Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

The American Civil War

Post image for Burnside Expedition. — Signal corp, feared lost, arrives. — Good water “liberated” with a jackknife. — Diary of David L. Day.

Burnside Expedition. — Signal corp, feared lost, arrives. — Good water “liberated” with a jackknife. — Diary of David L. Day.

January 29, 2012

David L Day–My diary of rambles with the 25th Mass,The American Civil War

The Signal Corps Arrives.

Jan. 29. The long lost signal corps arrived today. We gave them a great ovation; flags and streamers flying, bands playing and cheering from all the boats. They have had a hard time of it, having been fourteen days on the passage from Fortress Monroe. They ran out to sea in the first great storm, and the succession of storms has prevented them from getting in. They were well nigh famished when they arrived.

Good Water.

We are today luxuriating on good water, the first we have had for many days. Some of the boys last night got in the rear of the forbidden water casks, and by a vigorous use of a jackknife, succeeded in tapping a cask. Any quantity of canteens (mine among the rest), were filled with the contraband water, and if the thing is kept still today there will be a big haul tonight. Our fare is pretty short, and of a kind never dreamed of in the cabin of a first-class ocean steamer. Still it answers to keep us breathing, and perhaps that is as much as we can expect while on this excursion. We are thriving on a half ration of steamed pork and hardtack, with condensed sea water. The half ration of pork is a bountiful supply; it is so strong and oily a very little answers the purpose, and hardtack is the chief dependence. But for water, we shall do well enough so long as we can steal it. Coffee is entirely out of the question, for on this craft there is no chance for the cooks to make it in great quantities, although they do manage to make a small amount for the officers. None of us are allowed down in the fireroom, so that shuts us off from making coffee or scouse.

I suggested to a few of the faithful the plan of getting down on the bottom of the boat, under the boilers, and kindling a fire there and making some. They seemed to think that it would be rather a desperate undertaking, besides they would smoke themselves out before they had half accomplished their purpose.

Post image for “Still here and likely to stay till spring.” — Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

“Still here and likely to stay till spring.” — Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

January 29, 2012

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton (Eighty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers),The American Civil War

Hall’s Hill, Va., Jan. 29, 1862.

Dear Sister L.:—

I suppose I might relieve your fears about my being killed or wounded at that great battle when I tell you that we are still here and likely to stay till spring. It is true we had marching orders, or orders to be ready to march at any time, but I do not now believe it was ever intended we should go. This large army is lying here, and, if there were nothing to keep up the excitement, they would soon become demoralized and care nothing for drill or discipline, expecting that they would have no use for it. So every little while they get up some marching orders or something of the kind to keep the men on the qui vive, always expecting some great thing that never comes. It is just so when we go on picket. The first time I was out, the officer told us that two men had deserted from a regiment down near Alexandria and they would probably try to cross the picket lines and get over to the rebels, and they wanted us to be very vigilant and arrest them if they came near us. Now I cannot certainly say that no such men deserted, but I will say that I believe it was just a story trumped up to make us watchful. Another time they told us that a large force of rebels had been seen near the lines and they expected an attack in the night. It seems to be a part of the tactics to use such means to keep up the spirits of the men, constantly holding out hopes that never are to be realized. I have got so casehardened by such treatment that I will not believe anything until I see it with my own eyes. I did think when we had our marching orders about New Year’s that something was to be done. Officers packed up their extra baggage and sent it off and everybody seemed in a bustle of preparation to leave. Well, they have kept it up about a month and nothing done yet, so I begin to believe that this is another sell. They found it would not work to humbug the men alone, so, as a last resort, they have to bring in the officers. They can make that work two or three months, but I believe that will “play out” in time. I know it has with me now. I suppose the battle you refer to was that of Somerset, in Kentucky, but that is a long way from here. That battle was a hard blow to secession, and I hope it will be followed by others.

Post image for The storm and mud.—Cosily settled.— Eliza Howland writes of family arrivals to D.C.

The storm and mud.—Cosily settled.— Eliza Howland writes of family arrivals to D.C.

January 29, 2012

The American Civil War,Woolsey family letters during the War for the Union

Eliza writes Jan. 29, ‘62:

Mother, Hatty and Charley arrived last night in the middle of the storm and mud. Mother is now writing at the table with me, while H. is gazing admiringly at a group of Irish Brigadiers at the door. Charley is out somewhere, and is to meet the rest of us in the Senate Chamber at noon. We are cosily settled and having a very nice time. The roads are almost impassable owing to melting snow and frost and incessant rain. J.’s last ride back to camp the other day was very hard. He and the General floundered about in mud “like unfathomable chewed molasses candy,” and stumbled against the stumps till darkness overtook them before they reached camp. Reports are brought in of private carriages abandoned along the road, and one—Mrs. Judge Little’s—was fairly dragged in two by a government team which tried to haul it out of a hole. J. says we must not think of coming out to camp.

