taken from the hospitals at Oxford and Holly Springs. Several poor fellows died and were buried alongside the road, their winding sheet a blanket and no ceremony but the digging of the grave, the body put in, filled up and the burial party hurrying away to get to their position. Poor fellows, they died for their country as much as if they were killed in battle.
SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 6
Holmes called the
roll this morning and we hear no more about being shot for mutiny. It may
possibly come later, but from all I can see and hear the trouble was entirely a
company affair and did not reach beyond it. If Colonel Smith, who is said to be
very strict on discipline, had taken a hand in it, we might have fared worse,
but I doubt if he would allow such a cowardly trick to be played on so good a
soldier as Holmes is, and has been, to say nothing of jumping a corporal over
the heads of five sergeants, who have all been prompt and faithful in the
discharge of their duties. Our first real sick man was sent to the hospital
to-night, one of Company B, from Dover.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 43
I introduce the following letter to a friend, as sufficiently explicit as to the occurrences since the last date:
CHAIN BRIDGE, VA., Sept. 6, 1861.
I
commence this letter with the reiteration, Poor Virginia! That State, which for
forty years has stood as the guiding star of our galaxy of States,—that State,
which alone could, six months ago,
have assumed the position of umpire to the belligerents, and which only would
have been respected in the assumption—now stands at the very foot of the list.
In the commencement of this contest she degraded herself by offering to become
the cat's paw for South Carolina, and was still farther degraded by South
Carolina rejecting the proposition to become her menial. By her officious
subservience, however, she got her paw into the fire, and how dreadfully it is
burned only those who are on her soil can form any idea. Everywhere is the
destruction going on. Her soil is the battle-field, and, so far as the
destruction of property is concerned, it matters but little which party is
successful. Armies must have room to move and manœuvre, soldiers will have the
fruits and vegetables which grow around their encampment, and camp life is a
poor fertilizer of that moral growth which marks the line of "meum et tuum."
This letter is
written on sheets taken from the former residence of Hon. W. W. Slade, once a
member of Congress from Virginia. I rode around with a foraging party. We
entered his fine old mansion, and I could not but weep over the sad changes
which I could see had taken place within a few hours, Within no living soul was
left. The soldiers entered; for a time I stood back, but when I did go in what
a sight presented itself! Already the floors were covered knee-deep with books
and papers, which it must have required a long life of toil and trouble to
amass, fine swinging-mirrors shivered into thousands of pieces—a fit emblem of
the condition to which efforts are being made to reduce this glorious
government—each piece reflecting miniature images of what the whole had shown,
but never again to reflect those pigmy images in one vast whole. In the large
and spacious drawing-room stood the ruins of one of those old-fashioned
sideboards, around which had grown so much of the reputation of Southern high
life and hospitality; its doors, wrenched from their hinges, lay scattered on
the floor; large mahogany sofas, with their covers torn off, marble-top tables,
stationery, china, stoves and spittoons, were there in one promiscuous heap of
ruins. I stepped into the library, hoping to bring away some relic that had
been untouched by the soldiers, but I was too late—all here was ruin. In a
corner I picked up a few yellow pamphlets, and read "Constitution and
By-Laws of the National Democratic Association." Sadly enough I left the
house, and seated myself, to rest and think, on the spacious verandah. For a
moment I looked on the vast orchards, the beautiful flower garden, the long
rows of laden grape vines, the broad acres of corn and clover, and thought,
"What a place and what a condition to pass old age in comfort and
quiet," and my heart began to lighten. How momentary the lightning, for
just then company after company from the different regiments came up; gates
were thrown open, fences thrown down, and horses, cattle and mules were
destroying all these evidences of prosperity and comfort. And this is but one
feature in the great haggard countenance of war which stares at us whenever we
look at Virginia's "sacred soil." Alas, poor Virginia! This subject
alone would give interest to a whole volume, but I must leave it.
