August 9th. Pleasant morning. Camp near the river. Just at this time we are taking life easy. The boys wade the river, taking long tramps through the lots, up the mountain sides. Don’t seem to have any fear of the guerillas who are said to be in the mountains. Perhaps they don’t wish to make their presence known, and are watching the movements of the army now under the command of General Sheridan. All is quiet in our camp this evening.
August 2014
Etowah Bridge, Tuesday, Aug. 9. Rainy day. Drilled one hour on gun this morning. Issued clothing for the month. I drew a hat in which to brave the storms of another campaign (maybe). Infantry had regimental inspection in the afternoon. No news. Heavy artillery, caissons and carriages going to the front in large numbers.
by John Beauchamp Jones
AUGUST 9TH.—Very hot; very dry; very dusty.
The President has directed the late Gen. (now Lieut. -Col.) Pemberton to organize a mortar and cavalry force to dislodge the enemy from Deep Bottom, on this side of the river, and to select three or four batteries to render the navigation of theJames River difficult and dangerous. Col. P. says he must have some 1500 cavalry, etc.
Letters from Mr. McRae, our agent abroad, show that our finances and credit are improving wonderfully, and that the government will soon have a great many fine steamers running the blockade. Mr. McR. has contracted for eight steel-clad steamers with a single firm, Frazer, Trenholm & Co.—the latter now our Secretary of the Treasury.
The President indorsed a cutting rebuke to both the Secretary of War and a Mr. (now Lieut.-Col.) Melton, A. A. General’s office, to-day. It was on an order for a quartermaster atAtlanta to report here and settle his accounts. Mr. M. had written on the order that it was issued “by order of the President.” The President said he was responsible for all orders issued by the War Department, but it was a great presumption of any officer in that department to assume to indorse on any paper that it was by his special order, and that, too, “by command of the Secretary of War,” the usual form.
Monday, August 8th.
As there appeared to be no likelihood of an immediate movement of the Second Corps, unless it might be to Washington, I concluded temporarily to accept the hospitality of Doctor Hoyt and went over to his hospital, and he at once put me to bed.
8th. Put in an estimate for clothing and drew forage.
Ned Carter The Blacksmith.
August 8. When I first came here I was pretty well used up, but thanks to my friends, Garland of company C and Wheelock and Aldrich of my own company (who are attaches of this hospital), and also to Miss Dame for their attention, kindness and favors, I am feeling the best now I have any time this summer. For their sympathy, attentions and kind offices, I am under a debt of everlasting gratitude.
Within a week two of my sick men have died and another is fast going. One of them was a character in his way. As near as one can guess the age of a darky I should judge he was about 60 years old, and rather an intelligent man. He always called himself Ned Carter the blacksmith, and delighted in having others call him so. He would talk by the hour of old times, about his old master, and the good times and good cheer they used to have at Christmas time. When I first took this ward I saw that Ned was a sick darky and told him to have things his own way; if he felt like sleeping in the morning and didn’t want to come out to roll call I would excuse him. I noticed that he seldom went for his rations, but would send his cup for his coffee and tea. He said there was very little at the kitchen he could eat. I asked him what he could eat. He said he thought some cracker and milk would taste good. I took his cup up to Miss Dame and asked her if she would give me some condensed milk and a few soda crackers for a sick darky. She gave them to me, and Ned Carter the blacksmith was happy. The convalescent camp is not allowed anything from the sick kitchen, except by order of Doctor Fowler, so any little notion I get from there is through the kindness of Miss Dame or my friend Wheelock. I have often carried Ned a cup of tea and a slice of toast, with some peach or some kind of jelly on it, and the poor fellow could express his gratitude only with his tears, he had no words that could do it. One morning after roll call I went to his little tent and called Ned Carter the blacksmith. I got no response, and thinking he might be asleep I looked in. Ned Carter the blacksmith was gone, but the casket that had contained him lay there stiff and cold.
Monday, 8th—This morning I was put in as head nurse of ward D, hospital number 4. My duty is to direct the nurses in dealing out medicine and attending to the needs of the sick.
August 8 — A farmer from the neighborhood drove into camp to-day with a load of watermelons. He also had a keg of something in his wagon that he called cider-oil, but judging from the sportive effects it produced all over camp the cider had something else in it much stronger than common apple juice, for it had more fun and merriment mixed with it to the square inch than any cider that I ever saw or tasted. Soon after the delicious and palatable draught passed the palate dull care and the wearisome monotony of camp life began to hie away and hide in the woods, while innocent mirth, jollity, and fun ruled the hour and hilarity reveled and reigned in its merriest glee. Some of the men were making happy little stump speeches, while others were singing comical songs, as “A little more cider for Miss Dinah,” etc. Some of the boys got a little lower down and were crawling around on all fours and trying to squeal like pigs. The whole pleasant comedy commenced and ended in frolicsome fun, and it was undoubtedly the merriest afternoon that the old battery has ever seen, and in days and years to come cherished memories will ofttimes return and lift the curtain of time and gaze with playful delight on the joyous scene of cider-oil day on the banks of Stony Creek in the pines of Sussex.
Monday, August 8. — Nothing new. We heard of the fleet passing Fort Morgan. Spent the morning in the navy room and had a very pleasant game of whist. Weather very warm. We are let out three times a day into a yard at the back of the jail, at 6 A.M., 10 A.M. and 4 P.M. Two privates escaped last night by going down into the sink and digging out.
August 8, 1864.
Never was army better cared for than this. No part of it has been on short rations during the campaign. Extra issues of dessicated potatoes, mixed vegetables, etc., have bundled the advance guard of General Scurvy neck and heels outside the pickets. Extraordinary dreams of green corn, blackberries, new potatoes, etc., have done very much towards keeping up the health and morale of the army, and as much towards reconciling us to this summer sun, that ripens said goodies.
We draw supplies of clothing monthly as regularly as when in garrison, and a ragged soldier is a scarcity. At least 30 days’ rations are safely stored in our rear, making us entirely unmindful of railroad raids, for, if necessary, we could build the whole road in that time. The heat has not troubled us much, save during a few days’ marching.
We have had hardly three days without a rain for a month. We have done a great amount of work since our last battle, have constructed nine lines of works, and it will take at least two more before we get the position that I think Howard wants. We keep those poor Johnnies in a stew all the time. Our artillery is any amount better than theirs, and it plays on them from morning until night. Nothing worries troops so much, though compared with musketry it is almost harmless. I guess their ammunition is short, for they don’t fire one shot to our 40. I think we’ll like Howard first rate. If he is as good as McPherson, he’ll do.
Four divisions are on their way to reenforce us. I don’t think we need them, but the more, the merrier.
