Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, Charles Wright Wills, (8th Illinois Infantry)

June 14, 1864.

Four officers and 28 men deserted from the Rebels last night. The Rebel captain told one of my corporals that in their brigade there is an organization the members of which avow it their purpose to desert the first opportunity. These men are satisfied the game is up with them, and give it as their reason for deserting. They say the whole brigade will come as opportunity offers. Lively artillery firing in front of us this morning. We hear that Grant has pushed Lee to his fortifications at Richmond. Suppose the report will be, Grant will cut his communications south and west and Lee will evacuate. I see the papers have us across the Chattahoochie, away south of the railroad. Of course that is a poor article of gas from our sensational correspondent in the far rear.

It looks to me as if the Rebels have a very strong position in front of us now, but I may be mistaken. We have been quietly laying in camp all day. I must credit Georgia with one pleasant June day, that is not too warm. There has been the usual amount of firing to-day, though few hurt.

June 13, 1864.

The rain continued until 5 p.m. Everything and everybody thoroughly soaked. Our division moved about one-half mile to the left this p.m. Strategy! We moved out into an open ploughed field. You can imagine the amount of comfort one could enjoy so situated, after two days’ constant rain, and the water still coming down in sheets.

The field is trodden into a bed of mortar. No one has ventured a guess of the depth of the mud. It is cold enough for fires and overcoats. My finger nails are as blue as if I had the ague. There is one consolation to be drawn from the cold, it stops the “chigres” from biting us. I would rather have a bushel of fleas and a million of mosquitoes on me than a pint of “chigres,”—don’t know the orthography—They are a little bit of a red thing,—just an atom bigger than nothing; they burrow into the skin and cause an itching that beats the regular “camp” all hollow. Some of the men have scars from “chigre” bites that they received at Big Black last summer, and will carry them across the Styx. The ants here also have an affinity for human flesh and are continually reconnoitering us. I kill about 200,000 per day. Also knock some 600 worms off of me. Great country this for small vermin. I pick enough entomological specimens off me every day to start a museum. I do manage to keep clear of greybacks, though.

Every time I commence talking about chigres I feel short of language. I am satisfied of one thing, if my finger nails don’t wear out, there’ll be no flesh left on my bones by autumn. The case stands finger nails vs. chigres, and skin is the sufferer. Notwithstanding rain, cold or chigres, we are in excellent spirits. Sherman don’t tell us anything (in orders) good or bad, but every man feels that we have “a goodly thing” and is content to work and wait. I never heard less complaining, or saw troops in better spirits. If we get to Atlanta in a week all right; if it takes us two months you won’t hear this army grumble. We know that “Pap” is running the machine and our confidence in him is unbounded.

We have so far had abundance of rations, but if it comes down to half, we will again say “all right.” Our army is stronger to-day than it ever was in numbers and efficiency. I am sure that there is not a demoralized company in the command. There has been considerable shooting along the front to-day, and the lines have been advanced some, but we are nearly a mile back, and being constantly ready to move. I have not been out, and don’t know much about the exact situation. Its something new for our division to be in reserve. Time passes much more quickly in the front. The general opinion is that we are gradually working to the left, and will cross the Chattahoochie about east or northeast of Marietta. We are now 26 miles from Atlanta by railroad and something nearer by pike.

June 12, 1864.

It commenced raining before daylight, and has not ceased an instant all day. We are lucky in the roads where it can’t get very muddy, but so much rain is confoundedly disagreeable. The only source of consolation is the knowledge that the Rebels fare much worse than we do. They have neither tents nor oilcloths. For once our corps is in reserve. The 16th and 17th united their lines in front of us this morning. The 17th A. C. especially is using ammunition with a looseness. They are just getting their hands in. The rain is real cold. If it were not for hearing the musketry and artillery firing we wouldn’t know there was an enemy within 50 miles. This is said to be the Georgia gold country. I could just pick up some beautiful specimens of quartz and a flinty stone (maybe quartz also) in which the isinglass shines, and in some places I have picked off sheets two inches square. No forage here. Four deserters came in to-day.

