Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 9, 1861

This morning, as I passed through the camp giving directions about cleaning and ventilating tents, whilst the regiment was on parade, my Colonel, seeing me so engaged, gave orders that no directions of mine need be obeyed till he sanctioned them. A very strange order; but as it releases me from responsibility for the health of the regiment, I shall henceforward leave the police regulations of the camp to him, and stay at the hospital. I think it will take but a short time to convince him of his mistake, and that he knows nothing of the sanitary wants of a camp.

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, pp. 50-1

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 13, 1861

The Regiment received two months' pay to-day, and to-night are all busy as bees making up express packages, to be sent to fathers, mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives. To-morrow, all who can get passes to go, will be in Washington buying presents and sitting before a camera to "stain the glass" with reflections from their faces, all to be sent to friends at home. As man, in the mass, can be, in no condition, however bright, which will exempt him from cares, fears and apprehensions, so there is none so dark as to exclude hopes and anticipations of better things. Even here we have our joys and our aspirations, and these are of them. We preach that man should study to be contented. What! man in his imperfect condition, contented, that he, as an individual, or as a part of a great whole, should remain forever, as he is! It is opposed to all God's plans. Discontent is the only stairway to progress. Through the discontent of Israel, Egyptian bondage was broken. The discontent of Russia brought war, which more than compensated for its ravages and its horrors, by the introduction of her people to a knowledge of liberal ideas. Czarism was shaken, and already the Goddess of Liberty waves her cap over the downfall of serfdom. The seceder's discontent in England was the Genesis of a mighty nation. Elijah cast off the cloak, too small for his growing aspirations, whilst his followers eagerly grasped its folds to aid their progression. The discontent of an Almighty God substituted Noah for Adam—Christ for Diana—Eternity for Time. And is the discontent which occasioned this great war, with all its horrors, its butcheries, its temporary demoralization, to have no great result? Is it a bare interlude of the parties engaged, taking advantage of the time when "God sleepeth;" or is it a spark emitted from the great restless spirit of Jehovah, destined to ignite into a "pillar of fire," and to light us on in the journey of universal progress?"

"Hope springs eternal—"

I have to-day seen a "speck of war," with another touch of Vandalism. I have, for the first time, seen an army in drill. Fifteen to twenty thousand men, a thousand horses, and one hundred artillery wagons, on parade. To me, who had never seen anything of the kind, it was grand, and looked like war. I note here an extract of a letter written to a friend to-day, attempting a description of part of it: "It was, indeed, a magnificent sight, to see six hundred horses harnessed to a hundred wagons, in full run, in line, like a regiment of infantry, and at a word of command, to become so instantly and inconcievably mixed that you would think a universal smash inevitable, appear in another instant dashing across the vast plain without a wagon attached. Turn your eyes to see the wrecks, and you will be surprised to see the carriages in four straight lines, forming a hollow square, with the mouth of every gun pointing outwardly, and a laughing expression of "Surround me if you dare!" An other look will show you that the carriages are so close together that the horses can not pass between them, yet the wagon poles to which the horses had been hitched are all inside of the square. How did the six hundred horses get out? The cannon at once open their hundred mouths and are enveloped in smoke. The horses return, disappear for a moment in the dense smoke, and seemingly without their stopping long enough to be hitched to, the four lines straighten out into column, and the cavalcade is again dashing across the plain. In less than forty rods, the jumble is repeated, the square formed, the horses gone, and the hundred cannons again open. When did they reload?" The vandalism: The finest orchard I have seen in Virginia, was cut down today, and in one hour converted into a brush-heap; and for no other purpose than to give the infantry a chance to "show off" in an hour's parade. The fruit trees were in the way, and were cut down! It will take forty years to replace that orchard.

