Wednesday, 13th–The weather is very hot. I was on camp guard today when one of the guards suddenly became sick. I was number 24 in the first relief, and the man next to me, number 25, got sick. He called out to me, “Corporal the guard number 25.” It then became my duty to repeat the same call, “Corporal the guard number 25,” to the guard next to me, number 23, who made the same call to the guard next to him, and in this way the call went down the line to guard No. 1. Guard number 1 then sent the same call to the corporal of the guardhouse, who went out to guard number 25 to see what he wanted. When he was found to be sick another guard was brought out to relieve guard number 25.

13th. Wednesday. Did very little in the morning. In the afternoon Lt. Carter was buried. Capt. Nettleton rode up to our tent and told me he would like to see me a minute. I went aside and he said he was going home. I asked him if he were going home for good. He said that was about the only way men could get out of the department at this time. Finally after deceiving me he told me he was going on regiment business. Wrote lines to Fannie and home.

Wednesday, 13th.—Company F, on picket one mile west of Tazewell. Deer came running by our picket post. Went back to camp.

(Note: picture is of an unidentified Confederate soldier.)

AUGUST 13th.—McClellan is gone, bag and baggage, abandoning his “base;” to attain which, he said he had instituted his magnificent strategic movements, resulting in an unmolested retreat from the Peninsula and flight to Washington, for the defense of his own capital. So the truth they crushed to earth on the Chickahominy has risen again, and the Yankees, like the Cretans, are to be known henceforth as a nation of liars.

Aug. 13—Visit sick at Division and Winder Hospital. Lieutenants Davis, Jackson and Johnson, and privates Jackson, Jenkins, Hester and Merritt doing well. Marshall Teachy will hardly live. Lieutenant McLeod hardly can recover. Peter Stanley out of his head, imagines himself on Lockwood’s Folly. Says he has seen his wife and children! Perhaps he has. Prays right intelligently. Poor old Mr. Graham will hardly go in ranks again. My private roll says: Samuel W. Graham, born in Ireland was living in Chatham County, North Carolina, when he enlisted in Company “H” September 23, 1861, was forty-six years old and left two motherless children. He died next day. Scotland and Ireland furnished several good soldiers to that company. Dennis Carr and Andrew McFarland were born in Ireland. James Rogers, William McCulloch and A. D. McGill were born in Scotland. McCulloch was thirty-seven when he enlisted, and left two motherless children when he was lost, or reported “missing”; McGill was nineteen. He has lived to be a blessing to North Carolina. He has been heard in the halls of her Legislature. Graham seemed to know me the day before he died. Teachy called me “Brother Betts,” as usual though he had recognized no one for some days. Died August 14, 1862, leaving a wife and five children. After supper I call to see Revs. L. and B. Culbreth, A. Maxwell and D. Ray at Hotel. (Love and Blackman Culbreth were brothers, local preachers, raised in Sampson County, North Carolina. Blackman died early. Love, a sweet singer and a fine preacher, had given a son to the North Carolina Conference in 1859, and lived till 1896.) Return to Pa’s by moonlight, praying and meditating, and receive a blessing on my soul.

13th. We are now all packed ready for a move, awaiting only the final order to march. Where or how we go, we do not yet know. We learn, however, beyond a doubt, that the regiments which disappeared so mysteriously a few nights since, embarked on transports under cover of the darkness, and have gone down the river. Their destination is not certainly known to us. From present appearances the plan seems to be, that the army, with the exception of Smith’s Division, or perhaps Franklin’s Corps, are to embark on transports, leaving us to escort and protect our immense transportation train overland to Fortress Monroe. Should this conjecture be true, we shall have a hazardous time, unless General Pope shall succeed in keeping the enemy so busily engaged as to relieve us. I have full confidence that he will exert himself to the utmost to relieve us in this manner.

