24th.—Another day of inaction near Gaine’s Mill, on the Chickahominy. An instance of petty despotism occurred to-day. I was sick, confined to my bed. We were approaching Richmond, with prospect of a fight. The Division Surgeon procured an order from General Smith, detailing me to organize and take charge of a hospital at Liberty Hall. I reported sick. The order was repeated; the report was repeated. The order came the third time, with the same result. General ______ took the matter in hand, and ordered me from my quarters, as a non-effective, to this hospital, or house, unorganized, without any provivisions for the sick, now packed full of soldiers, suffering with infectious diseases of the worst kind. From this order I had to appeal to the Division Commander, who at once had it rescinded, and the “amiable General H______” was cheated of his victim.
Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.
23rd.—No movement. Should this journal, after I am gone, fall into the hands of persons, who shall undertake to read it, and shall complain that these everlasting records of “no movement,” “all quiet,” and “thunder storms,” are dry food for the mind, I answer them now : That the hardships which we suffer in this world, instead of awakening a sympathy for others in the same condition, are more apt to call up unworthy comparisons, with a remark, that “they need not complain; they are no worse off than we are.” And just so at this moment, I find the physical man of the army answering the complaints of mental man in civil life, finding fault with the dullness of these records. Try, says he, long camping and disappointed expectations, amid the swamps of the Chickahominy, living on half rations of hard crackers and salt beef, and you will then be able to appreciate the hardships of dry food, and the difficulty of assimulating from it moist ideas.
But, at 5 P. M.,—an event. Our Balloon is up, with Professer Lowe and General McClellan, taking observations of the enemy and his movements. Boom—speaks a big gun from away beyond the Chickahominy. Bang—a little cloud of smoke just over the balloon, and the fragments of a shell hiss and screech in all directions around it! Ah, General, are yon thinking. Eight hundred feet above the earth, how quickly that shell, or the one this moment coming in search of you, by a passing touch with the gossamar web which holds you suspended above your fellow men, would extinguish all the hopes and bright visions of political or military glory, which sometimes form the brightest jewel in the crown of patriotism? Or are you reflecting on the solicitude with which you are now watched by the tens of thousands of humble but anxious men, praying, without one selfish feeling, to the God of the patriot, to protect and preserve you, on whom they feel now rests the solution of the greatest problem, in the moral as well as the political history of the world? I wish I knew your thoughts just now. I wish I could know that they are as far above the grovelling, selfish ambition of some of those now watching you, as you this moment swing higher than they.
And now, oh General! look down, I beseech you, from your airy height, on your little army below, and devise means to preserve it from the temptations of the world, the flesh and the devil. Particularly guard from those evils, your officers; and most particularly your journeyman Generals. Teach them that it requires more than accidental promotion, or even accidental success without merit, to make great men of little ones. Teach them, I beseech you, the folly of vanity; whilst you inculcate the fact that many of your officers are doubly blessed with permission to carry all their brains in their shoulder straps, leaving their heads unincumbered, and to be used for substantial purposes.
Teach your men to be not only obedient and respectful, but submissive to the whims of then- superiors; that they have no right to any of the comforts to be gathered by the wayside; that should they find the fishes, the fruits, the poultry and other delicacies of the country guarded against their approach, for the comfort of their Generals, to remember that these Generals were never confined to hard bread and dried beef, on long marches, and can therefore never appreciate the wants and the sufferings of the common soldiers, who are; and that their might gives right to appropriate all these to themselves. Teach them that when, at the close of a hard day’s march, through mud and rain, should a “double quick” be required of them, their commander, being well mounted, can know nothing of the impossibility of obedience, and that terribly profane oaths are at such times the only gentlemanly invigorators known to Generals. Teach them that obedience from submission, and not from principle or affection, is the only rule to be recognized in your army; that in becoming soldiers they ceased to be men; and all for thy glory and thine honor.
22nd.—A quiet day in military matters. No movement of the army. Ballooning all day; discovered large force in front of us. Unless the fear of McDowell or Banks, in the rear, should induce an evacuation, we must expect hard fighting here. Heavy thunder storm this P. M.
