[Illustration]
DIARY
OF
AN ENLISTED MAN
BY
LAWRENCE VAN ALSTYNE
SHARON, CONN.
NEW HAVEN, CONN.
THE TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE & TAYLOR COMPANY
1910
Copyrighted 1910
by
LAWRENCE VAN ALSTYNE
WITH LOVING REGARD
FOR THE MEMORY OF MY PARENTS
WHO WATCHED FOR AND EAGERLY READ THE DIARY
AS FROM TIME TO TIME IT CAME TO THEM
AND TO MY COMRADES-IN-ARMS
WHETHER LIVING OR DEAD
THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE
In the multitude of books written about the Civil War, very little is
said of the enlisted man. His bravery and his loyalty are admitted and
that is about all. Of his everyday life, the very thing his family and
friends cared most to know about, there is hardly anything said.
It is to remedy this omission in some degree that the following pages
are published. They were written by an enlisted man and are mostly about
enlisted men. They are filled with details that history has no room for,
and for that reason may have an interest quite their own.
They were written at different times, in different places, and under a
great variety of circumstances and conditions. Some were written as the
line halted for rest while marching from place to place, some while
waiting for trains or other modes of transportation, but the most were
written by the light of a candle or a smoldering camp-fire while my
comrades, no more weary than I, were sleeping about me. All were written
amid scenes of more or less confusion, and many times of great
excitement. They were written because of a promise made to my parents
that I would make notes of my wanderings and of the adventures I met
with.
At first I found it an irksome task, taking time I really needed for
rest; but as time went on the habit became fixed, and I did not consider
the day's work done until I had written in my diary of the events that
came with it.
The diary was kept in small pocket notebooks, of a size convenient to
carry in my pocket, and be ever ready for use. There was never a lack of
subjects to write about. Events crowded upon each other so fast that
each day furnished plenty of material for the time I could give it. I
had never been far from home. The sights I saw were new and strange to
me and made deep impressions. These, as best I could, I transferred to
the pages of my diary, so the friends at home could, in a way, see the
sights I saw and that seemed so wonderful to me. When pages enough were
written for a letter, I cut them out and sent them home to be read by
any who cared to, after which they were strung together on a string and
saved for me to read again, should I ever return to do it. When I did
return I found the leaves had so accumulated as to make a large bundle.
There was no need for me to read them at that time, for the story they
told was burned too deep in my memory to be easily forgotten.
So I tied them in a bundle and put them away in an unused drawer of my
desk, where they lay, unread and undisturbed for the next forty-five
years.
But while the old diary lay hidden in my desk a new generation had crept
upon the stage. We no longer occupied the center of it. One by one we
had been crowded off, and our ranks were getting so thin we had to feel
around for the touch of a comrade's elbow. Every year there were more
comrades' graves to decorate, and every year there were fewer of us left
to decorate them. At last we had met an enemy we could not even hope to
conquer. With sadness we saw first one and then another called out, and
they did not return. They had answered the last roll call, and it was
only a question of a little time when the last name would be called, and
the muster-out rolls be folded up and filed away.
It was with a feeling of ever-increasing loneliness that I untied the
bundle and began to read the long-forgotten diary. In a little while I
was a boy again, one of that great company that helped to make history
read as it does. Almost half a century had suddenly rolled back and I
was with Company B--"Bostwick's Tigers" we were called, not altogether
on account of our fighting qualities, but because of the noise we
sometimes made. I was having my share of the fun that was going, and
was taking my share of the hard knocks as well.
I was never so absorbedly interested. I even forgot my meals. For weeks
I thought of little else and did little else than read and copy those
dim old pages. I read from them to any who would listen, and wondered
why it did not stir their blood as it did my own.
But the reason is plain. To the listener it was hearsay. To me it was
real. So it may be with the diary now it is printed. In the nature of
things it cannot be to others what it is to me. It is a part of my life.
My blood would not tingle as it does at the reading of another man's
life. It is what historians had neither time nor space to write, the
everyday life of an enlisted man in time of war.
