Showing posts with label Weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Weather. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 24, 2024

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, November 6, 1862

The main body marched until the small hours of morning, through a drenching rain and a desolate swamp, in the direction of Halifax, before they found a decent camp.

It was a surprise to all; but instead of going to Tarboro, as was expected, the troops made a backward movement, and the story was, that there was a large force at Tarboro, who intended to attack us and destroy our usefulness. They did not succeed. A portion of the command who marched all night of the 5th on the other road, joined the regiment this forenoon only to find they must keep on the dreary tramp all day and well into the night again before they could reach Hamilton, where they took possession of the houses that were not burned.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 20

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, November 7, 1862

This morning the ground was covered with snow, adding to the beauties of the marching, which was soon commenced, and continued to Williamston. Here the boys stayed until Sunday, waiting to recruit their strength, and, it was said, to meet transports, but none came; so they started again, and Sunday night encamped a few miles from Plymouth. Monday they embarked on the "Geo. Collins," bound for New Berne.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 20

Thursday, April 18, 2024

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, May 7, 1864

At 1 o'clock last night we were aroused by guards shouting "Get out o'har, you'uns, in five minutes to take ca's for Richmond," punching us through the fence with bayonets, others coming through and kicking those who had not arisen, driving us out like a pack of hogs. It was evident, by the dialect, we had changed guards. Though much confusion and hurry followed, it was an hour before we moved to the train, and when aboard we stayed till daylight. They were box cars, so crammed we had to stand. At daylight officers ordered tents and blankets thrown out. The guard in our car repeated the order aloud, then whispered "Hide them." Some were thrown off and the train moved.

The landscape was beautiful, clothing herself in robes of spring. Morning delightful, a sweet air, the sun shed its rays on the land and spake peace to every heart. Nature was heavenly, her voice is ever, "Man be true to thyself;" the same in war and in peace, to the rich, the poor, the high, the low. Oh, could we be like her! "Only man is vile."

As we approached Gordonsville we saw the heights, fortifications and the southwest mountains. In seven miles we are there. They marched us into a lot, searched us and registered our names. Before being searched I sold my rubber blanket for $5.00, Confederate money, to a guard. While going to the house to be searched I cut my tent into strips, feeling sure it would not aid and abet a Reb and bought bread of a woman, having nothing to eat. They took blankets, tents, knives, paper, envelopes, gold pens, razors and other things. Money was generally taken care of, but some was taken. My money I had tucked into the quilted lining of my dress coat. Many of us had nothing left to put over or under us; this was my case. All I had was my clothing, portfolio containing blank paper, envelopes, a few photos and a partly written diary, pencils and pens, which they took from me, but I prevailed upon the officer searching me to return them, for which I thanked him.

Searching over, we took another part of the field near some houses. There were some citizens, one from North Carolina who inquired particularly about Northern affairs. The coming presidential election is the rage among soldiers and citizens. They believe it will effect the interests of the South. Prejudice and pride are the levers by which the Southern mass have been moved. Through these the Southern heart has been fired by the ruling class. Their eager enthusiasm over prospects of realizing the hope of the permanent adoption of their absurd theory about Southern civilization and scheme of empire with slavery as the cornerstone, is evidently waning. Our side of the story was new. They seemed to doubt the soundness of the old doctrine of Southern extremists, hence desired the triumph of the "conservative" party north more because leaders favored it than for a real understanding of the matter. They had had no idea of taking up with the seceded States, had they been able to maintain their armies along border States, or quarter them in the heart of the North.

Their motto was "All the South must be given up along the Southern to the Western coasts, and all slave States. Picturing the inconsistency of their demands, the improbability of their being yielded, made them look sober. They had supposed the North cared nothing for the Union worth fighting for, and as the Democratic party never opposed slavery, should it rise to power the war would cease and all disputes would be settled by treaty. A soldier of prominence said the mere existence of slavery led on our armies; that if we had the power to abolish slavery we would acknowledge the South.

