9 Oc I dismissed the
old guard & I then visited the sick in hospitals till noon evening I was on
dress perade we have the pleasure of the arivel of our Chaplain MH Hare
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
Forenoon I drilled
the Co in the manuel of arms afternoon Lieut McCreary drilled us 4 Oc we were
on dress perade night I was at Lieut Balls office I visited all our sick &
found all improving except Josiah Biddison & I fear we will loose him
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
We drilled none but
was on dress perade I visited the sick in hospitals & spent the day mostly
with them we have one Josiah Biddison that the doctors say cannot live he is
earnest in prayer but has not yet professed
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
Forenoon the Orderly
& I drilled the Co on scirmish drill afternoon I drilled then in the manuel
of arms. 1st Lieut absent untill we went on dress perade & night till after
10 Oc he was in town afternoon I went to see our sick in the hospitals
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
Forenoon I drilled
the Co in the manuel of arms we did not drill afternoon. we was on dress perade
1st Lieut & Orderly was absent all day untill dress perade evening I
visited our sick in hospitals all seem to be doing well & I have hopes that
Biddison will live
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 94
Last night the 28th
Reg passed down stopped a short time in town. I spent most of this forenoon in
the hospitals & some of the afternoon most of our sick are doing well 4 Oc
we were on dress perade
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 95
We ware on batallion
drill afternoon Company drill & Dress perade Our sick are all mending
evening Our Chaplain preached in the Barracks of Co I Capt Gedney, text Come
unto me all ye that labour &c
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 95
These mountain
streams are unreliable. We had come to regard the one on which we are encamped
as a quiet, orderly little river, that would be good enough to notify us when
it proposed to swell out and overflow the adjacent country. In fact we had
bragged about it, made all sorts of complimentary mention of it, put our tents
on its margin, and allowed it to encircle our sick and wounded; but we have now
lost all confidence in it. Yesterday, about noon, it began to rise. It had been
raining, and we thought it natural enough that the waters should increase a
little. At four o'clock it had swelled very considerably, but still kept within
its bed of rock and gravel, and we admired it all the more for the energy
displayed in hurrying along branches, logs, and sometimes whole trees. At six
o'clock we found it was rising at the rate of one foot per hour, and that the
water had now crept to within a few feet of the hospital tent, in which lay two
wounded and a dozen or more of sick. Dr. McMeens became alarmed and called for
help. Thirty or more boys stripped, swam to the island, and removed the
hospital to higher ground-to the highest ground, in fact, which the island
afforded. The boys returned, and we felt safe. At seven o'clock, however, we
found the river still rising rapidly. It covered nearly the whole island. Logs,
brush, green trees, and all manner of drift went sweeping by at tremendous
speed, and the water rushed over land which had been dry half an hour before,
with apparently as strong a current as that in the channel. We knew then that
the sick and wounded were in danger. How to rescue them was now the question. A
raft was suggested; but a raft could not be controlled in such a current, and
if it went to pieces or was hurried away, the sick and wounded must drown.
Fortunately a better way was suggested; getting into a wagon, I ordered the
driver to go above some distance, so that we could move with the current, and
then ford the stream. After many difficulties, occasioned mainly by floating
logs and driftwood, and swimming the horses part of the way, we succeeded in
getting over. I saw it was impossible to carry the sick back, and that there
was but one way to render them secure. I had the horses unhitched, and told the
driver to swim them back and bring over two or three more wagons. Two more
finally reached me, and one team, in attempting to cross, was carried down
stream and drowned. I had the three wagons placed on the highest point I could
find, then chained together and staked securely to the ground. Over the boxes
of two of these we rolled the hospital tent, and on this placed the sick and
wounded, just as the water was creeping upon us. On the third wagon we put the
hospital stores. It was now quite dark. Not more than four feet square of dry
land remained of all our beautiful island; and the river was still rising. We
watched the water with much anxiety. At ten o'clock it reached the wagon hubs,
and covered every foot of the ground; but soon after we were pleased to see
that it began to go down a little. Those of us who could not get into the
wagons had climbed the trees. At one o'clock it commenced to rain again, when
we managed to hoist a tent over the sick. At two o'clock the long-roll, the
signal for battle, was beaten in camp, and we could just hear, above the roar
of the water, the noise made by the men as they hurriedly turned out and fell
into line.
