OFF FOR THE PENINSULA
As previously mentioned, General McClellan, on taking charge of
the Army of the Potomac and, later on, charge of the whole Federal
forces, found affairs in Washington in a truly deplorable condition.
The infantry numbered less than fifty thousand, the cavalry about a
thousand, and the artillery less than seven hundred, with only thirty
field pieces, many of them hardly fit for use. Added to these facts was
the still more important one that officers and men were alike slack
in military discipline, coming and going very much as suited their
convenience.
This was all changed as rapidly as such a huge work could be
performed. Officers were made to pass a regular examination to
determine their fitness for their positions, men were drilled every
day and had regular hours for doing things assigned to them, and each
new command as it came in was made to feel that it must live up to the
spirit as well as the letter of the military law. Whatever else may
be said of General McClellan’s fitness for the absolute leadership in
a great campaign, the fact must forever remain that he was one of the
best army organizers this country, or any other, has ever produced.
Firm almost to the point of harshness, he was still a friend to all,
and his men understood this so well that they would have followed him
anywhere. To thousands he was “Little Mac,” and for a long while the
very idol of the army.
By February, 1862, General McClellan’s forces were ready for an
advance upon the Confederates. Over fifty thousand soldiers were
stationed in and around Washington, below the city at Alexandria,
above upon the Potomac, and at several places to watch the valley of
the Shenandoah. Outside of these the great army numbered 158,000 men,
of which not quite five thousand were regulars and all of the rest
volunteers. By this it will be seen that in less than ten months the
Northern States had converted into trained soldiers over two hundred
thousand men who had previously been clerks, farmers, mechanics and
followers of kindred occupations. During the same time the seceded
States had turned out about half that number of soldiers from somewhat
similar sources. This work was a wonder in itself and is well worth a
moment’s contemplation.
It had taken much valuable time to organize the Army of the Potomac,
and now more time was lost in perfecting the details of the coming
campaign. It was General McClellan’s desire to strike “all along the
line” at the same time, thus giving the Confederates no opportunity
to rally from one point to another. The enemy was to be attacked not
only in Virginia, but also in North and South Carolina, in Kentucky and
Tennessee. Had this plan been executed without delay, it is possible
the war would have been of short duration. But delay after delay
occurred at Washington, and meanwhile battle after battle took place
elsewhere. At last, after numerous changes in the plan of campaign, it
was decided between the administration and the general-in-chief that
the army should be transported by boats to Fortress Monroe, at the
extreme point of the peninsula formed by the York and James Rivers,
and then march up past Yorktown, and lay siege to Richmond, if the
Confederate Capital could not be taken in any other way. It was argued
that, as the route from the water to Richmond was less than ninety-five
miles in length, and as the troops would be perfectly fresh after their
sea voyage, they ought to be able to make a steady movement forward, in
which case Richmond might be taken with but little trouble.
The anticipated movement of the army was, of course, kept a secret from
the public and the privates until the last moment. It was not until the
middle of March that word came into camp that the Goreville Volunteers,
now regularly attached to a regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers, were
to move two days later.
“Where are we going to move to?” questioned Louis, of Harry Bingham,
who had brought the word from Captain Paulding’s headquarters.
“We are to cross the Potomac, that’s all I know,” answered Harry.
“Perhaps we are to follow the rebels from Centerville,” said Louis, for
he heard how the Confederate forces had left that vicinity.
“Maybe. We’re going somewhere, that’s certain.”
It was a cool but clear day when the volunteers broke camp and struck
out on a march which lasted the best part of ten hours. They went into
camp in a sweet potato field, and by sunrise the day following were
again on the tramp.
“I guess we are marching around for fun,” laughed Harry Bingham. But he
soon found out his mistake. That afternoon they reached Alexandria and
here were waiting a whole host of vessels to receive them. The regiment
to which the Goreville boys belonged was taken on a boat named the
_Boston Queen_.
“Sure and they are going to send us south on a voyage of discovery,”
said one of the men. “I wonder if they’ll land us at Charleston?”
“Charleston!” shrieked Jerry Rowe. “If they do that, we’ll all be
killed. Why, that is where they bombarded Fort Sumter.”
“Never mind, Jerry, if you are killed, remember you died for your
country when you didn’t want to,” said Moses Blackwell, and a laugh
went up, while Jerry groaned dismally.
The harbor was “a sight for to see,” as one of the men said. Transports
were there without number, big and small, some filled to overflowing
with soldiers, others waiting for their loads of human freight. Here
and there a band of music was playing and the Stars and Stripes were
everywhere to be seen. The sight was an inspiring one, and Louis and
Harry enjoyed it thoroughly.
“Creation, what a lot of us!” cried Harry Bingham. “Hang me if I don’t
believe half the men in the country have taken up arms.”
“We are bound for Fortress Monroe,” came the word a bit later. “The
rebels are congregating around Richmond, and we are to wipe ’em out!”
“Hurrah!” went up the cry. “On to Richmond, boys, and no turning back
this time. Hurrah for Little Mac!”
“Besser ve valk to Richmond,” said Hans Roddmann, one of the new
members of the Goreville company. “Ven I come me ofer from Chermany
I bes sick more as dree-quarters der dime. I ton’t vonts me no more
sickness like dot.”
“Oh, this is only a little coast trip,” said Harry Bingham,
lightly--too lightly altogether, as he remembered later on. “We sha’n’t
hardly be out of sight of land.”
“Vell, I ton’t know.” Hans Roddmann shook his head meditatively. “Put
I vould besser been sick anyhow as let von of dem repel gunpoats come
along und plow us up, hey?”
“You’re right there, Hans,” laughed Louis. “We’ll have to keep a sharp
watch out for the enemy. Although we are nearly a thousand strong,
our rifles would prove a poor defense against a number of ten or
twenty-pounders.”
