enough to set the whitecaps running on the river. In the forenoon I
went down to our battery, near the river, just for the walk. One of the
lookout pickets I passed on the bluff had a powerful spy-glass, through
which I got a good view of the rebel fort on Shipping Point. Down by
the battery I picked up an Indian arrow head. Some contrast between
this stone weapon of a dead and gone race and those long 32-pounders
close by.
I see a good many old Manchester acquaintances here who drop down
sight-seeing. Kimball the shoe man, John B. Chase the tanner, and Cy.
Mason, Washington agent for the Associated Press, were here day before
yesterday; and yesterday Dr. Hawkes came down.
Would you like a picture of myself and my surroundings right at this
moment? Well, here it is. See me sitting in front of a cheerful wood
fire, my boots off, and your gorgeous smoking cap on my head. By my
side, a cup of steaming hot cocoa, a cookie and a quarter of mince
pie. Slade is at my right, writing, and similarly provided for in the
eatable line. Just at this moment he is digging down into his box
hunting for a big lump of candy that came to him from home.
We had chickens, from New Hampshire, for supper. I am getting to be an
expert, myself, in certain branches of cookery. I can toss and turn
fritters now, without dropping them in the ashes. Can you? Our “oven”
is very simple, but it does its work to perfection. We set a deep iron
pan on a bed of coals. In this, four or five little rocks as supports
for the plate carrying the dough. The whole covered with another iron
pan filled with coals. The biscuits and plum cake we turn out cannot be
beat anywhere by anybody.
———————
[Illustration: CAMP SULLIVAN, WASHINGTON]
———————
_XL_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES CO., MD., _Feb. 1, 1862_.
Every night, almost, I dream that I am home again, and those dreams
are perhaps a forerunner or premonition of something that is going
to happen. The signs are decidedly more promising for an early
termination of the war. We have worsted the rebels in every fight we
have had for some time, and the tone of the Southern press indicates
that the Southern people begin to appreciate what a scrape they have
gotten themselves into. I expect we will move from here before long.
The Quartermaster says he does not expect to stay in this place
much longer, and has especially charged his teamsters to keep their
equipments in condition for a quick movement. Besides, a road is now
being built down to Liverpool Point, about twelve miles below here
on the Potomac. This indicates that when we go we will _embark_ for
somewhere—perhaps only to be ferried across the river.
In all your life, travels and experience you never ran across such a
mud hole as this is at this season. I heard, this afternoon, that we
would have to back our supplies up from the landing, as it is pretty
near impossible for teams to get through. The landing is two miles
and a half from here, and we would have a fine time toting up boxes of
hardbread, beef, and other fixings. I saw one of our boys coming up
from the landing last night who had evidently misjudged the depth of
the mud in some place, for clear to his waist he was cased in Maryland
salve. A man is fortunate if he can find a place to cross the road
without going in to his knees.
My tentmate Damon is on furlough. He was not in condition for duty,
having strained his back, so they gave him a furlough of thirty days.
His time is about half up, and we do miss the boy. Frank Robinson has
got back, looking pleasant and happy, as a newly-married man should.
———————
_XLI_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES CO., MD., _Feb. 9, 1862_.
For a day or two I have been laid up with a bad cut on my foot, which I
got chopping wood for my tent. I can not get a boot or a shoe on, but
hope it won’t bother me a great while. I guess—in fact almost know—that
we are to leave here soon. Gen. Hooker has been to Washington to confer
with the commanding General. Rahn, our Commissary Sergeant, thinks we
are going on an expedition to Galveston, Texas. Wouldn’t we have a
time down there among those Spaniards, Greasers, Negroes, and those
perfectly _awful_ Texas Rangers!
Damon has not got back yet. We have a letter from him saying he was at
Lunenburg, Vt., laid up with a lame leg.
We have been rigged out with new uniforms. Dark blue dress coats with
light blue cord trimmings, and light blue pants.
———————
_XLII_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES CO., MD., _Feb. 16, 1862_.
Of course you have rejoiced over Burnsides’ victory at Roanoke Island
and the success of the Kentucky army at Fort Henry. If we can keep on
with the good work, this rebellion will be crushed and we home again
before long. We are under orders to be ready to march at short notice
and will soon be doing our share of the business. A Vermont brigade is
expected here, any day, to reinforce us; and some big guns are being
brought down from Washington, probably to be used in shelling the rebel
batteries. The gunboats have not had their full armament until lately.
