The sun arose on the morning of the Thirtieth of September, 1862, bright
and clear, and as he climbed into the heavens the heat became intense.
At an early hour the Regiment was astir, for we had received marching
orders, the army was going to advance, and so, long before noon the
bugle sounded the Assembly. The line was quickly formed and away we went
our band playing its best music. But we had not gone far until the
"Halt!" was sounded, and it was not until late in the day that we got
clear of the streets of Louisville and out into the open country. It was
a hard day on us, encumbered as we were with so much clothing, for each
man was provided with two suits of underwear, and overcoat, and nothing
is more tiresome than the perpetual halting, and advancing, halting and
advancing, which we were compelled to do that day, owing to the crowded
and jammed condition of the streets, filled as they were with regiments
of infantry, cavalry, batteries of artillery, baggage, and supply
trains, and all and singular that goes to make up the force of a large
army about to take the field.
But at last we were clear of the town, and marching on the open country
road, leaving, however, behind us, several of our comrades who had been
overcome with the heat of the sun and the irksomeness of our movements,
and had fallen in their places in the ranks and been carried off to the
hospital for treatment. We did not go far until our track was lined with
clothing, blankets and other property we had thrown away as being too
cumbersome and hard to carry. We went into camp in a meadow, and as soon
as the order was given to break ranks, many of us flung ourselves on the
ground and never moved from our position until the bugle sounded the
reveille in the morning.
Our soldier life had now fairly commenced, and we were on the march to
that country in which many of our comrades were to find their last
resting places. When the war commenced, Kentucky had declared
neutrality, but we think our statement will be borne out by many, that
the neutrality amounted to nothing. At any rate it was the opinion of us
all, that for a neutral state, Kentucky held many bushwhackers, and
guerillas, who, from behind trees and rocks, murdered our boys whenever
opportunity offered. It was murder, not warfare. Kentucky neutrality was
rebellion in ambush. But Kentucky also had loyal sons, and she gave to
the Union several regiments of brave men. Kentucky had splendid roads,
and as we advanced further into the country we were charmed with the
scenery, and if it had not been for the terrible scarcity of water, we
would have got on very well. Foraging of any kind was strictly
forbidden, but the fruits of the land found their way into camp, all the
same. Honey was plenty, fresh meat and also vegetables, and in spite of
all orders, found their way into camp. There was one boy in our company
who seemed to have, instinctively, a knowledge superior to any one else,
as to where all such things could be obtained. Every night he would
appear in camp ladened down with food that had never been issued from
our regimental commissariat. He was liberal hearted, and distributed his
good things with a lavish hand. But the marching became terrible at
last. The hot sun beating on the "pike," and the air filled with the
heated dust, no water, excepting such as could be obtained from ponds by
the road side, stagnant, and covered with a green slime, and often with
hogs wallowing in it. The springs and wells dried up, all combined to
make our march irksome, and almost unbearable. Camp Diarrhoea made its
appearance from which nearly all suffered more or less. Green
persimmons, white oak bark, and all such simple astringents were used,
but many became very weak and unable to march. The ambulances were full
of sick soldiers, and so indeed were many wagons. Many poor fellows got
discouraged, thoughts of home and loved ones filled their minds, and as
the long days passed away and they lay in the ambulances, their minds
kept wandering back, and nothing could arouse them to make endeavors to
regain their health, so at last death came to many and relieved them of
their sufferings. It was at such times as these, that the boys showed
their hearty good will, that earnest endeavor to help those who could
not help themselves, so characteristic of the western man, and many a
trip was made by some kind hearted lad to houses far from the line of
march, although he knew he was running the risk of losing his own life
in the attempt, to procure a canteen of good water for a sick comrade,
who was slowly but surely loosing his hold on life. The writer well
remembers the feelings that the first death in his own company
occasioned. One of our boys had grown so weak from the effects of the
diarrhoea that he had been placed in one of the ambulances. For several
days he rode thus, and every night when we reached camp some one of our
number would go to the ambulance train to see if he needed anything,
that we could do for him, but one night the messenger returned with the
sad news, that, when the ambulance train went into camp, he was found
dead inside. Yes, poor fellow, his warfare was over, and as we gathered
to our camp fires the news was spread around, a pall of sorrow seemed to
settle down upon us, and Co. "B" went to their blankets with saddened
hearts. But sorrow, like everything else, is evanescent, and before the
next night rolled around, the company had again assumed its usual every
day life and jollity, not that the memory of our lost comrade had faded
from our minds, but on every hand there was to be seen something new to
us, something to excite enquiry, and we were finding now, every day,
traces of war; fences torn down to enable cavalry to charge through,
dead horses, and used up wagons by the road side, which had been
abandoned by the enemy, and destroyed, by cutting the spokes out of the
wheels, so as to be of no use to the "invader." These sights, and many
others, quickly dispelled sorrow, and brought in its place a desire to
meet the foe. We were at this time in the division over which General
Phillip H. Sheridan had command.