Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.

2nd. Camp No. 4, in the field.—Our Brigade was reviewed to-day by Gen. Keyes, to ascertain if it was in order to fight. Verily, it seemeth to me that our Generals have reviewed us enough to know whether we are in fighting condition. All are anxious to be reviewed on the battle field, and to lay aside this silk glove war.

April 1st.—An opportunity offers to-day to send letters to the dear ones at home. This privilege is becoming less frequent, and we fear that when we move from here, it will be even more so than now. Visited Newport News to-day. This, though a sad, was a pleasant visit. There, within a stone’s throw of our Fort and guns, stood, a hundred feet above the briny water, the graceful spars of the ill-fated frigate Cumberland, sunk by the iron-clad Merrimac. It seems impossible that this monster ship, yet untried, should venture on her first voyage out, not only in presence of our armed fleet, but under the very port-holes of one of our most powerful land batteries. I listened to many interesting anecdotes of this naval fight, or rather destruction, but I cannot record them now. I could not withstand the temptation to visit what there was of the Cumberland above water. Climbed into the rigging, and discovered at the very peak of the foremast, about one square yard of the American flag, still flying. I determined, if possible, to have a piece of it, and started on the arduous task of climbing a hundred feet to get it. By the aid of ropes, and spars, and rigging, reached the top-gallant. The flag was still fifty feet above me, and there was no way of my reaching it but by climbing that slender, smooth top-mast. I looked at the coveted relic with longing eyes—thought what a treasure it would be— looked into the ocean fifty feet beneath me—looked at a rebel gunboat which was hovering near, as a shark follows and hovers around a vessel with a cadaver ready to be thrown overboard; then I looked at myself, and came to the sage conclusion that there was another relic which wife and chil-children might value even more than they would that flag, though tattered in so noble a cause, and waving still an unimpeachable witness to the bravery and patriotism of the noble crew who went down with it, still floating aloft, they never ceasing to cheer that loved emblem, till choked by the gurgling of the water in their throats, when they sank, to cheer no more forever.

About half a mile below the Cumberland, the wreck of the Congress is just visible above the water. For want of time I did not visit it.

We have no further revelations as to the programme of the war. It looks to me, however, that the plan is, to conquer the banks of the James River, making use of it as the base of our operations till we reach Richmond.

Shall we have a fight at Richmond? I very much doubt it. If we press rapidly forward, we must reach there before the enemy can concentrate any large body of troops or make any formidable defences. They will then, I think, fall back on the Cotton States, luring us on to an enemy more formidable than then- guns—rice swamps, hot weather, and yellow fever. If we delay, however, giving them time to reinforce and fortify, it may be otherwise. So much for a guess.

My Hospital Steward has been for a month under arrest, and though I have constantly applied for the appointment of one to temporarily fill his place, it has been refused me. This has caused me much extra labor. In consequence of this I have to-day disbanded my whole hospital force, sent my sick to quarters, and refused longer to perform the duties of Hospital Steward. Shall I be arrested for insubordination? We shall see.

31st.—To-day, whilst all were expecting orders to move forward, I received orders to build a log hospital. — What can this mean? The weather is beautiful, roads good, troops in fine condition, warm weather coming on, and here we are preparing as for a summer’s stay. God help us and our little General, but put it into his heart not to remain here till the enemy, whom we have found, has time to fortify against our approach. We have been a long time accomplishing nothing. Although the weather is fine, and it is now first of April, not a forest tree has started its buds. I am disappointed, for I expected by this time, in this climate, to be as in midsummer. But even the trees, and nature, seem to linger, and we should not blame our General.

I visited Fortress Monroe to-day. This is a great Fort, almost surrounded by natural water, besides being entirely enclosed within its own moat. The two walls which surround it are together from thirty to sixty feet thick, of solid granite masonry, and the two together are about three miles long, enclosing by a double wall about eighty acres. It mounts 480 guns, commanding the approaches in every direction. The transports are landing here from 15,000 to 20,000 troops daily. This is no doubt one of the causes of the delay of our army. We wait for the arrival of the remainder, that when we do move, we may march steadily forward without fear of repulse. Start us, and twelve to fifteen days should place us in Richmond, only about seventy-five miles distant. Whilst sitting on the parapet of the Fort, I had a good view of the Rip-Raps, an artificial island, built up in the sea, of huge stones shipped there, and on which is built Fort Wool. These Forts are the key to the great, strong door between the Federal and the Confederate Governments.

30th—Slept in the open air again last night; it rained, and I awoke in a pool of water. Strange that we do not take cold from such exposure. I never felt better, and I notice that very few of the soldiers take cold from any amount of exposure at this season of the year.

