our brigade at the front. Early Sunday morning an audacious rebel
battery took position in a field on our front and opened on us. The
Pennsylvania boys on the picket line couldn’t do a thing with them;
but we sent out our Company B, and when their Sharp’s rifles began to
bark the rebels couldn’t get away from those guns fast enough. And they
made no further attempt to work them that day. We kept out one company
at a time, relieving as fast as ammunition was used up. I fired fifty
rounds. A dozen of us lay in a ditch by the side of the road, and kept
up a brisk fire on a couple of houses used by the rebels as a cover. We
fired over each other’s heads sometimes and had a merry time. Some of
our boys got cover behind a big pile of loose lumber, and we kept two
men behind an old chimney.
After this work had been going on nearly all day, there was a truce for
some purpose or other, on that part of the line, the firing ceased,
and the two skirmish lines mingled together like the best of friends,
comparing notes and joking and chaffing each other. One rebel colonel,
for some reason or other, was especially interested in the man behind
the chimney and wanted to meet him. After a time the men leisurely
meandered back to their hiding places, but there was very little
shooting after that exchange of courtesies.
We recrossed the river last night, and got back into our old camp
late this afternoon. I saw James this afternoon. He was unhurt and
was writing letters. His regiment suffered severely, losing over two
hundred. Jason Barker was killed. In the Manchester Battery two of my
old acquaintances—John Fish and Tom Morrill—were killed, and Bill Fish
was wounded in the foot. Charlie Vickery, of my company, was wounded in
the neck. The regiment lost only twelve men wounded [two mortally.]
I will write home tomorrow, and meantime you must slip up and let
the folks know I am unhurt. I am glad I am to name my little sister.
Shall send some short, pretty name. For the past week my rations have
consisted solely of salt pork and crackers, and I am so hungry I think
I shall send for a box.
———————
_LXXXI_
CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA.,
_December 23, 1862_.
Received a letter from Addie last night and she said they had thought
of naming the little sister _Flora_. I had written a day or two before
and suggested the name _Cora_. Now, isn’t it a queer coincidence that
we should think of names so near alike? Either is pretty enough, and I
do not care a snap which they adopt. Addie wrote she imagined I would
send _Nealie_ for a name—and I did think some of doing so.
———————
_LXXXII_
CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA.,
_January 1, 1863_.
Happy new year! and a great many of them! The new year presents itself
to us in very pleasant fashion—clear and bright, but cold enough
to suit a Laplander. James was over here and stayed with me Monday
night, and we had a gay time. We sat before the fire and chatted and
laughed and planned good times for the future. Then we rolled up in our
blankets and slept. Jim was the first awake and kicked me out of bed,
whereupon I arose in my wrath and drove him out of camp.
I went over to the Ninth Regiment to inquire concerning Sally
Shepherd’s brother [Enoch O., familiarly known as “Doctor.”] I could
learn nothing further than that he was missing and had not been heard
from since the battle. No one knew when he fell. I pity Sally and her
mother, as there can now be no doubt that he is another victim of this
accursed rebellion. The note written to Sally was doubtless from some
one of the burial party who went over, under a flag of truce, to bury
our dead, and who, finding the envelope on a body, was thoughtful
enough to write to the address. It must remove from her mind all doubts
as to his fate.
For days the boys have been kept in a constant stew with stories of
marching, but I am not losing any sleep over any of them. My main
effort now is to get all the bodily comfort I can out of the situation.
Well well, of all the sights! A load of soft bread has just come in.
The most popular camp story just now is that Marston is to be appointed
Military Governor of Washington and the Second Regiment is going there
as provost guard and is to be armed with Allen & Wheelock breechloading
rifles.
Bill Ramsdell, who disappeared some little time ago, has been heard
from. As near as I can make out he thought that while furloughs were
being passed out to the favored few he was entitled to one himself, and
applied for it. He got turned down, and now he turns up at his home in
Milford and writes that he is recruiting his strength and is coming
back “when his furlough expires.”
I have got my tent raised up on logs, with a good bunk of poles and a
turf fireplace. Have a big pile of wood to burn tonight, and will have
a good fire to drive away Jack Frost.
———————
[Illustration: HEN. EVERETT]
———————
_LXXXIII_
CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA.,
_January 9, 1863_.
