Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.

20th.—11 o’clock A. M.—I worked too hard yesterday, and was so tired that I could not sleep last night. Fortunate for me that we have not moved to-day; I must have been left. I am feeling better now, however, and if we rest till evening I shall be able to go on. Terrible fighting ahead, within three or four miles, and in hearing of us. I do not know where, nor by what forces. I was stopped writing here by—who comes to me, loaded with packages from home! How appropriate the contents, and what a relief. This morning, put on my last pair of socks, having worn ragged ones for a week, fearing to use the only ones left. The package contains some beautiful ones sent me by good friends, who seem never to forget my needs. I ought to be grateful and I am. A box of cigars, too, very fine ones, from my good friend

B——. I fully appreciate the kindness which dictated this attention, and shall not forget it.

P. M.—I have kept my bed—no, my lie-down on the broad surface of mother earth, with her clean and fragrant spreads and quilts and counterpanes of clover, and now feel rested and refreshed. Was called an hour since, to have all ready for a move. I am packed, and hear that we are to march to-night.

11 P. M.—Called into line from our earthy beds and under the cover of the dark black night, through which peeps a few bright stars we take up our march. Passing Sharpsburg, and one or two log cabin villages, we halted at daylight about two miles southeast of Williamsport, a village on the Maryland side of the Potomac, with a population, I should judge, of five or six hundred.

19th.—At daylight this morning I was called up by an orderly with an order to repair to the battle-field at once and organize another hospital, and with the intelligence that during the night the enemy had been permitted to escape across the river, and had left some three hundred of our wounded, who had fallen into their hands, on the field. At the moment of my entering the building intended for the hospital, letters dated 6th, 7th and 9th inst., from wife and children, were put into my hands, but though I had so seldom heard from the loved ones at home, the scenes of suffering about me forbade the indulgence of a selfish inclination to read the highly prized missives, and I put them aside till the business of the day was over. * * * Oh the demoralization of an army. But I will not write a description of what I have witnessed of this, as I hope to forget this trait in human nature, as developed by this war.

Our army have given chase to the enemy, and the organization of my hospital being completed, I left it in other hands, and have followed on and overtaken our corps on the Potomac river, about two miles above Sharpsburg. The feeling against Gen. McClellan to-day is no longer expressed in muttered disaffection, but in loud and angry execration. The soldiers cannot be reconciled to their disappointment, and to our having permitted Gen. Lee to escape with his army. My own hopes that he would retrieve his lost character are all gone. I have lost all confidence in him. He can be nothing short of an imbecile, a coward, or a traitor.

The battle field this morning presented scenes, which, though horrible, were of deep interest to the physiologist. On a part of the field the dead had lain for forty-eight hours, the Northern and the Southern soldier side by side. Whilst the body of the Southern soldier was black and putrid, wholly decomposed, in the Northern decomposition had scarcely commenced. Why this difference?

A fight at Shepardstown took place this afternoon. The enemy were posted on the mountain, on the opposite side of the river. A division (Butterfield’s, I think,) was sent over to reconnoitre. They encountered a murderous fire, and enough got back to tell the tale. Yet, we get despatches telling us of our victory there, and of the large amount of transportation we have captured. The old story over again.

I omitted to say in the proper place, that the report of the surrender of General Reno’s command, last week, was a canard. I regret that of his death was too true.

18th—7 A. M.—All night the litter-bearers were passing by and over me where I lay on the ground They were bearing off the wounded. I had worked from daylight till 11 at night, and was exhausted. Yet I could not but reproach myself for resting whilst these men were at work among the sufferers. I could not help it. My Assistant Surgeon left me on our arrival at the battle-field. I worked without his aid, and was worn out. From the General’s promise last night, we expect to-day the great fight of the war.

9 o’clock.—No fighting yet. I have ridden over the battlefield of yesterday, and what a scene! The dead in rows—in piles—in heaps—the dead of the brute and of the human race mingled in mass. Here lies the boy of fifteen years, hugged in the death embrace of the veteran of fifty—the greasy blouse of the common soldier here pressing the starred shoulder of the Brigadier. The moans of the wounded draw me further on, and whilst I administered to their wants, the bullets of the enemy’s sharpshooters passing in unpleasant proximity admonished me that I was too far in advance. I returned, and what a comfort to be again amongst the dead! With the wounded I must speak consolation, but could feel none, at least in many instances; and whilst I was leaving dying strangers with their kisses on my hands, and their last prayers for me (because of the hopes I had revived) on their lips, I felt that I had deceived them. But I am again amongst the dead, where no moans, no death struggles, no last prayers excite in me the painful consciousness of impotence to relieve, and with a deep feeling of relief I can say of those around me, that

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“After life’s fitful fever they sleep well.”