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, pp. 51-3

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 14, 1861

This morning our Brigade Surgeon ordered me to leave the hospital for a few days, on account of my fatigue and prostration. He said that a regard for my health demanded it, and I must go where I pleased. I rode to Arlington, the headquarters of General King. The Arlington house, I believe, is (unless confiscated) the property of Gen. Lee. It is a magnificent mansion, overlooking Georgetown, Washington, Alexandria, and miles of the beautiful Potomac. In a room of this house, said to have been a favorite room of General Washington, I found my old friend Surgeon ———,badly broken by the fatigue and excitement of the campaign. I called on him, in company with Doctor A——, and after talking of his illness for half an hour, Doctor A. proposed to him to have my advice, to which he replied "Yes! if he will not medicate me too much." I said, "Doctor, I will prescribe for you, and with a single dose will medicate every fibre of your body, and by a healthy shock, restore you to health at once." With a look as if he thought me a hyena, he asked: "What do you mean to do with me?" "To take you out of this place and put you for thirty days under the care of your wife and family." The poor suffering man grasped my hand, burst into tears and sobbed aloud, "My Colonel won't consent to it." For a moment, forgetting his religion, and not having the fear of military commanders before my eyes, "Your Colonel may go to the d-vil, and you shall have a furlough." I rode immediately to medical headquarters in Washington, procured him the promise of a furlough as soon as his papers could be sent in, returned, informed him of it, and had the pleasure on my long night ride back to camp, of feeling that I had contributed something to the happines, and, perhaps, had saved the life of a good and worthy man. How easy for any man, however humble his position, to find opportunities of doing good, if he will only wear the "spectacles of benevolence."

After the vandalism I have witnessed in the destruction of property, in and about the houses of rebels and elsewhere, it was a pleasurable relief to find here, that General King, in the goodness of his always good heart, had enforced respect for the property and furniture. The garden, with its fences, is preserved, and the walls of almost every room in this immense old building, are covered with the rich paintings and old family pictures, left hanging when this favorite of rebeldom left his home. The garden is fine, but I think does not compare with that of Kalorama. The antique bureaus and [s]ide-boards calling up impressions of generations long passed away, are still tenants of the building; and the halls recall Scott's fine description of the Halls of the Douglass, where the arms of the hunters, and the trophies of the hunt, mingled with the trappings of the warrior, constituted the attractive features of the chieftain's forest home. Over the halls, and at every angle in the stairs, were the antlers of the elk and the red-deer fastened to the walls and nearly interlocking their branches over my head as I walked through. They were hung, too, with the arms of the hunter and the warrior. So perfectly does this position command Washington, that had the rebels there secretly collected a dozen mortars, they might have fired the city before a gun could have been brought to bear on them. Everybody is talking of a prospect of a move within three days, but the origin of the reports I know not; perhaps in the impatience of the army to be led forward.

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, pp. 53-5

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 19, 1861

It is blustering weather, and my cat is beside me, lying on her head, by the fire in my little tent. Everybody says that is "a sign" of cold weather. Let it come, if it will only drive us forward.

The Surgeon General and the Brigade Surgeon have both been urging me, to-day, to accept a Brigade Surgeonship. I decline, for two reasons: 1st. It would retain me as a Surgeon, whilst it would exclude me from the immediate care of the sick. 'Twould be to me like Hamlet, with Hamlet left out; and, 2d. It would greatly add to my responsibilities, without advance in rank or increase in pay. I shall remain where I am.

Glorious news just received; the morning paper is just here. Mason and Slidell—both prisoners. They should be hung.

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. 55

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 20, 1861

This morning we received marching orders to Bailey's, to have a grand review of the whole army. Very few had any confidence in that part of the order announcing the purpose—a review. All believed it was to take Fairfax, and then perhaps to move forward on Centreville and Manassas; but all were disappointed. It was a "Grand review,”—a very grand one—such as I doubt whether this continent ever witnessed before. It may never witness the like again.

There were about one hundred thousand men in battle array; not in one long line stretching far beyond the reach of vision, and leaving the imagination to picture what we could not see, but all in sight at once, on an immense plain, in squares and columns, marching and countermarching, charging and retreating. The President was there; General McClellan and the Prince de Joinville were there; all the elite were there. But to the poor soldiers it was a very hard day. They marched heavy, with knapsacks and all the equipments of a soldier. They started early, marched ten miles, were then several hours under review, and then marched back to camp. Many gave out, and were left by the way side, to come up when they can; the rest of us are back in camp to-night, worn out and heartily tired of grand reviews. I hope that the crowding of my hospital is not to be one of the result of the overwork.