Our leaders here are rapidly losing the confidence of the army and becoming objects of ridicule to the enemy. At White Oak Bridge, when we retreated, we left our pickets at their posts, without notifying them of our movements. They were of course taken prisoners. They have been paroled and are returning to camp. They say that immediately on being captured, they were being examined by a rebel Colonel, when Stonewall Jackson came up and upbraided the Colonel for spending time with the prisoners. “Let the prisoners go,” said he, and “press on after the enemy. So accustomed have they become to digging that if you give them twelve hours’ rest, they will dig themselves clear under ground.” Flattering, truly! I hope General McClellan will note it. But these things must not be talked about. Oh, no! We must see army after army sacrificed, the bones of hundreds of thousands of our bravest men bleaching on the plains, the nation draped in mourning, and not speak of it lest we shake confidence in our Generals, who through selfishness or incompetency, I will not yet say treason, are so frequently subjecting us to such contumely and sacrifices. History will make sad revelations of this war. I verily believe that, could its abuses be fully told, it would arouse the people to an enthusiasm which no acts of the enemy can excite. Under our present leaders, God knows what is to become of us. I have lost all confidence in them. In only four months from the time we landed on the Peninsula we had lost nearly two-thirds of the vast army brought with us, without one decisive battle! Since the 20th March we have landed here about 160,000 men. I doubt whether we could to-day bring 45,000 into action! At any time between October and June last, it has been in the power of this army to crush out this rebellion in a month; and yet the rebellion is more formidable to-day than at any previous time. Even now we are receiving reports of the discomfiture of Pope’s army, and, notwithstanding that its struggles are for our relief, it is unmistakeably evident that the report gives pleasure to the staffs of McClellan and Hancock. It may be so with other staffs; these are the only ones I have seen. Jealousy, jealousy–what will be the end of this? God preserve us.

Whilst I am noting down these abuses, a strange feeling possesses me; I lose all sense of my determination to abandon this rotten thing, and I resolve here to fight to the bitter end. Oh, if we had a Wellington, a Napoleon, a Scott, or even a Jackson, to do–something–anything, but dig and watch and –! falsely report!

Just as I close this journal of the day, a man rides up and tells me that General Pope has had a fight, and “holds his own.” I hope this is true, but I cannot forget that on the 26th of June, General McClellan made the army boisterously joyful by his assertion that McCall had thoroughly whipped Stonewall Jackson. On the next morning at daylight, it was claimed that McCall had only “held his own.” Two hours later we find that instead of even holding his own, he had retreated four miles, but it was only a “strategic movement,” and next day it became necessary for the whole army to–not retreat–but–”change its base.” All this it required to tell the simple truth that we were overpowered, whipped, and on the retreat. I hope it may not now be the beginning of a like history of General Pope’s movements.

During the spring and summer of 1862 the war fever was running very high. Great excitement prevailed. Darkness and gloom seemed to cover the country. Men were urged to enlist, go to the war, and help save the country. It was preached from the pulpits, printed by the press, talked about at great war meetings that were held by day and nights. Business at times was suspended. Drums and fifes were heard continuously being paraded through the streets and followed by men and boys. Churches were open in country towns, giving men an opportunity to enlist.

Mr. Isaac H. Bromley, City Editor of the Norwich Morning Bulletin, at a great war meeting held at Breed’s Hall, had enlisted to go to the war. He came out with a card in the Bulletin asking one hundred young men to go with him and organize a company for the 18th Regiment that was forming at the time.

On the evening of August 6th, 1862, I visited the recruiting office with my mind fully made up to enlist for the war and go in Bromley’s company.

On the 12th the members were requested to meet at the recruiting office at 1 P. M. to form company and march to the fair grounds where camp had been located. Distance about two miles. At 2 P. M. with drum and fife we began our march to the camp. Cheers greeted us all along the line of march.

The camp was known as Camp Aiken, so named in honor of General Aiken, son-in-law of Connecticut’s war Governor, William A. Buckingham. At camp we were assigned two rows of tents, mattresses and army blankets included. After the medical examination, uniforms were given to us. Then began the life of a real soldier, learning how to march and drill and also doing guard duty.

A meeting of the company was called to elect officers. Isaac H. Bromley was elected Captain, Samuel T. C. Merwin, a lawyer, ist Lieutenant, Henry F. Cowles, 2nd Lieutenant. In due time we were selected as color company, also known as Company C. It was considered a very great honor to be the color company of a regiment. With cheers and congratulations we pledged ourselves to be true and to carry the flags with honor. We are now getting the new experience of a soldier’s life in camp.

Linwood, August 12th.

Another resting-place! Out of reach of shells for the first time since last April! For how long, I wonder? For wherever we go, we bring shells and Yankees. Would not be surprised at a visit from them out here, now!

Let me take up the thread of that never-ending story, and account for my present position. It all seems tame now; but it was very exciting at the time.