Charlie Vickery is going home on furlough tomorrow. So am I—in about
sixteen months. We have moved camp about a mile and a half, and already
have very comfortable winter quarters fixed up. Yesterday I wrote home
for a box. The chances are good for our staying here long enough for
me to get it. I am tenting now with George Lawrence, who was one of
my tent’s crew at Camp Sullivan. Of my six tentmates there, two have
been killed, one died of disease, and one joined the cavalry. Ed.
Bailey [Major commanding the regiment] is under arrest on charges of
disobeying orders of General Carr. I don’t imagine it is anything very
serious.
———————
_LXXXIV_
CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA.,
_January 16, 1863_.
Everything seems to be going wrong today. The wind has been blowing
a perfect hurricane; last night it rained hard; just now there is a
good prospect of our having to leave the snug huts we have built and
go somewhere—the Lord only knows where. Marston has been appointed
Brigadier-General, and the story persists that he has had this regiment
detached for special duty at Washington and that the order is now at
headquarters.
Bill Ramsdell’s “furlough” appears to be still in good working order.
There are doubtless some details under the surface that we don’t know,
but I’ll bet on Bill. So will all the old boys. He was not the type of
patriot who couldn’t serve his country unless he was ornamented with
shoulder straps, and there is a quite general sentiment that smaller
men than he is have refused him a square deal.
There was a terrible catastrophy in my tent last night. Over our bunk
was a shelf loaded with a miscellaneous assortment of a little of
everything—letters, papers, portfolio, a dish of cooked rice and a
can of molasses. All of a sudden, Lawrence, in performing some of his
antics, sent the shelf flying, and such a mess! The molasses seemed to
have a chemical affinity for everything there was in that tent, and it
is unnecessary to say it was a total loss.
Perk. Lane, Rod. Manning and the other boys who went into the cavalry
are visiting in camp. Their regiment is near here. Hen. Pillsbury and
Joe Hubbard are here and well. Joe is captain of Company B. He is one
of the best fellows and most popular officers in the regiment.
———————
_LXXXV_
CAMP NEAR FALMOUTH, VA.,
_January 24, 1863_.
Since last Tuesday we have been paddling around in the rain and mud
to our heart’s content—and a good deal more. The short of the story
is that Gen. Burnside intended to cross the Rappahannock a few miles
above here and attack the enemy, but owing to continuous rains the
roads became impassable and the army was obliged to wallow back to its
old position and wait for better conditions. Our division left camp
Tuesday noon, in a pouring rain, and accomplished about a mile and a
half, under difficulties. Then we waited until about nine o’clock at
night, when we were ordered back to our camps. Wednesday we tried it
again and managed to get about six miles. The mud was simply awful, and
it was almost an utter impossibility to move the wagons and artillery
at all. The Manchester battery was striddled along the road, a gun
here and a caisson there, over a stretch of three miles. And that was
the way everything on wheels was hung up. General Burnside had issued
an address to the army, saying they were soon to meet the enemy and
enjoining them to display their old-time bravery. But God willed that
the battle should not take place just at present, and with the elements
at command He prevented it. Yesterday the division made its way back to
the old camps. Lawrence and I rehabilitated our old shanty and are now
as comfortable and cozy as you please.
I saw George Dakin day before yesterday—the first time since he went
into the army. I got a letter from Addie and expect my box is on the
way. I am actually suffering for something good to eat. Have you seen
the picture I sent Addie? Did you ever see a more disreputable-looking
outlaw?
———————
_LXXXVI_
HEADQUARTERS SICKLES’ DIVISION,
NEAR FALMOUTH, VA.,
_Sunday, February 8, 1863_.
Have you begun to wonder why I have not written for a fortnight? Well,
I have made another lightning change and am now on the provost guard at
division headquarters. I am not prepared to say that I exactly relish
the change. I was denned in for a comfortable, easy-going winter,
without much work, when I was pitchpoled into this place, where it is
nothing but hard work. Lawrence and I were notified by the Orderly
Sergeant that we were detailed for special duty, that we were to take
our entire outfit with us, and report to the Adjutant. We dismantled
our shack, packed up, and reported. We found nine more victims, from
other companies. I was placed in charge of the squad and ordered to
report to the Provost Marshal at Sickles’ headquarters. It snowed and
was awful cold. Along with detachments from other regiments of the
division we were quartered two nights in a barn, which was dry enough,
but we came near freezing. Then we pitched our tents and began to
hustle to make ourselves comfortable. In company with four from my own
squad and two from the First Massachusetts, I am now comfortably housed
in a log and canvas palace, 17x7 feet, inside measurement, with a big
fireplace and good bunks.
