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

West bank of Crow Creek, near Stevenson,

May 2d, 1864.

Only about seven miles from last night’s camp, but will have to wait until to-morrow to build a bridge. The creek is some 150 feet wide. Our Pioneer Corps will from the rough put a bridge over it in ten hours, that is to be passed over within the next three days by 800 wagons and 100 cannon of our corps. We reached here about 9 this a.m., and were led into a very large field of prairie grass, standing three feet high and as dry as tinder. A stiff breeze was blowing and the first fire started in our regiment set the grass in our front on a perfect rampage. It run down on the 46th Ohio, and such a grabbing of “traps” and scattering was never before seen, but was equaled about half an hour afterwards when a fire set in our rear came sweeping down on us. We threw our things out on the bare space in our front and escaped with little loss. My drummer had his coat, cap, drum and a pet squirrel burned, and a number of ponchos and small articles were also sent up in smoke. The days are almost like summer, but the nights are rather cool. The trees are about in full leaf and vermin are becoming altogether too numerous. Every man is a vigilance committee on the wood-tick question. They are worse than guerrillas or gray-backs. On an ordinary good “tick day” we capture about ten per capita. They demoralize one tremendously. The boys did some good work fishing in the p.m., catching a number of fine bass, etc.

A surgeon, who I think belongs on some brigade staff, has been stopping at nearly every house visiting, etc., and then rides past us to his place in front. This morning, after a visit he was passing our regiment; as we commenced crossing a little stream his horse got into a hole some four feet deep, stumbled, fell, rolled over, and liked to have finished the doctor. He was under both water and horse. The boys consoled him with a clear 1,000 cheers, groans, and sharp speeches. Anything short of death is a capital joke. I have seen them make sport of a man lying by the roadside in a fit.

May 1st, 1864. Bivouac at Mud Creek.

Up at daylight, and off on time. 6 a.m. The camp was full of citizens early, all after our leavings. The way they did snatch for old clothes was far from slow. They actually stole lots of trash right under the noses of the soldier owners. Out “jayhawking” old jayhawk himself. Started off in best of spirits—men cheering right from their hearts. About two miles out on the road, General Harrow and staff passed us. The men not having the fear of “guard house” in their minds, yelled at him, “Bring out your Potomac horse,” “Fall back on your straw and fresh butter,” “Advance on Washington,” etc., all of which counts as quite a serious offense, but he paid no attention to it. You recollect he is from the Potomac Army. The first expression comes from a punishment he inaugurated in our division. He put up a wooden horse in front of his quarters, and mounted on it all the offenders against discipline that he could “gobble.” Some waggish fellows wrote out some highly displayed advertisements of the “Potomac horse” and posted them throughout the camp, and finally one night the men took it down and sent it on the cars to Huntsville, directed to McPherson, with a note tacked on it, telling him to furnish him plenty of straw and use him carefully, as he was Potomac stock and unused to hardships.

We only marched some ten miles to-day and have a splendid camping ground. Have had a wash in a mill race near by.

Scottsboro, Ala., April 30th, ’64.

You know we have been under marching orders for several days. At dress parade this evening orders were read notifying us that the division would move out on the road to Chattanooga at 6 a.m., May 1st.

This is the first intimation of the direction we would take.

It surprises me very much, and I think many others. I was certain we would either cross the Tennessee river at Larkins Ferry or near Decatur and take Dalton in flank or rear, but Sherman didn’t see it. I would rather do anything else save one, than march over the road to Chattanooga. That one is to lie still in camp.

When the boys broke ranks after the parade, cries of “mule soup” filled the camp for an hour. That is the name that has been unanimously voted to the conglomeration of dead mules and mud that fills the ditches on the roadside between Stevenson and Chattanooga.

The whole division has been alive all evening; burning cabins has been the fashion. Captains Post, Smith and myself got into a little discussion which ended in our grabbing axes and demolishing each other’s cabins.

Scottsboro, Ala., April 28, 1864.

We received marching orders last night, and will probably move to-morrow morning. Supposition is that we go to Huntsville first, there store our baggage, and then cross the Tennessee river and open the Spring campaign. I am much pleased at the prospect of moving once more. Have never been so well and comfortably situated in the army, nor was I ever tired of lying still. Lieutenant Miller R. Q. M. while hunting some mules a few miles from camp, last Monday was captured by the enemy, and is now on his way to the “Hotel de Libby” (not) rejoicing. ‘Tis something of a joke on Miller. Weather is becoming most uncomfortably warm. Altogether too hot for marching. Boys of our regiment and troops of the whole corps, never started on a march in better spirits. Will write as often as have opportunities. Swarms of flies interfere with my afternoon naps lately.

Scottsboro, Ala., April 24, 1864.

