"It is shameful"

Sunday, September 22, 1861

Once again, I pen a few humble notes in this diary in the hopes that they may make for interesting reading in later years. I will be much dissappointed as there is so little of note that is interesting. We drill, and sleep, and drill, and eat, and drill and then we drill again. There is much here to occupy the body and so little to occupy the mind. Much of our time to ourselves is spent getting into mischief. I have seen several here confined to the guardhouse for childish pranks. Drunkeness is so common as to inspire little comment.

The weather does not like us. The rain soaks into everything and everyone. Quite a number of us are afflicted with afflictions of the lungs such as catarrah. There have been many instances of measles. Our "hospital" is filled with such cases in addition to pneumonia, camp fever, the flux, and the itch. Corporal Flynn has measles so we are enjoying the quiet. I have had measles and do not think it likely that I should get them again. Some are said to have chicken pox which I have not had so I may see the doctor yet.

Military regulations say that every new recruit will be given an examination by a surgeon. Some of us have been here awhile and are still waiting for their examination. I have finally had mine and have witnessed others and must report on how it is done in this army. A Doctor Turnipseed attended to myself and others. He asked a number of questions as a private registered the answers. I was asked if I was a drunkard. I answered that I was not. He asked if I was subject to the "fits". I answered that I was not. It was more of a gentrleman's agreement than a medical examination.

I have seen more than a few here how are unfit to be called a soldier. The medical officers are reluctant to send anyone home lest they miss doing battle with the Yankees. While morale is high in some respects, it is waning in others. So many of us still do not have arms or accourtrements. Some of the boys who are "armed" with sticks beat each other with them just out of boredom or frustration. I would not doubt that some have taken "French leave" and have returned home. I must keep a keen eye on my own musket lest it be appropriated under cover of darkness.

Our victuals range from poor to excellent. We get plenty of the standard Army ration of hardtack and salt pork with occassional issues of rice and beans. Some of the meat has gone bad. Some of the hardtack has gotton moldy and some have weevels. The city boys turn up their noses at the weevely crackers. I have seen a few farmboys consume the crackers and all, paying no mind to the non-regulation meat issue.

We are often visited by delegations of well-meaning citizens of some sort of soldier's aid society who enter camp with or without persission to see how their sons and husbands are faring. They often bring packages of food. As I am from the coast and my pards are from the upcountry, I am an outsider of sorts but they share their largesse with me. The citizens bring ample amounts of fried chicken. They also bring such necessary military victuals as tomato catsup, rhubarb pies, snicker doodles and lemon drops. We offer to share our humble fare with them. All politely decline. The mails also bring packages of food and small clothing. There are sometimes notes inside praising our efforts and wishing us well. Some of us are lucky enough to receive a package at random with a request of the recipient to write the sender. Many of the packages contain spirits for medical purposes, I'm sure.

When the mail arrives with missives from home and loved ones, it is an occassion for great joy and there are so few other joys here. Many letters are written here. Many more are received. All the contents are shared so that everyone shares in everyone's happiness. Some have become fathers while being trained here. Some receive news that their sons or daughters are getting married. There has also been news of sadness. It is unavoidable that someone at home shall pass while we are away. Our time will come.

One of my squad, William Caston, has received not a single letter from home but has sent several. It is without excuse that someone who has volunteered to protect his fellow citizens should risk all while those he protects cannot risk some foolscap and a few minutes of their time. It is shameful.