L. V. A.
October, 1910.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I--THE RECRUITING CAMP 1
First steps as a Soldier--The five-day furlough.
CHAPTER II--THE JOURNEY SOUTH 16
The march through Hudson--The stop in New York--Breakfast at
"The Cooper Shop"--Arrival at Baltimore--When we first
heard the "Long Roll."
CHAPTER III--CAMP MILLINGTON, MD. 23
School of the Soldier--On picket at Catonsville--Trip to
Gettysburg--Dinner at Hanover--Meeting the 150th--Roast
chicken--Stuart's Mansion Hospital.
CHAPTER IV--ON BOARD THE ARAGO 61
A morning on Chesapeake Bay--At Newport News--At Fortress
Monroe--The journey South continued--Sickness and death on
board--A burial at sea--Quarantined.
CHAPTER V--QUARANTINE STATION, LA. 73
Cooking graybacks--A big catfish--Starting a graveyard--The
most trying circumstances war can bring.
CHAPTER VI--CAMP CHALMETTE, LA. 80
Spying out the land--Foiling an attempt at suicide--Clash
with the 28th Maine--An interrupted sermon--Brownell's
last words.
CHAPTER VII--CAMP PARAPET, LA. 87
Captain Bostwick gets married--In the hospital at last--Good
care and treatment--The slow process of getting well--The
Ponchatoula trip--Mosquitoes and alligators.
CHAPTER VIII--PORT HUDSON, LA. 108
Good-bye, Camp Parapet--Going up the river--Stop at
Springfield Landing--Before the works--Capt. Gifford
missing--The first assault--Stealing honey--Scared by a
snake--The second assault--The "Forlorn Hope"--Captain
Gifford comes back--Vicksburg surrenders--Port Hudson
follows suit--The laying down of arms.
CHAPTER IX--DONALDSONVILLE, LA. 149
Leaving Port Hudson--Stop at Baton Rouge--At
Donaldsonville--Living on the fat of the land--How sugar
is made--Hickory Landing--Plaquemine--Baton Rouge.
CHAPTER X--AT NEW ORLEANS, LA. 173
Good-bye to the 128th--Down the river to New
Orleans--Looking for General Grant--Finding General
Grant--Joined the Corps de Afrique--Franklin's expedition
to Texas--The return trip--Pilot Town, La.--Easy times.
CHAPTER XI--BRASHEAR CITY, LA. 184
Mustered into the service again--Waiting for orders--Up the
Bayou Teche--Stealing a horse--Meeting the owner--At
Mouton's Plantation--The return across the prairie--A sham
battle--One kind of southern hospitality--Another kind of
southern hospitality--Camp life at Brashear City.
CHAPTER XII--THE LOUISIANA STEAM COTTON PRESS 230
In winter quarters--Dull times--The fortune-tellers--An old
man's blessing--A pleasant surprise--Leave of absence--On
board the steamer Creole--Seasick--Losing Henry
Holmes--Wholesale visiting--Finding Henry Holmes.
CHAPTER XIII--ON BOARD THE MCCLELLAN 272
The start for Dixie--The McClellan is not the Creole--A
tough crowd--Man overboard--Martial law proclaimed--Arrest
of the rioters--Storm at sea--Stop at Key West--In New
Orleans again.
CHAPTER XIV--THE RED RIVER CAMPAIGN 286
Camping on The Laurel Hill--At Port Hudson again--Meeting
the 128th--Up the Red River to Alexandria--Two trips to
Grand Ecore--The river falling--The dam at Alexandria--The
burning of Alexandria.
CHAPTER XV--THE RED RIVER RETREAT 322
Guarding the pontoon train--Sleeping on feathers--Killing
the goose--Forced marching--The fight at Yellow
Bayou--Crossing the Atchafalaya--Another forced march--A
raw beef supper--Footsore and weary.