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At 10 A. M. the battle is not renewed. My regiment, though in line all yesterday and till now, has taken no part in the battle. It will probably open the fight to-day, for which we are all growing impatient. I have scarcely a hope that one half of it will ever return from the attack for which it is so impatient. God preserve it. I love this regiment, and I have now good reason to believe that all my affection is reciprocated. For its sake I- am willing to bear much—risk much. I just learn that we had five Generals badly wounded in the fight yesterday—Mansfield and Richardson, mortally; Hook, Max Weber, (the other I have not. learned.)

No fight yet. Little flags of truce, which none acknowledge, but all respect, are on all parts of the field to-day, and the day is being spent in caring for the wounded, and in burying the dead.

Night has come, but the day brought no fight. The army is disappointed and impatient, and here and there can be heard a complaint at the returning tardiness of McClellan. The universal prayer of the army is that we may be permitted to end this war, now and here. At 10 o’clock at night the flags of truce still wave, and are seen by the bright twinkling of the lanterns over the battle-field. The voice of war is still hushed in the solemnities of burying the dead.

Wednesday, 17th.—A day of momentous events. The battle of Antietam is fought. I had before been near battles, at battles, in battles; but never till to-day was I through a battle. For miles around me, it has been one continuous battle field. Look where I would, and when I would, the battle was all around me. Since Friday last, this series of battles has been growing harder and harder. Today, both parties were reinforced to about one hundred thousand men each, and the battle has been terrible, but there is nothing decisive. We hold most of the ground held by the enemy in the morning, but the parties lie on their arms in sight of each other, ready to renew the slaughter with the coming of light. So terrible has been the day; so rapid and confused the events, that I find it impossible to separate them, so as to give, or even to form for myself any clear idea of what I have seen. I hope it will be different when the mind has accustomed itself a little to thinking over the events and the horrors of the scene. Many illustrious dead will be counted to-night, and, oh! how many sad hearts to-morrow, and how many to-morrows of sadness. Amongst the sufferers, I hear that Generals Mansfield and Richardson are mortally wounded. Surgeon White, Medical Director of General Franklin’s Corps, is killed. Poor fellow, the excitement of the battle upset his intellect. He applied to the General for a regiment to dislodge the rebels from a wood in our front. The General replied that his whole corps could not do it. Then said the Surgeon, “I must do it myself,” and putting spurs to his horse, dashed off for the woods. Before reaching it, he of course was shot and killed.

As for myself, I feel that I have relieved much suffering to-day. I have shed many tears, too, over the distresses of both loyal and rebel men. As I approached one poor fellow, a Georgia rebel, lying wounded on the field, he was hiding something from me. I took it from him, and on unfolding it, found it to be a photograph of wife and children. I raised him up to look at it, and our tears mingled over the shadows of his loved ones, whose substance neither of us is ever likely to see. How easy the gradation from sympathy to affection. I am getting to love these suffering rebels. * * I wish I could describe something of the scenes of to-day, but cannot. They are all indistinct to me. Perhaps some day I shall be able, from these notes, to give them shape in my journal.

At 9 o’clock to-night, an officer, a confidential friend of General McClellan, rode along the lines, and said that the General promises us an infantry fight to-morrow. This means a hand to hand fight, when the best army must prevail and a decisive result occur. There is great rejoicing thereat amongst our troops. They say, here we are, both armies in force. Let us now come together and settle this war. If they can whip us, why not let us die like soldiers, and end the war. If we are the stronger party, why delay? Let us destroy them, close the strife, and return to our homes. Loud huzzas and hosannas for McClellan resound along the lines to-night. Should he destroy this army tomorrow he will be the biggest man in America, and will have merited the title of the Young Napoleon. How rejoiced I shall be to find that all my censures of him are unfounded!

Our wounded have suffered much to-day for want of chloroform. I think that not over three or four surgeons on the field had a supply. I saw but two who had. Why will surgeons permit themselves on a campaign like this to be without the necessary articles of comfort for the wounded? The few pounds on hand were exhausted in less than three hours. The men lay suffering from their wounds, and in many instances surgeons were operating without it. Government teams had not come up. What could we do? In this dilemna, at the very right moment, in stepped Mrs. Harris, of Philadelphia, with the announcement that she had just arrived with twenty pounds of chloroform from the U. S. Sanitary Commission. What an angel of mercy is this Mrs. Harris! What a source of ever present comfort and well directed effort is that Sanitary Commission! The soldiers of this army will have cause of prayer for it in their living and in their dying hours.