On Tuesday night, at half-past ten o'clock, the "long roll" brought our brigade, of five regiments, to their feet, when we found ourselves under orders to march at once for the Virginia side of the river, where, it was said, a large body of rebels had been collecting just at night. We had had slight skirmishing in that neighborhood for several days, and now the crisis was expected, and our regiment was to have a chance. All was excitement, and in half an hour from the alarm we were ready to start. By the time we arrived here it had commenced raining—we found no enemy—bivouaced for the night, and slept in the rain to the music of the tramp, tramp of infantry, and the rattling, roaring tear of artillery wagons over the roughly macademized road which passed by our encampment. Yesterday it rained all day, as if every plug had been pulled out; still we kept on our arms and ready for action—our general and brigade officers dashing about all the time, and warning us to be ready for an attack. Day before yesterday a scouting party of our brigade went in pursuit of a party of cavalry who had been seen hovering about us. When they came in sight the cavalry took to their heels, leaving to us only three large contrabands, who "tink massa oughten to run away from poor nigga so, heah! heah! They just run and leab us to de mercy of de darn abolishuns, heah! heah!" They report that around Fairfax and Centreville there are sixty or seventy regiments, who are well provisioned, but that there is a great deal of sickness among them, measles being the prevailing disease. We had, when we left Kalarama, about twenty-five in the hospital, whom we left there under the charge of Dr. There are three or four here who have sickened in consequence of exposure to the two days and two night's rain, but they will be out in a day or two. We have not yet lost a man by disease or accident, though I hear that one man yesterday received a musket ball through his cap, but as it did not hit his head it is thought he will recover. The musket was carelessly fired by some soldier in our camp.
A little occurrence
to-day has caused quite a stir in our camps, and I deem it worthy to be noted
here for my remembrance. Capt. Strong, of the Second Regiment of Wisconsin
Volunteers, was with a small party on picket guard. He strolled away from his
company, and suddenly found himself surrounded by six of the rebel pickets.
Being out of reach of help from his men, he surrendered himself a prisoner.
After a short consultation as to whether they should kill the "d----d
Yankee" on the spot, they concluded that they would first take him into
camp. They demanded his pistols, which he took from his belt and presented. But
at the moment when the rebels were receiving them, they both went off, killing
two of his captors on the spot. But there were four left, two on foot, two on
horseback. He dashed into a pine thicket, they discharging their pieces after
him and immediately giving chase. He struck into a deep hollow or ravine
leading down to the Potomac. It was so precipitous that the horsemen could not
follow. But when he emerged from it near the river; he found himself confronted
by the two horsemen who had ridden around and reached the spot in time to head
him off. He had received a shot through his canteen. Immediately on seeing his
pursuers he fired again, killing one more of them, and simultaneously he
received another shot through his cheek. He continued firing with his revolvers
till he had made in all eleven shots. By this time the fourth man had been
unhorsed. The footmen did not pursue, and he made his way into camp. This is
the story, though some are so uncharitable as to discredit it, notwithstanding
one hole through his canteen and another through his cheek.
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. 21-5
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
We started early
this morning, steadily tramping till a little after noon, when we entered the
town of Hamilton, the rebs leaving as our advance went in.
Here we made a long
halt, as the men were sore, sick, and lame, as well as tired and hungry.
Surgeon Ware made an examination here, and as it was as far as the transports could
be with us, he decided to send back what men had succumbed. Our company had
two. The unfortunates were put aboard a miserable tub of a boat, with about two
hundred sick men on her, and sleeping room for about fifty; but after nearly
five days on the crowded, ill-ventilated, poorly provisioned craft, we arrived
at New Berne on Sunday morning, Nov. 9th, marched to the old camp-ground, and
were received by the guard whom we left there. They washed us, and put us to
bed, and then took care of us till we were on our feet again. We had good
quarters in the surgeon's tent, and only worried for fear the regiment would
come home in the dark, and catch us napping in the officers' quarters.
Rumors are abundant
to the effect that the regiment is cut to pieces, but no work for the sick
ones, so we write letters by the dozen, smoke, and tell stories of our campaign
to the camp-guard. But the company must be looked up.