As soon as I threw down bonnet and gloves, I commenced writing; but before I had halfway finished, mother, who had been holding a consultation downstairs, ran up to say the overseer had advised us all to leave, as the place was not safe; and that I must pack up instantly, as, unless we got off before the Essex came up, it would be impossible to leave at all. All was commotion; every one flew to pack up. Phillie determined to go to her friends at Grosse Tete, and insisted on carrying us off with her. But I determined to reach Miriam and Lilly if possible, rather than put the Federal army between us. All en déshabillé, I commenced to pack our trunk, but had scarcely put an article in when they cried the Essex was rounding the point, and our last opportunity passing away. Then I flew; and by the time the boat got opposite to us, the trunk was locked, and I sat on it, completely dressed, waiting for the wagon. We had then to wait for the boat to get out of sight, to avoid a broadside; so it was half-past ten before we set off, fortified by several glasses of buttermilk apiece.

All went in the carriage except Ginnie, Lilly (Nolan), and me, and we perched on the baggage in the wagon. Such stifling heat! The wagon jarred dreadfully, and seated at the extreme end, on a wooden trunk traversed by narrow slats, Ginnie and I were jolted until we lost our breath, all down Arkansas Lane, when we changed for the front part. I shall never forget the heat of that day. [continue reading…]

Tuesday, 12th–We just learned that Ebenezer McCullough of Company E died of chronic diarrhea at Corinth, on the third of this month. His home was at Davenport, Iowa.

12th. Tuesday. In the morning molasses was issued to the boys. Wrote a letter home. One boy from Co. G was buried. Wrote to Fannie and Uncle. Lt. Carter died. It must be a sad affliction for his poor mother who esteemed him her pet. Sergt. Daniels was wounded in the thigh by accident. Gen. Blunt held a council of all the officers in the division. Squashed the whole Wier fuss. I hope Wier won’t accept the terms. Many officers talk of resigning. Ladies about camp. Arrived yesterday. Mesdames Miner, Burnett, Ratliffe, Taylor.

AUGUST 12th.—Pope claims a victory! So did McClellan. But truth will rise, in spite of everything. I will not quote Bryant literally because he is an enemy in this war and falsifies his own precepts.

At Randallson’s Landing, August 11th.

I don’t mean those ladies were, but that I am at present. I’ll account for it after I have disposed of the stampede. Imagine no interruption, and continue – in the carriage urging Uncle Will to hurry on, and I had hardly time to thrust my sack under their feet before they were off. Lilly and Miss Walters were already in the buggy, leaving Ginnie and me to follow on horseback. I ran up after my riding-skirt, which I was surprised to find behind a trunk, and rolled up in it was my running-bag, with all my treasures! I was very much provoked at my carelessness; indeed, I cannot imagine how it got there, for it was the first thing I thought of. When I got back, there was no one to be seen except Ginnie and two negroes who held our horses, and who disappeared the instant we were mounted; with the exception of two women who were running to the woods, we were the only ones on the lot, until Mr. Watson galloped up to urge us on. Again I had to notice this peculiarity about women – that the married ones are invariably the first to fly, in time of danger, and always leave the young ones to take care of themselves. Here were our three matrons, prophesying that the house would be burnt, the Yankees upon us, and all murdered in ten minutes, flying down the Guerrilla Lane, and leaving us to encounter the horrors they foretold, alone.

It was a splendid gallop in the bright moonlight, over the fields, only it was made uncomfortable by the jerking of my running-bag, until I happily thought of turning it before. A hard ride of four miles in about twenty minutes brought us to the house of the man who so kindly offered his hospitality. It was a little hut, about as large as our parlor, and already crowded to overflowing, as he was entertaining three families from Baton Rouge. Can’t imagine where he put them, either. But it seems to me the poorer the man, and the smaller the house, the greater the hospitality you meet with. There were so many of us that there was not room on the balcony to turn. The man wanted to prepare supper, but we declined, as Phillie had sent back for ours which we had missed. [continue reading…]

Monday, 11th–I wrote a letter home today and sent a ten dollar bill in it. I am sending home nearly all my pay from the Government, with the understanding that father is to keep it for me.

11th. Monday. Read some in the June Atlantic. Nothing especially interesting. After dinner went down for Charlie and visited Delos per engagement. Had a splendid visit, real social time. Got some lemon syrup, talked over our old experiences at home and with “B. F.” In the evening went to town to hear Lane and Blunt. Lane did well enough for a border ruffian. Blunt criticised the course of our officers in arresting Wier. Referred to the whole thing as a conspiracy. 1st Brigade did not cheer much till Gen. Salomon’s name was heard. Then the boys grew wild with excitement and cheered heartily for him. Blunt found, I guess, that Wier had enemies and Salomon friends.