16th—The mystery is solved. At 8 o’clock yesterday morning, Harper’s Ferry capitulated, (report says, with eight thousand men, forty cannon, and one thousand two hundred horses,) and we have been for two days in sight, and marching less than five miles a day, by a circuitous route. It looks as if the old game is to be re-enacted. Who is there at Harper’s Ferry to be jealous of?

2 P. M.—Tremendous firing along the mountains to our right, some five miles distant. A rider has just arrived from that direction, and reports that Reno’s forces, to the number of ten thousand or fifteen thousand, has surrendered. I do not credit it, but if true, it would indicate a larger force in our front than I supposed, and will explain the necessity of our lying here idle, instead of going to Harper’s Ferry.

But it seems impossible that we could permit two surrenders in one day, in sight of us, and we lie all the while idle. Well, well; we are engaged with the enemy, and shall soon know the worst. Another arrival from Harper’s Ferry. He confirms the story of the surrender there, and says that Colonel Miles capitulated, almost without a fight, and that he was instantly shot by one of his own men. This last story I doubt, though he is certainly shot and mortally wounded. At night, Colonel Miles is dead.

15th.—1 o’clock A. M.—I am now through dressing the wounds of those in my hospital. The next house to me is also an hospital, (a large church in the village of Burkettsville.) In it I hear the cries and moans of distress. To me, the sounds seem at this distance to be those of men neglected. God forbid that it be so, for they have plenty of Surgeons there.

Having, by the kind assistance of Doctor Garrett, a good and excellent physician of the village, got through with my dressings and seen my patients all asleep. I, in company with Doctor G., visited the other hospitals to offer our services to the Surgeons there, but we found the Surgeons had gone to bed, leaving the wounded to be cared for in the morning! I then returned to my hospital, and to my great gratification, found nearly every wounded man asleep, and this, notwithstanding they were wounded in all parts of the body—broken thighs, legs, feet, shot through the lungs, back, bowels. After they were dressed, the free use of anodynes and anasthætics had relieved the pain, and after a day of fatigue, danger and suffering, they were resting quietly.

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At 9 1-2 this morning, I was, at my earnest request, relieved from the care of hospital and permitted to return to my regiment.

A little circumstance occurred last night, which, as it may be important, I here journalize. A rebel Lieutenant was brought into my hospital to take care of his Captain, who was severely wounded. After I had got through my dressing, I fell into a conversation with him on the subject of the war and its probable results. He was well informed, intelligent, and communicative. During the conversation he quizzically asked me what I thought of the surrender of Harper’s Ferry! I replied, laughingly, that it would be time for me to think of it when it should take place. “But,” said he, “it has already taken place!” “When?” “About sun-down.” “How do you know?” “No matter; it is sufficient for us that it took place about sun-down.” His manner was assured and confident. What does it mean? Is there treason there, and has he had an inkling of it? This is a strange war, and a strange world. This noon we hear whispers that Harper’s Ferry is surrendered. At 9 o’clock this A. M., the firing there ceased. It could not have been surrendered at sun-down last night, as the Lieutenant stated; but has it been this morning? And if yes, had he any knowledge that it was to be, and some circumstances have occurred to delay the act? We must wait and learn.

But why did we not go yesterday to the relief of Harper’s Ferry, if it were in danger? We had whole divisions of men idle all day, and were within two hour’s inarch of the place? Had we another rival there to kill off? Why did we permit a whole transportation train to pass under easy range of our batteries, and escape without a shot? God forgive my suspicions as to our leaders, but preserve the country from their machinations—if they have any.

14th.—At 9 o’clock last night we took up our march across Catochtin Mountain. At 9 1-2, as we climbed the mountain side, the moon rose beautifully lighting up hill and valley, and shrub, and tree. ‘Twas all beautiful. The mountain air was brisk and cool. A march of four miles carried us over the mountain, and we bivouaced in Middletown Valley, one of the prettiest countries I ever saw, in the suburbs of the pleasant and flourishing little village of Jefferson. Here we got varied and various estimates of the strength of the enemy, who had passed through. We found here much evidence of loyalty, and were confirmed in the belief that Lee would be disappointed in his expectation of receiving fifty thousand recruits by his raid into Maryland.

