Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.

8th—I am threatened this morning with dismissal from the service, and my letter of yesterday is held up as a piece of intolerable insolence, and as one good ground for my being dishonorably relieved. Well, I am a Surgeon of a large hospital, in which are about five hundred brave but unfortunate men, who, under their almost superhuman efforts to sustain and defend a government have broken down and sickened. They are from home, from family, from friends; they are suffering for want of the commonest attention; the dead and the dying are lying together for want of proper and sufficient aid to dispose of them otherwise. The living are dying for the want of the necessaries of life, which, in great abundance, are in sight, part owned by the government, part by the rebels; that owned by the latter carefully guarded by men withrawn from our lines, lest some of these suffering sick should, in desperation, crawl from their beds, get in reach of, and take enough to snatch their languishing bodies from suffering, and, perhaps, from death. But worst of all, I have taken the liberty of stating these things plainly, and, as a penalty for my insolence in holding up a mirror to the eyes of a superior officer, I am to be relieved! By me, “this is a consummation devoutly to be wished.” Will they dare to try it? We shall see. (I have a mirror which will reflect other sights not less hideous than this. Perhaps they would like to look at it?)

6th.—Yesterday I resumed my duties in hospital actively. On examining the Steward’s Department, I found almost nothing to feed the starving five hundred men on my hands —absolutely nothing suitable to feed them on; that for days there had not been a cooking utensil belonging to the hospital, for these five hundred sick, larger than a soldiers tin cup. To-day, I have set myself actively at work. I have called on Quartermasters, Commissary, Medical Directors, and Generals, for the proper authority to procure the necessary supplies; the promises are profuse, but the interminable “red tape” must be followed out, even though the men starve. Plenty of supplies in sight belonging to the government, and soldiers dying of starvation! I have not half nurses enough to care for the sick and dying. To-day I asked for a detail of half a dozen men, as cooks and nurses. “They could not be spared from the lines.” I immediately went to the top of the hospital, from which I counted over fifty muskets in the hands of our able bodied soldiers, guarding the vegetables, the fruits, the flour, the pork, the beef of rebels, (now in line of battle, in sight of where I stood) whilst our poor men were dying for the want of these very things. I came down and asked for a detail from these guards who were not “in the lines” to assist in nursing the sick and burying the dead. I could not have them! Verily, the unfortunate sick of an army must be interlopers; they can have no business there. I close this writing, and retire with loathing and disgust of what I must see here; but not till after I have written a letter to the Medical Director, setting forth the occurrences of this day in language as strong as I am master of, and asking to be either sustained in my efforts here, or returned to my regiment.

5th.—This day Franklin’s Corps crossed from the left to the right bank of the Chickahominy, and encamped near Goldon’s farm. I was again ordered to the charge of Liberty Hall, Surgeon Jayne and most of my assistants withdrawn.

This is as I expected. Our wing of the army has crossed, no doubt in anticipation of a battle soon, and I am again detached from my regiment in the hour of its trial. I called on the Medical Director this morning, and stated in the strongest language I could command, my wishes to be with my regiment when it went to battle. The reply was that it would not be consistent with the good of the service to have me withdrawn from the large hospital at this time. I then asked to be permitted, in case of a battle, to ride to my regiment, after I had seen and cared for all the patients in hospital, to remain with it what time I could, and return to hospital in time to again see all the patients, during the afternoon and evening. The Director hesitated. I urged, stating that, in consequence of my having been so much separated from my regiment by orders, the friends of the regiment at home were complaining of me for it; that it was being noticed even in the public papers, to my prejudice. Besides, I had many intimate personal friends in the regiment, the sons, too, of my neighbors and friends, who looked to me for aid and comfort in the time of trial, and I would like to be present, even if only long enough to receive their dying messages. 1 did not get the permission. I have returned to my hospital sad and discouraged, but with the determination that, if I am denied the privilege of caring for those under my especial supervision, I will do the best I can for the poor fellows here who are accidentally or rather arbitrarily under my charge.

2d, 3d, 4th.—Taking my ease and riding about the camps, not having received any further orders as to duty. The army remains in “statu quo,” the large hospital, or rather its patients, in suffering state, though Surgeon Jayne seems to be using every effort to improve the condition of things.

June 1st.—Am so much better, to-day, that I have to report for duty. Am instructed to remain at my quarters near the hospital till further orders. I think I can foresee a plan in this to keep me at this hospital during the fights before Richmond. It is a dangerous thing in this army for a subordinate officer to think.

29th, 30th and 31st.—I am still too unwell to resume charge of this hospital, and as I hear of no action in the army, I have nothing to record.

27th.—Resumed my labors in the hospital this morning making requisitions for provisions and cooking utensils. Some of the men have now been without food, and are in a state of starvation. I have not had to-day half the help I need, and in consequence of my over-work, am sick again to-night, and have been compelled, so to report. Surgeon Jayne, of one of the Vermont regiments, is detailed to take my place.

26th.—To-day, was so far recovered that I reported myself for duty at the Liberty Hall Hospital.[1] I found there about four hundred sick, about one hundred of whom were crowded into the house. The rest were lying about in stables, alive with vermin—chicken houses, the stench of which would sicken a well man, on the ground, exposed alternately to beating rain and the rays of the scorching sun. There were no beds, no blankets, no straw, no cooking utensils and nothing to cook. The sick were lying on the bare floor, or on the bare ground, without covering, and this was the third day they had been in this situation without food, or without any one to look after them, except as they could mutually aid each other. All kinds of diseases prevail, from simple intermittent to the lowest camp typhus, complicated with scurvey; from simple diarrhœa to the severest of dysentery. My first effort has been to separate the simple from the infectious diseases. To pitch what few tents I have, and to get as many as I can under shelter, I have before me, in the organization of this hospital, a Herculean task for a man not quite recovered from a spell of sickness. But what I can, I will do.

