Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.

18th.—I visited Washington to-day, through such rain and such mud, as no civilized country, save this, can sustain, and preserve its character for purity. Am back to-night. On my return, I find on my table the following: ” General Order No. 11.

“Headquarters, &c.

“When the time arrives for the troops of this Brigade to move, the following will be the allowance of the means of transportation:

“Five wagons to the companies of a Regiment (two wagons to each company); one wagon to the Regimental Hospital.

“Each wagon will carry the forage for its horses. The sixty rounds of reserved ammunition will be carried in extra wagons. In the company, wagons will be carried rations for two or three days, company mess equipage, and officers’ baggage, which will in no case exceed the amount by regulations for baggage in the field. The forage for horses of regimental and field officers will have to be carried in their wagons. This notice is given so that soldiers and officers may be aware, that all property not above mentioned, to be preserved, had better be removed, for if the troops march, it is probable the first notice given will be the presence of wagons for loading,

“By order of Brig. Gen. ––––.”

Now that begins to look like business, and if our General means to put us in the way of doing something—if it will only not prove another counterfeit cry of “wolf”—we shall be pleased. Gen. McClellan has already grown several inches in the estimation of those whose confidence began to get shaky. I do not like that expression of “for if the troops march.” It looks a little wolfy. But I shall try to think it means “go in.”

2nd.—I think my hospital can boast, just now, the happiest set of sick men I ever saw. I have now twenty-seven of them. This morning, as I was prescribing for them, (all sitting up) some reading the morning papers, and talking loudly over war news, some playing whist, some checkers, some chess, some dominoes—all laughing and merry, Gen. H––– walked in, and, looking for a moment along the line of sick, exclaimed, “What the h—ll have you got here?” “My hospital, General.” “A Brigade,” replied he in his roughest manner, “of a d—d sight better men than you have left me. Where are your sick, sir?” “All here, sir.” “Well, this beats anything I have seen in the army, and if you give your men such beds and such comforts as this, you will have every man of your regiment in hospital before a month.” They have had a glorious holiday. The boxes, and other presents received within the last eight days, have awakened vivid recollections of home, and of “the girls they left behind them.” They are all the better for these things, and when I return them to their quarters, they take hold of their work with a will, and with a feeling that if taken sick, they have a pleasant hospital to go to.

I make here a record of some observations in relation to “hospital fevers,” “hospital sores,” “foul air of hospitals,” and such clap-trap. I have lately visited many tent hospitals, in the open field, where I have witnessed cases of “hospital gangrene,” low typhoid fevers, with gangrenous toes or fingers dropping off, and heard scientific men, in scientific discussions, attributing it all to the foul air of the hospital! And this, too, in the open field, where not more than thirty or forty were together, and where the wind swept past them, free as the fresh breezes on the top of the Alleghanies!! ‘Twas a gangrene of the mind, for want of free ventilation of the brain. There is no disease so contagious, or so depressing to vital energy when taken, as inactivity and gloominess of mind. Introduce one such temperament into your hospital, without an accompanying antidote, and the condition will be communicated to all others in the hospital, with as much certainty, and with greater rapidity, than would the infection of small-pox or measles. Let the admission of such a patient be accompanied by the presence of a long, sour-faced hospital steward, who keeps in the hospital tent a table covered with cups, and spoons, and vials, and pill-boxes, and syringes, and who mingles with every potion he gives a homily on hospital sickness, on fatality in the army, on the number of deaths from typhoid in the next tent, and my word and observation for it, though the breezes of that hospital come fresh “from Greenland’s icy mountains,” they will be freighted with the mephitic vapors of hospital fever and gangrene.

Instead of the above, let the Surgeon pass frequently through his hospital, making it a rule never to leave till he has elicited a hearty laugh from every one in it. For his Steward’s table of mirth-repelling instruments, introduce light reading, chess-men, checkers, dominoes, cards, puzzles, their use to be regulated by a corps of jolly, mirth loving, but judicious nurses. Then let him throw up the bottoms of his tent walls, giving everything around an air of cheerfulness, and if he does not find the diseases of the field hospital milder and more tractable than at home, my word for it, it will be in consequence of the officious over-dosing by the doctor. I do not mean that cleanliness is not an essential; but I must bear in mind that a pile of nasty, out-of-place rubbish, is as incompatible with cheerfulness, as it is with purity of surrounding air. A clean bed, even, exhilarates the mind, as promptly as it corrects the foul odors of a soiled one. Since I have been in the army, I have lost all dread of the much-talked-of foul air of hospitals, only so far as it is difficult to correct the mental atmosphere about it. This is in reference to its influence on diseases. I have not yet had an opportunity of observing the effects of crowds in surgical wards—that will come before long, and I shall be greatly relieved if I find the same records applicable there.

