Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.

2d.—What relief it was, last night, at half-past 9, after the six day’s of excitement, fatigue, fighting and famine, to lie down once more, secure of a good long night’s rest! What a surprise, the whispered call, in just three hours, to rise quietly and resume the march! And what was our astonishment, when daylight revealed to us the fact that we were now retracing the very road by which we had been trying to escape. On discovering this the men began to waver in their confidence. But soon we left this road and bore off “down the river,” and of the scene which now followed, neither Hogarth’s pencil nor Hall’s pen could render the faintest idea. The rain was pouring in such torrents as I never saw the clouds give down. The men at every step, sank nearly to their knees in mud. The officers, either sulky or excited, were driving them to a double-quick, which it was impossible for them to maintain for more than a few rods. They began to fall out, and, in half an hour, every field, and all the open country, as far as the eye could reach, presented the appearance of a moving, hurrying mob. I was here strongly reminded of my school boy imaginations of the Gulf Stream. This swaying, surging mass presenting the idea of the ocean lashed into irregular fury by driving storms, whilst a part of General Smith’s division, moving in unbroken column through the mass, could not but recall the picture of that little stream as from the beginning of time it has preserved its quiet course, in despite of all the convulsions and conflicts of the warring elements. So great was the demoralization at this time, that I have not a doubt that an unexpected volley of either musketry or artillery would have produced a stampede which would have shamed Manassas. I saw no officer so calm, so collected, so perfectly himself as our Division Commander, General Smith. By the teachings which I had received at Camp Griffin, I had been made to believe that he could never be a man for an emergency. At the most trying moment of the day, I bore him a hurried message from two miles away. He saw me coming on the full run, through the heavy rain and mud, and as I rode up he received me with a quiet, pleasant bow of inquiry. I delivered my message, which was important, and involved the fate of his Division, without the least hurry or the slightest hesitation, and in the very fewest words which could make it forcible, as if he had known the object of my coming, and had his answer prepared, he gave me his orders, and calmly resumed his other duties. The prejudices planted and cultured at Camp Griffin were all dissipated.

I did see him, however, once during the day, a little excited. We were hard pressed by the enemy on all sides of us. We had repulsed him in every fight, protecting our immense train of wagons, now seventy miles long. But so critical had become our situation that it was decided that to save the army it was necessary to abandon the transportation; Gen. Smith rode along the line of his own transportation, clearing the road of the wagons that the rear guard of infantry and artillery might pass. He once or twice ordered a teamster out of the road. The man did not obey. ‘Twas no time to arrest him; he grappled him by the neck, and for half a minute kept him in that peculiar state of gyration which a hungry soldier often communicates to the body of a rebel rooster about midnight. He had no more trouble with that teamster. But the confusion of those teams! I thought Mons. Violet in his stampede of buffaloes had got up a description of confusion which no reality could ever approach. I had formed vague ideas of Bedlam, of Pandemonium; but a million of buffaloes on a stampede, Bedlam turned loose, and Pandemonium “on a bust,” all mixed and mingled, could form no approximation to a train of teams, seventy miles long, on a “skedaddle.”

But all day the rain poured in torrents; men dropped by the wayside and were left. Some died from exposure; some dragged themselves into camp, and many were captured by the enemy. The night of the seventh day has come. The question of capitulation has been heard in whispers all day. But now that we are once more in camp, and in a position to offer or accept battle, most of the men scoff at the idea of capitulation, and say “fight it out.” Nearly all the men, in the retreat, have thrown away their knapsacks and blankets, and have thrown themselves down in their wet clothes, and in mud and water which nearly covers them, hoping to get a little rest after the incessant fatigues of the week. The wind blows damp and chilly, and I fear the poor fellows are to have a hard night of it.

July 1st.—The march of last night was full of terrible anxiety and danger. We marched through an enemy’s country, pressed by them on all sides, and momentarily expected when passing through some dense pine forest, to be attacked from ambush and cut to pieces, without the chance of a chivalrous fight. This would be murder of the worst kind, and we feared it.