They started from
Hamilton about seven P.M., of the 4th, marching through town with fireworks.
Many of the buildings were in flames, having been fired in retaliation, our men
being shot at from the houses. Others say the town was burned because a rebel
picket shot one of our soldiers on the outskirts of the town. If that was so,
it was a wrong done to private property.
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. 19-20
we drilled some the Capt & 1st Lieut absent the 1st Lieutenant has been sick for several days.
SOURCE: Edgar R. Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1925, p. 87
I am still at
Barnum's, and having transferred my sick to the charge of Mr. S., I have a
little more time to think, and to journalize my thoughts. I have looked around
a little to-day, and my observations have almost made me wish I had no country.
When every right which freemen hold dear is at stake, to see men calculating
the pecuniary cost of preserving them, sickens the heart, and shakes our
confidence in human nature. When the poorer classes are laboring day and night,
and exposing their lives in the cause of that government on which the rich lean
for protection in the possession of their wealth, to see these loud mouthed
patriotic capitalists cheating them in the very clothes they wear to battle,
the soul revolts at the idea of human nature civilized into a great mass of
money-makers. May we not expect, ere long, that these same patriots will be
found opposing the war because it will require a tax on the riches which they
shall have amassed from it, to defray its expenses? We shall see.
* I assume that the
slave population are not of those against whom we fight.
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. 15-6
I was visited by my
Colonel to-day. He introduced the subject of reducing my hospital force. I was
extra-polite, and replied that I had not the slightest objection, provided it
was done with the understanding that it would shift the responsibility of the
care of the sick from my shoulders to those of others. The subject was dropped,
and will hardly be renewed. The jealousy existing in the military towards the
medical department of the army astounds me. The military commanders claiming
that the medical have no authority except through them, has driven the medical
officers to assume the other extreme, and claim that they are the only officers
in the army who are really independent of command. This quarrel is often
bitter, and makes not only themselves uncomfortably captious, but subjects the
sick and wounded to suffering whilst these settle their unnecessary quarrels.
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. 19
Pleasant Valley, October 17th, 1862.
Being in a wakeful mood, I will try and compose my mind by writing a few lines in my diary, for we have become great friends—yes, confidantes—and tonight I need a confidante. Did I ever tell you, my silent friend, of my Northern home; of wife and children, loving and beloved? Then listen, while I whisper in your ear the sacred secret. I have a wife and four small children far off in Michigan. I love them with all the intensity and devotion of my nature. The thought of them is ever uppermost in my mind. In the daily, monotonous rounds of duty; in the long, dreary evenings, when folly reigns; in the stillness of the night; on the rugged, toilsome march, or in the tumult of battle, thoughts of the dear ones at home are ever present, inspiring me with hope, encouraging me to duty, a shield against temptation, a beacon light, shining out upon the stormy sea of strife on which my frail bark is launched, enabling me, thus far, to shun the rocks and quicksands that surround me.
Our regiment returned today from Frederic, where it has been guarding the railroad. We hear that General Wilcox, Colonel Fenton and Colonel Withington are to be promoted. We are heartily glad their eminent services are about to be rewarded by the Government. They are men of marked ability, and have well earned their honors. Although it will take from us our gallant Colonel, there is some compensation even in that. It will leave the regiment in command of Lieutenant Colonel Luce, who is beloved by all our men. We have heard heavy cannonading all day, but have not learned the result. It is rumored that we will move in a day or two-perhaps tomorrow. Where we go, even rumor sayeth not. Our men say it does not matter where, so they take us where work is to be done. Two men deserted from Co. G yesterday and two today. This splendid regiment that left Detroit two months ago nearly one thousand strong, mustered today, at inspection, two hundred and fifty-six men fit for duty. There are more sick than well, the result of insufficient supplies, and brutal, needless exposure of the men by officers high in rank.
The weather is delightful—cold and frosty nights, with warm sunshiny days and pure, fresh, mountain breezes that should strengthen and invigorate, and yet, of all who came from Blackman and Sandstone, I alone am well.
SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 19-20
