happened since I commenced it. I have had no good rest for three days
and two nights, so you can imagine the condition I am in. Sunday
morning we marched away from Fair Oaks with three days’ rations in
our haversacks. The way property and supplies were destroyed didn’t
look good to us. The rebels followed closely, and a few miles back we
went into line of battle, posted batteries, and were ready for them.
There was a short and sharp fight a little ways to our right [Savage
Station,] but we didn’t get into it. The rebels were repulsed, and
we moved on again. Along in the night we got into bivouac in the
dark, a great mass of troops, where we could see but little of our
surroundings until daybreak. Then we soon studied it out that we were
at a cross-roads, with an immense wagon train parked near by, and a
heavy force to protect it. During the forenoon the troops were moved
into position to meet any advance from the direction of Richmond. We
were not attacked until the middle of the afternoon, and then a great
battle was fought [Glendale or Charles City Cross Roads.] We whipped
the rebels at every point. The Second Regiment was all over the field,
generally in support of some battery or other regiment. We lost very
few men. I was hit in the groin by a spent ball and crippled about as I
would have been if a mule had kicked me. We were advancing up a slope,
in line, to support a regiment that was breaking. I heard that bullet,
and when it struck me it set me back out of the ranks and I thought I
was shot through and through. I saw some of the boys look back sort
of pityingly as the line went on. It did not take me long to find out
that I was very far from being a dead man. There was a dent in my thick
leather belt, but the bullet had not gone through. It had doubtless
struck the ground and lost much of its force before it hit me. I was
back in my place by the time the regiment reached the crest. But in a
little while I was very lame, and it was only by great effort that I
kept along with the regiment that day and the next.
That night and the next morning we moved on a few miles farther and
took position on high ground not far from the James river. Here another
great battle was fought [Malvern Hill.] The artillery firing was
simply terrific, we having some of our gunboats in action. The rebels
charged again and again, and were driven back every time with frightful
losses. It was a terrible punishment we gave them. We were not actively
engaged, and so lost no men.
I got in here this afternoon pretty well used up. It commenced to rain
last night, the roads were in bad condition, and there were thousands
upon thousands of stragglers. But aides were stationed to direct these
as they poured out onto the flats, and the disorganization was quickly
rectified. Don’t know when I’ll get a chance to send this. Go up and
tell my folks.
———————
_LX_
CAMP NEAR THE JAMES RIVER,
_Monday, July 8, 1862_.
Can write only a short letter now, and my old excuse will have to do
duty again—“used up.” We are fortifying our position, and as there
is a good chance of Johnny paying us a visit most any time, we are
putting the house in order to entertain him. We work night and day on
our intrenchments. We are camped in an open field, on a gentle slope
along the crest of which run our rifle pits and earthworks. The weather
is frightfully hot, and as a consequence the men feel very shiftless
and lazy. I do, anyway, and judge the rest by their actions. Quite a
number of our boys were taken prisoners in the retreat. Perk. Lane
is probably among the number, as he was one of the sick sent back to
Savage Station, and they were nearly all taken.
Eddie Dakin, the Captain’s waiter, is going home tomorrow, and I will
intrust this letter to him, to be dropped in the Manchester or some
other post office.
———————
[Illustration: BILL RAMSDELL]
———————
_LXI_
CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING,
JAMES RIVER, VA., _July 11, 1862_.
Received a letter from you last night. I am writing under very
unfavorable conditions, as it is a rainy day and mud and water reign
supreme. Whenever it rains hard the water beats through the canvas
like a fine sieve. If the wind happens to blow it is pretty sure,
in addition, to beat into one end or the other of the shelter. The
prospect now is that we shall lay in our present position for some time
and have considerable leisure. If we do you can expect a letter from me
pretty often.
We are hard at work fortifying our lines. The camp of our regiment is
immediately to the rear of a redoubt where twenty or thirty cannon
will be mounted. Two eight-inch howitzers are now in position. We are
building rifle pits from the right of this redoubt down to a pond
[Rowland’s mill pond.] When you know that our intrenchments form a line
several miles in length, you will get some idea of the magnitude of
our works. This is a very interesting locality, plastered all over with
historic associations. President Wm. Henry Harrison was born near here,
and down by the river there is a stately mansion built long before the
Revolution of bricks brought from England. In the family burying ground
I saw stones dating back over two hundred years.
———————
_LXII_
CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA.,
_July 19, 1862_.
