From the diary of Osborn H. Oldroyd
MAY 10TH–Left camp after dinner. Dinner generally means noon, but our dinner-time on the march is quite irregular. Advanced unmolested till within about three miles of Utica, and camped again at dark.
This forenoon my bunk-mate (Cal. Waddle) and I went to a house near camp to get some corn bread, but struck the wrong place, for we found the young mistress who had just been deserted by her negroes, all alone, crying, with but a scant allowance of provisions left her. She had never learned to cook, and in fact was a complete stranger to housework of any kind. Her time is now at hand to learn the great lesson of humanity. There has been a little too much idleness among these planters. But although I am glad the negroes are free I don’t like to see them leaving a good home, for good homes some of them I know are leaving. They have caught the idea from some unknown source that freedom means fine dress, furniture, carriages and luxuries. Little do they yet know of the scripture–”In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.” I am for the Emancipation Proclamation, but I do not believe in cheating them. This lady’s husband is a confederate officer now in Vicksburg, who told her when he left she should never see a Yankee “down thar” Well, we had to tell her we were “thar,” though, and to our question what she thought of us, after wiping her eyes her reply was we were very nice looking fellows. We were not fishing for compliments, but we like to get their opinions at sight, for they have been led, apparently, to expect to find the Lincoln soldier more of a beast than human. At least such is the belief among the lower sort. Negroes and poor whites here seem to be on an equality, so far as education is concerned and the respect of the better classes. I have not seen a single school-house since I have been in Dixie, and I do not believe such a thing exists outside of their cities. But this war will revolutionize things, and among others I hope change this state of affairs for the better.
War is a keen analyzer of a soldier’s character. It reveals in camp, on the march and in battle the true principles of the man better than they are shown in the every-day walks of life. Here he has a chance to throw off the vicious habits of the past, and take such a stand as to gain a lasting reputation for good, or, if be dies upon the field, the glory of his achievements, noble deeds and soldierly bearing in camp will live in the memory of his comrades. Every soldier has a personal history to make, which will be agreeable, or not, as he chooses. A company of soldiers are as a family; and, if every member of it does his duty towards the promotion of good humor, much will be done toward softening the hardships of that sort of life.
This is Sunday, and few seem to realize it. I would not have known it myself but for my diary. I said, “boys this is Sunday.” Somebody asked, “how do you know it is?” I replied my diary told me. Another remarked, “you ought to tell us then when Sunday comes round so we can try to be a little better than on week days.” While in regular camps we have had preaching by the Chaplains, but now that we are on the move that service is dispensed with, and what has become of the Chaplains now I am unable to say. Probably buying and selling cotton, for some of them are regular tricksters, and think more of filling their own pockets with greenbacks than the hearts of soldiers with the word of God.