CHAPTER XVI--CAMP AT MORGANZIA, LA. 332
On picket with the western men--Smallpox appears--A pay-day
misunderstanding--Building Fort Morgan--Fourth of July
dinner--General Order 88--The army moving away.
CHAPTER XVII--OUR LAST CAMP IN THE SOUTH 346
Leaving Morganzia--In camp near New Orleans--Good-bye,
Dixie--Homeward bound.
CHAPTER I
The Recruiting Camp
First steps as a Soldier--The five-day furlough.
_August 19, 1862._
HUDSON CAMP GROUNDS. I have enlisted! Joined the Army of Uncle Sam for
three years, or the war, whichever may end first. Thirteen dollars per
month, board, clothes and traveling expenses thrown in. That's on the
part of my Uncle. For my part, I am to do, I hardly know what, but in a
general way understand I am to kill or capture such part of the Rebel
Army as comes in my way.
I wonder what sort of a soldier I will make; to be honest about it, I
don't feel much of that eagerness for the fray I am hearing so much of
about me.
It seems to me it is a serious sort of business I have engaged in. I was
a long time making up my mind about it. This one could go, and that one,
and they ought to, but with me, some way it was different. There was so
much I had planned to do, and to be. I was needed at home, etc., etc. So
I would settle the question for a time, only to have it come up to be
reasoned away again, and each time my reasons for not taking my part in
the job seemed less reasonable. Finally I did the only thing I could
respect myself for doing,--went to Millerton, the nearest recruiting
station, and enlisted.
I then threw down my unfinished castles, went around and bid my friends
good-bye, and had a general settling up of my affairs, which, by the
way, took but little time. But I never before knew I had so many
friends. Everyone seemed to be my friend. A few spoke encouragingly, but
the most of them spoke and acted about as I would expect them to, if I
were on my way to the gallows. Pity was so plainly shown that when I had
gone the rounds, and reached home again, I felt as if I had been
attending my own funeral. Poor old father and mother! They had expected
it, but now that it had come they felt it, and though they tried hard,
they could not hide from me that they felt it might be the last they
would see of their baby.
Then came the leaving it all behind. I cannot describe that. The
good-byes and the good wishes ring in my ears yet. I am not myself. I am
some other person. My surroundings are new, the sights and sounds about
me are new, my aims and ambitions are new;--that is if I have any. I
seem to have reached the end. I can look backwards, but when I try to
look ahead it is all a blank. Right here let me say, God bless the man
who wrote "Robert Dawson," and God bless the man who gave me the book.
"Only a few drops at a time, Robert." The days are made of minutes, and
I am only sure of the one I am now living in. Take good care of that and
cross no bridges until you come to them.
I have promised to keep a diary, and I am doing it. I have also promised
that it should be a truthful account of what I saw and what I did. I
have crawled off by myself and have been scribbling away for some time,
and upon reading what I have written I find it reads as if I was the
only one. But I am not. There are hundreds and perhaps thousands here,
and I suppose all could, if they cared to, write just such an experience
as I have. But no one else seems foolish enough to do it. I will let
this stand as a preface to my diary, and go on to say that we, the first
installment of recruits from our neighborhood, gathered at Amenia, where
we had a farewell dinner, and a final handshake, after which we boarded
the train and were soon at Ghent, where we changed from the Harlem to
the Hudson & Berkshire R. R., which landed us opposite the gates of the
Hudson Fair Grounds, about 4 P. M. on the 14th. We were made to form in
line and were then marched inside, where we found a lot of rough board
shanties, such as are usually seen on country fair grounds, and which
are now used as offices, and are full of bustle and confusion. After a
wash-up, we were taken to a building which proved to be a kitchen and
dining room combined. Long pine tables, with benches on each side,
filled the greater part of it, and at these we took seats and were
served with good bread and fair coffee, our first meal at Uncle Sam's
table, and at his expense. After supper we scattered, and the Amenia
crowd brought up at the Miller House in Hudson. We took in some of the
sights of the city and then put up for the night.