A great day of sport to usher in the new year. Amongst other amusements in our army, Hancock’s Brigade “got up a time on its own hook.” At twelve o’clock I went into the parade ground, and found about 10,000 people, soldiers and civilians, collected to witness the sport. Hancock’s Brigade is composed of the 5th Wisconsin, 6th Maine, 43d New York, and 49th Pennsylvania Volunteers. The sport commenced by a foot race of one thousand yards, purse $20 for the first out, $10 for second. About twenty started. The 5th Wisconsin took both prizes. Then jumping three jumps, prize $15, won by a member of the 5th Wisconsin. Next, climbing a greased pole, first prize won by a member of 6th Maine. Second, by 5th Wisconsin. Next, a greased pig (a two hundred-pounder) with a face as long as the moral law, or as a “speech in Congress, shorn of his hair, the knot which had been tied in his tail to prevent his crawling through fence cracks, was untied, and his whole skin thoroughly ” greased” with soft soap, was turned loose, with the announcement, “get what you can, and hold what you get.” The holder was to have the pig and ten dollars. For this prize, there were about four thousand competitors. The word was given, and the “Grand Army of the Potomac ” was at last on the move. This chase commenced a little before sun-set. Pig had one hundred yards the start. One fellow far outran all the rest, and as he drew close on to his game, piggy suddenly turned on him with a “booh,” and the fellow ran t’other way as if he had seen a rebel. The whole crowd came rushing on piggy, expecting him to run; but piggy stood his ground and said “booh!” “The front line ” suddenly brought a halt. But the rear, not prepared for so sudden a check, pressed forward, and the whole came down in a heap. A scream of “murder.” Piggy answered “booh.” At every “booh” a “line was swept away.” The pile of humanity became impassable. Those in the rear, filed to right and left, and by a “flank movement” took piggy in the rear. And now came a hand to hand encounter. As the last streak of the expiring day shed its light upon the excited combatants, it revealed a living mass of four thousand people—and a pig ; the pig crowning the heap at the moment when the ray withdrew its light. Night was then made hideous by the screams of murder and replies of “booh.” Neither party could distinguish friend from foe; and as I retire for rest, the combat still rages. I I do not permit myself to doubt, however, that the morning will bring us the news of “another great victory by the grand army of the Potomac.”[1]

At twelve o’clock last night, just as the old year was being crowded out of existence to make room for the new, I was awoke by a gentle thumbing of a guitar. ‘Twas right at the door of my tent. In a moment commenced at the other end of the tent, the soft, sweet notes of a violin ; then, from all sides came up, low, soft, sweet sounds, as ever a band of small instruments poured forth. The music stopped for awhile, and a voice asked, “Shall we now strike up with the band?” “No! no! No drum, nor fife, nor horn;— they will disturb the sick, and he will not like that!!” Could a more delicate compliment than was-conveyed in this remark have been devised by a soldiery whose business is pomp and noisy war! ” He won’t like it—it will disturb his patients.” I appreciated this. It struck a cord which vibrated in unison with my pride, my vanity, my ambition. I of course acknowledged it; and so deeply felt the compliment that I record it, as worthy of my remembrance. “The hospital boys” got up a handsome supper to-night, at which the Surgeons were guests. It was a very pretty supper, and to me a pleasant affair.

[1] Notice that in this athletic contest for prizes, three Eastern and one Northwestern Regiment engaged ; all the prizes save one (climbing the pole, which was taken by a Maine sailor) were carried off by the one Western Regiment.