I have been promoted, “for gallant and meritorious”—_cheek_. When I
reported my squad, I gave in, of course, the names and rank of all as
privates. My first detail was for guard duty. I stood a post for two
hours, and I did a lot of thinking. I had been taking things in, and
had discovered that a private soldier on provost guard had about the
worst job in the army. It was not only guard duty, but police duty
of all kinds, and they were hewers of wood and luggers of water for
everybody. I wasn’t brought up that way. And at last I made a guess,
and I guess that I made a pretty good guess. When I came off post I
marched up to the Marshal’s tent, saluted, and delivered the following
oration: “Captain, I am Private Haynes of the Second New Hampshire.
The order for detail from my regiment called for ten privates and a
corporal. We are very short of non-commissioned officers, so I was
placed in charge as an acting corporal. It was my oversight in not so
stating when I reported my detachment. So I was given a post as sentry
today and have stood it, but I thought it best to call your attention
to the matter.” When the next relief was called Sergeant-Major
Featherstone announced: “Corporal Haynes takes charge of this relief.”
Relieved from a common laborer’s drudgery and from the heavier part
of guard duty, I will get along, probably, as comfortably as I would
with the regiment. And I am in position to make it easier for my boys
from the Second. Featherstone seems to have a pretty high idea of the
average capacity of my New Hampshire Yankees. The other day he called
on me for a skilled wood worker, who could do repair work mainly. I
recommended my bunkmate Lawrence, and now George has the softest job
of any man on the Guard—nothing to do but whittle. And the axe-helves
and tool handles he turns out to replace the broken ones are really a
credit to his skill.
My box has not come yet. The express matter is at Belle Plain, but it
is hard to get anything but army supplies up over the railroad. I have
not seen James for some time. His camp is a mile and a half from here,
and I have to stick pretty close to these headquarters, just now. I
have heard that the Ninth Army Corps, to which his regiment belongs,
is on the way to North Carolina. If so, I shall not see him again. He
was over here a few days ago, but I was off in the woods with a squad
of men. [I never saw him again. He was killed, the following year, at
Spottsylvania.]
———————
_LXXXVII_
HEADQUARTERS BERRY’S DIVISION,
NEAR FALMOUTH, VA.,
_February 15, 1863_.
Out I go again into the cold—the same old story. Somebody else is
enjoying the cozy quarters I helped build over at the Fitzhugh
house, while I am sitting in my little shelter tent, hardly big
enough for two, with the rain pouring and all my surroundings wet
and uncomfortable. It all comes from the fact that Sickles, having
been put in command of the corps, retains his old quarters as corps
headquarters, while Berry, put in command of the division, has to set
up housekeeping somewhere else, taking the division provost guard along
with him, of course. We are now about two miles from the camp of the
Second, and fully a mile from any of the division, and it is said we
are to move again in a day or two. The entire brigade is out on picket
now. Went out three days ago, and rations have been sent out for three
days more. They are out six or seven miles, above Falmouth. My box has
not reached me yet, and I am getting a little mad about it. Many of
the boys have got theirs, which started at the same time; but there is
still a great pile at the landing and mine is probably among them.
Charlie Vickery has got back looking like a new man. I was glad to see
him, for he brought me a half-dollar’s worth of postage stamps just as
I was all out and wondering where I would get more.
The furlough excitement might as well be set down as a delusion, except
for the favored few. Only one man in my company—Dave Perkins, the
orderly sergeant—has got one yet. One a week—or every ten days! You
see, by the time the last man gets his furlough it will be time for
his discharge. It will not be many weeks before Uncle Joe Hooker will
be making a forward movement and the furloughs will be shut off with a
snap. As a matter of form, and just to see what he would say, I asked
Lieutenant Gordon, commanding the company, to send my name in among
the first. He said he should give the married men the preference. When
I asked him if the men who were engaged had any special standing, he
looked as if he thought I was trifling.