The next morning we had breakfast and then reported at the camp grounds
ready for the next move, whatever that might be. We found crowds of
people there, men, women and children, which were fathers and mothers,
wives and sweethearts, brothers and sisters of the men who have enlisted
from all over Dutchess and Columbia counties. Squads of men were
marching on the race track, trying to keep step with an officer who kept
calling out "Left, Left, Left," as his left foot hit the ground, from
which I judged he meant everyone else should put his left foot down with
his. We found these men had gone a step further than we. They had been
examined and accepted, but just what that meant none of us exactly knew.
We soon found out, however. Every few minutes a chap came out from a
certain building and read from a book, in a loud voice, the names of two
men. These would follow him in, be gone a little while and come out,
when the same performance would be repeated. My name and that of Peter
Carlo, of Poughkeepsie, were called together, and in we went. We found
ourselves in a large room with the medical examiner and his clerks. His
salutation, as we entered, consisted of the single word, "Strip." We
stripped and were examined just as a horseman examines a horse he is
buying. He looked at our teeth and felt all over us for any evidence of
unsoundness there might be. Then we were put through a sort of gymnastic
performance, and told to put on our clothes. We were then weighed and
measured, the color of our eyes and hair noted, also our complexion,
after which another man came and made us swear to a lot of things, most
of which I have forgotten already. But as it was nothing more than I
expected to do without swearing I suppose it makes no difference.
The rest of the day we visited around, getting acquainted and meeting
many I had long been acquainted with. In the afternoon the camp ground
was full of people, and as night began to come, and they began to go,
the good-byes were many and sad enough. I am glad my folks know enough
to stay away. That was our first night in camp. After we came from the
medical man, we were no longer citizens, but just soldiers. We could not
go down town as we did the night before. This was Saturday night, August
17th. We slept but little,--at least I did not. A dozen of us had a
small room, a box stall, in one of the stables, just big enough to lie
down in. The floor looked like pine, but it was hard, and I shall never
again call pine a soft wood, at least to lie on. If one did fall asleep
he was promptly awakened by some one who had not, and by passing this
around, such a racket was kept up that sleep was out of the question. I
for one was glad the drummer made a mistake and routed us out at five
o'clock instead of six, as his orders were. We shivered around until
roll call and then had breakfast. We visited together until dinner. Beef
and potatoes, bread and coffee, and plenty of it. Some find fault and
some say nothing, but I notice that each gets away with all that's set
before him. In the afternoon we had preaching out of doors, for no
building on the grounds would hold us. A Rev. Mr. Parker preached, a
good straight talk, no big words or bluster, but a plain man-to-man talk
on a subject that should concern us now, if it never did before. I for
one made some mighty good resolutions, then and there. Every regiment
has a chaplain, I am told, and I wish ours could be this same Mr.
Parker. The meeting had a quieting effect on all hands. There was less
swearing and less noise and confusion that afternoon than at any time
before. After supper the question of bettering our sleeping
accommodations came up, and in spite of the good resolutions above
recorded I helped steal some hay to sleep on. We made up our minds that
if our judge was as sore as we were he would not be hard on us. We
spread the hay evenly over the floor and lay snug and warm, sleeping
sound until Monday morning, the 18th.
The mill of the medical man kept on grinding and batches of men were
sworn in every little while. Guards were placed at the gates, to keep us
from going down town. I was one of the guards, but was called off to
sign a paper and did not go back. Towards night we had to mount guard
over our hay. Talk about "honor among thieves," what was not stolen
before we found it out, was taken from under us while we were asleep,
and after twisting and turning on the bare floor until my aching bones
woke me, I got up and helped the others express themselves, for there
was need of all the cuss words we could muster to do the subject
justice. But that was our last night in those quarters.