Then came the usual tirade about disregarded Southern rights contented negroes, their unfitness for liberty. This summary of sentiment, be it true or false, sways the mass, fills the ranks and yields supplies. Yet it is noticable that the mass admit a belief that slavery is wrong, a weak system of labor; but that there was no other system for the South and what would the North do without it? They assumed that Northern commerce and industry depended upon slavery; that the climate is against white industry, white men being unable to endure labor; to which we replied by reminding them of the ability of both Southern and Northern white men to endure the hardships of war in the South.

These people had little knowledge of the character of the North, the value of the Union and the nature of the general government. It was noticable how frankly they admitted the cohabitation of some masters with slaves, or white with black, as more prevalent than is generally supposed, a fact that is evident by looking over the yellow complexioned slave population of Virginia. This intimation was offset by repeating the Jeff Davis calumnies uttered in one of his noted senatorial speeches of the degraded and wicked state of Northern society, and elicited this sentence: "Right or wrong it is the South's business," which came so hotly as to suggest danger.

One of the older citizens said: "Young man, you exercise more liberty of speech than is allowed in this country," which I conceded to be true and begged his pardon.

They do not see that when they forced slavery into a national territory and demanded its protection in Northern communities, it was the North's business. Much of present belief is new. There is a portion of the older class contiguous to the days of Washington and Jefferson, who entertain different sentiments politically and socially. Beliefs, as well as physical wants in the mass, conform to circumstances nearest the mind. We held that originally the negro question was incidental, but modernly became the cause of all difference; the grand issue being free government and the maintenance of the Union the best means to that end. Without slavery this issue would not have occurred.

An old man said he had always loved the Union, but had given it up; if the country could be restored to peace in the Union he would be glad, but he should not live to see it, "neither will you, young man," said he. It is a fact that the privileged youth of the South, wealthier and more favored, I mean, are stronger secessionists and more luminous in their ideas of empire than those whose days reach to the earlier period of the republic, because State rights, which always means slavery, have been the cause of the prevailing mania for a generation. Older citizens have been deposed, practically. Young men who have political views are invariably of the Southern Rights school, disciples of Calhoun and Yancey, who taught the new civilization with slavery as the cornerstone.

These young nabobs look us over as if surprised at our near resemblance to themselves and innocently inquire, "Do you think the nigger as good as the white man? Do you expect to reduce us to the level of the nigger?"

As to those who claim no right to know anything about politics they are like the old lady and daughters whose house I visited near Culpepper, Va.: They wanted the war to end and "don't care a plaguey bit how."

We lay at Gordonsville all day and night between the embankments of the railroad. Here I got my first sesech paper; it gave meager accounts of battles, stated that a force was within two miles of Petersburg and Richmond.

Wrote a letter to be sent home which a citizen said he would put in the office. About a hundred rations of hard bread and beef was issued to 700. I got none. A train of wounded Confederates came down from the Wilderness battlefield bound for Charlotteville; Gen. Longstreet on board. I climbed into the car and got a look at Longstreet as he lay bolstered up on his stretcher.

 

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 38-40

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: [Sunday], May 8, 1864

VIRGINIA GIRLS OF SWEET SIXTEEN DID NOT LOVE US.

Weather hot; two more trains of Rebel wounded pass. Report that General Wadsworth and others of our valuable generals are killed. At 2 p. m. our train moves for Lynchburg. It is composed of horse and cattle cars all crowded. Charlotteville is beautifully located in a fertile valley. About one mile west is the University of Virginia, founded by Thomas Jefferson. In the vicinity of this edifice were about twenty-five girls. Observing us, they waved their hands in greeting; we waved. We were going slowly; they ran across the green toward Discovering their mistake they bounded up and down and cried "You damned Yankees!" Screaming contemptuously they went back as fast as they came. Procuring a Rebel flag they flirted it at us.

Sweet Virginia maids,
    You love the soil where born;
But you bear a flag that fades;
    Yet I forgive your scorn.

You know not what you do,
    Nor do I court debate;
I'll fling a kiss to you,
    As you bestow your hate.

I wish I had a flower;
    I'd toss it on the lea.
It might perfume this hour
    You sour so on me!

Indeed, I love you, quite
    You so much remind
Of Northern girls as bright,
    Sweet girls I left behind.

Your scorn is hot and keen
    As Yankee girls, I trow;
Though you are sweet sixteen,
    Still sweeter girls I know!