Rod. Manning, my present tentmate, and I got tired of lying in the
mud, so we sallied over to where they were tearing down a house, about
three-quarters of a mile from here, and managed to gather in a quantity
of the old clapboards. With these spread on a framework of poles, we
have a bunk or platform high enough to keep us out of the water when it
rains, and making a very fair seat when, for instance, I want to write
a letter to you. This is not the only public improvement. We have built
a bough arbor over the front of our tent to give some shade from the
scorching sun, and are thinking of a bough screen at the back end of
the tent to keep out the wind and rain.
Our rifle pits are finished, so we will have no duty except guard duty
and a short drill each day. I hope the North will send reinforcements
on quickly, for I want to see our army advance again on Richmond and
end the war. This is a good place to rest in for a few weeks, where we
can have our supplies landed at our very door from transports.
In the retreat from Fair Oaks our company lost ten men taken prisoners.
We have a pitifully short line now, compared with what it was when we
left Manchester.
———————
_LXIII_
CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA.,
_July 23, 1862_.
By the papers I see that a hospital is to be established in New
Hampshire for the care of sick and wounded soldiers from our state.
That is all very nice, but, as much as I would like to see home, I hope
I will never have any use for that establishment. I have been out today
to a review by Gen. McClellan and am pretty well fagged out. Now I will
try to answer some of your questions. There are not many houses about
here—it’s right out in the country. Such houses as there are are mostly
occupied as hospitals. Those outside our lines that would interfere
with the range of our guns have been torn down. Notwithstanding the
ravages of war, it is a most beautiful region. The busy place now is
down at the landing, where the negroes are kept busy unloading supplies
from the transports. Our food, for a few days, has not been quite up
to the New Hampshire standard. Our meat has been “smoked sides”—a very
poor quality of bacon. I have almost forgotten how a real first-class
meal does taste.
“Those curls?” Well, I came to the conclusion, yesterday, that inasmuch
as I had lost my comb and didn’t know where I could get another, heroic
measures were necessary. So I hunted up a camp barber and had my hair
cut and my head shaved, sandpapered and varnished. I was looking at the
little round picture yesterday, and a little end of black hair that
straggled out between the case and the picture reminded me that you
placed it there the night I told you I had enlisted. It was braided and
tied just as you tied it that evening. We had but little idea then that
I was to be so long away.
_Thursday, July 24._
It is about three o’clock in the afternoon, and I have just finished
my dinner. I looked over the miserable piece of miserable bacon
that the company cook handed out to me, and then started off into
the wilderness, and when I came back I had gathered in a pint of
blackberries, which helped out very materially.
General McClellan was around today looking over the intrenchments. One
of his staff had quite a little misadventure down by the pond, where
a lot of us were having a swim. A small canal, or sluice, runs out
of this pond, which is crossed by a frail plank bridge. The General
and staff were crossing this bridge, when a plank gave way and down
into the ditch went one horse and rider. The officer managed to crawl
out—and a very draggled specimen he was—but it took the united efforts
of the whole party to get that horse onto terra firma.
I received a letter from Roger [Woodbury] yesterday. He was of opinion
that the Third Regiment would come up to the Peninsula, as troops were
being sent from that Department to reinforce McClellan. I saw Hen. [W.
H. D.] Cochrane yesterday, and he told me the Third and Fourth were
actually embarked for here.
_Saturday, July 26._
Yesterday morning the Second Regiment went out on picket and got in at
noon today. I had the most enjoyable picket tour in all my experience.
We were out about two miles from camp, and as there were cavalry
vedettes and patrols still farther out, we had no fears of a surprise
attack. There were so many of us that no man had to stand a post more
than one one-hour turn. The rest of the time we were at liberty to
roam, pick blackberries and gather green apples and have a good time
generally. No camp ever had a more perfect picket protection than was
given by that swarm of foragers and sight-seeing scouts. Close to
headquarters was a house—a well-shaded, cozy southern home. The owner
and his two sons are in the rebel army, but his wife and daughter
remain and have a safeguard of our soldiers. And you never saw such a
swarm of little negroes as there was about that place.
Today has been feast day—the greatest dinner within the memory of man—a
genuine “biled dish”—potatoes, beets, onions, cabbage and boiled salt
pork. And just now Rod. Manning is frying some apples that are going to
make a pretty good dish, if I can judge by the smell.