21st.—Did ever husband and father need the comforting aid of the help-meets of home as I need them this evening? See my table. Six full foolscap sheets of letters from home —read, re-read, studied, spelled, and now to be answered. I wonder if any body ever imagines the value of a letter to a soldier. His power of estimating must be large indeed, if he can appreciate it. Were it not for this value I should never have the courage to attempt answering all this pile. But then, I have no room to arrange all these with a view to replies, for my whole tent is as crowded as my table, full of evidences of the kindness—I will dare to say, of the affection of so many of my kind lady-friends. The dictates of kindness and benevolence may crowd upon you articles of comfort and utility, but it requires the affections to indicate the numerous little tokens which peep from the packages of useful things now piled around my tent. They strengthen and they cheer me. I shall endeavor, right here, to make mysel worthy of all this confidence. What a field this is for the exercise of the “unseen heroism” of life!

But how in the name of Legerdemain do our friends contrive to get so many things into a little box? Why, my 10×10 tent is absolutely full. It is well, too, that the box was opened just to-day, for things in it were getting considerably “mixed.” Two or three preserve and jelly jars, and a bottle of pickles had been broken. The contents had escaped, and to make amends for their long confinement, like colts let loose, they ran considerably. The pickles had “pitched into” the sugar. The jelly had made a dash at the tea. The nutmegs were luxuriating in a mixture of preserves and coffee. There seemed to be an inclination amongst these belligerents to get into “a muss” generally; but I “offered mediation.” After two or three hours of back-ache work, I got the conglomerates restored to their original elements, and gave the men a look at them. They were gratified and thankful. I do not think one man looked on one of these evidences of home rememberance but felt strengthened in his resolves to perform manfully the duties which he had undertaken.

Yesterday we had the first fight worthy the name, since we joined the army. General McCall sent out a Brigade (about 4,000 men) to reconnoitre. They came upon an equal number of the enemy, and after taking a good look at each other, concluded to “go in.” In this fight we gained a decided victory. No mistake this time. We fought and won.

We lost a few men—about ten killed and some thirty wounded. Amongst the latter is Lieutenant Colonel Kane of the Pennsylvania “Buck Tails.” He is a brother of the late Doctor Kane, of the Arctic Expedition.[1]

Yesterday a few Surgeons met in my tent and gave expressions to their feelings against a self-constituted organization calling itself the ” U. S. Sanitary Commission.” I have had very little acquaintance with its members, or with its mode of doing business. From the almost universal prejudice which the Surgeons have against it, I infer that it must possess many bad or troublesome traits of character. I have naturally enough imbibed impressions which are anything but favorable in regard to it. At our little talk, yesterday, it was determined amongst us’ that the Commission must be ” written down.” I am selected to do the writing, my professional brothers to furnish the data. This morning I commenced my first article, but before it was finished, the roar of cannon and the bursting of shells arrested my attention, and I left my writing to watch the progress of the battle of Drainesville. In a little while, the wounded began to be brought in, and the whole being new to us, the Surgeons, now, for the first, began to examine their stores and appliances for wounded men. We had very few things which we needed, and whilst mourning over the delay necessary to procure them from Washington (some 9 miles distant) the agents of this Commission, having got wind of the progressing fight, had loaded up light wagons with their sanitary stores and rushed to the scene of suffering with the very things most needed. I confess that I feel a little ashamed to have been caught in the act of writing such an article, under such ciscumstances. Something good may come out of Nazareth yet. I think I shall wait and sec} rather than be induced by the prejudices or opinions of others, to commit an act, perhaps a wrong, which I may be sorry for.

[1] Battle of Drainesville.

19th.—To-day I have received the expected letter ; but it relieves no part of my sadness. My dear child at home is no better. I may never meet her again. This in another of the trials of this unholy war; but I am selfish. How many have so much more reason to complain than I?

Boxes of luxuries and comforts for the sick received from home to-day. Many of the days which we have spent in this army have been days of gloom and darkness; and, oh! how these stars of kindness do sparkle in the gloom and lighten the darkness around us! The luxuries contained in the boxes are a comfort to the sick, but these are not the comforts which we derive from them. They come from friends at home. They tell of the interest felt by them in the cause for which we suffer, of their interest in us as the defenders of that cause, and that we are not forgotten! Names of many of those who are engaged in this work of kindness are known to us, and whenever heard will call up a thrill of grateful affection so long as memory holds a place among us.