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, pp. 55-6

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 29, 1861

Since the order of the early part of this month, that my directions in reference to the sanitary measures could be disregarded, I have not visited the camp, or given any directions in regard to cleaning, ventilating, &c., and though it is now but three weeks since that order was made, the sick list, which had decreased in two weeks from about two hundred to thirty-nine, has suddenly run up again to one hundred and sixty, and the diseases are assuming a low typhoid type. So foul are the tents that if a soldier, with simple intermittent, remains three days in his quarters, he is sent to hospital in a condition approximating ship-fever. The seeds of disease are now sown in our regiment, which, in despite of the greatest care, will not fail to yield rich harvests of sickness all winter. Our Governor has been in camp to-day. He has no doubt seen the effect of this military interference, for he has called on me to know if something cannot be done to arrest the trouble. I have laid the whole matter fully before him, and I have no doubt that what is in his power to do, will be done to avert the evil.

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, pp. 56-7

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, November 30, 1861

It is a great relief to my feelings that the difficulties heretofore existing between the Military and Medical Departments in our Regiment are to-day adjusted, and I hope removed by the rescinding the order of the 9th inst., that my directions about the sanitary police of the camps need not be obeyed, and by a substitution of a public order from which this is an extract: "The condition of the health of the regiment requires more than ordinary care. The sanitary regulations of the camp must be entrusted to the Surgeon of the regiment." I have good reason to hope, too, that all personal feelings of an unpleasant character, which have grown out of this unhappy difference of opinion as to official rights, are removed, and that in future the relations of the two departments may be pleasant to the parties, and beneficial to the sick. I now determined that more than ever will I devote my energies to the removal of the causes of the recent severe sickness, and to counteract their results.

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. 57

Congressman Horace Mann to Reverend Samuel J. May, January 8, 1852

WASHINGTON, Jan. 3, 1852.

REV. S. J. MAY.

DEAR SIR,—It is now a long time since I have received any copies of your shots at Mr. C. So I suppose the war is ended. I did not see his articles; but, from yours, I should suppose you had much the better of him, both in temper and logic. It is curious that you should propose to engage my professional services for your defence in a case arising out of the Fugitive-slave Law, and that so soon my own writings on the subject should require legal defence. I presume you have seen in the "Commonwealth" that Mr. Commissioner Curtis has commenced an action for libel against Mr. Muzzey, the publisher of my speeches, on account of that Lancaster exhibition of himself. What do you say now to being my counsel? Are you ready to do as you would be done by?

I hope you see full debates of Congress—such as are published in the "Globe"—in relation to the reception of Kossuth. The whole opposition to him comes from the South, and from Northern Hunkers who are devoted to the South. The avowed opposition is based on the question of "intervention;" but the real motive is slavery. While they demand that one fugitive shall be fettered and sent home, they cannot bear to see another fêted and honored. You see the cloven foot; indeed, you can see nothing else. With best regards for your family, I am

Very truly yours, &c.,

HORACE MANN.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 356

Congressman Horace Mann to Samuel Downer, February 10, 1852

WASHINGTON, Feb. 10, 1852.

MY DEAR DOWNER, - There is nothing of much moment transpiring here. Cabell of Florida, in the House, a few days ago laid down the Southern Whig platform, that no man should be supported for President who was not sound on the slavery question; and added, that though Scott, for every other reason, would be his first choice, yet he had not come out in favor of slavery to this time, and he feared it was even now too late. He was determined (Cabell) never to be caught by another Taylor. Murphy, from Georgia, followed on the Democratic side, and prescribed very much the same creed for the Democrats that Cabell had for the Whigs. So you see the bold stand the South is taking. June, they will act up to it. succumb?

They will talk up to it now. Next

Will not both parties at the North

Dismy of Ohio, in the same debate, on being taunted for voting against the Fugitive-slave Law, said he did it because it was not stringent enough!

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, pp. 356-7

Congressman Horace Mann, 1852

DANSVILLE, N. Y., 1852.

