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

Scottsboro, Ala., March 15, 1864.

I am again on court martial duty, with a prospect of a long siege; but we have an experienced President and a Judge Advocate who promises to be a fast worker; so we may get through quicker than we anticipated. The President, Colonel Heath, 100th Indiana, is a Bob Ingersoll for the world, that is, full of anecdote and fond of malt. ‘Tis probably fortunate that at this time none of the latter is to be had in our division. I dislike detached service in any shape, but prefer court martial duty to almost any other. Would much rather be with my company, and if it were not considered so nix military would ask to be relieved from this. You can’t imagine how proud I am becoming of my company. I have never had an iota of trouble with them. We certainly work as smoothly as any company could. We are all in high feather over the prospect of going to Richmond. Everybody wants to start immediately. If the 15th and 17th corps reach the Rapidan, we doubt your hearing anything more about recrossing the Rapidan and taking positions inside the Washington fortifications. Our corps don’t get along well with these Cumberland and Potomac soldiers. To hear our men talk to them when passing them or their camps marching, you’d think the feeling between us and the Rebels could be no more bitter. We are well off by ourselves, but still we don’t feel at home. We’re too far from our old comrades, 13th, 16th and 17th Corps. This feeling that grows up between regiments, brigades, divisions and corps is very strong and as strange. The 4th and 14th Corps Cumberland chaps our men can endure, although much in the spirit a dog chewing a bone, allows another to come within ten feet. The 11th and 12th Corps Potomac men, and ours never meet without some very hard talk. I must do the Yankees the justice to say that our men, I believe, always commence it, and are the most ungentlemanly by great odds. I do honestly think our corps in one respect composed of the meanest set of men, that was ever thrown together. That is, while on the march they make it a point to abuse every man or thing they see. They always feel “bully,” will certainly march further with less straggling, and make more noise whooping than any other corps in service, but if a strange soldier or citizen comes in sight, pity him, and if he’s foolish enough to ask a question, as “what regiment,” or “where are you bound for?” he’ll wish himself a mile under ground before he hears all the answers, and ten to one not a whit of the information he asked for will be in any of them. We have no pay yet, and no prospects now, but doing good business borrowing.

Scottsboro, Ala., March 12, 1864.

I have been tremendously demoralized for nearly a month in consequence of a terrible cold I caught by some of my carelessness, I suppose, but am now coming out of it all right. Weather is most beautiful. Not too much duty, excellent camp, remarkably good health, and everything so near right, that almost think a soldier who’d grumble here deserves shooting. Were I disposed to complain am sure I could only find two little topics whereof to speak; one being the fact that ’tis impossible to get anything to eat here excepting regular army rations, not even hams can be had, and the other the long-continued absence of the paymaster. We are hoping that both these matters will be remedied ‘ere long, but have been so hoping for months. We have a division purveyor now, who pretends that he will furnish us in good eatables. We have had but a few articles from him, and I’ll tell you the prices of those I remember. Can of strawberries, $1.75; cheese, 80 cents a pound; bottle (about one and one-half pints) pickled beets, $1.50. If I could draw the pay of a brigadier general, and then live on half rations, think I might come out even with said purveyor for my caterer.

Everything perfectly stagnant. We did hear day before yesterday some quite rapid artillery firing for an hour or two; it sounded as though it might have been some ten or twelve miles southwest of us. ‘Twas reported by scouts a few days ago that the enemy was preparing flatboats at Guntersville to cross the river on, with intent to make a raid up in this direction or toward Huntsville. The 15th Michigan Mounted Infantry was sent down to look after the matter, ran into an ambuscade and lost a dozen or so killed and wounded. That’s all I heard of the matter. We were very sorry that the loss was so light, for they are a miserable set. We are going to have a dance here in a few days. Think I’ll go. Anything at all to get out of camp. I’m as restless as a tree top after marching so much. You don’t know how tame this camp business is. Am afraid I will get the “blues” yet. Hurry up the spring campaign, I say.