AUGUST 11th.—Our killed, wounded, and captured did not amount to more than 600. We might have captured a whole brigade at one time during the battle, but did not. They charged our batteries, not perceiving a brigade of our own lying concealed just in the rear of the guns: so, when they advanced, shouting, to within thirty yards of our troops, they rose and “let them have it.” Nine-tenths of the enemy fell, and the rest were soon dispatched, before they could get away. One of their dying officers said they would have surrendered to us, if we had demanded it. He was reminded of Pope’s beastly orders, and died with a horrible groan.

HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,

RIPLEY DIVISION, August 11, 1862.

My Dear Mother:

I am sorry I have kept you waiting so long before writing to you, but I thought I would wait until I could have a talk with General Anderson to find out what I was to do before writing. I sent word by John Hines, also Dr. Barham, that I was well and for them to tell you all the news. When I arrived at the Camp of our Regiment it was gone to Malvern Hill to have a fight with the Yankees. They did not return in a day or two. General Anderson went to Richmond immediately on business, so I did not have an opportunity of speaking with him until this morning. He was perfectly willing for me to come back into the office, so I commenced duty this morning. We have a very pleasant place for our quarters, a large two story house with plenty of shade, in an open field, where we have the breezes from every direction.

I don’t know yet, but I may come up here to mess and sleep, though I thought I would wait a while. I haven’t slept in a tent since I’ve been in camp, but once. That was last night. It rained yesterday morning, and the ground was wet, and the air rather cold, so I thought I would go in the tent, as it was convenient. I shall go in bathing tonight to cool off, and sleep out doors. We have an excellent place for that purpose, that is bathing. It’s been awfully hot here today. I believe it is warmer here than at home.

General G. W. Smith was to-day assigned to the command of our Division. I understand he is an excellent officer. Some of our regiments in this brigade have received their conscripts. They are a very good looking set of men seen drilling in a field, as they were this morning. It looks right funny to see men so green, but I suppose all of us were so at first, and we ought not to make fun of them. Dossey’s Regiment is only about half mile from here. He has been to see me twice since I have been here. I went over to see him last Saturday. He was very well. I went up to see Dunham when I passed through Richmond, but he had gone home the week before, so I was disappointed. Give my best respects to all friends, and my love to all the family, some of you write often and tell me everything that happens about town.

Goodbye, as ever,

Your loving son,
WALTER.

P. S. I’ve got to endorse this letter for the want of stamps. I haven’t written any in so long a time that my hand is as stiff as if I had been mauling rails, you can readily see the difference now and some time ago. I hope it will soon get better.

I forgot to tell you that our whole brigade was throwing up breastworks every day, about two miles from here, that is the only duty they do now, no guard duty.

Letters from two brothers who served in the 4th North Carolina Infantry during the Civil War are available in a number of sources online.  Unfortunately, the brothers are misidentified in some places as Walter Lee and George Lee when their names were actually Walter Battle and George Battle. See The Battle Brothers for more information on the misidentification.

Aug. 11, 1862.—We cannot get to New Orleans. A special passport must be shown, and we are told that to apply for it would render H. very likely to be conscripted. I begged him not to try; and as we hear that active hostilities have ceased at Vicksburg, he left me this morning to return to his uncle’s and see what the prospects are there. I shall be in misery about conscription till he returns.

Note: To protect Mrs. Miller’s job as a teacher in post-civil war New Orleans, her diary was published anonymously, edited by G. W. Cable, names were changed and initials were generally used instead of full names—and even the initials differed from the real person’s initials. (Read Dora Richards Miller’s biographical sketch.)

On the 10th August, Commander Wainwright died, after an illness of two weeks. His remains were placed in a metallic coffin and sent on board the U. S. steamer Miami, which steamer carried them to Washington, D. C.

August 10th, Sunday.

Is this really Sunday? Never felt less pious, or less seriously disposed! Listen to my story, and though I will, of course, fall far short of the actual terror that reigned, yet it will show it in a lukewarm light, that can at least recall the excitement to me.

To begin, then, last evening, about six o’clock, as we sat reading, sewing, and making lint in the parlor, we heard a tremendous shell whizzing past, which those who watched, said passed not five feet above the house. Of course, there was a slight stir among the unsophisticated; though we, who had passed through bombardments, sieges, and alarms of all kinds, coolly remarked, “a shell,” and kept quiet. (The latter class was not very numerous.) It was from one of the three Yankee boats that lay in the river close by (the Essex and two gunboats), which were sweeping teams, provisions, and negroes from all the plantations they stopped at from Baton Rouge up. The negroes, it is stated, are to be armed against us as in town, where all those who manned the cannon on Tuesday were, for the most part, killed; and served them right! Another shell was fired at a carriage containing Mrs. Durald and several children, under pretense of discovering if she was a guerrilla, doubtless. Fortunately, she was not hurt, however.