I have seen only the most meagre account of D——'s and R——'s speeches. I do not see how D—— can come out without being battered and shattered to pieces. Nor ought he to. I think he has been false to great principles, though with such palliations as apostates always find. I think posterity does not look at crimes as the traitors themselves do. With the latter it may not be unmitigated and untempted crime. They have their excuses, their subterfuges, and their casuistry. Görgey doubtless disguised his treason to himself under some plea of benefit to his nation. It is a known fact, that Arnold stoutly contended that he desired to confer a benefit on his country as the motive of his treachery. Judas probably made himself believe that the interests of religion demanded the surrender of his Master. Even Mr. Webster talks to this day as if, in sacrificing the immortal principles of liberty, he had only the good of the Union in view. But when the occasion has passed by, when the event is far removed into the past, then the palliations and the pretexts are lost sight of; and only the black, fatal, damning guilt remains for the detestation and abhorrence of men.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 357

Congressman Horace Mann to Reverend Cyrus Pierce, February 13, 1852

WASHINGTON, D.C., Feb. 13, 1852.

C. PIERCE, Esq.

MY DEAR SIR,—We heard from you authentically through our common friends, from whom we had a very pleasant visit; but directly we have not heard from you at all. We should be pleased to be remembered in your thoughts, and now and then to have an hour of your time; but the claims of old friendship perhaps belong to that class of imperfect obligations which cannot be enforced against the will of the party. Let me assure you, however, that you have no truer friends, no warmer admirers, than Mrs. M—— and R——, to say nothing of the gentleman who first knew you when your fame was insular, and who adhered to you through all seasons and at all times, until it became continental, ay, co-extensive with civilization.

To say that the political aspect of things here is not the worst possible, is about all the praise you can give it. A politician does not sneeze without reference to the next Presidency. All things are carried to that tribunal for decision. The greatest interests and the worst passions are assayed for this end, and their value determined accordingly. The next canvass will doubtless be the most corrupt and corrupting one ever witnessed in this country. It is the general opinion here that there is but one Whig who can by any possibility be elected,—Gen. Scott. The Democrats will triumph over every one else, whoever their candidate may be,—perhaps over him, should he be nominated. I believe Gen. Scott to be a very honorable, high-minded man,—a man of rare talents and attainments. On the other hand, I believe the man whom the people universally call "Old Sam Houston," alias "Old San Jacinto," to be a man of incomparably more character, honesty, and resolution than any other of the Democratic candidates.

Unwell as I am here,—for we made a very respectable hospital here for the last twelve weeks,—I am going to try a little rustication at the North.

I hope to attend the great Temperance Banquet at New York on Wednesday evening next. I am also engaged to deliver a temperance lecture in the same city on Tuesday evening. Indeed, I am to speak four successive evenings, from Tuesday to Friday inclusive; hoping by that means to improve my digestion. After that, I have some idea of going up to see brother May at Syracuse, and congratulate him for the hundredth time that he was not hung in Massachusetts with that dreadful malefactor who included three capital crimes in one act. I think I have told you that story, and have seen you laugh at the predicament in which your brother May might have been placed. It is sometimes very strange how serious people will laugh at serious things. I wish you could meet me at New York or Syracuse, or elsewhere on the way, and let me look again upon that good old horologue whose machinery keeps such excellent time, however much the case may have been battered.

You must see Kossuth, at any expense of ribs or toes; for he will warm your heart. Many of his admirers think him perfect. His enemies will probably succeed in finding foibles enough in his character to prove him human.

Your sincere friend,

HORACE MANN.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, pp. 357-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 7, 1863

It was with a bounding heart, brimful of gratitude to God, that I stepped on board the Dakota and bade farewell to Haines Bluff on the second day of August. We have three hundred sick and wounded on this boat and are short of help. Quite a number who started as nurses are sick. Four men died the first night. We ran the boat ashore, dug a grave large enough for all, and laid them in it, side by side. Our Chaplain read the burial service, and we hastened on board to repeat the ceremony, the next morning, for some one else. It seems hard—even cruel—but it is the most solemn burial service I ever witnessed. Nine have died since we started, and one threw himself overboard in the frenzy of delirium and was drowned. We kill a beef every evening. Two nights in succession the best part of a hindquarter has been stolen. The boat hands were questioned, and a huge Irishman acknowledged the theft. He was court martialed and sentenced to be "banked." The boat was stopped opposite a wilderness. No human habitation was in sight. He was forced to pack his bundle, take to the woods and run his chance with hunger and the Rebels.