That foot of mine, that I was fool enough to cut over a week ago, is a
beauty now. I got cold in it, or something, and it now looks more like
a parboiled pig than a foot. If we get orders to march right now, I
shall have the foot swathed up in some way and go with the regiment.
Slade is sorting over his stuff, to see what he shall send home. He
actually has more than he can lift.
A few days ago there came an order to find out how many men in this
division wanted to go on the Mississippi river gunboat flotilla. They
proposed to transfer forty out of each regiment, and I suppose the idea
was that they would find lots of sailors in the regiments from the
coast. The order was quickly rescinded, however.
———————
_XLIII_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHICKAMOXEN, MD., _Feb. 23, 1862_.
My foot is most well now, much to my gratification. I would not like a
furlough just now. There will be some fighting before long and I want
to be in it. The rebels over the way have not fired a gun for a week,
and it is surmised that they have evacuated. Everything indicates that
we will move soon—very soon. A Brigadier General has been assigned to
command of this brigade, Col. Marston is coming back from Washington,
and the officers on recruiting service in New Hampshire have been
ordered back to the regiment. The Quartermaster assures me we will be
off within a few days.
———————
_XLIV_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES COUNTY, MD., _March 2, 1862_.
Very cold just now, and the mud is drying up fast, so it is getting to
be very good traveling. You know we are going to move when the roads
are in condition. McClellan says so, and he ought to know. All the
signs point to a movement before long. We have shipped the company
property to Washington, and also our dress coats. We will not take any
tents, and only two wagons, for ammunition. We drill now about six
hours a day. The musicians have an “ambulance drill”—learning to get
men into and out of ambulances, to staunch wounds, and to generally
care for wounded men. Senator Hale told one of our boys, a while ago,
that he thought we would be home by July.
Damon got back today, and we celebrated his return by cooking and
eating two or three pounds of molasses candy. I got one valentine, and
I know who _backed_ it. Perhaps Sally [Shepherd] does too. It’s nearly
midnight, and I’m off to bed.
———————
_XLV_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES CO., MD., _March 7, 1862_.
A “Signal Corps” of some one hundred men is now attached to this
division. The signaling is done by means of flags. Yesterday a balloon
went up over here, the observers signaling with one over Heintzelman’s
division, miles away on the other side of the river. The rebel
batteries have opened up on something in the most furious manner. Every
gun appears to be working full blast, and the heavy explosions fairly
shake the canvas of the tent. [This was one of the preliminaries of the
evacuation, which was completed on the 9th.]
Our new Brigadier General [Henry M. Naglee] has got himself universally
hated, right off quick. All sorts of stories are going. Here is one,
for what it is worth: He had an altercation with Gen. Sickles and
pulled his revolver, with a threat to shoot. But when Sickles coolly
pulled out his gun and reminded Naglee that he had shot his man
before, the latter subsided. I guess there is no question but that he
especially and particularly dislikes the Second New Hampshire and First
Massachusetts. It is stated that he tried to get them transferred from
his brigade, but Hooker wouldn’t allow it.
———————
_XLVI_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES CO., MD., _March 16, 1862_.
Got your letter, with picture, on Friday morning. I placed the picture
on one of my shelves, and when Gunnison came in Damon picked it up
and asked him if he had ever seen the picture of his youngest sister.
“Gunny” told him no, and when he looked at the picture said, “O, well,
you can’t fool me; that’s the girl Mart Haynes travels with when he’s
home.” But Damon actually made him believe it was his sister. “Well,”
said Norman as he held your two pictures up for comparison, “they
look enough alike to be twins. If Mart should see the two together he
wouldn’t know which one to hitch onto.”
You have, of course, heard that the rebels evacuated their positions
last Sunday. They burned everything they could not take away—camps and
houses, their gunboat “George Page” and various smaller craft that had
taken refuge with her up Quantico Creek. It was a wild scene as viewed
from this side. For miles it was an ocean of smoke and flame. They left
eighteen or twenty big guns, with other property that could not be
burned.