Post image for A letter to Cousin L. — Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

A letter to Cousin L. — Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton.

January 28, 2012

Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton (Eighty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers),The American Civil War

Camp Porter, Va., Jan. 28, 1862.

Dear Cousin L.:—

I returned from the picket lines yesterday and found your pleasant letter of the 24th awaiting me. If you were in Camp Porter about 5 p. m. when that plastic individual that the boys call “Putty” arrives with the daily mail, and could see the interest with which his proceedings are watched as he distributes the spoils, your fears of burdening me with an extensive correspondence would soon vanish. I never thought so much of letters as I have since I have been here. The monotony of camp life would be almost intolerable were it not for these friendly letters. We do not expect much news, but they are like the delightful small-talk that does so much to make time pass agreeably in society. The worst feature of camp life is its influence upon the mind and character. The physical discomfort, hard fare, etc., I can endure very well, but I sometimes shrink from the moral or immoral influences that cluster round the soldier. The severe physical exercise is so fatiguing that but little disposition is felt to exercise the mind in anything that is beneficial. Everything that requires close or long-continued thought is excluded from the common soldier’s tent and he usually settles down to the conviction that all he needs is enough to keep himself posted in the news of the day and a little light reading. Thus the stronger mental faculties are unused and of course they rust. Another evil is the absence of all female society. The roughest characters are always to be found in the army, and. the restraint of home and more refined friends removed, those who are better disposed are exposed to the influence of such characters without remedy. Our associations go far to mould our characters, and as a constant dropping wears away the stone, this influence must have its effect. The cultivation of the finer feelings of the heart is neglected and they too are not developed. The pure and elevating influence of music is lost. I am passionately fond of music (although a poor singer) and I miss this as much as any one thing. The music of the field is the fife and drum or the brass band, and the songs sung in camp are not at all remarkable for beauty or purity.

With all these drawbacks there are many pleasant times in the soldier’s life. One of these is when he is the recipient of letters like yours; they speak to him in louder tones than those of the press or pulpit and bid him resist these evil influences and keep himself pure; they atone in a measure for the absence of friends and remind us that they are watching to see if we do our duty, and feel interested in our welfare. You need never fear burdening me with letters.

I fear that, if all the guide you had was my most graphic description of myself, I might pass you in Broadway ten times a day without recognition. I might say, however, that I am of the “tall and slender” order. Five feet nine is about my height, and one hundred and thirty-five pounds my weight. I am set down in the army description book as having brown hair and blue eyes, and, I might add, of very ordinary appearance.

I see you are a thorough abolitionist. I am glad of it. I thought I hated slavery as much as possible before I came here, but here, where I can see some of its workings, I am more than ever convinced of the cruelty and inhumanity of the system. It has not one redeeming feature. I was on picket duty last Sunday and some seven of us went out a mile or so beyond the lines on a little scouting party. I stopped at a little cabin near the Leesburg turnpike to get some dinner. I found an intelligent and cleanly mulatto woman in the house, surrounded by quite a number of bright little children. She promised me the best she had, and while she was preparing some hoecake and bacon, I entered into conversation with her and she was quite communicative. She was a slave, she said, so was her husband and the children. Her master was in the rebel army and she was left in charge of her mistress, who lived in a respectable house across the way. Her husband had been taken about a month ago to work on the fortifications at Leesburg. He had, at first, refused to go with his master and was most brutally beaten. She showed me the post where he was tied up and told the story with an earnestness that nothing but actual experience can give. I talked long with her and told her I hoped this war would result in giving her and all of her class their freedom. “I hope so, Massa,” said she, “but I dunno, I dunno.” I had a little Sunday-school paper that I took out with me from camp. I read some of the stories to the children and gave them the paper. How their eyes sparkled as they saw the pictures! But the reading was Greek to them. The mother said: “I would study ten years if I could read like you, Massa; a black woman taught me some letters, but Massa Blaisdell took my spellin’ book away and whipped me and he said ‘larnin’ wasn’t for niggers.”” This is “the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

We are still at Hall’s Hill, and as far as I can see likely to stay here. No movement can be made while the roads are in such a state.

Post image for Exchange of artillery fire at Harper’s Ferry — George Michael Neese.

