Special Edition: Behind the Scenes of the Army of the Potomac (March 10, 1862)
Background Information:
This journal entry was written by Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, a member of the Fifth Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry. The regiment assembled at Camp Randall in Madison, Wisconsin, on July 12, 1861, and left for Washington, D.C., on July 24, 1861. (Service to Date: Camp on Meridian Hill till September 3, 1861. Detached to construct Fort Marcy on north bank of the Potomac. At Camp Griffin, near Washington, D.C., till March 9, 1862.) Dr. Castleman was born in Shelby County, Kentucky, on December 17, 1808, and came to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in October of 1835. Dr. Castleman later moved to Waukesha, representing the county in the second constitutional convention. He served as a surgeon in the Fifth Wisconsin (1st Brigade, 2nd Division, 4th Army Corps) until Christmas Eve 1862. His year and a half with the army left the 54 year old doctor “worn out,” and he desired to retire and rest. He published “A Diary of Unwritten History” containing his experiences in the camp and the field in 1863. Dr. Castleman died in 1877, at age 68.
March 10th, 1862—Returned early last night; but before midnight received orders to have two days' rations cooked, and be ready to move at 4 o'clock this A.M. Before I got dressed I found myself not only Regimental Surgeon, but in consequence of the absence of the Brigade Surgeon, I had charge of his duties also. My hands were full. I guess the watch is almost old enough. We know nothing as to where we go, but a party of scouts who were out through the day yesterday, report that Manassas is evacuated, and that the rebel army of the Potomac has all gone South. About ten o'clock today we heard a terrible explosion, supposed to be the blowing up of some bridge to prevent pursuit. And has that army been so disrespectful to General McClellan as to go off without going into his bag? Fie on them ! And now we are off. The sick whom I have nursed till my care grew into affection for them, are sent away. Those to come will be new ones. The last few weeks have taught me that in the army the Surgeon's duty is to take care of the Surgeon, and to leave conscience and humanity to take care of themselves. These, with the affections which are apt to accompany them, may be good enough in civil life; in the army they are obsolete, fit only for fogies. True, there are a few yet in the Regiment, for whom, should they be suffering, I might yield to the sheepish impulse of humanity, and even become interested in their comfort. But Surgeon is to be my motto now. Hurrah ! we are on the move !
Well, the Army of the Potomac is at last in motion. After having lain still with 150,000 men, comparatively idle, for nearly eight months, our National Capital besieged, its great thoroughfare blockaded by a foe of which we have habitually spoken with contempt, the Van Winkle-ish sleep is apparently broken, and we are at last in motion. We left Camp Griffin at 4 o'clock this A.M, and now—4 P. M., are bivouacked in sight of Fairfax Court House. Freedom Hill, Vienna, Flint Hill, all passed, and we have met no enemy. We are within eight miles of Centreville, and are receiving reports that the place is already in our possession. There is nothing authentic, but we shall know tonight. We are within ten miles of the famous Bull Run battlefield, within fifteen of Manassas. Ho ! for Richmond !
We have had a most unpleasant march today. Rain, rain, mud, mud. The men have suffered much, and many have fallen out of the ranks. I have received another official reprimand today, and still another. I suppose I deserved them. Only last night I wrote a letter to ________ in which I expressed my joy that I had at last come to the determination that feelings of humanity should not again enter into any of my plans or conduct during the war—that I should now take the " Army Regulations" as my guide. They recognize no benevolence, no affection. Commands and obedience are all they know, and I left camp this morning firmly resolved that these alone should govern me in the future. Five miles from camp I overtook a poor, weakly little fellow who had fallen out of the ranks. He had unpacked his knapsack and thrown away his clothes, to enable him to keep up. My resolution of three hours' ago was all forgotten. I had his knapsack repacked, carried it for him till I overtook an ambulance and put it in. Captain ______, one of the General's staff, saw me put it into the ambulance, and I “caught it.” This reminded me of my resolve, and I renewed it. I pushed forward, and overtaking the regiment I found F. staggering under his load of knapsack, arms and accoutrements. Poor F., the pale boy, who had been my assistant since I joined the army, but now, through the arbitrary vindictiveness of a little military despot, reduced to the ranks; could I leave him stuck in the mud and in the enemy's country? I forgot again! Shouldered his gun and knapsack, took his place in the ranks, and mounted him on my horse to rest. I confess it was not very dignified to see a Surgeon–a staff officer–and at this time accidentally on the General's staff,* wading through the mud, with knapsack and musket, whilst a soldier was riding. “Twas derogatory to the staff.” So to the usual reprimand, the polite military addendum of " d-mn-d fool" was this time appended. Well, a man who will so often forget his good resolutions, deserves it, and I will try not to forget again, so far as to permit my kind feelings to derogate from the dignity of my commander's staff. Report of the evacuation of Manassas is confirmed. We got news of a terrible naval battle in the James River. Congress and Cumberland lost! Merrimac disabled! But today we have Fairfax, Centreville Manassas and Ocoquan; that pays for the work of the Merrimac.
*I was acting as Brigade Surgeon.
Background Information:
Dr. Alfred L. Castleman was born in Shelby County, Kentucky, on December 17, 1808, and came to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in October of 1835. Castleman later moved to Waukesha, representing the county in the second constitutional convention. He served as a surgeon in the Fifth Wisconsin (1st Brigade, 2nd Division, 4th Army Corps) until Christmas Eve 1862. His year and a half with the army left him “worn out,” and he desired to retire and rest. Castleman died in 1877, at age 68. He published a work of his observations and experiences in the camp and the field after the war.