Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.

21st —Our camp here was made without consulting the the Surgeons. It was laid out without order, and the tents are so close together that teams cannot pass through to remove its rubbish, its offal, and its filth. My Colonel, too, has interfered much with my sanitary orders, particularly those in reference to ventilation. The result is the largest sick list we have had, I have succeeded, however, in getting consent to move the camp to other ground, high and dry, where I am now engaged in ditching the streets, and staking out the ground preparatory to a move, where I hope we shall be able to reduce the list of sick. I believe I omitted in the proper place the record of the first death in our regiment. It occurred on the 3d of this month. The poor fellow died of Nostalgia (home-sickness), raving to the last breath about wife and children. It seems strange that such an affection of the mind should kill strong, healthy men; but deaths from this cause are very frequent in the army; the sufferer, towards the last showing evidences of broken down nervous system, accompanied by most of the symptoms of typhoid fever.

Oct. 21st.—A little incident to-day. A reconnoitering party went out this morning towards Vienna and Flint Hill. At noon, a courier came in with a report that they were fighting. I was ordered to take an ambulance and join my regiment ” in the direction of Vienna” immediately. On starting, I met with Surgeon Thompson, of the 43d N. York Vols., told him I was going in search of an adventure, and invited him to go with me. He accepted. We reached our outer lines “in the direction of Vienna,” but had not found my regiment. To Surgeon T.’s question, “What now!” I replied that my orders were to “go till I found my regiment.” ”But are you going to cross the lines into the enemy’s country?” “My orders are unconditional; will you go with me further?” “Certainly,” said the Doctor. Shortly after leaving head-quarters, we met the 1st Regt. Regular Cavalry, who told us they had left one man badly wounded between Flint Hill and Vienna. This man we determined to rescue, if possible. We found him in a house in Vienna. I had now obeyed my order, though I had not found my regiment, and I determined to take this man back with me, though the enemy were all around us. One ball had passed between his ear and skull, a second had passed through the leg, a third had entered the back, just below the shoulder blade, but had made no exit. He was suffering severely from pain and difficult respiration. He could not ride in an ambulance, so Doctor T. volunteered to return to our lines for litter-bearers and an escort, whilst I should remain with our newly made friend. I confess that as I caught the last glimpse of the Doctor’s fine black horse dashing over the hill, there was at the ends of my fingers and toes a sensation very much akin to the “oozing out of courage.” I was alone in the enemy’s country. But there was no other way now, so I dressed the wounds, and waited his return, with what patience I could. He soon returned. We started the man in the direction of our lines, under an escort of eight men. We mounted our horses, and paying but little attention, got some mile ahead of our escort, when suddenly, eight horsemen, well mounted and armed, came bearing down on us, evidently intending to surround us. They were about a quarter of a mile off when first discovered. “We are in for a trip to Richmond,” said Doctor T. “Is it not safer,” replied I, “to fight than to be taken prisoners by these fellows?” “I’m in,” said the Doctor. We drew our revolvers and waited, one of us, I am certain, in considerable trepidation. By this time they were in hailing distance. We called them to halt, when, to our mutual disgust, we found that we were friends—they were cheated of the capture of two “very fine looking rebel officers,” and we of a short road to “that borne whence no traveller returns.” A little after dark we reached camp with our man. In civil life, it will hardly be credited that the commanding officer of this regiment, when he found his man so badly wounded, ordered him to be taken from his horse and left, whilst the horse was to be taken away; yet the man states that such is the fact, and that he saved himself from such a fate by drawing his revolver and threatening to shoot the first man who should approach him for that purpose. After the regiment left him, he managed to sit on his horse till he reached Vienna, about three miles from where he was shot.

Since last date, we have had an opportunity of learning something of the military qualities of our brigade officers. We have not been before on ground where we could have our brigade drills; but here we have them.