Exchange of artillery fire at Harper’s Ferry — George Michael Neese.

January 28, 2012

The American Civil War,Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

January 28 — Early this morning we started toward Harper’s Ferry, through a cold and drenching rain. We got wet, and our clothes were stiff with ice, which put us in a first-class condition for fight — as wet hens fight well.

When we got to Bolivar near the Ferry the rain had ceased, but a heavy mist hung like a lacy pall over the river, through which we could dimly discern a Yankee encampment on the Maryland side, and near the canal I saw the bluecoats moving around among the tents, and from all appearances they were preparing breakfast. We went to the lower end of Bolivar and silently turned into a lot on the left of the street near a brick house and put our guns in position unobserved by the enemy.

We opened fire and landed a live twelve-pounder in their camp, which proved to be a regular surpriser. It stirred up the whole camp in general and stopped the breakfast business short off. I saw the men rush out of their tents, gazing about for a moment to ascertain where the unwelcome, noisy visitor hailed from. Just then we repeated the dose with another twelve-pound percussion shell.

They seemed then to comprehend that we meant business. They had also located our position, and hastily seizing their long-ranged rifles they ran hurriedly down the hill to the canal, some of them behind trees along the river, and opened fire on us. We were in range of their rifles, for I heard the dull thud of the bullets as they struck the ground around us. We fired five rounds, and then retired from our exposed position. After we ceased firing I heard it thunder over on Maryland Heights, and I also heard a few nailkegs whiz fearfully through the air. The Yanks had a battery of heavy rifled guns — twenty-four-pounders, I think — in position halfway up the mountain on the Maryland side, from which they fired some eight or ten rounds. They did not fire at our battery, but threw all their shell to our right; I suppose at some of Ashby’s cavalrymen. After the firing all ceased we returned to Charlestown, and are again quartered in the Court House.

The natural scenery around Harper’s Ferry is strikingly grand and picturesque. There the bright waters meet and laughingly lave the foot of a disrupted mountain. The Loudoun Heights spring from the right bank of the Shenandoah, like a mighty giant adorned in the sylvan garb of primeval splendor, and lifts its rocky crest far above the murmuring rapids of the river, and watches the Daughter of Stars mingle its limpid waters with the River of Swans. On the opposite side of the Potomac Maryland Heights lifts its craggy head still higher and pushes boldly out its adamantine breast till it almost overhangs the rushing river, and like a faithful sentinel it ever guards the single gateway that permits the waters of the Shenandoah and Cumberland valleys to pursue their winding way to the sea.

Bolivar Heights, with its Jefferson’s Rock apparently hanging in the air, lends enchantment to the scene of rippling silvery waters rushing around huge boulders in the river, and a rifted mountain with its rugged breach and delectable environments, where nature revels in her wildest beauty.

Post image for Patients on a canal boat in wretched condition.—Abuses among surgeons.—Pension business.—Family visiting.

Patients on a canal boat in wretched condition.—Abuses among surgeons.—Pension business.—Family visiting.

January 28, 2012

The American Civil War,Woolsey family letters during the War for the Union

Eliza to Joe Howland.

January 28.

My only letter by the mail last night was from Major Crane, about some of the patients of his Division who came down the Potomac in a wretched condition on a canal boat some time ago. He is going to do his best to find out who is responsible and prefer charges, and he wants us to help. Don’t mention this, as we shall do it as quietly as possible, but also as thoroughly. . . . We hear every now and then of some new abuse among the surgeons, regular and volunteer,—for instance: Mr. Hopkins told us of one poor fellow of a Vermont regiment who was brought to the hospital in Alexandria with typhoid fever, having both feet frozen and one of them eaten by rats! It is too horrible to think of, but I tell you that you may understand why we feel so strongly on the subject. Good old Dixie hearing of the story went at once to McClellan and told him, and he sent an officer to find out all the facts and bring the responsible person to justice. . . .

The Miss Schuylers went down with us to Alexandria to-day and we showed them through the Hospitals, much to the delight of the nurses.

We have gone into the pension business too! and are going over to Mr. Wrage’s camp to arrange about getting the necessary papers for a poor woman who is applying for a pension and wrote to G. about it. We knew her and her husband here in one of the hospitals and she has the most implicit faith in G’s power and influence.

The end of January Mother and Hatty went on to Washington under Charley’s escort for “two or three weeks,” which lengthened out into three months with G. and E., and proved a great delight to all.
Post image for A Diary of American Events.

A Diary of American Events.