How this will affect our movements is the problem now. The old rumor
factory is working overtime, and one man’s guess is as good as
another’s. The story that appears to find most favor is that we are
going to New Mexico, where troops are much needed just now. Another
wise man has it that we are going down to reinforce Burnside. Sickles’
brigade is actually on board steamers now, ready to be transported
somewhere.
The frogs are “peeping” now in every brook and mudhole. Damon shakes
his head wisely, and says if we could only stay here till they get a
little bigger and fatter, we’d live on frogs’ legs. For dinner today
Slade, Damon, Haynes & Gunnison had a great pile of fried oysters.
———————
_XLVII_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES COUNTY, MD., _March 23, 1862_.
Not a mail has reached us since last Monday. The Government has
chartered all the boats within reach for troop transports, and none can
be spared for side shows. Two expeditions have passed here this week.
Yesterday about thirty large steamers went down the river. These fleets
carried parts of Heintzelman’s corps, and have probably gone down below
Acquia Creek and landed. We are now a part of this corps, and will
probably be the next to move—as soon as the steamers can go back to
Washington and coal up.
We will have to make pack-horses of ourselves when we do go. Are to
carry sixty extra rounds of ammunition in our knapsacks, and will
be equipped with some new-fangled French tent. This tent is in four
pieces, each man to carry a piece, and when put up it only makes a
screen from the dew and the sun, being open at both ends.
I talked yesterday with a contraband who ran away from the rebels over
in Virginia. He says they are fortifying at Fredericksburg, a place
about twenty miles from Acquia and about thirty from here. Very likely
that is where we will first run into them; and it will probably be a
hard place to take, as they have a great many guns in position there
and a large force of soldiers.
James O. Adams was here a few days ago. We had a good time together
that evening.
Now comes the best joke of the season. Gen. Naglee is very
unpopular—thoroughly hated by everybody from highest to lowest. I said
so frankly in a letter which Farnsworth published. Then Halifax broke
loose. I don’t know how the matter ever got before the War Department
at Washington—but it did. And the first thing Farnsworth knew he got a
communication from Washington that scared him stiff. He showed it to
my folks, and I guess they went wild—expected me to be taken out at
sunrise and shot for high treason. The first intimation I got was in
a hysterical letter from my mother, that I could hardly understand.
Then in a day or two John Kenney came down from the hospital and said
Harriet Dame wanted to shake hands with the private soldier that
the War Department had to sit up and take notice of. Showing that
headquarters here had some orders in relation to me. I don’t know what
was in either of the communications, but the folks at home need have no
fear of anybody in Hooker’s division being very severely disciplined
for voicing the universal sentiment in regard to General Naglee.
_9 o’clock in the Evening._—You will not hear from me again for some
time, probably, as it is given out that the advancing troops shall not
write home. The Chaplain says the 9 o’clock mail tomorrow will be the
last one out of here. I have eight letters to write to night, closing
up my correspondence for the present.
———————
_XLVIII_
CAMP BEAUFORT,
CHARLES CO., MD., _April 3, 1862_.
I have just learned, late at night, that a mail is going out tomorrow
morning. It is getting to be very exasperating—these orders to leave,
and then having them countermanded. We expected to get off today, and
now the announcement is that we are certainly going tomorrow. The
transports have been ordered, and temporary piers built to load us
from. Captain Bailey has just got along with a batch of recruits. Don’t
know yet how many acquaintances I have in the lot.
One of Company E’s men [Luther W. Fassett] was shot by rebel scouts
yesterday, on the other side of the river. The company was over there
digging up a big gun which the rebels had buried. He was sent back for
some shovels, when three rebels stepped into the road and shot him. He
had a brother in the same company and a wife and child in New Hampshire.
———————
_XLIX_
IN CAMP BEFORE YORKTOWN, VA.,
_Monday, April 14, 1862_.
A mail is going out, I am told, at three o’clock, and it is nearly
that time now. We left our old camp, with all its really delightful
associations, the day after I last wrote you, and were on the steamer
two days and two nights before she cast off from the pier. When we got
to Point Lookout, at the mouth of the river, a wild gale was blowing,
and it was not considered prudent to proceed down Chesapeake Bay, the
“South America” being a crazy old river boat, and overloaded. So we
ran in and tied up at the wharf, and almost everybody went ashore. It
was a seaside summer resort, out of season, and we took possession.