Scottsboro, Ala., March 6, 1864.

By marching 21 miles on the railroad ties we reached “home” yesterday, after an absence of 24 days, in which we traveled 280 miles. Altogether it was a very pleasant trip, although the first 10 nights were almost too cold for outdoor sleeping. I kept a “sort” of a diary of this trip in a memorandum book, and being too lazy to copy, tore out the leaves and mailed to you. You should receive three letters of that kind. One about the “Wills Valley” trip, one of the march from here to Cleveland, and the third of the trip from Cleveland to Dalton and back. The rain was pouring down when we received orders to start home from Chattanooga and it rained almost until night. We marched 16 miles without a rest, and did it in five hours. Did exactly the same thing next day, although it did not rain. This was from Oltewah to Chattanooga. In addition to this march I took a look over the part of Mission Ridge where our regiment fought, and also climbed Lookout mountain. The 103d, the brigade they were with, undoubtedly got the hottest part of the whole Lookout, and Mission Ridge fight. The nature of the ground was such that not a shot was fired by either side until they were within 200 yards of each other, when our men charged. Some of our boys were killed a little to the right of, but on a line with the Rebel guns. The trees and shrubs show marks of extraordinary hot musketry work. I cut a hickory walking stick right where our men commenced the charge. This hickory stood by an oak that I should think was hit by 400 musket and canister balls. It helped me later in the day to climb Lookout Mountain. I think the view from Lookout worth 1,000 miles travel. The high mountains of Western North Carolina, and the Blue Mountains of Virginia are very plainly seen from the summit. There is a summer retreat, some 40 or 50 nice houses with public hall and school on top.

Scottsboro, Ala., February 7, 1864.

This has indeed been a day of rest. More like a home Sabbath, than the Lord’s day often seems, here in the “show business.” None of my company have been on duty, and as the day has been bright and warm, the men have been nearly all out in front of the quarters; all looking natty and clean and healthy, sunning themselves real country-Sunday fashion. Seems to me that I grow prouder every day of being captain over these men. If I could only get 30 good, healthy recruits, I expect I’d have to be “hooped.” The boys brought a fiddle in with them yesterday from our Lebanon march, and as nearly all of them play, “more or less,” it has seen but little rest to-day. Every man I have present (42) is for duty, and if there are any soldiers in the army who can outmarch them, or do duty better, “I want them for Babcockses,” as the boys say. Frank Post was in my tent to-day, and informed me that in her last letter, Laura told him that some horrible stories of my cruelty to women and children while in command of the mounted detachment, were in circulation at home. He wanted me to trace the author of them, but I respectfully begged to be excused. The person who told such stuff, falsifies; for I never killed a fly, or stepped on a worm, or kicked a dog, or threw a stone at a cat, and know I wouldn’t treat a woman or child worse, if they were Rebels. I do take a little private satisfaction in knowing that I have never said a word, except respectfully, to any woman in the Confederacy, that I have ever touched a cent’s worth of private property for my own use. We, with 600 more of our brigade, had to take horses and rations from a poor set of people, but that was no more our fault than the war is. Those pretty crystals I sent you by Lieutenant Dorrance, are “Iceland Spar,” which is, I believe, the only stone which possesses the power of double refraction. If you put a thin piece of it over a black mark on paper, and look closely, you will see two marks; try this piece which I enclose. I took a lesson in chess last night, played a couple of games. Don’t think I would ever make a player. Colonel Dickerman is at present commanding the brigade, and Major Willison the regiment, Lieutenant Colonel Wright being on detached service as a division inspector general. Mattison is in his quartermaster department almost constantly, and Dorrance’s absence leaves me quite alone. Dorrance was in a way, good company. Always in a good humor and talking. Real accommodating, too, if carefully handled.