_Sunday, July 27._
Hen. Everett has just been over here, and we had a good long chat about
times in the old printing office in Manchester. The sun is coming up in
a way that promises a hot day—and a hot day down here _is_ hot.
———————
_LXIV_
CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA.,
_August 3, 1862_.
Our Division went out, last night, on a reconnoissance most up to
Malvern Hill, where the last great battle was fought on the retreat. We
went on through woods, over stumps, wading brooks and bog holes, until
we were pretty near the enemy’s lines, when Gen. Hooker learned that
Kearney had accomplished what we had set out to do, and we about-faced
and blundered back to camp through the darkness. It was almost three
o’clock when we got back, and I was tired through and through. [The
expedition was really misled by a guide.]
There has been some little stir here for a few days in relation to
transfers to the gunboats, as twenty-five or thirty seamen are wanted
from each regiment. Those who have been to sea and want to go again
have passed in their names, but we do not know as yet who, if any, have
been accepted. Gunnison sent in his with the rest.
The company cooks are preparing a great dinner—soup, with potatoes,
onions and cabbages in it. It certainly is a feast to men who have
learned not to be surprised if they get nothing but hard bread, or even
nothing at all. I have just heard that we are to go out tonight on
another reconnoissance. I hope not. I had much rather lie comfortably
in my tent than go on any such tramp as we had last night.
———————
_LXV_
CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA.,
_August 8, 1862_.
Since I last wrote we have been on quite a little expedition to Malvern
Hill and back. We left our camp Monday afternoon, just before sunset.
It was a beautiful evening, and as we followed a fairly good road we
trudged along very comfortably until about midnight, when we halted
and slept on our arms until daybreak. Bright and early we resumed our
march. The enemy’s cavalry pickets were struck within a few hundred
yards and our cavalry sent them flying, after the exchange of a few
shots. When we came out into a large field I saw that we were on the
ground where we fought on the second day of the retreat from Fair
Oaks—[at Charles City Cross Roads.] Then we swung to the left and
pushed down the road to Malvern Hill—the same we had followed once
before. When we came out into the great open area around Malvern Hill,
one of our light batteries was already engaged with a rebel battery of
four pieces. These guns naturally paid some attention to us, but with
the exception of one shell which burst in our ranks before we filed
out of the road and did some damage, not a man was hit in the Second
Regiment. We had, really, remarkable luck, as they did some very good
shooting and burst a number of shells and case-shots in our very faces.
The Eleventh Massachusetts had two men killed and eight wounded by
one shot. After half or three-quarters of an hour of this, the rebel
battery limbered up and struck up the river road for Richmond, and our
cavalry went after them. We gathered in quite a bunch of prisoners,
singly and in little squads—men scattered around on outpost and picket
duty, who came up out of the woods to see what the trouble was—and
found out. One of these was particularly low-down mean and “sassy,” and
he and “Heenan” had it out. After looking us over he said there was
one thing he cussed himself for, and that was that he looked so much
like a Yankee. Then Nich., leaning on his gun took Johnny in hand. He
looked him up and down, with _such_ a contemptuous sneer on his face.
He commented on his general disreputable appearance, and to wind up
with, set the fellow fairly wild with rage, by leaning forward and
confidentially asking him how much nigger blood there was in him.
The rebel battery was posted under big trees in the grounds of the old
mansion house on the hill. When we advanced to the position we found
three or four wounded and one dead batteryman that the rebels had left
behind. The dead man had been hit on the head by a piece of shell, and
lay all curled up, but still tightly clasping in his hands the shell he
was carrying to his gun.
We occupied the hill until Thursday morning, when we leisurely returned
to camp. It was really a delightful outing. When we returned, my
haversack was bulging with the fruits of my foraging—apples and plums,
fresh pork, hog’s liver, and one good fat chicken.
Perk. Lane and four others of our boys who were taken prisoners have
returned. They have had a pretty hard time of it, but have many amusing
stories to tell of prison life in Richmond. Provisions there are very
high indeed—molasses six dollars a gallon, flour twenty-five dollars
a barrel, bread twenty-five cents a loaf, and everything else in
proportion. We are beginning to get a little soft bread now ourselves.
Yesterday we had a whole loaf to a man, and we have had one meal before
that.
_Sunday, August 10._
I hear from home that a great many of the white-livered gentry swear
they will not submit to being drafted. Then shoot them—that’s my
advice—and the Second Regiment would like the job. I can hardly write
at all, the flies bother me so. They are here in millions, and nobody
can take any comfort, for the torments.