We made ourselves very comfortable in the cottages. There were good
fireplaces and plenty of wood, and though it rained great guns, and the
gale howled most of the time, we were dry and warm, and made ourselves
very comfortable there for three days. But we came pretty near starving
before a boat got down from Washington bringing us something to eat.
The boys gave it a very appropriate name—“Camp Starvation.”
When we got away we went straight to Fortress Monroe. We got there
in the morning, just as the rebel ironclad “Merrimack” came out from
Norfolk. The harbor was cleared of shipping in double-quick time, the
“Monitor” and other war vessels moved up, and we thought there was
going to be another big naval battle. But there wasn’t; and the old
“South America” pulled out and ran up to the York river.
There is now a tremendous army before Yorktown, as well as in it, and
there will be a great battle. _We_ have got the largest train of siege
artillery ever brought together, and _they_ have got some very strong
forts and batteries. Our guns will be in position and open on the
rebels before this letter reaches you. There is skirmishing every day.
Berdan’s sharpshooters are making themselves the terror of the rebels.
They have some wonderful marksmen, and firing from little pits dug
well out towards the rebel works, they make it mighty interesting for
the rebel gunners. In some of the rebel batteries it is as much as a
man’s life is worth to attempt to load the guns. The instant he shows
himself near the muzzle one of Berdan’s men gets him. Some of them use
telescope rifles. At some points the rebels put up planks to screen
themselves while working the guns. I was a little acquainted with one
of the Sharpshooters who was killed a few days ago—John Ide of Company
E—a New Hampshire man from Claremont.
———————
_L_
CAMP WINFIELD SCOTT,
NEAR YORKTOWN, VA., _April 20, 1862_.
Today we received our first mail since leaving Camp Beaufort. We have
moved up three miles nearer the rebel lines and are now doing our full
share in the siege operations. We are working hard, building forts
and trenches and roads, and should soon be able to qualify as experts
with the pick and shovel. While our camp is probably a mile and a half
from the rebel lines, our work is being done very much nearer, you can
be sure. Yesterday and today we were out building roads. From where
we were working we had a better view of the rebels than they did of
us, and they didn’t pay much attention to us until we were on our way
back. We got a little careless then, I suppose, and the first thing we
knew one big shell burst directly overhead, while another tore up the
landscape not very far away.
Day before yesterday a lieutenant of the Engineer Corps was brought on
a stretcher back by our camp, one arm torn off and otherwise mutilated.
He was sitting on the ground, making a sketch, when a rebel shell burst
almost in his lap.
We are having, really, a pretty hard time of it. We are turned out
almost every night and held in line to repel anticipated attacks. [This
was one of Gen. Naglee’s fool stunts, that Hooker soon put a veto on.]
Our camp is on a big plain, gullied here and there by creeks. Near to
us are the spots pointed out as the headquarters of Washington and
Lafayette during the Revolutionary siege. I saw a little earthwork
yesterday which was thrown up at that time, and a rusty iron cannon
ball was dug up by the working party.
Our new four-piece [“shelter” or “dog”] tents have one great
advantage—perfect ventilation. The tent’s crew of four button their
sections together, and have a roof to crawl under; but the house is
wide open at both ends.
It was just one year ago tomorrow that our company was first sworn into
the service. We hardly thought then that one year from that date would
still find us ’way down South. So far as I am concerned, I am enjoying
myself immensely. Was never in better spirits or in better health.
_Wednesday, April 23._—At last I have another chance to write on my
letter. I have been on duty every day for six days. Today I am on camp
guard. Our siege guns are now almost all in position, and they will
doubtless get to work pretty soon. Thousands of men are working day and
night on the siege works and the roads. On this wing of the army we are
building a road along the side of a creek leading up to the rear of our
batteries. The roadbed is twenty-four feet wide, made by tumbling in
one bank of the creek. As this is mostly on the side toward the rebel
works, leaving the road under embankments from ten to twenty feet high,
troops and supplies going up to the front will have almost perfect
cover and protection.
There is a continual skirmish all along the line, and men are killed or
wounded every day. The other night a large force of rebels made a sally
upon six companies of the Third Vermont, but the Sixth regiment, with a
section of artillery, came to their support, and the rebels were sent
back home in a hurry. We lost about 45 men, including two captains; the
rebels about the same number, including a colonel.
