DIARY
OF
AN ENLISTED MAN
BY
LAWRENCE VAN ALSTYNE
SHARON, CONN.
THE TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE & TAYLOR COMPANY
1910
by
Lawrence Van Alstyne
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 andhis loyalty are admitted and that is about all. Of his everydaylife, the very thing his family and friends cared most toknow about, there is hardly anything said.
It is to remedy this omission in some degree that thefollowing pages are published. They were written by anenlisted man and are mostly about enlisted men. They arefilled with details that history has no room for, and for thatreason 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 marchingfrom place to place, some while waiting for trains or othermodes of transportation, but the most were written by thelight of a candle or a smoldering camp-fire while my comrades,no more weary than I, were sleeping about me. All werewritten amid scenes of more or less confusion, and many timesof great excitement. They were written because of a promisemade to my parents that I would make notes of my wanderingsand of the adventures I met with.
At first I found it an irksome task, taking time I reallyneeded for rest; but as time went on the habit became fixed,and I did not consider the day's work done until I had writtenin my diary of the events that came with it.
The diary was kept in small pocket notebooks, of a sizeconvenient to carry in my pocket, and be ever ready for use.There was never a lack of subjects to write about. Eventscrowded upon each other so fast that each day furnishedplenty of material for the time I could give it. I had never[vi]been far from home. The sights I saw were new andstrange to me and made deep impressions. These, as bestI could, I transferred to the pages of my diary, so thefriends at home could, in a way, see the sights I saw andthat seemed so wonderful to me. When pages enough werewritten for a letter, I cut them out and sent them home tobe read by any who cared to, after which they were strungtogether on a string and saved for me to read again, shouldI ever return to do it. When I did return I found the leaveshad so accumulated as to make a large bundle. There wasno need for me to read them at that time, for the story theytold was burned too deep in