The next day the new barracks were finished and we took possession. They
are long narrow buildings, about 100 feet by 16, with three tiers of
bunks on each side, leaving an alley through the middle, and open at
each end. The bunks are long enough for a tall man and wide enough for
two men provided they lie straight, with a board in front to keep the
front man from rolling out of bed. There are three buildings finished,
and each accommodates 204 men. We were not allowed either hay or straw
for fear of fire. As we only had our bodies to move, it did not take
long to move in. Those from one neighborhood chose bunks near together,
and there was little quarreling over choice. In fact one is just like
another in all except location. Walter Loucks and I got a top berth at
one end, so we have no trouble in finding it, as some do who are located
near the middle. These barracks, as they are here called, are built
close together, and ordinary conversation in one can be plainly heard in
the others. Such a night as we had, story-telling, song-singing, telling
what we would do if the Rebs attacked us in the night, with now and then
a quarrel thrown in, kept us all awake until long after midnight. There
was no getting lonesome, or homesick. No matter what direction one's
thought might take, they were bound to be changed in a little while, and
so the time went on. Perhaps some one would start a hymn and others
would join in, and just as everything was going nicely, a block of wood,
of which there were plenty lying around, would come from no one knew
where, and perhaps hit a man who was half asleep. Then the psalm singing
would end up in something quite different, and for a while one could
almost taste brimstone. I heard more original sayings that night than in
all my life before, and only that the boards were so hard, and my bones
ached so badly, I would have enjoyed every minute of it.
But we survived the night, and were able to eat everything set before
us, when morning and breakfast time came. After breakfast we had our
first lesson in soldiering, that is, the men of what will be Captain
Bostwick's company, if he succeeds in filling it, and getting his
commission, did. A West Point man put us through our paces. We formed in
line on the race track, and after several false starts got going,
bringing our left feet down as our instructor called out, "Left, Left,"
etc. A shower in the night had left some puddles on the track, and the
first one we came to some went around and some jumped across, breaking
the time and step and mixing up things generally. We were halted, and as
soon as the captain could speak without laughing, he told us what a
ridiculous thing it was for soldiers to dodge at a mud puddle. After a
turn at marching, or keeping step with each other, he explained very
carefully to us the "position of a soldier," telling how necessary it
was that we learn the lesson well, for it would be of great use to us
hereafter. He repeated it, until every word had time to sink in. "Heels
on the same line, and as near together as the conformation of the man
will permit. Knees straight, without stiffness. Body erect on the hips,
and inclining a little forward. Arms hanging naturally at the sides, the
little finger behind the seam of the pantaloons. Shoulders square to the
front. Head erect, with the eyes striking the ground at the distance of
fifteen paces." Every bone in my body ached after a little of this, and
yet our instructor told us this is the position in which a well-drilled
soldier can stand for the longest time and with the greatest ease. This
brings my diary up to this date and I must not let it get behind again.
There is so much to write about, it takes all my spare time; but now I
am caught up, I will try and keep so.
_August 20, 1862._
Capt. Bostwick came from Albany last night. He has his commission, and
is to be captain of Company B, his being the second company filled. I
can now style myself of Co. B, 128th N. Y. State Volunteers. He got us
together and gave us quite a speech. Told us what he would do, and what
he expected us to do. I imagine none of us know very well yet what we
will do. He said if he had not got his commission he would have gone in
the ranks with us. We gulped this down, but I doubt if many believed it.
But at all events we are one family now, and Ed. Bostwick is the head of
it. We have known him so long as just Ed. Bostwick, that it will take
some time to get used to addressing him as Capt. Bostwick. One of our
company, Jim Wasburn, who hails from Sharon, was put in the guard-house
three times yesterday for fighting. He ought to make a good soldier,
for he had rather fight than eat. He is a "mean dog," always picking at
some one smaller than himself. To-day he pushed Eph. Hammond over, as he
was getting some water from a pail. Eph. is one of our smallest men, but
he gave the bully a crack on the jaw that sent him sprawling, and took
the fight all out of him. One of the Poughkeepsie boys has gone on the
war path too. He began Sunday night by running past the guard, and then
waiting until arrested. Just as he got inside he gave his captor the
slip and hid in the barracks until the search was given up. Then he came
out and dodged past another guard and gave his pursuers a lively chase
over the fields before they caught him. He might be going yet if he had
not stopped and let them take him. He was brought in, put in the
guard-house, and before ten o'clock was out and down town, where he got
into some mischief and was locked up by the police. Yesterday he was
brought back under guard and again put in the guard-house, which by the
way is only a tent, with a soldier stationed by it. Last night, as I was
coming from the city I met him going down, and probably by this time he
is in jail again.