Major Bailey was before a court martial a few days ago. Ed must be
getting used to it. The charge was, I believe, disrespect of superior
officers. I have not heard the result.
———————
_LXXXVIII_
HEADQUARTERS BERRY’S DIVISION,
NEAR FALMOUTH, VA.,
_February 23, 1863_.
A week ago or so, the story was afloat that the regiment was going home
right away, “and no mistake.” Col. Marston had been down here, and had
the consent of the President, the Secretary of War, and General Hooker,
and we were sure to go. All the officers took stock in the story, and
I did really hope that by next Saturday we might be in Manchester. But
even now the hopes of going have died out and the excitement subsided.
Such stories have been let loose every two or three weeks as regular as
clockwork.
You would have screamed if you could have seen the ridiculous
sleighride I did today. It was a lark of the General’s staff officers.
They had a set of sleigh-runners made and a wagon body mounted on them.
The sleighing would not have been called sleighing at all up in New
Hampshire. But they started out, with one lady in the party, tipped
over twice, and then went to smash entirely.
Ed. Bailey’s commission as Lieutenant-Colonel has come. His court
martial is ended, and whatever the findings he is returned to duty.
Frank Wasley is now Sergeant-Major. One of the boys saw my box at the
landing yesterday. There are several inches of snow on the ground,
which fell yesterday; but it is warm today and the snow will not last
long.
_Wednesday._—I have been busy the past two days. Yesterday my patience
about gave out. We had two choppers out in the woods, and along in the
afternoon I was sent out with teams and a squad of men to gather up and
bring in the wood they had down. Before we got to the woods we met one
of the choppers, who told me there was no need to go any farther, as
there was no wood cut; that they would not allow him to chop anywhere,
as the trees were wanted to build corduroy roads with. Of course I
turned around and went back—a distance of two miles. We had not been in
camp fifteen minutes before the other chopper came in and said he had
been chopping all day and had lots of wood down. The first chopper had
not been out at all, but had been having a glorious drunk, and told me
the story he did to get himself out of a scrape. Of course we had to
go out again—and of all the times! It looked sometimes as if we never
would get out of the woods. The teams got stuck, and chains broke.
There was an apology for a road, but its main features were stumps,
roots and bog holes. Nothing but an army wagon could ever have stood
the strain, and nothing but a team of army mules, guided by army mule
drivers, would ever have attempted to get in and out of that place. But
we got our wood, and were back at headquarters, tired but triumphant,
about eight o’clock in the evening.
Captain Gordon told me, yesterday, that Colonel Marston had declined
his Brigadiership and was coming back to take command of the regiment,
much to Bailey’s disappointment.
George Lawrence is expecting a furlough to come along tomorrow, and he
says: “Finish a long letter and I will carry it as far as Lawrence for
you.” But I guess it will go as quickly by mail.
———————
_NOTE_
_The interval of time between the preceding and the following
letters is explained by the fact that the stories and rumors
of “going home” actually materialized at this time. The regiment
left the Army of the Potomac February 26 and arrived in New
Hampshire March 3. It left the state for the front again May 25,
arriving in Washington May 27. The “Soldier Boy” and “The Girl
I left behind me” were married March 9._
———————
_LXXXIX_
WASHINGTON, D. C., _May 27, 1863_.
Got into Washington this morning at half-past six—less than forty-eight
hours on the route from New Hampshire. George Slade lost his knapsack
somewhere on the way. Mrs. Wasley was at Concord and rode down on the
train. The last I saw of her she was standing on the plank walk, her
eyes full of tears. I was glad you did not come to the depot when the
regiment passed through. George Slade’s wife was at Concord, almost
heart-broken. [It was their last farewell—George never came back.]
We are stopping now at the “Soldier’s Rest.” Captain Gordon tells me we
are ordered to report to General Casey, in command of the defenses of
Washington, and will probably stay about here some time. The Fourteenth
New Hampshire are here, camped on the hill not far away.
We rode from Norwich, Conn., to Jersey City on an old freight boat.
There were no bunks, and I found the deck planks of about the usual
quality and finish. The good grub the family so liberally stocked me
up with at Manchester is not all gone yet, notwithstanding I have
shared it freely with the poor and needy. I saw Norm. Gunnison at
Philadelphia. He was discharged for disability, not long ago, and is
now working on some newspaper.