As we were running leisurely along, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon of yesterday, my curiosity was aroused by our boat running suddenly against the shore and sticking there. All hands were called, and, with the aid of soldiers, she was soon shoved off, and on we went again. A Sergeant asked the Mate why we landed there. His reply was, "Something wrong in the wheel house." One of our boys asked a darkey the same question. "Well, boss, I 'specs dey see a rabbit ober dere, an' t'ink dey kotch 'im." Soon after, as two comrades and myself were sitting in the bow enjoying the cool breeze, my attention was attracted by the glassy stillness of the water in front of us. Pointing to the right, I said, "Yonder is the safe place to sail." The words had scarcely left my mouth when we felt a sudden shock, the bow of the boat was lifted about two feet, a full head of steam was turned on, which carried us over the obstruction. We had "struck a snag." Soon after, we anchored for the night, as the pilot was "too sick" to run the boat.

The sick from our regiment are doing well. I never saw wounded men do so nicely. Of five who came as nurses, four are on the sick list. As for myself, I have not been so well in years.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 74-5

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 11, 1863

Louisville, Ky. Again in Louisville—eleven hundred miles nearer home than one week ago and yet how far. Still, it is joy to feel I am comparatively near. We reached Cairo on the evening of the seventh, took on fresh supplies, and left next day at noon for Cincinnati, which place we expect to reach some time tomorrow. We are now—3 p. m. taking on coal, and will start in a few minutes.

The Ohio is very low-in places not more than three feet deep. We have brought up against sand bars and been forced to back off perhaps fifty times since leaving Cairo. From this place to Cincinnati, I am told, there are no obstructions. The most difficult part of our way was from New Albany to Louisville. We were six hours in making three miles last night. It was nothing but "Back 'er and try again" for about a mile, and then we had a canal with three locks to pass through.

We have had no deaths since the seventh, and our sick and wounded boys are doing nicely. These fresh northern breezes are more exhilerating than wine, and the hope that they may be sent to their homes to recruit their health is more healing than medicine.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 75-6

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 12, 1863

Cincinnati, Ohio. We arrived here at 9:30 this morning. My day's work is, at last, completed, at 9 p. m. This has been a busy day. In fact, I have not been idle or had much rest, by day or night, since July fourth, and yet I am fresh and vigorous as in days of old. The sick and wounded all removed the worst cases to the General Hospital in this city, the convalescents to Camp Denison, eighteen miles out, while a few return to their regiments.

The Seventeenth passed through here today, and is now in camp near Covington, on the opposite bank of the river.

I expect to join them in the morning, and look for a handful of letters.

People call the weather here very hot, but it is not Mississippi heat, and I enjoy it. The mornings and evenings are delightfully cool, while there it is constant, relentless heat both day and night. Here a coat is comfortable in the morning—there one needs no cover day or night.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 76-7

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 16, 1863

Camp near Hickman's Bridge, Ky. I did not join the regiment as soon as I expected, owing to the negligence of the Medical Director, whose duty it was to furnish me transportation. As I had no money, I was forced to await his pleasure. The regiment took cars for this place the day they crossed over, so I was left in Cincinnati until Friday evening to live as best I might. I crossed the river on Friday, and next morning took cars for Nicholasville, fourteen miles beyond Lexington, and one hundred fifteen miles from Cincinnati. I was just in time to get two months' pay. I should have drawn for two months more, but there was a mistake in the pay rolls, which cannot be corrected until next muster. The Paymaster says he is going to pay us again next month, and the next time muster us out of the service.