I went to the nearest house to camp to-day, to beg a little piece of tallow to soften a pair of marching boots. I sat down by a fire, in company with three young women, all cleanly dressed and powdered to death. Their ages were from 18 to 24. Each of them had a quid of tobacco in her cheek about the size of my stone inkstand, and if they didn’t make the extract fly worse than I ever saw it in a country grocery, shoot me. These women here have so disgusted me with the use of tobacco that I have determined to abandon it. Well, we are again under orders to march at a moment’s notice. Received them about noon to-day, and expect to start in the morning. It is intimated that we go to Chattanooga, first, and then either to Dalton, Knoxville, or garrison Chattanooga, and let its present occupants go. I was much pleased to get the orders, for above all things, do hate a permanent camp. I enjoy the tramping, the mud, the cold, and being tired, and everything mean there is about soldiering, except being hungry. That beats me to a fraction. If I could only go without eating three or four days at a time I would pass as a soldier, but bless me, missing a meal is worse than drawing a tooth. I never tried it as long as I have been in the army, but it seems to me that putting me on quarter rations would be equivalent to putting me in a hospital bed.

Hurrah for the march. No such place for real fun elsewhere. We have our regular races, and tough ones they are, too, sometimes. Each regiment takes its turn in having the advance, one day at a time. Say, to-day we have the lead, then to-morrow we will march behind all the rest, and the next day the regiment which succeeded us in the lead will fall behind us, etc. It is a great deal easier to march in front than in the rear, because in passing defile, or crossing streams on single logs, all of the time that is lost falls, finally, on the rearmost regiment, and after it crosses it sometimes has to double-quick it a mile or more to catch up again. A common time step or 90 to the minute, in front with a brigade of 1,500 over the average of these roads, makes the rear in order to keep up, take more than quick time, or over 112 steps to the minute, during their marching time. So you can imagine our races, though fun to the advance, make the rear work—no laughing matter. The point of the race is for the advance regiment to move so fast that the others will break up, tired out, and straggle. Yesterday the 97th Indiana coming in had the lead and undertook to run us. We had the rear, but by not waiting to cross on logs, but wading through creeks up to our knees or middles kept at their heels for 8 miles without a rest. ‘Twas raining all the time and the roads were awful slippery. Our brigade tried hard to run us down at first, but now none of them doubt our ability to march with any regiment. When the men are resting along the road they have a great fashion of making remarks about any strange soldier or citizen who passes. As we were resting on the 5th inst., a bare-footed, sick-looking soldier came hobbling through. One man said, “He’s sick, don’t say anything to him;” another said, “No, he’s shod a little too rough;” another, “Yes, and he interferes;” another, “Keep still he’s slipping upon something;” another, “He’s showing us how Fanny Elssler went over a looking glass;” another, “Come here and I’ll take the pegs out of your shoes,” etc. Wouldn’t that be interesting to the passerby?

Scottsboro, Ala., January 9, 1864.