———————
_XC_
CAMP MARSTON, WASHINGTON, D. C.,
_May 30, 1863_.
We are now fairly settled down in camp on what is known as East Capitol
Hill, with nothing to do but eat, sleep, and drill, and make ourselves
as comfortable as we can. The camp is right out in the open, with not
as much as a huckleberry bush for shade. But we have A-tents to sleep
in, which are roomy and comfortable—much more so than our “shelters.”
There are only three in my tent—Herm. Sleeper, “Curley” Converse, and
yours truly. George Slade did come in, but he was detailed as company
cook and now has a tent of his own.
I saw Farnsworth over in the city day before yesterday—[Major Simeon
D., Paymaster, onetime publisher of the Manchester _American_.] We
were marching toward Long Bridge, headed for Camp Chase on Arlington
Heights, and I had a chance to speak to him a moment. Our destination
was changed however before we reached the bridge and we were
about-faced and marched to our present camp.
I saw Captain Bruce [John N.] Tuesday. He is a sergeant in the
Fourteenth. He tapped his chevrons and observed, with a smile: “Coming
_up_, you see!” Which reminded me of the old, old times before the war,
when he used to parade the streets of Manchester at the head of his
crack company, the admiration and envy of every boy in town.
“Old Beauregard” [Orrin S. Gardner,] the old sinner whose picture I
sent home once, has deserted. Before we left the state he was arrested
and put in the guard house on mere suspicion that he was going to
desert; but the morning we started off he was missing sure enough and
has not since been heard from. My own private opinion is if he had been
let alone he’d have been all right.
General Martindale was in camp yesterday, and the camp gossips greased
up the old rumor machine and ground out the following: Martindale said
he should try to keep us here, as he wanted one such regiment in this
place. And it is supposed that Marston is doing what he can to keep us
in the defenses.
_Afternoon._—One of our boys has just come in from the Fourteenth and
says they are going to march tomorrow. I wish we could move over to
their camp, as it is a delightful location, with shade trees and nice
clean grounds.
Our batch of brand-new lieutenants are having the usual experience in
getting fitted into their places, and are subjected to the merciless
criticism of the old men for any blunder they may happen to make. Frank
Wasley was officer of the guard yesterday and got badly rattled and
mixed up. It was especially mortifying, as many officers from other
regiments were out to see our guard mount. We are to be inspected
tomorrow forenoon by an officer from General Casey’s staff, and I have
been polishing up my old Springfield. I have been in swimming once in
the East Branch.
_Sunday._—Two of our boys who were in the city yesterday saw General
Marston and asked him what was to be done with us. He said we would be
with our old division in the Army of the Potomac within eight days.
Our inspection is over. It was not an exhausting ordeal. The inspecting
officer, as it was very hot and dusty, probably was as anxious as we
were to have it over with. He directed the Quartermaster to draw straw
enough to bed every tent.
I have sure-enough cow’s milk in my coffee quite often now. Quite a
number of cows find free pasturage and very good grazing on the open
lands in the vicinity of the camp.
———————
_XCI_
CAMP MARSTON, WASHINGTON, D. C.,
_Saturday, June 6, 1863_.
Just at present we are not living very high—not near as well as we
did at Falmouth. But George Slade is cook for the company, and he
says: “When you want something special, Mart, just give me the wink,
and if it’s in the cook house you’ll get it.” This noon we had boiled
potatoes and boiled salt pork. Tonight we are to have hasty pudding and
molasses. Somebody has been stealing everything eatable lying around
loose in the cook house, and Slade has gone down to the city to buy
some ipecac. He will set his trap and there is bound to be some awfully
sick fellows about camp before long.
I cut a lot of bullrushes down by the East Branch this afternoon—enough
to thickly carpet the whole floor of our tent—and they make a glorious
bed indeed.
Monday evening the third brigade of the Pennsylvania Reserve Corps, who
have been camped on this side for some time, crossed the river, and the
Second and Fourteenth New Hampshire and Thirty-fourth Massachusetts are
now the only troops on this side. The Fourteenth is doing provost and
guard duty in the city.
We got a belated mail last Tuesday. I had a letter from Frank Morrill
dated March 2, one from you dated February 24, and a paper from Roger
mailed in February. This mail had been hung up in Washington ever since
we went home. Of course the boys had lots of fun circulating items of
“news.”