We have a very pleasant camp, in a shady grove, and an abundance of pure, sparkling water, which I appreciate now as I never did before.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 77

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 20, 1863

Camp Parks, Ky. I received a letter from a friend in Michigan last evening, saying: "If you were in Michigan, or could see the situation from the standpoint of the North, you would be less hopeful of the speedy termination of the war." If by "speedy" is meant a single campaign, as was promised us one year ago, I do not now believe in it, but nothing but the most signal failure can change my faith in the ultimate success of our cause.

We have steadily gained ground from the first. The series of reverses that attended our arms the first year of the war has forced our government to accept the inevitable, seemingly against its will. I do not forget the violent opposition to the Emancipation and Confiscation Acts, passed by Congress in December, 1861, by Northern men of undoubted loyalty, nor the President's timid recommendations in his inaugural address to that Congress. I remember well that reverses and disasters attended all our efforts until the government was compelled, as by an overruling Providence, to free the slaves of rebels, which includes them all; and that from the moment these measures became the fixed policy of the government, reverses ceased. It is not the issue of a battle or campaign that gives me hope, but the successes that have attended our arms all through the month of July were attended by such peculiar circumstances as to force upon me the conviction, "There IS a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will."

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 80-1

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 22, 1863

I had comforted myself with the reflection that when we returned to Kentucky, where communications were uninterrupted by guerillas, and were only separated by twenty-four hours of time, I might be permitted to correspond with my family without such harrowing delays, for I would not have my darling in doubt as to my situation or whereabouts for one single day, knowing, as I do, the uncertainty of suspense is worse than the reality. But 'tis said, "The darkest hour is just before the dawn," and, even as I write, my mind filled with dark thoughts, a ray of light from my Northern home flashes across my vision. The whole current of my thought is changed, and thankfulness takes the place of my repining. Thankfulness that it is as well with my beloved ones as it is. Oh, that I could remove every burden, and make their pathway smooth and flowery. I find most of our trials are imaginary, but none the less real for being SO. For instance, my beloved wife's imagination pictures me on my weary way back to old Virginia's blood-stained fields, subject to every hardship, exposed to every danger, and her suffering could be no greater if it were so. On the contrary, I am still in Kentucky, in a pleasant, shady grove, enjoying a season of welcome quiet and repose, soft bread to eat, plenty of pure, cold water to drink. What more could mortals crave. The newspapers were right, as far as they went, about our being ordered to the Potomac. We did receive such orders, but General Burnside telegraphed the War Department the Ninth Corps had marched, during the year, an average of twenty miles a day; that it had just returned from an exhausting campaign in Mississippi; that the men were worn down by fatigue and sickness, and were unfit for active service, and asked that they be allowed to remain here for a season. His request was granted. One year has passed since I left my pleasant home to serve my country a year big with the fate of millions yet unborn—a year the most eventful in our history; perhaps in the world's history.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 81-2

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 24, 1863

We have nearly the same regulations here as at Newport News, everything being regulated by bugle call. Of course, we drill; it would be hard to imagine a military camp without drill; but it would make a horse laugh to see us do it. We fall in line, march to the parade ground and halt under the shade of a big tree. A Sergeant puts us through the manual of arms about five minutes; then stack arms and rest. The remainder of the time is spent in lounging on the grass until the bugle sounds recall.

We are under marching orders again; that is, we are ordered to be ready, an order altogether superfluous, for we are always ready. The general impression among the officers is, this division is to be broken up and scattered over the State, a regiment in a place. Our old brigade commander, General Poe, is here. He is now Chief Engineer in the regular service. He is working, I am told, to get our brigade attached to the engineer corps. I hope he will not succeed, as I do not fancy that branch of the service. If he does succeed, I think I will resign. There has been much talk of mounting this brigade and sending us to fight guerillas. That would suit me to a fraction. Give me a "bounding steed" and a "God speed you" from my "lady love," and never did "armed knight" grasp spear and shield with greater enthusiasm and devotion than I would experience as I hastened to the field of bloody strife. But I do not believe Burnside will send us from the State at present. He has already sent away most of the troops in this vicinity, and is sending the rest fast as he can mount them, and probably we will take their places.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 82-3