We have settled down into fully as monotonous a monotony, as I ever experienced. The powers pretend that the army is tired down and needs rest, so duty is very light, no drills ordered; no scouting and no nothing, but a first-class preparation to have a tremendous sick list in a very short time. You know how we have been moving for the last three months, and that we have hardly suffered a half dozen cases of sickness. Now see, if we lie here four weeks longer, if I don’t report you 60 on the sick list. Do you think that I am something of a grumbler? Either having too much travel, or too much lie still. Too much to eat (I guess not) or not enough, etc. I suppose that news here is about as scarce as ice cream on the African desert, and of nearly the same quality. We are camped in the edge of dense woods, about three quarters of a mile from the town, which consists of 20 or 40 rather neat houses, and presents, I think a better appearance than any other town of the size I have seen in the Confederacy. It hasn’t been squashmolished like most of its sisters. General Logan’s headquarters are here. Our corps is camped along the road from here to Decatur, our whole division being here. Our division commander, is, I expect, the most unpopular officer with his corps that there is in the West. I never knew his match for meanness. See if I can think of all I have been ordered by: Prentiss, Grant, Logan, McClernand, Wallace (W. H. L.), Oglesby, Paine, Pope, Granger, Palmer (_______) formerly colonel 11th Missouri., Rosecrans, Morgan, Buford, Sheridan, Hurlbut, Lanman, Hamilton 1st, Hamilton 2d; Sullivan, Lawler, Sooy Smith, Ewing, Corse, Halleck, Sherman, Davis, and at least two more whose names I can’t now recall. One of them commanded this division last March, and the other the 4th Division 16th Army Corps, last December, for a few days. I have lots of work on hand writing up my accounts, but this lying still begins to bore me awfully. I though a few weeks ago that ‘twould be very nice to have a tent again, and things somewhat comfortable, but the beauties of the thing don’t last long. I’m ready to move now. We have had several pretty cold days, but to-day I have been in my shirt sleeves, without vest, all day, and felt very comfortable, though it didn’t thaw very much, and I believe there was ice in our water bucket all day. Expect you are having a gay time this winter at home sleighing, dancing, etc., but I would rather take mine out in the army. If I didn’t have any happy Christmas myself, I had the pleasure of smashing the happiness out of a good many secesh Christmases. That’s not so. It was not pleasure, but I had to.

Scottsboro, Ala., January 5, 1864.

Your brother no longer represents the Festive Mamaluke, but has returned from his paradise of fresh pork, cornbread, honey, milk, and horse, to his original heavy infantry exercise, his nix-Grahamite diet of army rations, to that headquarters of red-tapeism, a “permanent camp,” in short, to the elysium of the enlisted men, and purgatory of company commanders winter quarters. In short, the powers that be concluded that dismounting us would not render the salvation of the Union impossible, and as the detachment was getting a very hard reputation, and making much trouble for said powers to settle, ’twas decided to unhorse us. It’s all over now, the mounting part has “played” and that string will not probably be harped on again for this brigade to dance to. I think that to-day, Sherman, Logan or Ewing would not trust a detachment of this brigade on sorebacked mules if they had only three legs. This little squad of 500 men in the two months they have been mounted have committed more devilment than two divisions of regular cavalry could in five years. Everything you can think of, from shooting negroes, or marrying these simple country women, down to stealing babies’ diapers. From taking $2,700.00 in gold, to snatching a brass ring off the finger of the woman who handed a drink of water. From taking the last “old mar” the widow had to carry her grist to mill, to robbing the bed of its cord, for halters, and taking the clothes line and bedclothing “to boot.” I’ll venture that before we were dismounted, not a wellrope, tracechain, or piece of cord of any kind strong enough to hold a horse could be found in the districts through which we have foraged. I want you to understand that my command is not responsible for the heavy devilment. I have steadily discountenanced it, and watched my men carefully. I am willing to be responsible for all they did, and will probably have a chance, as I understand a board of inquiry sits on the subject shortly. Some of the officers will, I think, have cause to wish they were never mounted; and to think that “Mission Ridge” would have been preferable to the duty they have been on. We had been looking for General Ewing out to our bivouac to review us for several days, and I rather saw in the distance that dismount was an order we’d get shortly, and had sent in to our colonel, lieutenant colonel and staff some of my best horses, knowing that if we got dismounted they would be taken by Sherman, Logan or Ewing. Sure enough, on the morning of the New Year’s day came an order to form to be review by some heavy staff. The review consisted in their picking out what good horses there were, turning the rest into a corral, and sending us to our regiments on foot. We got here the same day, found the regiment just pitching camp, with the idea that winter quarters or a good long rest, at least, was their portion. Our company already has good comfortable quarters up, and is as well fixed for winter as we care about being. But already we hear it rumored that our division is to move down to Huntsville in a short time, and we have had no orders to prepare winter quarters. All right. It has been pretty cold here although we have had no snow nor ice that could bear a man. A great deal of rain. The regiment is very healthy. Not a dozen men complaining. My wrist is improving slowly. Not worth very much yet. Doctor says ’twill take it a year to get well. That bone at the wrist joint protrudes considerably. All right. The veteran feeling is “terrific” here. Three regiments in our brigade the only ones eligible (that is that have been in two years) have re-enlisted almost to a man. 40th Illinois, 46th Ohio and 6th Iowa. In our division there are seven regiments eligible and all have re-enlisted, and are going home in a few days. It is, I think, the grandest thing of the war. These old soldiers so enthusiastically and unanimously “goinginimously.” I guess no one is more astonished at it than the very men who are enlisting. One of the 40th boys told me that “about 15 of us were talking about it and cussing it, until every son of a gun of us concluded to, and did re-enlist.” Our regiment hasn’t been in long enough to make veterans. Wouldn’t you rather have me stay in service until this war ends? I get the blues, though, sometimes, and think of getting out and denying that I ever was in the war. Haven’t I a brilliant record, Thirty-three months in service and not a battle.