They say that Johnston had an order read to his troops that Wheeler had cut the railroad in our rear, and destroyed our supply trains. The troops all cheered it heartily, but hardly had they got their mouths shut when our locomotives came whistling into Big Shanty, one mile from their lines. The deserters say it disgusted them so much they concluded they’d quit and go home. I wish Sherman would attack them now, for we would be sure to get what trains and artillery they have here.

June 11, 1864.

Colonel Wright and I rode out to the front to-day. The Johnnies are about one and one-half miles from us, and occupying what looks like a very strong position. Rumor says that Sherman has said that he can force them to leave here any moment, but will wait for supplies and the roads to dry up. The cars got to Big Shanty about noon to-day, and indulged in a long and hilarious shriek. The Rebel locomotive about two miles further down the road answered with a yell of defiance.

I hear to-day that the 23d Corps took 2,000 prisoners and two cannon. I guess its yes. Rosencrans is actually coming, they say. I don’t think we need him. Sherman moves very cautiously, and everybody feels the utmost confidence in him. I saw him yesterday—seems to me he is getting fleshy. He don’t look as though he had anything more important than a 40-acre farm to attend to.

It has rained almost all day. You musn’t expect me to write anything but military now, for it is about all we think of.

Near Big Shanty, Ga., June 10, 1864.

Army moved this a.m. Found the enemy again at this place, and have been in line of battle a dozen times, more or less. Our brigade is in reserve for the rest of the division. This is the Kenesaw Mountain; from the top of one peak the Rebels could see probably 25,000 Yanks. Some ladies were there in sight observing us. We are to-night in a dense wood some three-quarters of a mile southwest of the main road. The enemy does not seem to be close in our immediate front, but there is considerable firing about a brigade to our right. General Sherman’s staff say that a general fight is not expected here. A. J. Smith is starting for Mobile from Vicksburg. That’s glorious. We to-day heard of the nomination at Baltimore of Lincoln and Johnson. Very glad that Lincoln is renominated, but it don’t make any excitement in the army. The unanimity of the convention does us more good than anything else. I received a letter from Gen. “Dick” (Oglesby) last night. He is much pleased with his nomination and has no doubt of his success. Neither have I. If we had the privilege the whole Illinois army would vote for him. We are having a good deal of rain, say about 6 hard showers a day. The roads are badly cut up. The hour or two hours sun between showers makes the men all right. The Rebels have no oilcloths and must be troubled with so much rain.

Same place, June 7, 1864.

Our brigade has to-day been on a reconnoisance, supporting Girard’s (formerly Kilpatrick’s) Cavalry Division.

We started the Johnnies not more than a mile from here, and skirmished with them, driving them to the Kenesaw range of mountains, about five miles. Our brigade lost nothing. Wilder’s mounted infantry did the skirmishing and had some eight to ten wounded. Four dead Rebels fell into our hands. Cousin James called on me yesterday. I am much pleased with him. He is a No. 1 soldier, I know. He has run some pretty close risks this campaign, but who would not for the sake of taking part in it? I shall always think it abundantly worth risking one’s life for. To-morrow night we can tell whether the enemy intends fighting us at this place or not. They left on the field to-day a dozen or twenty real lances. They are the first I ever saw in the service. The staff is eight or nine feet long with a pointed head of ten inches in length. They were a right plucky set of Johnnies.

Our battery burst a shell over the edge of a piece of woods and I saw some 20 Rebels scatter like a lot of scared rats.

June 6, 1864.