“Maybe de got some twenty ouder dirty pounders on board dis ship,”
concluded Hans. The man had been the village cobbler at Goreville and
it had taken a good bit of talking upon Captain Paulding’s part to get
him to volunteer, and even then it had taken still more talking to get
Mrs. Roddmann to consent to the enlistment. The woman was alone in the
world, excepting for her husband, and it was only when Mr. Rockford
had consented to take her in the house and give her work that she had
granted her husband permission to leave at his country’s call.
At last the time came to cast off the lines and start on the voyage
down the Potomac River and Chesapeake Bay. A final hurrah went up as
the _Boston Queen_ swung clear of the dock.
“Good-bye, boys; meet me on the peninsula.”
“What’s the matter with meeting you at Richmond?” came back the reply.
“Just the thing. I’ll make a date of it.”
“All right; April first suit?”
“You klown, dot vos Abril fool’s tay!” shouted Hans Roddmann, and then
those on the boat and those left on the dock passed out of hearing of
each other. Soon the voyage southward had begun.
The day, which had promised fair, now turned cloudy, and soon the
_Boston Queen_ was enveloped in one of the dense fogs for which this
section of our sea coast is famous. Louis had thought to remain on
deck, but now he was glad enough to seek the shelter of the cabin,
already crowded to suffocation.
“Not much of a chance to bunk, boys,” said Captain Paulding, as
he passed among his men. “We’ll have to make the best of it. One
consolation, the trip won’t last forever.”
“How long will it last, captain?” queried Blackwell.
“Well, the trip is less than a hundred and fifty miles. We might make
it in four days, if we had clear sailing. But we have two enemies to
contend with--fog and rebel gunboats;” and the captain passed on.
By night the space on board of the transport had been divided among
the different companies as evenly as possible, while the staterooms
were reserved for the commanders from second lieutenants up. The
Goreville Volunteers found themselves located in the front cabin, where
there were six long benches and, as Blackwell declared, “as soft a
floor of Georgia pine as could be found anywhere.” Louis slept on that
floor that same night, with his knapsack for a pillow, and found it
anything but soft. Yet even that couch was in infinitely better than
some of those which he was glad enough to make his own later on.
“Ve vos all chickens in der chicken-coop, hey?” was the way Hans
Roddmann expressed himself in the morning. “Blease somepotty fall
oferpoard bis I stretch mineselluf!” And the room he required for the
stretching process really made it look as if somebody would have to
clear the deck.
“This is worse than the camp in Washington,” began Jerry Rowe, but just
then a shoe, thrown from the other end of the cabin, took him in the
back of the neck and caused him to subside with a howl. The owner of
the shoe came limping along with the other on a moment later, and when
Jerry tried to argue with him, there was a regular pitched battle, in
which a number of others joined, in the best of humor, although Jerry,
who was at the bottom of the heap during a “pile on,” did not see it
exactly that way.
“Never mind, Jerry, have a cup of fresh chocolate,” exclaimed Harry,
a minute later, as the cook passed around with his wash-boiler, “all
steaming hot,” and again Jerry was disappointed for, as usual, it was
black coffee, and particularly bitter at that. Louis was getting used
to “hardtack” and coffee, but Jerry grumbled every time it was placed
before him.
“I’m sick, tired, and disgusted with pork and beans and strong coffee
and pilot bread,” he would growl. “Why in the name of creation don’t
the government give us something else?”
“Never mind, Jerry; there’s a sutler along and you can buy what you
please from him,” said one of the soldiers.
“Barker is a thief!” burst out the discontented one. “Why, he wanted
to charge me a quarter for a measly four-cent pie and forty cents for
a tiny pot of jam. If I patronized him, he’d draw every cent of my pay
when the quartermaster turned up.”
The following morning found the _Boston Queen_ well down towards
Chesapeake Bay. The fog was as thick as ever, but a wind had sprung up
and this caused the ship to roll lazily from side to side as she moved
southward. About noon Louis saw Harry drop upon a bench and catch his
face in his hands.
“What’s the matter, Harry, home-sick?” he asked, lightly.
“No, I’m not _home_-sick,” was the short reply, and then Harry added,
with a peculiar twitching of his mouth, “but I’m getting awfully sick
otherwise.”
“He vos sea-sick, py chiminatty!” roared out Hans Roddmann. “Now you
vos see how _you_ likes him, hey?”
“Oh, it’s awful!” was all Harry could answer, and then he made a
rush for the outer deck, closely followed by Jerry Rowe, who had
been similarly attacked. An hour later Hans Roddmann had joined the
pair, and during the remainder of the voyage the trio had plenty of
company, for overloaded with men and baggage, the _Boston Queen_ rolled
dreadfully as she worked her way slowly along.
Twenty-four hours before they came in sight of Fortress Monroe the fog
lifted, and soon after that came a good deal of a scare. Two strange
vessels were seen approaching from the eastward and were instantly put
down as rebel cruisers or gunboats. At once the guns on board of the
transport were gotten into readiness for firing and the soldiers were
called to arms. In the meantime, the _Boston Queen_ did all possible to
increase her speed, in the hope of getting within the protection of the
guns of the fortress before she could be run down or sunk.
The excitement lasted for two hours, and more than once the heart of
many a soldier was in his throat. Many of the men could not swim and
they knew that a single round shot, properly delivered, could put the
_Boston Queen_ at the bottom of the Atlantic.
Then came a hurrah from the mast-head, as those on the watch made out
that the approaching vessels were friends and not enemies. The boats
proved to be two transports which had in some way strayed from the
fleet in the fog. They were flying signals to that effect, and soon
after they joined in the rear of the vessels behind the _Boston Queen_,
and again the passage to Fortress Monroe was resumed.