[1] Liberty Hall is a large dwelling, the birth place and home, during his life, of Patrick Henry. It is about eight miles from Richmond.

25th.—I had a dream last night. There is nothing being done to-day, and as Dr. Franklin, when he gave as one of his rules of conduct, “Never tell your dreams,” did not add, never write them, I here record mine. “Like master, like man.” Master McClellan had his dream published for the the world; I see no good reason why I may not record mine for my humble self. It was part vision, part dream— part retrospective, part prospective: I saw Buell, and Halleck, and Grant, and Pope, and Foote, battling successfully. I saw some slight errors in their conduct. I saw Grant resting securely at Shiloh, made careless by his former successes, and I saw the terrible consequences of his self-reliant carelessness, and yet with all the draw-backs, and the terrible responsibility, the aggregate of all the efforts in the West and Southwest, had resulted in a great progress of our cause. I saw some of the gigantic projects of Fremont, at first sneered at and ridiculed; afterwards adopted, and become the most powerful agents of our success.

“A change came o’er the spirit of my dream,” and I saw the Army of the Potomac at Bull Run scattered in flight —routed, massacred—when it should have been successful. I saw the terrible slaughter at Big Bethel—so great that the Government never dared to tell it—greater than any of us had ever imagined. I saw thousands of our best men driven to the slaughter at Ball’s Bluff without the possibility of either success or escape. I saw in my vision what I had witnessed in reality, our fight at Lee’s Mill, when about two hundred of our brave men were sacrificed by being led against an enemy of the strength and position of whom our leaders were ignorant, I saw the army fall back, and die by hundreds in the swamps and ditches, waiting for the enemy to leave. I saw the pursuit from Warwick to Williamsburg, in which we rushed upon a body of the retreating army, and were repulsed with the loss of fifty men. I saw again Hancock’s little Brigade drawn up in line of battle, about sun-set of the same day, under command of Col. Cobb, in sight of Fort Magruder, and distinctly heard the voice of General _____ ask the Colonel if he would take that fort with his little Brigade “now, or wait till your men have had their suppers?” I saw the men, tired and hungry (for they had not ate a mouthful all day) throw off their knapsacks right in the field where they stood, and go forward to “take that fort before they had their suppers.” And then I saw what had not been visible to my eyes awake, 15,000 of the best troops of the Confederate army lying in and around that fort, the strongest I had ever seen, and our little, jaded, worn-out brigade of three thousand on their way to take it. And how clearly then did the dream show me the incompetency of the leaders on whom these devoted men were pouring out their whole confidence. I saw a Providence lead the brigade astray into the enemy’s abattis, entangle and detain it there till after dark, then lead it across an open field into another abattis, impassable even by daylight, and there compel it to remain till morning, complaining of the very fate which was preserving it from entire destruction. I saw the impossibility of escape for a single man, had they passed the abattis and attacked the fort. I saw Gen. Hooker next morning, groping about, ignorant of the position of the rest of our army, and of the strength and position of the enemy, until he stumbled on them, and found himself unexpectedly engaged with a force which he was unable to withstand. I saw him with his corps fight as rarely ever man fought before —his brave men and officers falling around him, unflinching and unaided, calling in vain for succor on whole divisions of the army, who were looking on as idle spectators, but looked in vain for the commander-in-chief, or some one with authority to order up these idle but anxious brigades. I saw Hancock’s Brigade engaged without plan, and without order, the General, secure behind the walls of the fort, ordering his regiments to fall back from before the advancing foe, and that same Providence inspiring one regiment to stand fast, despite that order, to fight the battle to the death, to save the army, and to win for their General a reputation which he had not courage to risk in the unequal combat. So much in retrospect. My dream reached ahead, and I saw Gen. McClellan at the head of a large army marching into Richmond. Suddenly we came upon a fort thrown up by the enemy. I got upon an elevation, and saw a few thousand troops there. A balloon was in the air; my dream transported me to this balloon; I looked into Richmond; there was a small army there preparing to evacuate; the citizens were hurrying to and fro, packing up and leaving the city; some were already crossing the river. The few troops who were there, marched out, presenting a bold front, as if to delay our advance till the citizens could have time to escape. The aeronaut dropped a note to the commander to hurry forward, and he would not only take the city but capture an immense spoil. My eye followed the fall of the note, and what was my surprise to see breastworks had sprung up for miles in length, in front of our army; men, dead and dying, were lying in the ditches, and thousands of spades and shovels were burying them there without winding sheets or coffins, whilst the Commander-in-Chief, with folded arms, stood looking on. A shout arose, “Hurrah for McClellan!” and a response, so deep and sudden that it shook the very ground! “What has he accomplished.” I awoke, startled more by the idea conveyed in question, than by its noise. I immediately arose, and having thought for a few minutes over the retrospection of my vision, caught up my diary and wrote it down with this addendum: “Now here we are in the sight of Richmond, preparing for the great battle which is perhaps to decide the fate of free institutions for ages, without any more idea of what we have to contend against than we had at Lee’s Mill or Fort Magruder. Have we no way to discover the enemy’s strength and position as he does ours? If after all I have witnessed I have misgivings as to the result, it should not be wondered at, nor should I be blamed for my want of confidence. Whilst I hope for the best, I keep prepared for the worst; only whatever is in reserve for us, let it come and relieve this suspense.”