But when this war is o'er
    And purged your blood, that's bad
The Union we'll restore
    And you'll not be so mad.

Yes, when this war is over
    And the Union is restored,
You may want a Yankee lover,
    And not try to feel so bored.

Coquette with old Secech!
    Indeed,, it seems quite sad
That such could make a mash
    On girls and be their fad!

Some brutal nigger-driver,
    Who glories in his lash,
Some slavery conniver
    Might favor such a mash.

But your dear Alma Mater
    Is Jefferson's own school;
He was a slavery hater;
    T. J. - he was no fool!

Haughty maids, good-day-
    When shall we meet again?
You don't seem to like my way,
    Mad maids of Old Virgin.

Observing a large crowd to see us in town, the boys sang national songs, as the train drew in, which the officers stopped. The normal population of Charlotteville is 5,500. The greater portion of the crowd were women who looked at us with apparent interest. There are several hospitals here which are being filled with wounded. Four miles further the engine lost power and half our train is left, I being on the rear car. Before dark guards were stationed and we were ordered out of the cars and camped by the side of the railroad to remain all night. To the left of the road was a high steep bank; on the right a steep declivity, on the west the South Mountains. We had a pleasant talk with some guards who expressed Union sentiments, one, a North Carolinian. When home in April, he said, corn was worth $14 per bushel Confederate scrip; only 50c in silver.

A woman passing, said: "It is hard times; the people had not reckoned on the possibility of failure; for myself I did not deem it possible that all their lofty expectations would be realized."

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 41-2

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

Diary of Private Lewis C. Paxson, Tuesday, September 16, 1862

Very rainy in morning. We started on march at noon. Encamped at the Roman church at Richmond, a sod wall around, 30 mounted Indians near.

SOURCE: Lewis C. Paxson, Diary of Lewis C. Paxson: Stockton, N.J., 1862-1865, p. 5

Monday, April 15, 2024

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, December 1, 1862

First day of winter; rained in torrents all night; we were without shelter and had to take the soaking. I kept one side of myself dry at a time by standing in front of large log fire-when my back was dry I would turn around and dry the front of my body. Part of the time I slept sitting against a tree with my rubber blanket over my head, while my legs got soaked. About 2 o'clock we saw a large light to the south of us which proved to be a bridge which the rebels had set on fire as our troops got up to it. This morning I had a daylight view of the different camps; the sun was shining, making the scene a beautiful one.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 5

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, December 4, 1862

Did not march today. Got permission to go on to Sherman's army which was marching on our right flank to get in Price's rear, and compel him to evacuate the fort he had thrown up on the Tallahatchie and which was in Grant's front. Saw Will Stockton who was in Battery "A" Chicago Light Artillery. Saw a number of my Chicago acquaintances in batteries A and B. Took dinner with Will, spent an hour very pleasantly. Started home in a rain storm, got lost and would have gone I don't know where had I not met some of Sherman's bummers returning to camp with spoils. Had a very disagreeable ride back—did not see a soul for five miles, raining hard, got to be dark before I reached our camp. Very glad to get back safe—rained hard all night.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 5

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, December 12, 1862

Was quite unwell for a day or so. Nothing of particular interest occurred. Foraging parties were sent out to gather all the provisions and vegetables they could, as scurvy was making its appearance in a slight form. Visited the University of Mississippi with Doctor Powell. Buildings were fine and well built, grounds handsome and I saw the finest astronomical apparatus, they say, that there is in the country; also a splendid collection of minerals purchased of a Mr. Budd in New York. Weather beautiful.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 6

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, December 18, 1862

In camp eight miles from Oxford. We cannot move our camps but a few miles distance from the railroad, as all our subsistence depends on our being able to keep the road open. Our camp is in a beautiful forest of splendid large trees, fine water, and I enjoy the large log fires we have, particularly at night when it is the only light we can have. There are a number of Germans in my company who sing very well and it is always a pleasure to me to have them come up to my quarters and sing. Days are warm and pleasant. Sent a few leaves of holly to Kate as my Christmas gift. Also sent some to St. James church for a Christmas wreath.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 6