———————
_LXVI_
CAMP NEAR ALEXANDRIA, VA.,
_September 6, 1862_.
After being here two days I have managed to get the materials together
for writing a letter. We have had a mighty strenuous time since we
marched away from Harrison’s Landing [August 15]—in two hard battles,
to say nothing of hard marches and transportation by sea and land, on
crowded steamers and rattletrap freight cars. Marching to Yorktown, we
were there loaded onto transports. No sooner were we fairly landed in
Alexandria than we were toted out to Warrenton Junction and dumped,
late at night, in the fields by the side of the road. Here, we were
told, we would have a chance to rest, and we did, just one day and one
night. That night Stonewall Jackson showed up at Manassas, directly in
our rear, and we were sent after him. We came upon him at Kettle Run
and had a rattling smart fight, with several hundred men killed and
wounded on both sides. Two days later we were engaged in the second
great battle of Bull Run. Our brigade here showed its mettle as it
never had before, and especially the Second Regiment. We were ordered
to advance through woods, without any supports, and attack the rebels
behind a railroad grade five or six feet high. We went in. They gave
us a volley, and we charged them, the Second going over the work with
a yell and giving those fellows the surprise of their life. It was
savage work for a short time, but we were determined to drive them, and
we did. Then we went for the second line, a few rods further on, and
set them agoing. And pretty soon it became apparent that what there was
left of us were being surrounded. Then we got out—we had to or be taken
prisoners. We lost 147 men out of a little over 300 that went in, and
most of these within a very few minutes. Gen. Grover said it was the
greatest bayonet charge of the war.
I got my first man as I went over the bank. I dashed round a big bush
in the very edge of the grade right onto a rebel, who threw his gun
up aiming at somebody to my right. He never fired, for I gave it to
him from the hip and doubtless saved the life of some Second Regiment
man—I’ll never know who. And just as I was starting on my return trip
something tickled my upper lip and the roots of my nose, and for a
while I was doing the ensanguined act on the smallest capital of any
man in the regiment. It was a pretty close shave, all the same. One
inch further, in the wrong direction, would have spoiled my beauty, and
three inches would have spoiled me.
The actual fate of a lot of the boys is still in doubt. Charlie Smiley
is missing, and nobody can tell anything about him. [He never came
back.] Frank Robinson was shot through the bowels, near the railroad
bank. Captain Carr told me, a few minutes later, that he had to leave
him there, dying.
Father is over in Washington, but so far has been unable to get a pass
to come over here, while I could not get a pass to go over there. It
will be pretty tough if, after all I have gone through, and he so near,
they do not give me a chance to see him.
I do not know how soon we may be on the move, but hope not for some
time, for really the regiment is in pretty bad shape. The latest camp
rumor is that we are going down to Budd’s Ferry, which would be very
nice, but is entirely improbable. But we certainly should have a chance
to get our breath, at least. We have been in ten fights, and in some
of them have borne the brunt. There are regiments here that have never
been in any fight at all, but have laid back here in comfort, while
others were getting the rough of it.
It is a beautiful day, and I am sitting in front of my tent, upon a
pile of corn husks, the Potomac at my feet and the cities of Alexandria
and Washington up there to the north.
———————
_LXVII_
CAMP NEAR ALEXANDRIA, VA.,
_September 14, 1862_.
It bids fair to be a very hot day, so I am starting my letter just as
early as I can get down to business. Father got over the river three
or four days ago. Dan. Clark [U. S. Senator] took it up with the War
Department and Gerry got his pass. He is going to stay several days
longer, and you can imagine how much I am enjoying his visit. He is
spending a good part of his time visiting the hospitals and hunting
out and cheering up the New Hampshire men he finds there. He doesn’t
say anything, but I have my doubts whether the lodgings here are fully
up to his standard of comfort. Rod. Manning and I, in our capacity as
chambermaids, make up the best bed we can with the materials at our
command, and give E. G. the middle berth, with us under the eaves. But
the ground is hard, and a knapsack or pair of shoes is not a real good
pillow until you get fitted to them. Our guest grunts a good deal and
turns over pretty often, and this morning I woke up before daylight and
found him outside, sitting on a cracker box, over a little campfire he
had nursed into action.
Since my last letter we have moved our camp about two miles, over to
Fairfax Seminary, a brick building now occupied as a hospital, on the
heights overlooking the city of Alexandria. Our camp is right to the
rear of Fort Ward.
