- Joined
- Aug 20, 2008
- Location
- Indiana
April 14, 2012, 9:30 pm
Notes on (Civil War) Camp
By JAMES I. ROBERTSON JR.
Civil War paintings can be misleading.
It is impossible to capture on canvas the full horror and devastation of hand-to-hand combat on a huge scale. Yet more fundamental is the false impression that the conflict of the 1860s was one bloody engagement after the other. In fact, Johnny Rebs and Billy Yanks spent 49 of every 50 days in camp.
This was a great age of individualism, and for those millions of civilians on loan to the military, camp life was a combination of endless drill, monotonous routines, constant boredom, homesickness and an underlying fear of ever-present sickness.
During three seasons of the year, troops slept packed in canvas tents — if, in fact, they had them at all. In winter, crude log huts with barrels for chimneys sufficed.
Conversation was the principal pastime. Many soldiers cultivated profanity into a profession. Camp talk ran the gamut from fact to fiction. "There is not one in the Company that you can believe under oath," a Union soldier declared. Rumors and practical jokes abounded.
Sports were as varied as soldiers could make them. Boxing, wrestling, foot races, horse races, snowball fights and, of course, gambling were regular occurrences. The new game of baseball became a favorite warm-weather activity. High scores were usually the result, because under the rules at the time the base runner had to be hit by a thrown or batted ball before he was out.
Library of CongressSoldiers playing dominoes in Camp Winfield Scott, Va.
Alcohol was yet another popular diversion. Gen. George McClellan estimated that eliminating drunkenness in the Union Army would be worth 50,000 fresh troops. Soldiers on both sides consumed large amounts of whiskey for obvious reasons. What they drank contained a taste, and packed a kick, that few imbibers could forget.
Music was never so popular as in the ranks of Civil War armies: some 3,000 new melodies appeared during the four years of war. Few soldiers sang well. An especially loud Texan, a comrade asserted, had a voice that was a "cross between the bray of a jackass and the note of a turkey buzzard, and far excels either in melody."
The stirring songs most associated with the Civil War — "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," "Dixie" — are more popular now than they were then. The favorites of the soldiers were tunes expressing loneliness and a yearning for loved ones: "Just before the Battle, Mother," "Tenting Tonight on the Old Camp Ground" and the all-time camp favorite, "Home, Sweet Home."
Still, no diversion occupied as much time between campaigns as letter-writing. In July 1861 a Virginian noted: "Everybody is writing who can raise a pencil or sheet of paper." Letters were the only connections between soldiers in the field and the folks back home. Men sent messages whenever the opportunity arose, not only because it was important that loved ones know their feelings, but also to convey to all the strange, taxing, and dangerous adventure through which soldiers were passing.
They wrote in simple, homespun style. "You will smell hell here," a Louisiana sergeant warned a recruit bound for camp. One Union private dismissed an officer as not knowing "enough to learn a dog to bark." A hungry private informed his wife that he "could eat a rider off his horse and snap at the stirrups."
Men of the era came from a society in which religion was a part of everyday life, and a majority of Civil War soldiers found solace in faith. Bible-reading and camp revivals were common scenes in camp. So was the singing of hymns. Embattled servicemen reached back to old songs of faith because the lyrics now had a new and heartfelt meaning: "O God, our help in ages past, / Our hope for years to come, / Our shelter from the stormy past, / And our eternal home."
Sickness and disease were constant epidemics in Civil War camps. For every soldier killed in combat, two died behind the lines from a veritable avalanche of illnesses: diarrhea, typhoid fever, measles, pneumonia, malaria and yellow fever, among many others. Lack of knowledge about germs and sanitation could cause even a seemingly small scratch to bring death from infection.
Fear of disease competed with anxiety over battle. Young soldiers worried that in combat they might turn coward and bring shame to themselves, their families, and their regiments. "Showing the white feather" was a disgrace worse than death. A Massachusetts volunteer stated just before his first engagement: "I am afraid that the groans of the wounded and dying will make me shake; nevertheless, I hope and trust strength will be given me to stand up and do my duty."
Paradoxically, Civil War soldiers found in the most mundane of their hardships some of their most treasured memories. Many survivors returned home to become successful businessmen, physicians, teachers, attorneys, and legislators. Yet at life's end, Johnny Rebs and Billy Yanks had etched on their gravestones the meanest and lowest-paying job they ever had: that of a soldier.
Follow Disunion at twitter.com/NYTcivilwar or join us on Facebook.
James I. Robertson Jr. is a retired professor of history at Virginia Tech, the director of the Virginia Center for Civil War Studies and the author, most recently, of "The Untold Civil War."