Saturday, April 13, 2024

Diary of Private Louis Leon: February 1865

The smallpox is frightful. There is not a day that at least twenty men are taken out dead. Cold is no name for the weather now. They have given most of us Yankee overcoats, but have cut the skirts off. The reason of this is that the skirts are long and if they left them on we might pass out as Yankee soldiers.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 69

Friday, April 12, 2024

Diary of Private Richard R. Hancock: Monday, March 10, 1862

Passing on through Athens, we went into camps about two miles beyond. Distance from Fayetteville, Tennessee, to Athens, Alabama, thirty-eight miles. As it rained the night before, the roads were still worse.

SOURCE: Richard R. Hancock, Hancock's Diary: Or, A History of the Second Tennessee Confederate Cavalry, p. 136

Thursday, April 11, 2024

Diary of Private Richard R. Hancock: Friday, March 14, 1862

About dusk there was an awful storm of wind and rain. It was all we could do to keep our tents from blowing off.

SOURCE: Richard R. Hancock, Hancock's Diary: Or, A History of the Second Tennessee Confederate Cavalry, p. 137

Sunday, April 7, 2024

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Tuesday, September 16, 1862

We are getting right down to business now. Have company drill and will soon drill with the whole regiment together. To-day we practiced the double-quick, which is nothing more than a run. The day was hot and these heavy clothes buttoned around us made us sweat, and one man gave out. He fell down and several fell over him, stopping the work long enough for us to catch breath. He was put under a tree, and by the time we were through was able to walk back to camp. I went into the mill to-day and asked for a job. The miller said he thought I had about all the job I could attend to. That is the nearest approach to a joke I have heard from a native. They are the dumbest set of people I ever met. At least they seem so to me. The country is queer, too. There are no roads here. They are all turnpikes. Many of the houses set so far back from the road, and shade trees are so plenty, that they are not seen unless one goes on purpose. To the west and south the country looks like a forest, but there are no forests here, only scattering trees all over the fields and along the roads. The people are Dutch, mostly, and the rest are negroes,—"Niggers" they are universally called here. Money has another name, too. I bought a bundle of straw for a bed, which I was told was a "fip" for a bundle. I tied up a bundle and was then told it would be a "levy," all of which meant that if the man bound it up it was a "fip" and if I bound it it would be a "levy," which is two fips. I found out at last that a "fip" was sixpence and a "levy" was a shilling. Two fellows got too much of the sutler's whiskey to-day. They forged an order for it, and as a punishment each had a placard pinned to his back, with the nature of his offense printed in large letters, and were marched about the camp until sober.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 27-8

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 17, 1862

Two letters to-day, and two papers, all from home. Seems as if I had been there for a visit. I wonder if my letters give them as much pleasure? I expect they do. It is natural they should. I know pretty nearly what they are about, but of me, they only know what I write in my letters, and in this, my everlasting letter, as I have come to call my diary. It is getting to be real company for me. It is my one real confident. I sometimes think it is a waste of time and paper, and then I think how glad I would be to get just such nonsense from my friends, if our places were changed. I suppose they study out these crow's tracks with more real interest than they would a message from President Lincoln. We are looking for a wet bed again to-night. It does not rain, but a thick fog covers everything and the wind blows it in one side of our tents and out the other.

Maybe I have described our life here before, but as no one description can do it justice I am going to try again. We are in a field of 100 acres, as near as I can judge, on the side of a hill, near the top. The ground is newly seeded and wets up quickly, as such ground usually does. We sleep in pairs, and a blanket spread on the ground is our bed while another spread over us is our covering. A narrow strip of muslin, drawn over a pole about three feet from the ground, open at both ends, the wind and rain, if it does rain, beating in upon us, and water running under and about us; this, with all manner of bugs and creeping things crawling over us, and all the while great hungry mosquitoes biting every uncovered inch of us, is not an overdrawn picture of that part of a soldier's life, set apart for the rest and repose necessary to enable him to endure several hours of right down hard work at drill, in a hot sun with heavy woollen clothes on, every button of which must be tight-buttoned, and by the time the officers are tired watching us, we come back to camp wet through with perspiration and too tired to make another move. Before morning our wet clothes chill us to the marrow of our bones, and why we live, and apparently thrive under it, is something I cannot understand. But we do, and the next day are ready for more of it. Very few even take cold. It is a part of the contract, and while we grumble and growl among ourselves we don't really mean it, for we are learning what we will be glad to know at some future time.