By the time the little émeute had subsided, determined to have a frolic, Miss Walters, Ginnie, and I got on our horses, and rode off down the Arkansas Lane, to have a gallop and a peep at the gunboats from the levee. But mother’s entreaties prevented us from going that near, as she cried that it was well known they fired at every horse or vehicle they saw in the road, seeing a thousand guerrillas in every puff of dust, and we were sure to be killed, murdered, and all sorts of bloody deaths awaited us; so to satisfy her, we took the road about a mile from the river, in full view, however. We had not gone very far before we met a Mr. Watson, a plain farmer of the neighborhood, who begged us to go back. “You’ll be fired on, ladies, sure! You don’t know the danger! Take my advice and go home as quick as possible before they shell you! They shot buggies and carriages, and of course they won’t mind horses with women! Please go home!” But Ginnie, who had taken a fancy to go on, acted as spokeswoman, and determined to go on in spite of his advice, so, nothing loath to follow her example, we thanked him, and rode on. Another met us; looked doubtful, said it was not so dangerous if the Yankees did not see the dust; but if they did, we would be pretty apt to see a shell soon after. Here was frolic! So we rode on some mile or two beyond, but failing to see anything startling, turned back again. [continue reading…]

Sunday, 10th–We had company inspection this morning. We received orders to sweep the camp twice a day from now on. Our new chaplain, Chauncey H. Remington, conducted preaching services in the evening on the regimental parade ground.

10th. Sunday. In the morning received a little treasure from Fannie at Richfield. Finished the story of the “Woman in White,” so well told. Like the style. Inspection at ten A. M. Our staff did not go. I went to the creek and bathed. Issued rations for five days. Delos came up from town and went with me to see Charlie. Had a good visit. Heard Will’s journal read. Received a good photograph of Will. Glad to get it. Chaplain preached in the evening, on the parade. Large numbers out to hear him. Good remarks, especially in reference to his visits at home. Enjoyed it.

AUGUST 10th.—Jackson struck Pope yesterday! It was a terrible blow, for the numbers engaged. Several thousand of the enemy were killed, wounded, and taken prisoners. Among the latter is Gen. Prince, who arrived in this city this morning. He affected to be ignorant of Pope’s brutal orders, and of the President’s retaliatory order concerning the commissioned officers of Pope’s army taken in battle. When Prince was informed that he and the fifty or sixty others taken with him were not to be treated as prisoners of war, but as felons, he vented his execrations upon Pope. They were sent into close confinement.

Sunday, Aug. 10—Hear Rev. Rumple preach to 4th Regiment. A poor stranger mustered in this day as a substitute for Reams of Company “G.” dies very suddenly. He called himself Wayne, from Alexandria, but a discharge for Williams was found in his pocket. Mysterious and sad! Brother Rumple preached a good sermon for me at night.

August 9th.

To our great surprise, Charlie came in this morning from the other side. He was in the battle, and General Carter, and dozens of others that we did not think of. See the mountain reduced to a mole-hill! He says, though the fight was desperate, we lost only eighty-five killed, and less than a hundred and fifty wounded! And we had only twenty-five hundred against the Yankees’ four thousand five hundred. There is no truth in our having held the Garrison even for a moment, though we drove them down to the river in a panic. The majority ran like fine fellows, but a Maine regiment fought like devils. He says Will and Thompson Bird set fire to the Yankee camp with the greatest alacrity, as though it were rare fun. General Williams was killed as he passed Piper’s, by a shot from a window, supposed to have been fired by a citizen. Some one from town told him that the Federals were breaking in the houses, destroying the furniture, and tearing the clothes of the women and children in shreds, like maniacs. O my home! I wonder if they have entered ours? What a jolly time they would have over all the letters I left in my desk! Butler has ordered them to burn Baton Rouge if forced to evacuate it. Looks as though he was not so sure of holding it.

Miss Turner told Miriam that her mother attempted to enter town after the fight to save some things, when the gallant Colonel Dudley put a pistol to her head, called her an old she-devil, and told her he would blow her d– brains out if she moved a step; that anyhow, none but we d– women had put the men up to fighting, and we were the ones who were to blame for the fuss. There is no name he did not call us.