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/04/14/notes-on-civil-war-camp/?scp=2&sq=civil war&st=cse
Notes on (Civil War) Camp
By JAMES I. ROBERTSON JR.
Civil War paintings can be misleading.
It is impossible to capture on canvas the full horror and devastation of hand-to-hand combat on a huge scale. Yet more fundamental is the false impression that the conflict of the 1860s was one bloody engagement after the other. In fact, Johnny Rebs and Billy Yanks spent 49 of every 50 days in camp.
This was a great age of individualism, and for those millions of civilians on loan to the military, camp life was a combination of endless drill, monotonous routines, constant boredom, homesickness and an underlying fear of ever-present sickness.
During three seasons of the year, troops slept packed in canvas tents — if, in fact, they had them at all. In winter, crude log huts with barrels for chimneys sufficed.
Conversation was the principal pastime. Many soldiers cultivated profanity into a profession. Camp talk ran the gamut from fact to fiction. "There is not one in the Company that you can believe under oath," a Union soldier declared. Rumors and practical jokes abounded.
Sports were as varied as soldiers could make them. Boxing, wrestling, foot races, horse races, snowball fights and, of course, gambling were regular occurrences. The new game of baseball became a favorite warm-weather activity. High scores were usually the result, because under the rules at the time the base runner had to be hit by a thrown or batted ball before he was out.
Library of CongressSoldiers playing dominoes in Camp Winfield Scott, Va.
Alcohol was yet another popular diversion. Gen. George McClellan estimated that eliminating drunkenness in the Union Army would be worth 50,000 fresh troops. Soldiers on both sides consumed large amounts of whiskey for obvious reasons. What they drank contained a taste, and packed a kick, that few imbibers could forget.
Music was never so popular as in the ranks of Civil War armies: some 3,000 new melodies appeared during the four years of war. Few soldiers sang well. An especially loud Texan, a comrade asserted, had a voice that was a "cross between the bray of a jackass and the note of a turkey buzzard, and far excels either in melody."
The stirring songs most associated with the Civil War — "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," "Dixie" — are more popular now than they were then. The favorites of the soldiers were tunes expressing loneliness and a yearning for loved ones: "Just before the Battle, Mother," "Tenting Tonight on the Old Camp Ground" and the all-time camp favorite, "Home, Sweet Home."
Still, no diversion occupied as much time between campaigns as letter-writing. In July 1861 a Virginian noted: "Everybody is writing who can raise a pencil or sheet of paper." Letters were the only connections between soldiers in the field and the folks back home. Men sent messages whenever the opportunity arose, not only because it was important that loved ones know their feelings, but also to convey to all the strange, taxing, and dangerous adventure through which soldiers were passing.
They wrote in simple, homespun style. "You will smell hell here," a Louisiana sergeant warned a recruit bound for camp. One Union private dismissed an officer as not knowing "enough to learn a dog to bark." A hungry private informed his wife that he "could eat a rider off his horse and snap at the stirrups."
Men of the era came from a society in which religion was a part of everyday life, and a majority of Civil War soldiers found solace in faith. Bible-reading and camp revivals were common scenes in camp. So was the singing of hymns. Embattled servicemen reached back to old songs of faith because the lyrics now had a new and heartfelt meaning: "O God, our help in ages past, / Our hope for years to come, / Our shelter from the stormy past, / And our eternal home."
Sickness and disease were constant epidemics in Civil War camps. For every soldier killed in combat, two died behind the lines from a veritable avalanche of illnesses: diarrhea, typhoid fever, measles, pneumonia, malaria and yellow fever, among many others. Lack of knowledge about germs and sanitation could cause even a seemingly small scratch to bring death from infection.
Fear of disease competed with anxiety over battle. Young soldiers worried that in combat they might turn coward and bring shame to themselves, their families, and their regiments. "Showing the white feather" was a disgrace worse than death. A Massachusetts volunteer stated just before his first engagement: "I am afraid that the groans of the wounded and dying will make me shake; nevertheless, I hope and trust strength will be given me to stand up and do my duty."
Paradoxically, Civil War soldiers found in the most mundane of their hardships some of their most treasured memories. Many survivors returned home to become successful businessmen, physicians, teachers, attorneys, and legislators. Yet at life's end, Johnny Rebs and Billy Yanks had etched on their gravestones the meanest and lowest-paying job they ever had: that of a soldier.
Follow Disunion at twitter.com/NYTcivilwar or join us on Facebook.
James I. Robertson Jr. is a retired professor of history at Virginia Tech, the director of the Virginia Center for Civil War Studies and the author, most recently, of "The Untold Civil War."
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/04/14/notes-on-civil-war-camp/?scp=2&sq=civil war&st=cse
Bringing the