Now I am about it, and nothing better to do, I will say something about our kitchen, dining room and cooking arrangements. Some get mad and cuss the cooks, and the whole war department, but that is usually when our stomachs are full. When we are hungry we swallow anything that comes and are thankful for it. The cook house is simply a portion of the field we are in. A couple of crotches hold up a pole on which the camp kettles are hung, and under which a fire is built. Each company has one, and as far as I know they are all alike. The camp kettles are large sheet-iron pails, one larger than the other so one can be put inside the other when moving. If we have meat and potatoes, meat is put in one, and potatoes in the other. The one that gets cooked first is emptied into mess pans, which are large sheet-iron pans with flaring sides, so one can be packed in another. Then the coffee is put in the empty kettle and boiled. The bread is cut into thick slices, and the breakfast call sounds. We grab our plates and cups, and wait for no second invitation. We each get a piece of meat and a potato, a chunk of bread and a cup of coffee with a spoonful of brown sugar in it. Milk and butter we buy, or go without. We settle down, generally in groups, and the meal is soon over. Then we wash our dishes, and put them back in our haversacks. We make quick work of washing dishes. We save a piece of bread for the last, with which we wipe up everything, and then eat the dish rag. Dinner and breakfast are alike, only sometimes the meat and potatoes are cut up and cooked together, which makes a really delicious stew. Supper is the same, minus the meat and potatoes. The cooks are men detailed from the ranks for that purpose. Every one smokes or chews tobacco here, so we find no fault because the cooks do both. Boxes or barrels are used as kitchen tables, and are used for seats between meals. The meat and bread are cut on them, and if a scrap is left on the table the flies go right at it and we have so many the less to crawl over us. They are never washed, but are sometimes scraped off and made to look real clean. I never yet saw the cooks wash their hands, but presume they do when they go to the brook for water.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 28-31

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 20, 1862

In spite of the fact that we are sumptuously fed, I have long longed for a good square meal off a clean table. This morning, early, I sneaked away to a farm house I had often looked at, and wondered if the people there would contract to fill me up for such a consideration as I could afford. I told them I was not begging, but would like to buy a breakfast. The lady was willing, and I was soon sitting in a chair at a clean table with a clean table-cloth and clean dishes on it. And such a breakfast! I forgot who or where I was. The smell of the victuals made me ravenous, and I ate until I could eat no more. They were pleasant people and seemed to enjoy seeing me eat. I felt guilty because I had not asked my friends to go with me, but I wanted first to investigate on my own hook, for I was not at all sure of getting anything when I set out, in which case I was going back to camp in time for breakfast, and say nothing about it. But when the hostess would not take anything for the hearty meal I had eaten, I was glad I had not brought my family with me. I gave them my heartiest thanks and returned to camp to find Company B getting ready for picket duty, and I was soon in my place ready for anything.

10 a. m. We are about six miles from Camp Millington, at a village called Catonsville. That is, the company is broken up into squads, and the one I am with is here, and in my charge as corporal. I am to keep one man on post and change him for another every two hours. Not a very hard job for any of us. The people seem very pleasant, and as the day is not very hot we are simply having a picnic. We are to pick up travellers who cannot give a good account of themselves and hold them until the officer of the guard comes round, and let him decide what to do with them. Coming here we passed Louden Park Cemetery, a beautiful place, and the largest of its kind I ever saw. Shade trees all over it, great fine monuments and vaults as large as small houses. I guess only rich people are buried there, for I saw no common headstones. But then I suppose we only saw a part of it, and the best part at that.

Night. The day has passed quietly. Nothing startling happened. The people have treated us royally, gave us all the peaches we could eat, and also gave us the credit of being the best behaved of any detail that has been here.