Day before yesterday I managed to work about as much discomfort into
twenty-four hours as ever fell to my lot. We were working on the road.
It rained all day, and I was, of course, thoroughly soaked. And when we
got back to camp there was no warm, dry nest to crawl into. Instead,
the rain poured through the tent in streams, and there was no way to
get away from it. It has taken me till now to get back to anything like
normal conditions.
I saw two deserters from the rebels, who came in this morning. One of
them was from Pennsylvania. He was pressed into the rebel service and
took the first opportunity to desert.
My old tent-crew of Camp Beaufort is broken. It is no longer a matter
of choice and selection. We are counted off in fours and tent in the
same order we stand in the ranks. My present mates are Bill Ramsdell,
Lyn Woods and Joe Gleason—all royal good fellows.
———————
_LI_
CAMP WINFIELD SCOTT,
BEFORE YORKTOWN, VA., _May 1, 1862_.
Physically I am pretty near used up. Night and day we are on duty in
the trenches or on fatigue work, supporting batteries, throwing up
earthworks, building roads, regardless of weather conditions. Last
night we were digging on a parallel, or trench for infantry, the end of
which was at the edge of the bluff overlooking the York river. It was
all open ground between us and the rebel works, and, though very dark,
the rebels kept the scene fairly well lighted up. Every two or three
minutes there would be a flash way up there to the front, then a roar,
another flash in the air down our way, and pieces of iron flying. The
big guns, though, did not worry us much. It was practically impossible
to land a shell in the trench from one of these guns. But they had one
big mortar working that was quite another matter. Every time this was
fired the burning fuse marked its course. Up, up, up it would climb,
then hang for an instant and come sweeping down, down, down. It did not
land one shell in our trench, although it put some uncomfortably close.
I managed to steal one little nap, but it didn’t last long. I got quite
a comfortable seat at the end of the trench, overlooking the river.
I have a recollection of watching the lights on vessels far down the
river and in distant camps, and of listening to the lap of the waves
on the beach below me. And I went to sleep. And I woke up—quick. I was
trying to decide whether the rebels had sprung a mine or landed a shell
in the trench, when it happened again, and I saw what the trouble was.
Only a short distance below was the black mass of one of our gunboats,
which had crawled up unusually close, and was firing her big shells
right over our heads into the rebel works.
The rebels made an effort to drive in our pickets on a part of the
line, this morning, but got rather more than they were looking for.
A burial party has just gone by, to give a soldier’s burial to a New
Jersey boy killed in the affair. The cemetery, near our camp, is
rapidly filling with the bodies of men who have been killed or have
died of disease. Each grave is marked by a neatly-lettered headboard.
Company H of the Massachusetts First charged a lunette, or small outer
earthwork, which had become a nuisance, the other morning, and drove
the rebels out at the point of the bayonet. They had three men killed
and a dozen or fifteen wounded. One of their men had a remarkable
escape. A ball struck the eagle plate on his breast strap—a round brass
plate backed with lead—doubling it up and going through just far enough
to show the point at the back. The blow knocked him several feet, and
he naturally thought, for a little time, that he was a goner.
That night we were in the trenches in support of the Hungarian battery.
The rebels appeared to have a pretty accurate idea of its location,
notwithstanding it was screened by trees, and sent shot and shell
thick and fast. One shell struck on the parapet and rolled down under
a platform on which six men were sleeping, but fortunately did not
explode.
It rains or drizzles most of the time, so we are kept tolerably
uncomfortable.
_May 2d, afternoon, 2 o’clock._—The regiment went into the trenches
to work today, but as I was not feeling well I remained in camp. The
rebels have been doing more shooting today than any other day before,
and many of their shot have struck near our camp. I went to sleep about
noon, but was awakened by the infernal screech of a shell, and took it
as a hint that I had better finish your letter. I do hope that May will
prove a pleasanter month than April. I hope our batteries will open
before long, for I want to see this affair closed up. If we thrash them
soundly here and at Corinth, I think the war will be about as good as
over.
———————
_LII_
WILLIAMSBURG BATTLEFIELD, VA., _May 7_.