General Smith, who commands the Division, is a stout, short man, rather under size, from Vermont, I think. He is taciturn, but exceedingly courteous and gentlemanly, and firm and decided. Of his mental calibre, we have not yet had an opportunity to judge. It is a strange paradox of human nature, that whilst we acknowledge that a vast majority of our mentally big men are quiet and reserved, yet when we meet a stranger, if he says little, we fall at once into the opinion that he knows little. How this is with General Smith, I do not know. I am much disposed to construe his quiet and courteous manner favorably; but I confess that whispers from the grove have rather prejudiced me against him.

Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock is the very antipode of General Smith. He is fully as long as his name, with title perfixed, and as for quiet and courtesy—Oh, fie! I saw him come on to the field one morning this week, to brigade drill. He was perfectly sober. He is one of those paradoxes who believe that one man, at least, is to be known by his much talking. He became excited, or wished to appear so, at some little mistake in the manœuvering of his Brigade, and the volleys of oaths that rolled and thundered down the line, startled the men with suspicion that they were under command of some Quarter Master lately made General, who mistook the men for mules, and their officers for drivers. He must be a facetious chap, that General, to wish to excite such suspicions. I think he hails from Pennsylvania, but nobody seems to know much about him, except from his statement that he has “been seventeen years in the service, and knows all about it.” Wherever he has been, he has certainly acquired a perfect intimacy with the whole gamut of profanity.

12th.—I find vast trouble in doing justice to the sick, in consequence of the unwarrantable interference of military officers in matters of which they are about as well qualified to judge as would be so many of their mules. The two forts which we built near Chain Bridge, and have left some three miles in our rear, have been officially named Fort Marcy and Fort Ethan Allen. The former encloses about one, the latter about five acres of land, and are both very strong.

Our division now holds the post of honor, the advanced center in the Army of the Potomac. Nobody ahead of us, but in the rear, and the right and left, for miles it is but a city of tents. By night the views over these camps are beautiful; by day the stench and noise is abominable.

Surgeon Owen, of Chester, Penn., to-day enters on the duties of Surgeon of our brigade, and I entertain strong hopes that he will be able to stop the pernicious interference of military officers with matters purely medical.

11th.—Sent off ambulances to-day to commence bringing forward the sick of my regiment, and whilst they were gone, after having put my hospital in good order for their reception, I stepped over again to Commodore Jones’ house to see how the guards stationed there had succeeded in carrying out their orders. Till I entered the house, I thought I had seen evidences of extreme vandalism, but the wanton destruction here beggars everything I have before witnessed. Furniture broken; feather beds opened, and their contents emptied over house and yard; even those beautiful family pictures were ground to atoms and thrown to the winds. But I need not describe here, for the impression is deeply stamped in memory, more durable and more accurate than words and letters can ever make. Everything destructable was destroyed. [1]

In handling over the papers I picked up the Commodore’s “Journal of a cruise in the U. S. ship Relief—bearing the broad pennant of Commodore Jones—Thos. A. Downer, Esq., Commander,” which I have preserved, and also a letter from a son of Commodore Tatnall (late of the rebel Merrimac) to Commodore Jones, written from the Meditterranean, asking to be relieved from duty there, and to be permitted to return to America.[2]

As it will be a matter of interest to me, in future, to study my predictions as to the course and conduct of this war—to rejoice and be vain over those which prove correct, and to laugh at or be ashamed of those which prove false, I shall continue to record them as I have begun; and here I enter one in which I hope to take interest a long time hence. As I have constantly predicted, we have had no fight here nor shall we have; and I now very much doubt whether we shall have a fight even at Manassas, and for this reason: “After all the feints of the enemy here to draw Gen. Banks from Harper’s Ferry had failed, they, seeing that we have got foot-hold in North Carolina, will fall back on their fortifications at Centerville and Manassas, and then presenting a bold front with a small body, will cover the withdrawal of the larger part of their force, which they will distribute in Kentucky, Missouri, Tennessee and Western Virginia, and I very much doubt whether they will retain enough at Manassas to make a respectable fight. Kentucky and Tennessee are to become the theatre of war; and if I am not greatly mistaken, Kentucky will have trying times between this and the first of January. I hope that Gen. McClellan is taking the same view of things, and is preparing to meet it.” What I have here marked as a quotation is a copied from a letter this day written to a friend on the prospects of the war.