I will try and send you this to-day. Our postmaster never calls for letters, though we could send them if he would. I will try hereafter to send oftener, though you must not feel anxious about me. I will take the best care I can of myself (and do my whole duty). I yet think that to be connected with such a campaign as this is well worth risking one’s life for. It occasionally gets a little old, but so does everything in this life, and altogether I don’t know but that it wears as well as any of life’s pleasures. Do you remember when I was at home how little I knew about good eatables? Here it is a great advantage to me. For five weeks we have been living on “hard tack,” pickled pork and coffee, varied by not half a dozen meals of beef, not even beans or rice. Nearly every one grumbles, but I have as yet felt no loss of appetite, and hardly the desire for a change.

Nearly all the prisoners we capture say they are done fighting and shamefully say, many of them, that if exchanged and put back in the ranks they will shirk rather than fight. It would mortify me very much if I thought any of our men that they captured would talk so. It seems to me that the Confederacy is only held together by its officers exercising at least the power of a Czar, and that should we leave it to itself it would crumble. Well, I am calculating that this campaign will end about the 15th of July, in Atlanta. I cannot hope for a leave of absence again until my time is out, unless I resign, and if active campaigning continues, as some think it will, until the war is over, of course I will have no chance to do the latter. Cousin James is near me here, and I expect to see him soon.

Passed Charlie Maple on the road yesterday; also saw Clegget Birney. He is a splendid looking boy. They say the 7th Cavalry will soon be here; also the 8th Illinois. I will try to write you every week hereafter.

One mile South of Ackworth, June 16, 1864.¹

We moved through town and arrived here this p.m. Ackworth is a nice little town. All the “ton” have moved south.

We will lay here two days, and then for Atlanta again. I was out of provisions all day yesterday, and when I got a supply last night filled up to suffocation, but feel splendidly to-day. They credit a prisoner with saying that Sherman will never go to hell, for he’ll flank the devil and make heaven in spite of all the guards. The army is in glorious spirits. I hope the next time to date from Atlanta, but can hardly hope that for three weeks yet.

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¹ Dated wrong in book; should be June 6, 1864.

June 5, 1864.

The Rebels run last night. Everything gone this morning slick and clean. Our regiment was the first in their works. I was over their works to-day and find three lines, two of them very strong. A number of dead men lay beween their lines and ours, which neither side could bury. They were killed during Hooker’s fight of May 25th.

Well, I expect another heat like this at the Chattahochie river and when we get them out of there, as we are bound to do, ho! for easy times!

My health continues excellent, and I hope it will until this campaign is over. I am making up for some of my easy times soldiering. The Rebels were awful dirty and the smell in their camps dreadful.

We got some 25 prisoners in front of our division. I think one more big stand will wind the thing up. They made no noise whatever in getting away. I was from 12 to 3 o’clock in the night working within 75 yards of them and did not hear them at all. At one place their works ran through a graveyard, and they had torn down all the palings inclosing graves, to make beds for themselves, and unnecessarily destroyed everything of beauty around. I am sure we would not have done so in our own country, and would not anywhere. I don’t give these Rebels half the credit for humanity or any of the qualities civilized beings should possess, that I used to. I estimate loss of our army here at 7,000—killed, wounded and missing. It may be more. Heavy reinforcements are arriving though, and the strength of the army is much greater than at any time heretofore. Spirits excellent. I could tell some awful stories of dead men, but forbear. We moved at 9 a.m. about four and one-half miles toward the railroad and have gone into camp for the night.

This is the first day since May 26th that I have been out of the range of Rebel guns, and hardly an hour of that time that the bullets have not been whistling and thumping around. I tell you it is a strain on a man’s nerves, but like everything else that hurts, one feels better when he gets over it.

June 4, 1864.

We have had a good deal of fun to-day. The firing has been brisker than usual on account of our advancing our works. We got up a mock charge this afternoon, which came pretty near scaring the Rebel skirmishers out of their boots and made a good deal of fun for us. Our regiment is on fatigue duty. We are working within 80 yards of the Rebel works. They cut a Company C man’s finger off when he raised his pick to-day. Another of our men was shot in the face. I, with my company, work from 12 to-night until three in the morning.