January 28, 2012

The American Civil War,The Rebellion Record—A Diary of American Events; by Frank Moore

January 28.—In the United States Senate a petition from citizens of Illinois, asking Congress not to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia, and asking for the expulsion of members who advocate it, was presented by Mr. Saulsbury, of Delaware

A resolution was offered by Mr. Foster, of Connecticut, and adopted, asking the Secretary of the Treasury whether any further legislation is necessary in order to take charge of the cotton and other lands of South-Carolina, now in possession of the Government, and to place them under cultivation, and also in relation to the blacks in these localities.

—Reconnoissances from Port Royal, S. C, having discovered the fact that the Savannah River, Ga., could be entered some distance above its mouth, and Fort Pulaski, commanding the entrance, flanked and cut off from all communication with the city of Savannah, an expedition of United States gunboats, under command of Captain C. H. Davis, U.S.N., and Captain C. R. P. Rodgers, U.S.N., was despatched yesterday for the purpose of entering the Savannah River in the rear of the Fort. Captain Davis’s detachment followed the Wilmington Narrows on the south side of the river, while Captain Rodgers sailed up Wall’s Cut, and thence into Wright River, on the north side. The two expedition appeared this morning on opposite sides of the savannah, both being detained by piles driven in to oppose their progress, or by the shallowness of the water. While in this position, Commodore Tatnall, of the Confederate Navy, came down the savannah with five rebel gunboats, and a fleet of lighters in tow with provisions for Fort Pulaski. The national gunboats immediately opened fire on him, and a triangular engagement took place, during which three rebel boats succeeded in reaching the Fort, and discharging their lighters. They then returned and passed between the National fleets, being nearly two miles distant from each, up the river. No damage was sustained by the National gunboats during the fight.—(Doc. 21.)

—A Division of the Union troops in Missouri, under command of Jeff. C. Davis, left Versailles on the march towards Springfield. The division comprised the Eighth and Twenty-second Indiana, the Thirty-seventh Illinois and Ninth Missouri, accompanied by two batteries of twenty-four pieces, and three companies of cavalry under Major Hubbard.

Post image for Burnside Expedition. — Anchored in the sound. — Diary of David L. Day.

Burnside Expedition. — Anchored in the sound. — Diary of David L. Day.

January 27, 2012

David L Day–My diary of rambles with the 25th Mass,The American Civil War

The Curlew.

Jan. 27. Preparations are going on this morning to get the New York across the bar. We were transferred to the steam ferry-boat Curlew, and are now anchored in the sound. The New York is to be lightened of everything on board, and it is thought, with a full sea and some help, she may be able to cross. We are in the most disagreeable and uncomfortable quarters we have yet been in. Every change seems to bring some new hardship, and with a few more changes for the worse we shall be able to learn how great are our powers of endurance. We are packed in here as thick as bees with scarcely standing room, and the old craft is open at both ends admitting the cold winds and rains, besides being as wet and dirty as a stable. If it should rain hard enough to drive us in from the ends of the boat and from off the deck, a part of us would have to lie down in our bunks to give standing room for the rest. I should think the water casks were a cemetery for dead rats by the way the water tastes; condensed sea water is a luxury to it, and byway of encouragement we are told that we are to have some tomorrow. There are, however, a few casks of good water aboard, but we are not allowed any of it. I reckon the boys will manage to get some of it. If they don’t, it will be an exception to their general smartness. The officers and crew of the old hulk are cross and crabbed, and unless they alter their tactics, I fear they will get enough of us before we have been here many days.

Post image for “… great recklessness of the soldiers’ health and comfort in this army.” — Journal of Surgeon Alfred L. Castleman.

“… great recklessness of the soldiers’ health and comfort in this army.” — Journal of Surgeon Alfred L. Castleman.

January 27, 2012

Journal of Surgeon Alfred L Castleman.,The American Civil War

27th.—Expectation is still on the strain. How long it has been kept up! But no order to move, and I doubt whether we get any soon. Indeed, I think now that we should not move. ‘Tis too late. The roads are excessively bad, and for a long time we have been having an almost continuous storm of freezing rain and snow. An army could not lie out over night in this terrible weather, and be in condition next day to fight against those who had slept in good quarters and been well fed. The time has passed to move. But why are we not ordered to winter quarters? There seems to me to be great recklessness of the soldiers’ health and comfort in this army. There is wrong somewhere.