21st.—From White House, returned to camp to-day. I really believe I am becoming attached to this kind of life, though I did not feel it till to-day. When I reached the spot where I left the army encamped yesterday, and found it deserted, with the camp poles still standing, (although I had staid there but one night,) the desolateness of feeling was strongly akin to that experienced on returning to an old and loved home, and finding it emptied of all that had made it dear. The army had left, I followed, and am now with it, encamped within ten miles of Richmond, near the Chickahominy. We have had some firing in the distance, towards Richmond, this P. M.
20th.—Army moves at 7 this A. M. In the P. M., in obedience to the order of yesterday, I returned to White House, where I was received with the gratifying remark of the Medical Director, that when he needed the interference of my General in his hospital, he would let him know it. Tomorrow I shall return to my regiment, and hope to be permitted to remain with it.
19th.—Marched to-day about eight miles, but by a road so indirect, that we are only five miles nearer to Richmond. I am to-night again detailed from my regiment, with orders to report for duty at the general hospital at White House.
18th.—Last night, after we had retired, the aids-de-camp of the several brigades, rode through the camp, and calling up the company commanders, read aloud: “Orders from Headquarters. Roll will beat at 5 in the morning. Army will move at half-past six, precisely.” All was bustle. The chests and boxes which had yesterday been packed for a move, in the morning, Unpacked in the afternoon, were again packed at night, which showed how eager our soldiers are to get to work. The roll, at 5 this morning, instead of calling them from their beds, summoned them to breakfast. They were ready, but had not finished their hurriedly prepared meal, when it was announced through the camp, “Order of last night, to move this morning, is countermanded.” If the oaths then perpetrated were recorded in heaven, the recording angel would certainly have been justified had he have “dropped a tear upon the page and blotted them out forever.” Our army swore terribly, but their ruffled feelings are now being calmed by the beautiful notes of Old Hundred, exquisitely performed by our band, and recalling, oh! how many sweet recollections of homes where many of us have, for the last time, had the warring elements of our souls soothed into quiet submission by the “peace, be still,” of this master piece of sacred music.
We are now in an intensely malarious region, with the sun’s scorching rays pouring on us, and our men coming down by scores daily. We have been nearly twelve months in the field, have fought but one battle, and I fear that General McClellan’s plan, to win by delay, without a fight, is poor economy of human life, to say nothing of the minor subject of wear and tear of patience; of the immense debt accumulating for somebody to pay, or of the major one of the effects of a protracted war on the morals of a nation.
17th.—But little worthy of note to-day, except the increasing impatience of the army. They begin to complain of the Commander in Chief, and, I fear, with some ground of justice. This morning the whole plain of 80,000 men, with its five hundred wagons, ambulances and carts, its five thousand horses, and all the paraphenalia of the army, was ordered to be ready to move at 12 M., precisely. At 11 we ate our dinners; then came the details of men for loading the heavy boxes and chests, striking, rolling and loading tents, which, by hard work, was accomplished by the hour fixed, and noon found us all in column; the word “march” was given, and off we started; moved about fifteen rods, wheeled (teams and all) out of the road into a beautiful field of wheat; wheeled again, and in a few minutes found ourselves right where we started from, with orders to unload and pitch tents. A few regimental groans went up as complimentary of the movement, and in two hours we were again settled. The object of this movement is now known to me, and so small and contemptible was it, so mixed up with the gratification of a petty vindictiveness, that, for the honor of the army, and some of its sub-commanders, I leave it unrecorded, hoping to forget it.
16th.—Quiet at White House. Nothing worthy of note.
15th.—A raw unpleasant day. Hard rain, with east wind. We do not march, and in consequence of the heavy rain we may be compelled to remain here several days. The enemy is in force on the Chickahominy, and the two armies are gathering their hosts within ten or fifteen miles of each other, probably for a final struggle. The crisis approaches, and how the army pants for the time when they are to try conclusions! It was much worn out by the long delay at Camp Griffin. The detention at Warwick Creek was by no means refreshing, and now they naturally feel that every day’s delay is irksome.