29th.—We are in camp again, about two miles from Newport News. Nothing doing, and this gives me an opportunity to realize the condition of my hospital. Up to the time of our leaving Camp Griffin in the early part of this month, we had not in all our moves, lost to the amount of a candle. Now, with only two moves since, we are here to-day, in the face of the enemy, expecting a battle, without a tent, an ambulance, a litter, a blanket, or a comfort for the wounded —not even a reliable nurse at my command. Well, I suppose all this is a small matter, so long as the commanders who brought it about are comfortable. They can be taken care of, and why need they trouble themselves about the men?

28th.—Slept on the ground last night, my saddle for a pillow. Greatly to the chagrin of all of us, after having driven in the enemy’s pickets yesterday, we fell back a mile or two, and to-day fall back about seven miles.

“The King of France, with 40,000 men,
Marched up the hill, and then marched down again.”

Major L and party came into camp this morning, unharmed.

27th.—A day of excitement. We are near the enemy. Brigade left camp at 6 A.M.; marched ten miles along the beautiful James River. Almost every building on the route burned. Dreadful devastation. At 12 o’clock came upon the rebel pickets. They ran, leaving camp fires burning. In one tent found a boiler of hot coffee, in another a haversack of hot biscuit. Very acceptable, after a long and muddy march. Major L_____, with two companies, was detailed on a reconnoisance. They have not returned to-night, and we fear they are in danger.

26th.—Remained in camp all day, examined my hospital stores, and put in order what few I have left. At Alexandria, in consequence of my being ordered to Washington to look after the scattered ones, had to entrust the forwarding the few we had there to my assistants. On arrival here I find that they are nearly all left or lost, except the few I picked up in Washington and brought with me. Not a tent, not a cooking utensil, and scarcely any medicines. Hope that I may be permitted in future to look after my own affairs without too much help.

25th.—This A. M., at 6, weighed anchor, and dropped down to Hampton Roads, and disembarked at what was the little town of Hampton. If there be pleasure in the indulgence of sad reflections, how delightful it would be to have all my friends here, to enjoy them with me to-day. For a few hours, whilst the troops have been disembarking, and transferring the baggage and munitions of war from steamer to transportation wagons, I have been walking the streets of this once beautiful, but now desolate little city. Never before had I a conception of the full import of that word—desolate. Shortly after the battle of Bull Run, the rebels, fearing that we should occupy the town as our winter quarters, abandoned and burned it. This little city, amongst the oldest in America, and now giving evidences of a former beauty, possessed by no other I have seen in the South, they burned!

Oh, the demoralization, the misery resulting from this wicked rebellion. I would like to describe here the scenes I have witnessed this morning; but the sad picture, so strongly impressed on the mind, would be blurred and rendered indistinct by any attempt to transfer it to language. I have already an affection for this little city, and a deep-rooted sympathy for its former citizens, now scattered and hunted, exiled and homeless. Its population, I should judge, was about 2,500. ‘Twas compactly built, mostly of brick. The yards and gardens even yet, give evidence of great taste.

The walls of the old Episcopal Church, said to be the oldest orthodox church on the continent, stand almost uninjured, but not a particle of combustible matter is left about it. In its yard are the tombs and the tomb-stones of a century and a half ago. And what a place to study human nature, amongst the 50,000 soldiers strolling around. ‘Tis low tide. All the tiny bays left uncovered by water, are crowded by soldiers “on all fours,” sunk to knees and elbows in the slimy mud feeling for oysters. The gardens are full of soldiers, the church yards are full, each giving an index of his character by the object of his search and admiration. Whilst I have been looking disgusted and indignant at a squad prying the tomb-stones from the vaults to get a look within; at another squad breaking off pieces of the oldest tomb-stones as ” trophies,” my attention is suddenly drawn away from these revolting scenes by the extacies of a poor, ragged, dirty fellow, over a little yellow violet which he had found. He almost screams with delight. Just beyond him is a better and more intelligent looking soldier scratching among the ashes in hope of finding a shilling, or something else, which he can turn to some use; a few seems impressed by the solemnity of the scene. Such are the varieties of human characters and of human natures. For myself, I cannot but think how worse, even, than Sodom and Gomorrah is the fate of this place. To think, whilst looking over the sad ruins, of the young persons who had grown up here, and whose every hour of happiness was in some way associated with their beautiful homes; of old men who had been born and raised here, and who had known no other home; of widowed mothers, with dependent families, whose homes here constituted their sole wealth on earth. To think of all these clustered together on some elevation in that dark and dreary night, turning to take the last sad look at their dear old homes; oh, what aching hearts there must have been there that night! What envyings of the fate of Lot’s wife, as they were leaving the quiet, happy homes for—God knows where, and God knows what! My heart aches for them, and every feeling of enmity is smothered in one of pity. Before disembarking this morning, we got a look at the famous little Monitor. A raft—an iron raft, about two hundred feet long, lying from eighteen to thirty inches above the water, with its great cheese box on one end, with holes in it to shoot from. Were I to attempt a description I should say, it looked for all the world just like the sole of an immense stoga boot lying flat on the water with the heel sticking up. In the afternoon, left Hampton, marched about four miles in the direction of Newport News, and encamped.