It will not do,
however, to conclude that this was altogether a night of terrors. It was, in
fact, not so very disagreeable after all. There was a by-play going on much of
the time, which served to illuminate the thick darkness, and divert our minds
from the gloomier aspects of the scene. Smith, the teamster who brought me
across, had returned to the mainland with the horses, and then swam back to the
island. By midnight he had become very drunk. One of the hospital attendants
was very far gone in his cups, also. These two gentlemen did not seem to get
along amicably; in fact, they kept up a fusillade of words all night, and so
kept us awake. The teamster insisted that the hospital attendant should address
him as Mr. Smith. The Smith family, he argued, was of the highest
respectability, and being an honored member of that family, he would permit no
man under the rank of a Major-General to call him Jake. George McClellan
sometimes addressed him by his christian name; but then George and he were
Cincinnatians, old neighbors, and intimate personal friends, and, of course,
took liberties with each other. This could not justify one who carried out pukes
and slop-buckets from a field hospital in calling him Jake, or even Jacob.
Mr. Smith's
allusions to the hospital attendant were not received by that gentleman in the
most amiable spirit. He grew profane, and insisted that he was not only as good
a man as Smith, but a much better one, and he dared the bloviating mule
scrubber to get down off his perch and stand up before him like a man. But
Jake's temper remained unruffled, and along toward morning, in a voice more
remarkable for strength than melody, he favored us with a song:
Ho! gif ghlass uf goodt lauger du me;
Du mine fadter, mine modter, mine
vife:
Der day's vork vos done, undt we'll see
Vot bleasures der vos un dis
life,
Undt ve sit us aroundt mit der table,
Undt ve speak uf der oldt, oldt
time,
Ven we lif un dot house mit der gable,
Un der vine-cladt banks uf der
Rhine;
Undt mine fadter, his voice vos a quiver,
Undt mine modter; her eyes vos un
tears,
Ash da dthot uf dot home un der river,
Undt kindt friendst uf earlier
years;
Undt I saidt du mine fadter be cheerie,
Du mine modter not longer lookt
sadt,
Here's a blace undt a rest for der weary,
Und ledt us eat, drink, undt be
gladt.
So idt ever vos cheerful mitin;
Vot dtho' idt be stormy mitoudt,
Vot care I vor der vorld undt idts din,
Ven dose I luf best vos about;
So libft up your ghlass, mine modter,
Undt libft up yours, Gretchen, my
dear,
Undt libft up your lauger, mine fadter,
Undt drink du long life und good
cheer.
SOURCE: John
Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 58-62
On shore again. The well ones are drilling and the sick are enjoying themselves any way they can. Mail came to-day and I have a long letter from home. Every mail out takes one from me and often more. I have so many correspondents, I seldom fail to get one or more letters by each mail. On the bank or shore, up and down as far as I have seen, are negro shanties which look as if put up for a few days only. They dig oysters and find a ready sale to the thousands upon thousands of soldiers that are encamped on the plains as far as the eye can reach. This gathering means something, but just what, we none of us know, A case of black measles is reported on board ship and if true we may be in for a siege of it. I hope I may get entirely well before it hits me. Jaundice is quite common too, and many men I see are as yellow as can be and look much worse than they appear to feel.
SOURCE: Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 62-3
Lots of sick men to-day. I am better and was on duty again. Had only to attend sick-call and take the men to the doctor. There were only six from Company B, while some companies had twenty. Sergeants Noble and Kniffin were sent ashore to the Chesapeake hospital to-day.
Night. John Thompson and Isaiah Dibble, fresh from the North, came on board to-night. Gave us all the home news and many loving messages from those we love so well. But the way they spoke of our quarters was scandalous. Said hogs would die if confined in such a pen as this.
SOURCE: Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 66
Nashville, Tenn., Thursday Evening, April 7.
The present week, thus far, has been to me, full of new and thrilling experiences.