_6 p. m._ Have just drawn our coats, drawers, stockings and shoes. Ben
Rogers is here. He belongs to a Kinderhook company. Jim Rowe and John
Pitcher have just come. Twenty-five of the company are old
acquaintances, all from the same neighborhood. Besides, I have made lots
of new acquaintances here. Men are coming every day and almost by every
train, and the prospect of our regiment being soon filled seems good.
The President's call for 300,000 volunteers is being nobly responded to
here, and probably it is the same all over the North.
_August 21, 1862._
Last night I was one of those detailed for guard, and was put at one of
the gates. This morning at 8.30 was what they call "guard mount." The
men so detailed are divided into three squads, called first, second and
third reliefs. The first goes on at 8.30 and remains until 10.30. Then
the second relief goes on and stays until 12.30, when the third relief,
to which I belong, takes the place until 2.30. This goes on until each
relief has had four turns of two hours each on duty, and four turns each
of four hours' rest, when 8.30 A. M. again comes around and a new guard
is put in place of the old. The next day after being on guard, no duty
is required of them. Nothing very hard about that so far as I can see. I
begin to like it, and I am glad it is so, for there is no such thing as
calling the boss up to settle.
_August 22, 1862._
I caught cold last night, and feel a little slim to-day. Lew Holmes got
a pass for himself and me to go down town and that cured me. The run
about in Hudson with the nice fresh air of to-day, together with a
five-day furlough, which was given out to-night, has worked wonders for
those that were lucky enough to get them. It seems the men are all to
have a five-day furlough, but not all at once. The Amenia crowd drew
first prize. I am delighted to go, and yet there will be the good-byes
to say again, and I don't know after all whether I am glad or sorry.
_August 23, 1862._
_Night._ Home again. We left Hudson at 5 A. M. Were delayed in Chatham,
waiting for the Harlem train, long enough to make quite a visit with
brother William and his wife Laura. Uncle Daniel was there also. There
is little else talked of but the war. Men are arranging their business
so as to go, and others are "shaking in their boots" for fear they will
have to go. I don't waste any sympathy on this latter class. There are
some I would like to see made to go. They belong in the Southern army,
where all their sympathy goes.
I found our folks well and glad to see me. I have no sort of doubt of
that. Just as we had had supper, Obadiah Pitcher came with his buggy and
offered to take me to call on some friends; this I thought too good a
chance to lose, and we went south. We found so many, and there was so
much talking, it was Sunday morning when we came back.
_August 24, 1862._
_Sunday at home._ Herman and John, Betsy and Jane came to dinner. Such a
dinner, too, as mother cooked for us. Dear old soul, how I wished I
could eat enough to last until the war is over. Daniel McElwee came up
and wanted me to go with him to Mabbettsville and see Mr. and Mrs.
Haight. I put the best side of soldiering out, as Mrs. Haight wanted to
know how her boy was faring. This seems to me the saddest side of war.
Those that go have excitement enough to live on, but those that are left
can only wonder how it is with their loved ones, and imagine worse
things than may ever happen. I reached home in time to visit with father
and mother awhile and then went to bed tired out.
_August 25, 1862._
AMENIA UNION, N. Y. The days of my stay being numbered, I am improving
the time as best I can. Have been to John Loucks', Isaac Bryan's, Daniel
McElwee's, Hugh Miller's, Jason Hull's (where I had another good
dinner), and then came on to this place and put up at Mr. Dutcher's. Met
John Van Alstyne, who was on his way to Sharon, and was told I was a
fool for enlisting. Maybe I am, John, but I have lots of company.