We reached the James River this morning, at Carters’ Neck, just below Malvern Hills, where the army expected to cross at once, and be again on ground of rest and safety. We were allowed three hours to cook, eat and sleep, and again we moved. But instead of crossing, we found ourselves marching directly away from the river, and the roar of artillery ahead told us of more work yet to be done. Our men, who had now for five days been limited to an average of two hours’ rest a day, pressed forward with an alacrity truly astonishing. After a march of about two miles, we halted on the slope of a hill which concealed us from an immense open plain stretching out in our front to Malvern Hills. Here was progressing a battle which will be famed in history, so long as battles are fought on earth. I doubt whether one so bloody, in proportion to numbers, or so obstinately contested, has been fought since the invention of gunpowder. Here Hooker, and Kearney, and Heintzleman, and, I hope, Porter, (though I have heard hints of his misbehaving) and Stevens, with others, have gained imperishable renown. Our Division was drawn up in line on the slope of the hill referred to, just so as to be concealed by its brow from the plain in front, yet so near as to perceive the advance of an enemy approaching over it, and here we lay all day in reserve, expecting our main body to be driven back on us, as their supports, and the eagerness with which our jaded and worn out troops now watched with a welcome for the foe from which we had been so long flying, is to me as astonishing as it is unaccountable. Here we felt secure, and here we have remained all day, chafing for a part in the deadly conflict going on so near us,

6 P. M.—The battle of Malvern Hill still rages, and what carnage. Hand to hand the fight goes on. The dead and the dying lie heaped together. Charge after charge is made on our artillery, with a demoniac will to take it, if it costs them half their army. Down it mows their charging ranks, till they lie in heaps and rows, from behind which our men fight as securely as if in rifle pits. Nearer and nearer approach their batteries, till the two lines of artillery are mingled into one, but pointing in different directions. In places the wheels of gun carriages of the opposing armies become nearly locked together, and the cannoniers leave their guns and sabre each other in a hand to hand fight. The slaughter is terrible, and to add to the carnage, our gun boats are throwing their murderous missiles with furious effect into the ranks of our enemy. By their shots huge trees are uprooted or torn into shreds, which whip the combatants to death. The combatants seem infatuated with excitement, and the very terror of the scene lashes them into a love of the conflict.

As twilight approaches, the noisy eloquence of battle becomes subdued; at 8 o’clock ’tis hushed, and the enemy is driven and routed. We are too much exhausted to pursue; and, relying on the assurance of our leaders that we are here secure, we at 9 o’clock stretch ourselves at length to take the full enjoyment of a long night’s rest, which our condition so pressingly demands.

30th.—The night’s march had placed a considerable distance between us and our pursuers. The morning opened bright and balmy. Again our division had to be brought to the rear, and we continued to march and to countermarch for position till about noon, when we halted in line of battle, and waited till our troops and transportation had all passed up. We had thrown out our videttes and pickets, and had lain down to keep out of sight. We began to stretch out our limbs for a little rest, when instantly, and almost simultaneously, fifty-three of the enemy’s shells burst upon us. I doubt whether the Malakoff, in the “infernal fire” which reduced it, witnessed such an opening of a cannonade. Mott’s battery was almost instantly demolished; most of his horses and some of his men killed by their first fire. Just here a little incident occurred, and which was rather amusing, if anything can amuse in such circumstances. I had taken my hospital corps and litter bearers some distance in the rear, in a deep gorge, where they could be out of danger, and where we could have plenty of water for the convenience of our wounded. I had left them and gone to the line. The burst of artillery came. I ran back to see that litter bearers were ready, but arrived just in time to see their backs as with the litters they passed over the hill on a full run. I ran to the top of the hill, ordered them to halt, but on they went. I ran on calling to them, and sent three pistol balls whistling after them. On they went. At a moment’s reflection, I raised my voice, and uttered a great mouthful of oaths—not natural, but got up for the occasion. They stopped as if an iron wall had dropped before fore them. They returned, and were surprised to find me alone. ‘Twas difficult to convince them that it was I who swore. They did not believe “that any man in the army, save our Brigadier, could utter any such oaths as that.” I felt flattered, and thought that I had earned promotion. Immediately on the opening, our whole line was on its feet. We were ordered to change our position. We started on the double quick, directly away from the enemy. The order as to the position we should take was misunderstood, and we moved rapidly for about a mile. The day was intensely hot, but the men marched well and vigorously. Suddenly an order brought us to a halt, made us aware of our mistake, wheeled us to march back towards the enemy, and it is surprising what a difference was made in the vigor of the men, by marching west instead of east. Directly on their being faced to march towards the enemy, the sun’s rays pierced so violently that they commenced falling from sunstroke. The effects, however, were not serious, for as soon as the column had marched by, the fallen men arose and starting again away from the enemy found themselves so well that most of them ran from ten to eighteen miles before night.