On Sabbath, the day after our arrival, I entered an ambulance and visited a camp for the first time. The company consisted of three, besides myself—Rev. Dr. D., a young theological student who is passing vacation here, and Miss T. The day was warm and springlike; the hyacinths, crocuses, and peach trees in blossom. It was the camp of the 7th Pennsylvania Cavalry, and situated upon one of the hights overlooking the City. The tents were white, the soldiers well-dressed, the uniform bright and everything tidy. A new and gaily painted banner pointed out the tent of the Colonel. As we entered the grounds, that gentleman, with the Major, met us cordially, a seat was prepared for the ladies at the opening of the Colonel's tent, while a huge box in front served for a speaker's stand. The bugle then summoned such as wished to listen, and service was held by the two gentlemen of our party. Books and papers were afterward distributed, for which the soldiers seemed eager. The Colonel informed us that the Regiment had just been reorganized, and new recruits filled the vacant places in the ranks, made so by the heroes, who fell at such battles as Lookout Mountain, Mission Ridge, and Chickamauga. There is a long list of such inscribed upon this banner, of which they are justly proud.
On Monday, visited a hospital for the first time. Was accompanied by Mrs. E. P. Smith, Mrs. Dr. F. and my travelling companion Miss O, beside the driver. As the ambulance halted, we saw through the open door and windows the homesick, pallid faces raised from the sick beds to greet us with a look of pleasure. Upon entering, almost the first object was that of a dying boy. His name was John Camplin, of Co. G. 49th Illinois Vols. He was a new recruit of only seventeen, and the victim of measles. He "did'nt want to die," but, after the singing of such hymns as "Rock of Ages," and "Jesus lover of my soul," he grew more resigned. I took the card which hung in a little tin case at the head of his bed, and copied the name and address of his father. The dying boy had been watching, and he then with difficult speech asked me to write to his people and tell them "good bye,” and that he was "going home." I tried to obtain a more lengthy message to comfort them, but speech was soon denied nd reason wandered. He died a few hours after, and the sad tidings was sent next day.
Found another poor boy quite low, with pneumonia. He knew his condition, but with an heroic smile upon his wasted features said, that "if" his "life would do his dear country any good" he was "willing to give it."
The Masonic Hall and First Presbyterian Church constitute Hospital, No. 8. We visited that on Tuesday.
As we enter the Hall, past the guard, we find a broad flight of stairs before us, and while ascending, perceive this caution inscribed upon the wall in evergreen.
"Remember you are in a hospital and make no noise." Up this flight, and other cautions meet us, such as "No smoking here"—" Keep away from the wall," &c. We here pause at a door, and are introduced to the matron who is fortunately just now going through the wards. It is Miss J-tt, of Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Ascending another broad flight, and asking in the meantime of her duties, she throws open the door of the linen room where are two clerks, and says:
"This department comprises all the work assigned to me whatever else I do is voluntary and gratuitous. "But today," she adds laughingly, "it would be difficult to define my duties. I think I might properly be called 'Commandant of the Black Squad,' or Chief of the Dirty Brigade;" and she explained by saying that she had seven negro women and two men, subject to her orders, who were cleaning the building. She next throws open the door of a ward which contains but a few patients, and has a smoky appearance. She tells us, they are fumigating it, having had some cases of small pox, most of which have been sent to the proper Hospital.
We pass to another, where she tells us, previous to entering, is one very sick boy. He is of a slight form, only fifteen, and with delicate girlish features. His disease is typhoid fever, from the effects of which he is now quite deaf. As we approach, he says to her faintly, "Sit down here, mother, on the side of my bed.”
She does so, when he asks her to "to bend her head down so he can tell her something." This she does, when he says, quite loud, but with difficulty;—“There's some money under my pillow, I want you to get it, and buy me some dried peaches."
"I don't want your money," she says, "but you shall have the peaches if I can get them," and she writes a note and dispatches it to the sanitary rooms for them." "This boy always calls me mother," she says, "and the first day he was brought here, he sent his nurse to ask if I would come up and kiss him. He has always been his mother's pet, and I now correspond with her on his account."
His fever is very high, and we pass our cold hand soothingly over his forehead and essay to speak words of cheer, and as we turn to leave, he looks up pleadingly and says:
"Can't you kiss me?"
"Yes, indeed, I can—am glad to do so," and we press our own to his burning lips and receive his feverish, unpleasant breath, not a disagreeable task though, for all, when we remember that he is the pet of his mother, who misses him so very much, and who may never look upon her boy again.