_August 26, 1862._
Mary and I took a long ride, and then I left for Millerton. Saw the
effects of a railroad smash up at Cooper's Crossing. The engine and cars
were scattered along the front of the embankment and many of them only
good for kindling-wood. The carcass of a cow, the cause of the accident,
lay in one place and her hide in another. Attended a meeting at
Millerton, heard some patriotic speeches and saw lots of people who
seemed glad to see me. Was paid the town bounty of $100 and towards
night wended my way over the hills home again, and am writing about it
in my diary. This is my last night home. To-morrow we are due in Hudson
again. I have seen none of the others who came home with me. I suppose
each one, like myself, has crowded the time full of visiting, for who
knows when we will have another chance? We each try to act as if we had
no thought for the morrow, but it is hard work and not very successful.
_August 27, 1862._
Off for Hudson. The good-byes have been said again, may be forever. We
are at Pine Plains now. This time we go by horse power instead of the
cars. By "we," I mean Walter Loucks and myself who are chums in camp, as
we have long been chums at home. Herman and John[1] take us up. We have
a good team, a beautiful day, and have been stopped at nearly every
house long enough to say "how are you?" and "good-bye." As soon as we
stopped here, out came my diary and pencil. The habit is getting fixed,
and there is little danger of my forgetting it. The trouble is there is
so much to write about I will fill my book before I come to the real
thing. May be some one will some time be glad I wrote so much. It is
like blazing one's way through the woods. My trail can be followed, and
it behooves me to behave myself, for I claim all I write in my diary is
true.
_Night._ In camp at Hudson Fair Grounds again. We had dinner at Blue
Store, made several stops on the way, one at Wagonhagers Churchyard,
where Leah Loucks lies buried. We had supper at Miller's Hotel, where we
spent our first night in Hudson, and where Herman and John stay
to-night. It was just a little bit hard to crawl up into our bare board
bunk, after the nice soft beds we had slept in, but it is part of the
contract and we took the dose with as good grace as possible.
_August 28, 1862._
Have been down town and had my picture taken to send home by Herman and
John. Have also been drilling, and altogether have had a busy day. The
ladies of Hudson (God bless them) are going to give us a supper
to-night, and H. and J. are going to stay.
_Later._ It is all over, except an uncomfortable fullness. Biscuit and
butter, three kinds of cake, beef tongue, fruit of several kinds and
LEMONADE. We gave the ladies three cheers that must have been heard
across the river. There are lots of people here now. It seems as if I
knew half of them, too. We entertained our visitors until they had to
leave camp, and then had a prayer meeting and after it a stag dance,
both of which I attended.
_August 29, 1862._
Received $25.00 to-day, which is half the State bounty. Friends of the
soldiers are coming and going all the time. One day is much like
another, and yet there is an endless variety. We have guard mount in the
morning and then drill for a couple of hours. Then we are free to visit
with our friends. We have lots of them nowadays. No one seems to lack
for them. It reminds me of how well people are apt to speak of the dead.
While alive we say all sorts of mean things to them and about them, but
when they are gone it all seems forgotten and we only remember their
good qualities. Some way the very kind attention we receive reminds me
of that.
_August 30, 1862._
$25.00 more to-day. How the money comes in! Many people were here
to-day, some from our neighborhood. Between our camp duties and so much
visiting the time flies fast. The ladies of Hudson presented us with two
beautiful flags to-day, and Colonel Cowles with a horse, saddle and
bridle. It was estimated that five thousand visitors were in camp
to-day. We are the 128th Regiment the State of New York has sent out. I
wonder if such a time was made over each one. There was good speaking
when the presents were made and accepted. We certainly are having a
grand send-off.
_Night._ There is a circus in Hudson to-night, and the guards have their
hands full keeping the 128th in camp. Many get out, and the guard-house
is full of those who were caught making the attempt.