Of all the States I have yet seen, Maryland bears off the palm. Its people, its hills, its valleys, its soil, its climate— all bespeak it one of the most favored States of the Union. The loyalty of its people, too, is intense, for whilst the sympathies of nine-tenths of them are with the people of the South, and opposed to our Administration, they positively refuse to join the insurgents in any illegal step. They would like to go out legally, but will fight for execution of the laws which confine them to the Union. The very limited success of Lee, in adding to his already large army in Maryland, is the strongest evidence of their sincerity. May God preserve this beautiful and loyal State from the ravages of actual war, and its people in their horror of treason and rebellion.

‘Tis again Sunday, and again we are fighting all around. How strange that so many of our big fights should occur on Sunday. Six miles to our right, and in full view, Generals Burnside and Sumner are fighting, in an attempt to force a strongly defended mountain pass, one mile and a half in our front, the advance of our own corps are trying to force another pass, (Crampton’s,) whilst seven miles to our left, the fight at Harper’s Ferry is raging. How much hangs on this day.

4 P. M.—Hurrah! Burnside has forced the pass at South Mountain, has crossed and is following up the retreating enemy. He has had a severe fight, with heavy loss on both sides. General Reno, I hear, is killed; another of our best men gone. Some are so uncharitable as to accuse General McClellan of wilfully and unnecessarily ordering him to a position from which escape from death was almost impossible. I will not believe it.

7 P. M.—Hurrah again! General Slocum, from our corps, has forced Crampton’s pass in our front, and is in pursuit. The enemy’s loss is heavy; ours comparatively slight. This is a terrible pass, and it seems wonderful that any army could force it against an opposing foe. It is in the shape of a triangle, the base being at the top of the mountain, the apex at the bottom. Into this narrow point our army had to crowd its way, up a mountain almost perpendicular, whilst musketry and artillery enfiladed our advancing lines at every point. Yet our men, with the cool determination of veterans, forced their way steadily through the Gap, up the precipitous sides of the mountain, and drove the enemy from his stronghold.

Again am I separated from my regiment. Sent for at 8 o’clock, to organize and take charge of another hospital for the wounded; but this time I do not complain. My regiment was not in the fight, and will not suffer by my absence, although I leave it without an Assistant Surgeon. How strange, that in no instance, since the battle of Williamsburg, have I had an assistant in the time of battle. Always sick or out of the way. Could I thus be absent without reproach? Not without self-reproach, at least.

Saturday, 13th.—Moved this morning at 7, leaving Frederick behind us. At 8, crossed the Monocacy, (a beautiful stream,) at Buckeytown, Maryland. Here heavy firing in the direction of Frederick, but as the day advances, swinging around towards Harper’s Ferry, from which we infer that Burnside is driving the enemy. Burnside is one of our reliable men, and rarely fails in what he undertakes. The enemy has been promised that if he will come in force into Maryland, he will get fifty thousand recruits from the State. He has come. Will the promise be met? A few days will tell. We too bear more towards the Ferry; I hope to intercept the retreat. But we move more slowly. Why? God forbid that our General, so rapidly rising, should, as he approaches danger, fall into his old habit, and disappoint all of our new born hopes. We laid still a long time at Buckeytown, then moved slowly forward for two miles, having made only four miles march to-day. At 9 P. M., as I write this, we are called to move, and the journal of to-morrow must tell the events of the night.

12th.—Dreamed last night of social scenes and comforts, and woke up a little home sick. I was not made better by the appearance of a cup of wishy-washy coffee which was set before me; but, observing my old man carefully washing himself, after he had served my breakfast, I enquired of him, why so particular to wash after cooking. He replied that he had not water enough at first to wash and get breakfast, too, so he concluded to use what he had for cooking, and to get some to wash him afterwards. This, of course, settled all daintiness in regard to the poor coffee, and I took my breakfast with a relish, thinking no more of home and its comforts. My home sickness was cured.

At 12 o’clock to-day, we moved again, starting in the direction of Frederick, but after a short march we bore away to the left. This, in connection with the fact that General Burnside, with his corps, is ahead of us, and that we have heard heavy firing in that direction, induces me to believe that the enemy are leaving, and swinging around in the direction of Middletown, to take the valley between the Blue and Elk Ridges, and to recross the river above Harper’s Ferry. At dark we encamped to the northwest of the Loaf, near its base, with our backs towards Frederick. It is surprising what a change has taken place in the feelings and appearance of the men. The sallowness of face has given place to flush, the grumbling of dissatisfaction to joyous hilarity, the camp at night, even after our long marches, resounds .with mirth and music.

The boys feel that we are now in active earnest, and McClellan stock is rapidly rising.