Spring is here at last, and summer is almost in sight. The last two days have been fully as warm as I care to see weather in April. There has been a great deal of cold, wet weather here this spring, and vegetable life is unusually backward; but the last few days have effected a great change in the forests. The north side of the mountains still look bare and wintry, the soft maple being the only tree I have noticed “in leaf” on those slopes; but nearly all of the trees and bushes on the southern mountain slopes are in full leaf. In the valleys, the poplars, the beeches, and the black gums are nearly in full spring dress, being far in advance of their comrades—the oaks, chestnuts, hickories and white gum. Of the smaller trees the dogwood leads in assuming a spring costume. Two years ago this date, vegetation was further advanced at the mouth of the Ohio than ’tis here now. Do you remember, I arrived home just about two years ago this time; stayed two and one half days, and then, for Corinth? How easily my three years in the army have made way with themselves. That I have lived something over a thousand days, in a blue uniform seems incredible. Six months sounds much more reasonable. “Black Jack” reviewed our division yesterday. Only eight of the 13 regiments could be present; but ’twas the finest review I ever saw. Logan rode through our camp, and expressed himself much pleased at our way of keeping house. We have a beautiful camp, every part of it cleanly swept every morning. It is also decorated profusely with evergreens from the mountains. I suppose it is unnecessary to tell you what we killed in the deerhunt, I spoke of in my last, as in prospect; but we did have a power of fun. Colonel Young, the citizen who proposed the party to me, is probably some 55 years old; and at heart a Rebel (he is now a member of the Alabama Legislature) but has taken the oath. I noticed a suspicious “auburn” tinge on his nose, and provided myself with a canteen of pure lightning commissary whiskey. The colonel had tasted none of the ardent for a long time, and his thirst was excessive. He became intensely demoralized; and proved the most amusing character of the party. He made us a speech, and committed so many fooleries, that if he had been anything but a Rebel, I would have been ashamed of myself for my part in his fall. Captains Wyckoff and Brown received orders yesterday accepting their tenders of resignation, and have started home. Lieutenant Worley has been detached to the Signal Corps. He is worthy of it. We (the whole corps) received orders this morning to prepare for the field immediately. The order is from McPherson and says: “Not one tent will be taken into the field, only two wagons will be allowed the regiment, one for the officers and one for the cooking utensils of the men.” That is coming down pretty low. Three years ago we had 13 wagons to each regiment. Two years ago eight, one year ago ’twas reduced to six, and now to two. What will it be next? Captain Sid. writes that two divisions of our corps will be left on this line of railroad to guard it this summer. I think ours and Morgan L. Smith’s will probably be the two; but ’tis hard to tell. I would for my part much rather march; if we do march, I have no doubt our course will be what I have before told you, Larkin’s Landing, Lebanon and Rome, Ga. They have made a change in our artillery. Two batteries now accompany each division, and the rest goes into an artillery reserve, a corps organization. You remember that I told you that the 1,500 horses we foraged in this country would be dead loss to the government. Our authorities fed them all winter, and this last week an order came to give them back to the citizens. Remember they have all been paid for. But they are of no account to the army, and ’tis the best thing that can now be done with them.

Scottsboro, Ala., April 18, 1864.

No changes to note in the military situation of our portion of Dixie, but the note of preparation is heard on every side. All making ready for the Spring campaign, which every one prophesies will be the bloodiest one of the war. Johnston is undoubtedly collecting all the Rebel troops in the West, on the Georgia Central R. R. and will have a large force. But ours will be perfectly enormous. Not one of our regiments but is stronger to-day than a year ago, and many divisions number from one-third to three-quarters more than then. Our division when we marched through from Memphis last fall was hardly 4,500 (for duty) strong. Now ’tis 7,000, and growing every day. We have no doubt of our ability to whip Johnston most completely, but if he can raise 70,000 men, and we think he can, of course somebody will stand a remarkably good chance for being hurt in the proceedings. He has crossed a division of infantry, away off on our right, beyond Elk river. ‘Tis hard to tell what for. Maybe to cooperate with Forrest. Certainly to forage some, and some think possibly to attract our attention in that direction while he makes a dash on our lines east of Huntsville. This latter would, to my idea, be akin to the action of that youth Harper represents in his “April,” standing on his head on the railroad track, six feet before the locomotive under way: “Rash.” Twenty-four years old yesterday, and three years in the service. Celebrated the day by calling on a good looking “mountain ewe,” and dining therewith. Made arrangements to have a deer and turkey hunt with her papa and some of his friends, Colonel Cobb, (formerly of United States Congress) among others. To give you an idea of the Southern love for titles, I’ll name part of the citizens who help to form our party next Wednesday. Colonel Cobb, Colonel Provinse, Colonel Young, and Majors Hall and Hust. Every man who owns as many as two negroes is at least a colonel. None of them rank as low as captains. Spring is coming very slowly. At least four weeks behind time. Trees are becoming quite verdant, and many of the flowers are up. I would like to send you a few haunches of nice venison after my hunt, but expect, all things considered, ‘twould hardly be worth while to try. Heard to-day of the wedding of one of my most particularest friends, a young lady of Decatur. Was sensible enough to marry a soldier; but am not certain she got the right one. Heaven help her.

Scottsboro, Ala., April 9, 1864.