A sad case has just passed under my notice. Three days ago, as I was busily engaged in attending to hospital duties, I entrusted, necessarily, the light sickness of quarters to others. As I passed out just after morning call, I heard one of my nurses say to a man, “You look sick; why do you not come to hospital, where we can take care of you?”— “That is what I came for, but the doctor’ says I am not sick, and has returned me to duty.” I passed on, but notwithstanding that there is scarcely a day that some “shirk ” who is pretending to be sick to avoid duty, is not treated thus, that voice rang sadly in my ears. In ten minutes I returned, and inquired after the man. The drums had beaten to duty, and he was on parade. I followed to parade ground, found him endeavoring to do his duty, on a “double-quick.” I took him from the ranks, examined him, and sent him to hospital. Before they got him to bed he was delirious. He has just died. ‘Twas a case of typhoid fever, of which he had been sick for two days before I saw him. I ask of army Surgeons, Had you not better excuse ten “seeds” who are worthless, even when in rank, than sacrifice one good man like this, who believes he is not sick, because you tell him he is not?

Post image for Impatiently waiting news of the Burnside Expedition. — War Letters of William Thompson Lusk.

Impatiently waiting news of the Burnside Expedition. — War Letters of William Thompson Lusk.

January 27, 2012

The American Civil War,War Letters of William Thompson Lusk.

Beaufort, S. C. Jan. 26th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Another Sunday has come around, time slips quietly by — still nothing striking has taken place. We are all impatiently awaiting the advent of some steamer, bringing us news from the Burnside Expedition. Is our country really so prolific in great Commanders? Is there a Napoleon for each one of the dozen armies that compose the anaconda fold? Ay, ay, it would be a sad disappointment if the fold should happen to snap somewhere! Things look like action down here, and that not long hence. We have been gathering our troops gradually on the islands about the mouth of the Savannah river. Thither have gone our Connecticut friends, and yesterday three more steamers, loaded, took the remainder of Gen. Wright’s Brigade with them. We are left here quite unnoticed on Port Royal Island, in seeming safety, though there are many troops around us. An army, boasting much, awaits us on the mainland, but an army having still a wholesome dread of Yankees. I made them a sort of visit the other night (25th), passing up Hospa Creek in a light canoe, hidden by the darkness and the long grass of the marshes. A negro guide paddled so lightly that, as we glided along, one might have heard the dropping of a pin. It was fine sport and as we passed close by the enemy’s pickets we would place our thumbs to our noses, and gracefully wave our fingers toward the unsuspecting souls. This was by no means vulgarly intended, but as we could not speak, we thus symbolically expressed the thoughts that rose in our bosoms. We pushed on until coming to a point where a stream like a mere thread lay before us. Here we paused, for this was a stream we wished to examine. At the mouth of the stream stood the sentries of the enemy. We could hear their voices talking. We lay under the river grass, watching. Soon a boat pushed across the little stream to the opposite shore. We shoved our canoe far into the marsh, and lay there concealed. Then all was still and we thought it time to return, so back we went, and returned home unnoticed and in safety. Such little excursions give a zest to the dulnessof camp. I have not yet been able to give Miss Mintzing’s letter to any one who could send it to her friends, yet I hope such an opportunity will speedily come. What is Tom Reynolds now doing?

The paymaster has not visited us this long time, and I have but fifty cents in my pocket. However, when one has nothing to spend, he feels quite as happy down here, as money can buy but few luxuries in camp. We don’t starve though. Secession cows give us milk, speculators bring us butter, and the negroes sell us chickens.

Jan. 27th. We find all sorts of communication with home fairly cut off. Gen. Sherman has been long planning some expedition against Fort Pulaski. At length it has started from Hilton Head, and Gen. Sherman, with his characteristic caution, has closed all communication, fearful that otherwise, through letter or in some other manner his plans might be revealed. I trust when the embargo is raised, the same steamer that carries this to you, will bear accounts of some new success from our expedition.

I am sorry Uncle Phelps is disappointed that he did not have the pleasure of reading my name in print. Why, I read the other day (in the Herald), how I commanded an enterprise at which I was not even present. So much for newspaper glory! After Bull Run, numbers who never left New-York, had themselves puffed for gallant conduct by a mercenary press. Pooh! Mother, your reputation outside the circle of those who can see, is not worth the words that picture it. I have to laugh when I think of Brig.-Gen. _____ of the Irish Brigade, and the affrighted Captain beating a quick retreat from Bull Run, swearing that the South had fought well and deserved its independence — that it was useless to resist a free people, and the sooner we recognize the South the better.

Since then _____ _____has become a great hero, by the mighty powers of quackery.

Well, dear Mother, Good-bye.

Yours affectionately,

W. T. Lusk.

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