We got back into line, facing the enemy; but from some cause unknown to me, they commenced withdrawing their forces from our wing, and swung them over to our left, on White Oak Swamp, about two miles to the southwest of us, where McCall, Porter, Sedgwick, Hooker, and a host of others were battling for life. McCall’s Division is badly cut to pieces. We learn to-night that he is himself a prisoner, and that of all his staff, but one is left to tell the story. Our troops held their position, and after night had drawn a curtain betwixt us and our pursuers, with whisperings and hints of the necessity of capitulation, we resumed our march, nor halted till the sun was lighting up for the resumption of our perilous task of defence.

29th.—’Tis the Sabbath—the appointed day of rest. To us how little of rest, of quiet, either to mind or body, it has brought! After the fatigues of the last three days and nights, our army lay last night on its arms, and this morning, at 3 o’clock, without breakfast, we were on the march, and as the first light of day revealed to us the immense heaps of commissary stores abandoned by the road, the truth that we were stealing away could no longer be concealed. The burning of these stores would disclose the fact to the enemy, and they were therefore left to fall into their hands. Are we then to give up all the anticipated pride of a triumphal march into Richmond? Must we hang our harps upon the willows, and forego the paeans which we were to sing here on the downfall of the Rebellion? Must we abandon the remains of the thousands on thousands of our comrades, who have perished here in the ditches, unhonored and unknown, without having been permitted to strike a soldier’s blow for government against anarchy? There is a retribution for some one. Till now this want of efficiency has been attributed to the powers at Washington. At present much of the blame is being laid at the door of our Commander-in-Chief, and I fear he deserves it. He has certainly committed many errors. His vast army, the best of modern times, has accomplished nothing. Early in the day it became evident to us that the watchful enemy was aware of our movements and was on our track, and everything of value was now destroyed. Runners were sent ahead to dam up the little streams near ammunition depots, to wet the powder and to drown the thousands of boxes of cartridges there deposited. Thousand on thousands of new muskets, of Springfield and of Sharp’s rifles, were bent and broken over logs and stones. Barrels containing whisky, molasses, sugar, were broken in, bridges destroyed, and locomotives blown up. Delayed by work like this, by marching and by countermarching to protect our long transportation trains, 4 o’clock P. M. found us only about four miles from where we had started. For thirteen hours we had marched, after a night of watching, and the men had not yet had their breakfasts. On our arrival at Savage’s Station we found the large building crowded with the wounded of the battles of the two days previous. Hundreds of tents were pitched around, from all of which came the groans of the sufferers, and the yard was filled with our poor mutilated men, with an army of surgeons and nurses moving amongst them. As we left this Station the booming of cannon in our rear told us a that this day, too, must have its fight. In the terrible heat of the day we moved on. We had not, however, proceeded more than a mile when we were overtaken by couriers calling us back to reinforce the rear, which was now preparing to engage the pursuing enemy. Back we marched. On again reaching Savage Station we found two immense lines of battle nearing for the conflict. We had a long line of batteries in position just in the edge of a wood fronting an extended plain over which the enemy was advancing. In rear of artillery our infantry lay in ambush. Our artillery was the coveted prize, and over the level plain came rushing on the long lines of the enemy at a full charge of bayonets. Our batteries had anticipated this, and were charged with grape and cannister, which they withheld till the mass came within easy range, then belching forth, their iron hail, the whole front was absolutely shot away. For a moment the enemy recoiled, but it was momentary as the recoil of the ocean’s wave as it breaks on the impending rock, then down they came again, but again belched forth the angry cannon, and again a line was swept away. But to this immense host of enthusiastic pursuers numbers were nothing, and a third time it came rushing on. They were now too near for our artillery to be effective, but at the moment up rose in its rear our long line of ambushed infantry, and the setting sun was saluted by the roar of a hundred thousand muskets. Again reeled the staggering foe, and “forward, charge!” and the battle of the 29th—the battle of Savage Station—was ended. The enemy were repulsed with immense loss, and we resumed the march, leaving the dead and wounded and our large hospital filled to overflowing in the hands of the enemy. All night we marched, stopping at 2 in the morning, and after a march of twenty-three hours, almost without food, rested for about three hours.