Clear and cold this morning. I’m very comfortable. Have built me a brick fireplace and chimney, raised my tent two and one-half feet on a broad frame. Made me a good bed with broom sage for soft, and am living high.

I received three recruits yesterday and have at least one more coming. I have more men for duty than any other company. Night before last two Confederate soldiers came into our camp and stole three horses, two of them belonging to our surgeons, and the other to the adjutant. The Rebels crossed the Tennessee river, which is only four miles from here and recrossed safely with their horses. I call that pretty sharp. The horses were only about 30 yards from where I sleep. They might just as well have got me. I feel highly complimented by their prefering the horses to me. We had one-fourth of an inch of snow last night. Gone now. Yesterday three teamsters, belonging to Logan’s headquarters while foraging went to pillaging a house. The woman of the house tried to stop them, when one of the fellows struck her on the head with a gun and killed her. This was about three miles from here.

Near Larkinsville, Ala., December 29, 1863.

We have had some busy times since my last. Foraging for horses, looking for something to eat, and trying to obey a host of contradictory orders, has kept us in the saddle almost constantly. I believe I wrote you about Dorrance’s going over to Elk river, Tenn. for horses and getting captured. When the next scout was ordered out, I was at Bridgeport on business, and Lieutenant Smith went in charge. They were absent a week and when I heard from them, and that they had but seven extras, I started after them and found them 25 miles from camp. That night I got permission from the officer in command to take 20 men and be absent two days. I went over the mountain into Madison county near Huntsville, got 34 good horses and was back on time. I also captured a guerrilla with his horse and traps, and found a lot of clothing which had been taken from Federal soldiers and officers captured by Rebels and concealed in a hovel on the mountain. In the round trip of the last six days, about 150 miles, the boys have destroyed at least 50 shotguns and rifles. To-day, an officer of Ewing’s staff is here selecting our best horses, for the use of Sherman, Logan, etc. We think it confoundedly mean, but guess we’ll stand it. We have enough horses to mount the brigade, but there is some doubt about that little event taking place. They can’t beat me out of being satisfied whatever they do. Would rather remain mounted, but Sherman’s will be done. I have turned into the corral fully my proportion of horses, haven’t lost a man, and none of my command have been guilty of robbing, plundering, or stealing. That’s what the officer of no other detachment here can say, truthfully. I do think I have the best lot of men that ever soldiered together, and there are now 41 for duty. The rest of the brigade is at Scottsboro, only six miles from here, and they will probably go into winter quarters there. Possibly, at Belle Fountain. I am in splendid health and enjoying myself excellently. My wrist is improving slowly, but there is something broken about it. It will, however, answer my purpose if it gets no worse. One ought occasionally to have something of that kind in order to a better appreciation of our many blessings. What wonderful luck I have soldiering, don’t I? Now, in our two month’s foraging, I haven’t lost a man. Only one wounded a little, and one man and Dorrance captured and let go again. In the same time the 15th Michigan have lost about 20. The 46th Ohio have had two killed, the 6th Iowa two killed, and the 40th Illinois two hung and two missing. We have been over all the country they have, and done just as much work, without losing a man. I am hopeful of obtaining some recruits from the Fairview country, but can get along without them.. Have as good as been out of the world for two months. I haven’t worn socks since I left Memphis. Too much trouble. Has rained steadily for the four last days. I have ridden from daylight until dark each day. Got dried off to-day for the first time. Swam our horses over three bad creeks. Lieutenant Smith and three men came very near drowning. My mare swam splendidly.