Of one-a middle-aged, despondent looking man we ask cheerily, how he is to-day.
"About the same," he replies coldly, but with a look which is the index of a thought like this:
Oh, you don't care for us or our comfort,—you are well, and have friends, and home, probably near you, and you cannot appreciate our suffering, and only come here to satisfy an idle curiosity."
He does not say this, but he thinks it, and we read the thought in the voice, manner, and countenance. We determine to convince him of his mistake, if possible, notwithstanding he looks as if he prefers we should walk along and leave him alone.
"Were you wounded?" we ask.
"No-sick," was the short gruff answer.
"Your disease was fever was'nt it?" we persist," your countenance looks like it."
"Yes, fever and pneumonia,” he replies in the same cold, but despairing tone.
"Ah-but you're getting better now."
"Don't know about it—reckon not."
"Well, how is it about getting letters from home?"
His countenance, voice and manner undergo a sudden change now, and his eyes overrun with tears, at the simple words "letters from home."
And as he raises his hand to his mouth, to conceal its quivering, he tells us with tremulous voice that he has sent three letters to his wife and can get no answer. She has left the place where they used to live, and he does not know certainly where to direct. We ask who we can write to, to find out, and learn that a sister would know. We take the probable address of the wife, and that of the sister, and after some farther conversation leave him looking quite like another man as we promise to write to each in the evening. (Subsequently, we learned that he received a reply to both, and was comparatively cheerful and very grateful.)
Down stairs, and we enter a ward on the first floor. Here is a thin sallow visage, the owner of which piteously asks if we "have any oranges," "No," but we provide means, by which he can purchase.
"I'm from North Carolina," he says, "I hid in the woods and mountains and lived on roots and berries for weeks, before I could get away."
In reply to our query as to whether he would like a letter written home, he informs us that his wife and father arrived in town only a few days ago,
"Then you have seen them," we say.
"Yes, they both visit me, but my wife comes oftenest."
Just now, his nurse, a young man who should know better, interrupts him by telling us that "it isn't so, and his family are all in North Carolina."
"That's just the way," said the sick man, turning to me with a flushed and angry look, "that they're talking to me all the time, and trying to make everybody think I'm crazy. I reckon I know whether I've seen my wife or not!"
"Of course you do," we say quietingly; "does she bring you anything nice to eat?" and we add that we wish she would come while we were there, so we could see her.
"Well, she don't bring me much to eat," he says in a weak, hollow voice, but earnestly, "she don't understand fixin' up things nice for sick folks, and then she's weakly like, but she does all she can, for she's a right gude heart. She doesn't fix up, and look like you folks do, you know," he added, “for she's sort o' torn to pieces like by this war."
“Yes, we can understand it."
Upon inquiring about this man a few moments after of the Ward-Master, we find that he is really a monomaniac upon this subject, persisting in the declaration that his wife and father visit him often though no one sees them.
"He can't live," said the Ward-Master, "he has lost all heart and is worn out. The chance of a Southerner to live after going to a hospital is not over a fourth as good as for one of our Northern boys. They can do more fighting with less food while in the field, but when the excitement is over they lose heart and die.”
We find upon several subsequent visits that he is growing weaker, and at the last when his countenance indicates that death is near, we are thankful that he is still comforted by these imaginary visits from father and wife.
We crossed the street and entered the First Presbyterian Church, which constitutes a part of the hospital. This place is notable for the promulgation of secession sentiments from its pulpit in other days. A specimen of the style was given here a short time before the entrance of our troops, by Prof. Elliott of the Seminary, who in a prayer besought the Almighty that he would so prosper the arms of the Confederates and bring to naught the plans of the Federals, that every hill-top, plain and valley around Nashville should be white with the bones of the hated Yankees!”
“After hearing this it was doubly a pleasure, in company with Miss J., another "Northern vandal," to make the walls of the old church echo to the words of "The Star Spangled Banner," with an accompaniment from the organ; and it would have done any loyal heart good to see how much pleasure it gave to the sick and wounded soldiers.
SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, p. 13-19
We have commenced
moving our camp equipage from Camp Vanderwerken to this place, to be named Camp
Griffin—I suppose for Capt. Griffin, of one of the batteries of the regular
army. Capt. G., with his battery, has been one of us and with us since we
crossed the Potomac. We have had much trouble and vexation to-day in
establishing medical headquarters for the regiments of our brigade, but after
much ordering of us and changing of orders, we are at last to take charge of
the stone house of Mr. Jno. N. Johnson, in which, and in the tents we are able
to pitch, we hope to make comfortable all the sick of our brigade.
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. 41-2
Sent off ambulances
to-day to commence bringing forward the sick of my regiment, and whilst they
were gone, after having put my hospital in good order for their reception, I
stepped over again to Commodore Jones' house to see how the guards stationed
there had succeeded in carrying out their orders. Till I entered the house, I
thought I had seen evidences of extreme vandalism, but the wanton destruction
here beggars everything I have before witnessed. Furniture broken; feather beds
opened, and their contents emptied over house and yard; even those beautiful
family pictures were ground to atoms and thrown to the winds. But I need not
describe here, for the impression is deeply stamped in memory, more durable and
more accurate than words and letters can ever make. Everything destructable was
destroyed.*
In handling over the
papers I picked up the Commodore's "Journal of a cruise in the U. S. ship
Relief-bearing the broad pennant of Commodore Jones-Thos. A. Downer, Esq.,
Commander," which I have preserved, and also a letter from a son of
Commodore Tatnall (late of the rebel Merrimac) to Commodore Jones, written from
the Meditterranean, asking to be relieved from duty there, and to be permitted
to return to America.†
As it will be a
matter of interest to me, in future, to study my predictions as to the course
and conduct of this war-to rejoice and be vain over those which prove correct,
and to laugh at or be ashamed of those which prove false, I shall continue to
record them as I have begun; and here I enter one in which I hope to take
interest a long time hence. As I have constantly predicted, we have had no
fight here nor shall we have; and I now very much doubt whether we shall have a
fight even at Manassas, and for this reason: "After all the feints of the
enemy here to draw Gen. Banks from Harper's Ferry had failed, they, seeing that
we have got foot-hold in North Carolina, will fall back on their fortifications
at Centerville and Manassas, and then presenting a bold front with a small
body, will cover the withdrawal of the larger part of their force, which they
will distribute in Kentucky, Missouri, Tennessee and Western Virginia, and I
very much doubt whether they will retain enough at Manassas to make a
respectable fight. Kentucky and Tennessee are to become the theatre of war; and
if I am not greatly mistaken, Kentucky will have trying times between this and
the first of January. I hope that Gen. McClellan is taking the same view of
things, and is preparing to meet it." What I have here marked as a
quotation is a copied from a letter this day written to a friend on the
prospects of the war.
_______________
* It is worthy of
remark here, that thus whilst this wanton destruction was going on, a half a
mile away, everything on the place of Mr. Johnson, (a loyalist, whose house and
garden were in the very midst of the encampments,) though unguarded was
unmolested; every article he had to dispose of was bought and paid for, at high
prices, by the soldiers. Even thus early could we read the soldier's aversion
to guarding, or having guarded the property of rebels.
† This letter I
handed to a lady connection of the Tatnall family, who was with me at the time,
and she found means of restoring it to them.
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. 42-3
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
Have been confined to my bed for two days with chills and fever. The Suffolk people are very kind to our sick.
SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 112
10 Oc I & Emma
Amandus & our Cozens Maria & Mary Kelley attended Catholic Church after
which we went to the Hospital Boat & from that we went to the hospitals
& amongst the sick & wounded 5 Oc I was on dress perade evening I
preached in the tent 30th Reg text Gal 6th 1st & 2nd v
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 92
Forenoon I was on
Company drill afternoon Division & Battalion drill & Dress perade,
evening Emma Cozen Maria Kelly & I attended a Medical Lecture at the
Medical Colledge we visited some of the sick soldiers in part of the Colledge
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 93
I went with our Capt
to the Hospital & gave him his medison & staid with him most of the day
afternoon a short time on drill & Dress perade evening Emma & I attended
prayer meeting at exchange St Church after that we went into see some of our
sick Soldiers in the Hospital
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 93
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