28th.—This morning opened brightly and beautifully; the elements calm and peaceful—not so the passions of the parties, for we on the right bank, where the enemy attacked us and were repulsed last night, were again attacked in our little fort by Toombs’ Brigade—Toombs in person leading it on. He was repulsed with considerable loss, whilst we suffered but little.

Our army had now abandoned the field on the left bank, leaving the enemy free access to our base, and we were massing our forces on the Richmond side of the river. But whilst our defeat on the left admitted our enemy to our supplies, their repulse on the right did not, as we had hoped, admit us to Richmond. The necessity of a general retreat is now becoming evident to the men, though nothing is heard on the subject from our officers. At 10 A. M. our right (Hancock’s Brigade) moved its quarters about a mile and a half professedly to get out of the reach of the enemy’s shells, which were falling and exploding in the midst of our camp. My opinion is that the real object of the move is the massing of our men preparatory to a general retreat. Our troops to-night are very much worn out. The rejoicing all night of the 26th, at the report of the “thorough whipping” of Stonewall Jackson, repulse on the north side, and the night fight of the south side on the 27th, the morning fight of this day, with the subsequent marching and moving of camps, being all the time on short allowance, is telling sorely on the energies of the men. The losses of yesterday to the two parties cannot have been less than 25,000 to 30,000 men.

27th.—There has been great rejoicing in camp all night— no sleep for the troops. But one regiment, seeming to be callous to the good news reported last evening, by General McClellan. At 8 this A. M., I started with wagon to Liberty Hall, for my tents and other baggage. The fight on the other side had commenced two hours before. I learn that in the reports to me of yesterday, the rebel forces had been greatly overrated; that they had only about twenty-five thousand men in the fight, on McCall’s single division, of perhaps eight thousand. But both parties were strongly reinforced last night, Lee having swelled his army to about seventy-five thousand, whilst General Porter had come to the aid of McCall, with about thirty thousand. After fighting for about an hour and a half on the ground of yesterday’s battle, Porter and McCall commenced falling back, and when I crossed the Chickahominy, between 8 and 9, this morning, I passed squads, batallions, regiments, brigades of our soldiers, apparently in disorder; but as I had heard nothing of Porter’s falling back, I paid but little attention to them. I passed on without discovering what was the matter till I came so near to the advancing enemy as to barely escape capture. Riding back to the groups and brigades which I had passed, I learned that they were our scattered army, retreating before the advancing enemy. They had already fallen back about three miles, were rallying near Emerson’s Bridge, and were preparing to give battle and to prevent the farther advance of the enemy. Should we be defeated here, the railroad from Richmond to West Point, now held by us, must fall into the hands of the enemy. White House, (our base of operations), with its immense supplies and munitions, must also be lost. General Porter was preparing for a desperate struggle, which, at farthest, could not be many hours off. General McClellan, I hear, telegraphed to General Porter, now in command on that side of the river, to know whether he needed reinforcements, to which he replied that he did not; that he could hold the enemy where he was. For this, whether true or not General Porter is to-night being highly censured. He felt that it was his fight, and was unwilling that a ranking officer should be sent to him to take or share the credit. Six times the hosts of the enemy came down upon him like an avalanche, and six times were repulsed. The seventh assault has been successful, and the army has passed our lines and has proceeded in the direction of White House. As Liberty Hall was in the line of our retreat and the enemy’s pursuit, it was captured, and I of course lost everything, except the clothes I wore.

About 1 o’clock P. M. the fight commenced on our side of the Chickahominy (the right bank) at Golden’s farm, between the batteries, at long range. I had just returned from my attempted trip to Liberty Hall. Our infantry was in line of battle between the opposing batteries, all the shot and shell from both sides having to pass over it. In passing from our artillery to our infantry, it was necessary to face the enemy’s shells, which were exploding with almost continuous roar. These flashes, as they burst around me, reminded me of the wonderful “shower of falling stars” which occurred in 1850. Many of our own shells exploded as they passed over our infantry, killing a number of our men. Through this shower I had to ride, and it now seems that nothing but an interposition of Providence has saved me uninjured. About 7 P. M. the artillery ceased firing, and in a few minutes commenced an infantry fight, by the enemy’s opening fire on about one mile of our line of battle. This has been a trying day—the fight on the left bank of the river under Gen. Porter, on the result of which depended our holding or losing our base of supplies, with immense stores. That on the right bank, directed by Gen. McClellan, in which it was thought, if we succeeded, we should march unimpeded into Richmond, only six miles off. We are repulsed on the left bank; we have driven the enemy on the right bank. Shall we lose White House and the Railroad as a consequence of our defeat on the left? Shall we inarch into Richmond as the result of our success on the right? To-morrow will tell.