9 p. m. Some firing was heard on the post next ours, and which is the farthest out of any. I went out to learn what it meant. It seems a man came along and when halted, jumped the fence and ran for a piece of woods near by. Mike Sullivan started out to capture him. They shot at each other, but the man got away. Mike got a lot of slivers stuck in his face by a bullet hitting a post he was passing as the shot was fired. This is the only excitement we have had up to this time, midnight.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 31-3

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 21, 1862

Sunday morning. Nothing happened during the night. We bought a good breakfast of a family who make a business of feeding the soldiers that come here, for I was told there is a detail here every day. I wish it might be us every time. As soon as the new guard arrives we are to go back to camp and camp fare again.

2 p. m. In camp again. It seems hotter and dirtier than ever after our day in the country. Before we left Catonsville we filled our haversacks with great luscious peaches. Those that ripen on the tree the people cannot sell, so they gave us all that would fall with a gentle shake of the tree. How I wished I could empty my haversack in your lap, mother. On the way to camp we met a drove of mules, said to be 400 of them, loose, and being driven like cattle. They were afraid of us and all got in a close bunch, and the 400 pairs of ears all flapping together made a curious sight. We were told they came from Kentucky and are for use in the army. They were all bays, with a dark stripe along the back and across the shoulders, looking like a cross laid on their backs. It hasn't seemed much like Sunday. But Sunday doesn't count for much in the army. Many of our hardest days have been Sundays. But I am sleepy, having been awake all last night. It is surprising how little sleep we get along with. I, who have been such a sleepy-head all my life, get only a few hours' sleep any night, and many nights none at all. I suppose we will sometime get accustomed to the noise and confusion, that so far has had no end, night or day.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 33-4

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 29, 1862

CAMP MILLINGTON, BALTIMORE. On account of the heat we were not taken out for drill to-day. We have cleaned up our quarters, for since getting our new and comfortable tents we are quite particular about appearances. There is a friendly rivalry as to which of the ten companies shall have the neatest quarters. All being exactly alike to start with, it depends upon us to keep them neat and shipshape. The cooks have tents as well as we, and altogether we are quite another sort from what we were a week ago. It has been a regular clean up day with us. The brook below us has carried off dirt enough from our clothing and bodies to make a garden. While we were there close beside the railroad, a train loaded with soldiers halted, and while we were joking with the men, someone fired a pistol from another passing train, and a sergeant on the standing train was killed—whether it was by accident or purposely done, no one knows; or whether the guilty one will be found out and punished, no one of us can tell. But I wonder so few accidents do happen. There are hundreds of revolvers in camp and many of them in the hands of those who know no better how to use them than a child.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 40-1

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 30, 1862

Battalion-drill to-day. It was just as hot as yesterday, and some say hotter. The lieutenant colonel, James Smith, came last night, and has taken charge of our military education. He has been in the service, and was in the battle of Antietam. Some say he is a West Pointer. At any rate we have a drillmaster who understands his business. One thing that has already made him dear to us is that he makes the officers come to time just as well as the men. He told them, in so many words, that they had as much to learn as we. If he holds out as he has started off, he will stand well with the rank and file, however he may stand with the officers. Hurrah for Colonel Smith!

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 41

Wednesday, April 3, 2024

Diary of Private Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Friday December 5, 1862

Snowed all day. I rode to Alexandria and went out to Mr. Bass', seven miles, got there about night. I found all well.

SOURCE: Ephraim Shelby Dodd, Diary of Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Member of Company D Terry's Texas Rangers, p. 3

Diary of Private Ephraim Shelby Dodd: Saturday December 27, 1862

Commenced skirmishing early, falling back slowly; fought through Triune and beyond Mr. Perkins. Rained on us all day. After passing Mr. P's, we took up line of march, came up three miles and turned off for Murfreesboro. I stopped and spent the night in a kitchen; came on Sunday 28th and overtook the Regiment. M. Met the wagons, unloaded them days' rations, but were ordered to meet the Yankees. A false alarm. Staid out until near midnight. Came back to where we left the wagons but they were not there.

We came in five miles of and prepared to cook three saddle up and get out to

SOURCE: Ephraim Shelby Dodd, Diary of Ephraim Sh elby Dodd: Member of Company D Terry's Texas Rangers, p. 5