Greasy Cove, Jackson Co., Ala., December 19, 1863.

On examination of my pockets this morning, I find a letter I wrote you a week since. Will mail it this morning and tell you the late news in another dispatch. You notice we have again changed our camp, and you’ll probably admire the classic names they have given these beautiful valleys. I was at Stephenson and Bridgeport a few days since for our camp and garrison equipage, and was just starting back with it when I heard that our detachment was ordered to report to the rest of the brigade at their camp at Athens, Tenn., 40 miles beyond Chattanooga. So I left my traps and came back to move. We will start as soon as our parties get in from scouting. The last party that went out and returned was some 200 strong. Dorrance had 20 men from our detachment. They brought in a splendid lot of horses, but had to go 75 miles for them. The guerrillas killed one man of the party, (46th Ohio) and captured a number, maybe 15. Picked them up one, two or three at a time. Dorrance was captured and paroled by some of Forrest’s men. He was pretty well treated, but the parole amounts to nothing. They took nearly all of his money, his arms, spurs, horse, etc. He was the only one of my men captured. It is confounded cold lately and I haven’t been real dry for three days. We have to swim creeks to go anywhere, and there is so much brush and drift in these streams that a horse will always get tangled and souse a fellow. I swam a horse across a creek yesterday, and he went over on his hind legs standing straight up. I never saw such a brute. Rumor says we will be dismounted and go with the corps to Mobile. But the most probable story is that we are going into camp at Athens for the winter. Would much rather go to Mobile but think that we can’t be spared from here.

Bivouac in Mud Creek Cove, near Belle Fonte, Ala.,

December 11, 1863.

Without any earthly cause I am troubled with a small fit of the blues this evening. I can’t imagine what brought it on. I am cross, restless and tired. Don’t want any company—wouldn’t go to see a girl if there were a thousand within a hundred rods. Interesting state for an interesting youth, isn’t it. Guess the trouble must be in the fact that I have no trouble. Everything moves too smoothly. No pushing in my family to knock down a looking-glass balanced on a knitting needle. Nothing in my precious life to keep me awake one minute of my sleeping time, and nothing in the future that I now care a scrap for. All of that is certainly enough to make one miserable. I’m convinced that my constitution requires some real misery, or a prospect for the same, in order to keep me properly balanced. If you can furnish me any hints on the subject, that will induce distress, trouble, or care, in a reasonable quantity to settle on my brain, I will be obliged. I have written you so much about soldiering, sister, that I’m thinking the subject must be pretty well exhausted. You must have received as many as 150 letters from me since I entered the army. I have had a host of interesting experiences since I enlisted, but when I am alone, and naturally turn to my little past for company, I always skip the army part and go back to the old home memories. One finds a plenty of opportunities for such self-communing in the service, and if I haven’t profited by mine, it is my own fault. Did I ever tell you how I love picket duty? I have always preferred it over all other of our routine duties, yet it would take a sheet of foolscap to tell you why; and then nobody could understand me the way I’d write it. So we’ll pass. It seems a long time since I was at home. What do you think of my eating Christmas dinner with you? Don’t let’s think of that at all. I start for Chattanooga in the morning to get my team and things. It is six weeks since I have had a change of clothes from my valise. Borrowed a shirt from a woman once and got mine washed.