Did you ever know Joe Locke?—[Joseph L., a Manchester boy.] I saw
him yesterday. He is in the Thirty-third Massachusetts, which is
temporarily assigned to this brigade.
Father brought up from the city, yesterday, a big bag of flour, butter,
and about all the other “fixings” he could lug, and there will be high
living, for a time, in our tent. The laugh was on him, good and hard,
the day we moved camp. He started out in the morning from our old camp,
to visit the hospitals. When we arrived here he was at the Seminary,
only a few rods away. He watched us come and pitch our tents, without
any idea that it was the Second Regiment, and when he got ready to go
he tramped back to the old camp, only to find himself among strangers.
Fortunately, some one was able to direct him, and in due time he was
back here with four extra miles of travel to his credit.
Those boxes that the boys sent for from Harrison’s Landing came along
yesterday, but a great deal of the stuff had been so long on the way
that it had spoiled. When I see these new regiments coming out now I
remind myself that when my term of service is ended they will be only
half way through. But I hope that with the new calls for troops there
will be enough to finish this up in so short a time that we can all be
home before long.
Two or three of the boys supposed to have been killed at Bull Run have
turned up in the hospitals, but poor Frank Robinson is undoubtedly dead.
What company is your brother in? I will hunt him up if I can get to his
regiment after it arrives. [James K. Lane, Company G, Eleventh N. H.]
———————
_LXVIII_
CAMP NEAR ALEXANDRIA, VA.,
_Sunday Evening, September 21, 1862_.
I have been down to the Eleventh Regiment to see James [K. Lane, “the
girl’s” brother] and other boys there. I went into the camp, stopped a
while at one of the Manchester companies, where I found lots of fellows
that I knew, and then started for Co. G to find James, when he bore
down on me with all sail spread. I knew him, and he knew me, at sight,
and we were just as well acquainted after we had shaken hands as though
we had known each other for years.
We are doing a little digging now—just enough to keep our hand in—on
rifle pits between Forts Worth and Ward. Our knapsacks, which were
loaded onto barges when we left Harrison’s Landing, got here only two
days ago. I had begun to think they were gone for good, and was ready
to bewail the loss of all my valuables, when they turned up safe and
sound.
———————
_LXIX_
CAMP NEAR ALEXANDRIA, VA.,
_September 29, 1862_.
It is now almost nine o’clock in the evening, and I have had a pretty
busy day. And tomorrow I go on picket, which will spoil two days more.
So I guess I had better write tonight. This morning, as soon as I had
eaten my breakfast, I started off for the Tenth Regiment. Met lots of
old Manchester acquaintances, and Billy Cochrane, Ichabod, Sargent
Bartlett and I got together and had a real Excelsior Literary Society
reunion. On my way back I called in at the Eleventh Regiment camp, and
James walked a part of the way home with me.
Tonight “Bobby” [Albert B.] Robinson, who was taken prisoner at the
first Bull Run, got back to the company and the reception he got from
those of us who are still left baffles all description. A camp story is
going the rounds that Gov. Berry is trying to have this regiment sent
to New Hampshire to recruit.
———————
_LXX_
CAMP NEAR ALEXANDRIA, VA.,
_Sunday, October 12, 1862_.
Have just got back from the Thirteenth Regiment, where I found not a
single man I knew, so I got a good long tramp for nothing. Got a mosaic
letter from sister Addie Friday, made up of contributions from half a
dozen of her friends. Have just had a pocket tourniquet given me, a
little instrument to stop the flow of blood from a wounded arm or leg.
I don’t see how it could be of much use in stopping a bloody nose.
Charlie Smiley has never been heard from and doubtless never will.
So far as quarters are concerned, we are mighty comfortably situated
just now. We have folded up our pieces of shelter tent and in their
place pitched a camp of old-fashioned army “Sibleys.” My tent-crew
comprises seven good fellows. Each man has built himself a bunk, and
still there is room to spare. The heavy tent-cloth keeps out the rain,
so we have a perfectly dry nest. But there are persistent rumors that
we will not remain here much longer.
———————
_LXXI_
CAMP NEAR ALEXANDRIA, VA.,
_October 19, 1862_.
The Eleventh Regiment is now in the vicinity of Harper’s Ferry. Simons,
who used to keep the bookstore, was down here yesterday, hunting up
stragglers from the division. He thought that by this time the regiment
might be over in Virginia.