_August 31, 1862._
_Sunday._ Spent the day in camp and a very quiet day at that. A paper
has been circulated among us asking that the Rev. Mr. Parker, who
preached for us once, be sent with us as chaplain. I understand every
regiment has a chaplain (a minister) to look out for the spiritual
welfare of the regiment. Judging from this one, they must find plenty to
do.
_September 1, 1862._
A rumor is afloat that we leave here soon. The 128th is about full, and
no doubt we will go soon. But often a report is started by some one
without the least reason or foundation. They do it I suppose to see how
fast a lie will travel. Just the ordinary camp routine is all that came
along to-day.
_September 2, 1862._
We are all togged out with new blue clothes, haversacks and canteens.
The haversack is a sack of black enameled cloth with a flap to close it
and a strap to go over the shoulder, and is to carry our food
in,--rations, I should say. The canteen is of tin, covered with gray
cloth; in shape it is like a ball that has been stepped on and flattened
down. It has a neck with a cork stopper and a strap to go over the
shoulder. It is for carrying water, coffee or any other drinkable. Our
new clothes consist of light blue pants and a darker shade of blue for
the coats, which is of sack pattern. A light blue overcoat with a cape
on it, a pair of mud-colored shirts and drawers, and a cap, which is
mostly fore-piece. This, with a knapsack to carry our surplus outfit,
and a woollen blanket to sleep on, or under, is our stock in trade. I
don't suppose many will read this who do not know from observation how
all these things look, for it seems as if all creation was here to look
at them, and us.
_September 3, 1862._
Heigho! I'm a corporal!--whatever that may be. The appointments were
made to-day, and I just caught on to the bottom round of the ladder. As
I did not expect anything I suppose I should feel pleased. May be I do.
I am not sure how I feel nowadays. There is such a hubbub, I wonder we
don't all go crazy. Some say we leave Hudson to-night. None of us know
when or where we go, but there is a lot of guessing.
_Night._ Laura Loucks was in camp to-day. She is on her way home from
her sister's, in the western part of the state. She greeted me with
"There's another fool!" A great many good-byes were said to-day, and
tears enough shed to drown a cat.
_September 4, 1862._
We go to-day, sure; that is, if reports are true. The Government bounty
was paid to-day, and the oath of allegiance taken by the regimental
officers, as well as the men. Every day the net is drawn a little
tighter. No use in kicking now. We are bound by a bond none of us can
break, and I am glad to be able to say, for one, that I don't want to
break it. But it seems as if things dragged awfully slow. I suppose it
is because I know so little about the many details that are necessary
for the full organization of a regiment.
_Night._ Here yet. I wish we might go. We are all ready and the sooner
we go the more patriotism will be left in us. Too much of it is oozing
out through the eyes. People keep coming to have a last word, a last
good-bye and usually a last cry over it. I am heartily glad my folks
have sense enough to keep away, for it is all I can stand to see the
others. No doubt for many it is a last good-bye. In the nature of things
we cannot all expect to come back, but God is good, and he keeps that
part hidden from us, leaving each one to think he will be the lucky one.
To make matters worse, the change of water, food, and mode of living is
having its effects on many, myself among the number, and I feel pretty
slim to-night. I will spread my blanket on my soft pine board, and, if
my aching bones will let me, will try what a good sleep will do, for we
are of all men know not what to-morrow may have in store for us.
_September 5, 1862._
Still in Hudson. Was routed out twice last night, for no particular
reason as far as I can discover, unless it was to make a miserable night
still more miserable. After forming in line and standing there, half
asleep, for a while, the order, "Break Ranks" would come and we would go
back to our bunks, and so the night wore away. At 4.30 we were called
again, marched out for our morning ablutions, and then marched back
again, wide awake, but pretty cross and ugly. We signed receipts for one
month's pay in advance, and then had breakfast. We did nothing more
until dinner time and were then told to take our haversacks and canteens
with us. After dinner we were each given a day's supply of bread and a
canteen full of coffee, and told to be ready to march at any minute.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Herman C. Rowley and John C. Loucks.