Don’t be alarmed and imagine that I have “photos” on the brain. This is in all probability the last remittance of the article that I shall make you. General Corse, our old brigade commander, we think a great deal of, and would like to have you preserve his picture. The little soldier, Johnny Clem, was a sergeant at the time of the Chickamauga battle, and fought like a hero. His comrades say he killed a Rebel officer of high rank there. For his gallant conduct in that massacre, General Thomas gave him a lieutenancy and position on his staff, where he now is. He is almost a perfect image of one, Willie Blackburn, who was my orderly in the 7th.

The day of jubilee has come at this post; that is, we have, once more, something fit to eat. This is the first day since we’ve been here that our commissary has furnished us with aught but regular rations. We can wish for nothing now, except “marching orders.” My men are in splendid condition. Everyone of them in A1 health and spirits. All the veterans of the division are back, except the three regiments of our brigade. The 55th Illinois has at last concluded to veteran. Two hundred of them will be at home shortly. They held a new election, left Malmsberg and Chandler out in the cold, and I understand, a goodly number of their best officers besides. Men who have not been under good disciplinarians, will almost invariably, if an election is allowed, choose good fellows for officers. That is, men who allow everything to go at loose ends, who have no business whatever with commissions. Captain Milt. Hainey and Captain Augustine, I understand, are to be colonel and lieutenant colonel of the 55th. They are said to be good men and officers, and exceptions to the above, but my experience is such exceptions are rare, and I’d rather time would prove them than man’s words. I believe my company would veteran, almost unanimously, to-day. I am still on court-martial duty, and having a very easy time. We seldom sit over two hours, and never more than four hours a day. The most of the cases are for desertion, and absence without leave, with occasionally a shooting or cutting affair among some drunken men. The major and several of the other officers are absent at Nashville on a shopping excursion. Captain Wyskoff is commanding. He has been trying for the last eight months to resign, but papers come back every time disapproved. It’s hard work now to get out of the army. By a few items I have seen in the papers, believe the 17th Army Corps is coming up the river. Wish they would be sent here. We need another corps to move with us on to Rome. Suppose that Grant thinks he must have the 17th with him at Richmond. Operations cannot possibly commence here for 25 days yet. Wish we could move to-morrow. Colonel Wright and I were out a few miles this p.m. to see a couple of maidens. While we were enjoying our visit a party of excited citizens (all liable to the Southern conscription) rush in, and kindly invite us to go down to Fossets’ in the bottom, and clean out a half dozen “guerils” who were there after conscripts. ‘Twas only a half mile through the woods to Fossets’ and that was closer than we wanted to be to such a party (we had no arms). So we told the excited citizens that they and the guerillas could all go to the d___1 and we’d go to camp. Within a mile of camp we met a company on the way to look for the Rebels, but I know they might as well look for a religious chaplain in the army as for the Rebels in that swamp. There is hardly a sign of spring here yet. Have certainly never seen vegetation as far advanced North at this season as it is here now. Need a fire every day. The last month has been colder than January was. I met a woman to-day who prides herself on belonging to one of the first families of Virginia and boasts that her grandsire’s plantation and George Washington’s almost joined, and showed me a negro woman 110 years old, that formerly waited upon George Washington. She claims to be chivalry, par excellence. Her husband is in the Rebel Army. She lives off of the United States Commissary Department, and begs her chewing tobacco of United States soldiers. She’s a Rebel, and talks it with her mouth full of Uncle Sam’s bread and bacon.

Huntsville, Ala., April 3, 1864.

Thunder, lightning and rain are having a little time by themselves outdoors to-night. No audience, but guards and government mules, but that don’t seem to affect the show. We have a right good hotel here, a rather lively party, and have spent a pleasant, highly gaseous evening, Colonel Oglesby, Dr. Morris and Captain Wilkinson of our division. We came down on two days’ leave, principally to see the place, but all having more or less business. Found Will Trites this a.m.; dined with him, and this afternoon four of us have been riding. I enjoyed it very much. Had good horses, and ’tis a beautiful town. I think the finest I have seen South; but nothing near what Decatur, Bloomington, Quincy and a dozen other Illinois towns promise to be when they have half its age. In the cemetery there are as many really fine monuments as there were in the Chicago cemetery in 1859, and should think it not more than half the size of the new Canton graveyard. Our soldiers have been registering their names on the finest of the monuments. It looks so sacrilegious, and fully as ridiculous. They have a beautiful custom here of placing wreaths of flowers and bouquets upon the graves. This p.m. (Sabbath) nearly every grave had one or more such offerings. I attended the Presbyterian church this a.m., and certainly never heard the English language so abused before. The minister was a citizen. Did not by a word allude to the war in sermon or prayers. Most of the ladies wore mourning. Very full attendance of them. All who refused the “oath” here, have been sent across the river. Saw General McPherson at breakfast this morning looking as of old. We were paid four months last Thursday.

Goldsboro, N. C., March 25, 1864.

We were two days coming back here from Bennettsville; and have Sherman’s receipt for another campaign and his promise of a little rest. Have a nice camp ground and will enjoy ourselves, I think.