May God preserve me from another battle in the dark. The sight is grand, but terrible, beyond my wish to witness again.

26th.—The forenoon of to-day passed something as did the afternoon of yesterday. Asked for transportation to bring my tents and baggage from Liberty Hall. Cannot have it till to-morrow; so, having nothing to eat, nor any place to shelter, have lived on the kindness of my friends.

About 2 o’clock P. M., ” Stonewall Jackson” and General Ewell, from the North, and Generals Lee, Longstreet and Hill, from Richmond, having united their forces to the number (reported) of about one hundred thousand, made an attack on General McCall’s division, which was strongly posted and fortified about a mile and a half east of Mechanicsville, on the left bank of the Chickahominy. This is about four miles from where we are encamped on the right of the river. The fight was severe, every musket and artillery shot being distinctly heard at our quarters. Our excitement, during the whole of the afternoon, has been intense. The firing ceased at about 9 o’clock in the evening. A few minutes later, orderlies and aids-de-camp were dashing from regiment to regiment, reading a dispatch from General McClellan, that “Stonewall Jackson is thoroughly whipped.” Great rejoicing and cheering in camps. But, strange—one regiment to whom it was read, never, during the whole excitement, raised a cheer or manifested one symptom of elation. That regiment is the Fifth “Wisconsin Volunteers. It has been under General McClellan’s personal friend and relative, Brigadier General Winnfield Scott Hancock, for whom it has won whatever of reputation that Brigadier General claims to have. Can it be possible that this favorite regiment has so far lost its confidence in the Brigadier as to distrust the statement of his friend, the Commander-in-Chief? However this may be, I have heard several of them remark that “it will be time for us to cheer when we know it is true.” Significant.

25th.—All in the hospital having been made comfortable, we set to work yesterday to take care of ourselves. Arranged our tents, and to-day find ourselves a band of contented Surgeons, assistants and nurses, willing now to remain where we are. The above lines were written at noon, and before the ink dried, an orderly rode up with a note, the first line of which read: “Surgeon, you will report for duty with your regiment, without delay.” So the fat of my content is all in the fire. I suppose there is another hospital to be organized. This constant change from newly established order and organization, to unorganized, chaotic confusion, is very trying. To establish a large field hospital, provision it and put it in good condition for the comfort of sick and wounded, in the short time allowed and with the disentangling of the red tape, is a big work, which I have been so frequently called on to perform, that I am heartily sick of it. No sooner do I get all comfortable, and become interested in the men under my care, than we must separate, perhaps, never to meet again.

On receipt of order to join my regiment, immediately mounted my horse in obedience, leaving behind me my tent, trunk, books, mess chest—everything but a case of surgical instruments, and reported at headquarters on the Richmond side of the Chickahominy. Found all quiet on the surface, but there was underneath a strange working of the war elements, which I could not comprehend. Officers spoke to each other in whispers—there was a trepidation in everything. There was “something in the wind.” But it blew no definite intelligence to me. I received no order for duty; only to hold myself in readiness for whatever might be assigned me.

24th.—To-day General Hooker advanced his picket lines about one mile nearer to Richmond, and the incessant roar of artillery, with the constant volleys of musketry and the cheers of fighting men, wafted to us from beyond the Chickahominy, tell that it is being done, not without cost of the blood and suffering of brave and good men. At night we hear that Hooker’s movement has been a success, crowned with a victory. General Hooker rarely undertakes a thing which he does not accomplish; but I fear our loss has been heavier than is now admitted. These frequent reports from our Commander-in-Chief, of great victories with little loss, subsequently contradicted by the real facts, begin to shake the confidence of a large portion of the army in his infallibility.