[1] It is worthy of remark here, that thus whilst this wanton destruction was going on, a half a mile away, everything on the place of Mr. Johnson, (a loyalist, whose house and garden were in the very midst of the encampments,) though unguarded was unmolested ; every article he had to dispose of was bought and paid for, at high prices, by the soldiers. Even thus early could we read the soldier’s aversion to guarding, or having guarded the property of rebels.

[2] This letter I handed to a lady connection of the Tatnall family, who was with me at the time, and she found means of restoring it to them.

10th.—We have commenced moving our camp equipage from Camp Vanderwerken to this place, to be named Camp Griffin—I suppose for Capt. Griffin, of one of the batteries of the regular army. Capt. G., with his battery, has been one of us and with us since we crossed the Potomac. We have had much trouble and vexation to-day in establishing medical headquarters for the regiments of our brigade, but after much ordering of us and changing of orders, we are at last to take charge of the stone house of Mr. Jno. N. Johnson, in which, and in the tents we are able to pitch, we hope to make comfortable all the sick of our brigade.

9th.—We have remained bivouaced all day, and there is talk of our moving our camp to this place to-morrow. This will advance us another three miles in the direction of Richmond. On the 8th of August we arrived in Washington— two months ago yesterday. We are now eight miles nearer Richmond than then. At this rate when shall we reach that famous city? If we do not go faster, I fear Mr. President Lincoln will never dine there at the head of his armies. But these delays are doubtless necessary on the start. War is new to us. Our armies had to be organized and educated to war. Munitions had to be procured, and as most of those belonging to the nation had been appropriated by the South, much of them had to be manufactured. Our navy had to be called home from the four quarters of the world, and innumerable other preparations had to be made, of which we uninitiated are wholly ignorant. Gen. McClellan seems to be active, and we doubt not that under the counsels of the veteran General Scott, matters will be pushed forward as rapidly as circumstances will permit. True, many of us think that Gen. McClellan’s “Stand by me and I’ll stand by you” speech was not in refined taste—in about as good taste as Pope’s proclamation—but as we do not expect or desire exhibitions of delicate taste on the battle-field with an unscrupulous enemy, we overlook the departure from it in our General, and accord to him full confidence, as to both his will and ability to lead us to victory.

We are at present within half a mile of the splendid mansion of the late Commodore Thos. Ap’ Catesby Jones. I visited that and his splendid grounds, found them deserted by the whites; a few of the old and almost helpless negroes being left on the place. The soldiers had entered, and made some havoc amongst books and papers. The fine furniture stood in every room in the house, and the walls were covered by the finest paintings, including the family pictures. But the strictest orders, denouncing severe punishment to depredators, were posted about the house, and a strong guard placed to enforce them. I picked up a few articles of little value, except as relics from the home of this once happy and popular family, now in rebellion against the Government to which they were indebted for the favors and protection to which they owed their prosperity. I was strongly inclined to take down the family pictures, and to remove them to where they could be taken care of till happier times befall us, that they might then be returned to the family, by whom they must be held in high estimation, but I feared that the motive would be misconstrued, and that it would lead to trouble.

October, 1st and 2nd.—During these two days the regiment has been busily engaged in moving its camp about four miles. The new camp is to be called Camp Vanderwerken, from the name of a man owning a large property in the immediate neighborhood.

Very shortly after crossing Chain Bridge, our regiment was transferred from Gen. King’s to Gen. Smith’s brigade, to which we remained attached till about the 28th of September, when Gen. Smith was promoted to the command of a division, and we transferred to a new brigade under command of Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock, an officer of fine appearance, but with rather a narrow forehead, and from what little I have seen of him, I should presume him to be at least excitable, if not irritable. We have been between three and four months organized, and have not yet lost a man by either disease or accident. So after all, the life of a soldier, if his health is properly looked after, is not more exposed to sickness than that of a civilian. I am fast coming to the conclusion that the great mortality of camp life is owing much more to neglect of the proper means within our reach of preserving health, than to any exposures to which the soldier is peculiarly liable.