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 25, 1863

We are still in camp, where each day is like the preceding one. The same routine of "duty" is gone through with, which, to me, is exceedingly tiresome. Give me the variations; something new and startling every day. For this reason I prefer active service. Those who love fun, and have a natural penchant for mischief, have abundant opportunity to indulge. I have never heard Billy Dunham complain of ennui. So long as guards are to be "run," melons to be "cooned," peach orchards to be "raided" or a peddler to be harried, tormented and robbed, Billy is in his native element. Peddling to soldiers is not the most agreeable business in the world, especially if said soldiers happen to be, as is often the case, on mischief bent. I have seen a crowd of soldiers gather around an unsuspecting victim, a few shrewd, witty fellows attract his attention, while others pass out to their accomplices melons, peaches, tomatoes and vegetables, and when the poor fellow discovers the "game" and gathers up his "ropes" to drive away, the harness fall to the ground in a dozen pieces, the unguided mule walks off amazed, the cart performs a somersault and the poor peddler picks himself up and gazes on the wreck in silent grief. At sight of his helpless misery the wretches seemingly relent; with indignant tones they swear vengeance on the "man who did it;" help him to gather up his "wares" while he secures his mule. This is soon done, for his "stock" has grown small and "beautifully less." He smothers his rage from prudential motives, throws the "toggle" on his mule and prepares to depart. Alas, the millennium has not yet come. His cart wheels, refusing to perform their accustomed revolutions, start off in opposite directions, while the air is rent by the screams and derisive yells of his tormenters. When once begun, the amusement continues until the stock is exhausted. Speaking of Billy, he has become reconciled to his fate, and takes to soldiering like a duck to water.

Lieutenant Chris. Rath has received a Captain's commission, and has been assigned to Company I. He has well earned his commission by his bravery and efficiency.

There was a sudden change of weather last night. The day had been hot and sultry. Toward night we had a light shower, preceded by a hurricane which cleared the atmosphere of heat most effectually. It is now uncomfortable sitting in my tent with my coat on. Uncle Sam seems inclined to make up to us, in some measure, for past neglect. We have soft bread and other rations more than we can use. Today we were surprised by an issue of tea and sugar, more than we can use. We sell our surplus at twenty-five cents a pound. The Brigade Surgeon has put a stop to drilling except as punishment. No signs of a move are in sight. My health is good. It is years since I was in possession of such buoyant, vigorous health.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 83-4

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 27, 1863

Nicholasville, Ky. We are again enjoying the quiet of camp life. Our miniature tents are pitched in regular order, streets are policed and brigade guards posted to keep our unruly boys within bounds.

Colonel Luce, five line officers and twenty privates have gone home on furlough—others to Cincinnati on leave of absence. Everything indicates a period of rest. Our boys are trying to make up for their privations "down below." Nearly every tent presents the appearance of a market for the sale of fruit or vegetables.

Potatoes, peaches, apples, cabbages, onions, watermelons and green corn are piled in heaps or lie around loose throughout the camp. Then we have artists, too. Two Daguerian cars are running full blast, where the boys get indifferent pictures at one dollar each. I saw a great curiosity today—a relic of bygone ages. About a mile from camp there is a shop where the old-fashioned spinning wheel is manufactured on quite an extensive scale, and they find a ready sale. This is a fair index to the progress of the people. Their manners, forms of speech and customs all point to past ages. They are very loyal and very friendly when sober, but when filled with corn whiskey, hypocrisy and self-interest take a back seat, and they speak their real sentiments with a frankness and fluency that is not at all flattering to us "Yanks." From what I have seen, I conclude all Kentuckians drink whiskey. There are distilleries in every little town, where the "genuine article" is turned out. I called at a farm house one day for a drink of water. The good woman was catechising her son—a lad of ten or twelve years about ten cents she had given him with which to buy some little notion at the store. She gave me a drink of water, then, turning to the young hopeful, angrily inquired, "But where's that ten cents I gave you?" "I guv five cents to Bill." "Where's the other five?" "Bought my dram with it." The explanation appeared satisfactory.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 78-9