THE LANDING--ON TO YORKTOWN
“Well, here we are at last, Harry. Now for Richmond and the capturing
of the Confederate Capital.”
It was Louis who spoke. The Goreville Volunteers, after landing at the
government wharf at Fortress Monroe, had crossed the bridge leading to
Hampton, marched through that semi-deserted and forlorn-looking town,
and came to a halt on the highway leading to Yorktown.
“We are on land, that’s a fact,” returned Harry Bingham. “But where is
another question. What a desolate country!” he added, as his eyes swept
a wide range of half-ploughed and neglected corn and tobacco fields.
“Is this what we have come to conquer?”
“I was told we were only about eighteen miles from Yorktown,” said
Moses Blackwell. “I am very curious to see that place, for, if you
will remember, it was there that Lord Cornwallis of the British forces
surrendered to Washington eighty years ago.”
“That’s so!” cried Louis, much interested. “My grandfather was in that
war. And come to think of it, they say the breastworks Washington’s
troops threw up at that siege are still to be seen. I hope we catch
sight of them,” he added, after a pause, but never dreamt how useful
some of those same old breastworks were to become to the Union troops
during those stirring battles which made the Peninsular Campaign so
famous in history.
Regiments of infantry, bands of cavalry, and divisions of artillery
were everywhere as far as eye could reach, covering not only the
roadway, but the fields beyond. The volunteers had fancied they had
moved on far enough for that first day, but presently the orders came
to move on and another half-mile was covered, when the larger portion
of their corps and another went into regular camp.
All of the boys in blue were in heavy marching order, that is,
carrying with them everything that belonged to each soldier, his gun,
cartridge box, canteen, haversack, knapsack, great coat, blanket
and private property, and a march of five or six miles under such
conditions is exceedingly fatiguing. To be sure, the route step was
given, and everybody marched very much as he pleased in consequence,
but even so, when the order to halt came everybody was glad enough to
throw down his load and rest himself upon it.
“Ven I march like dis I vos feel me like von pack-mule,” remarked Hans
Roddmann. “Dot load gits heavier und heavier bis it veighs apout a ton.”
“I’m getting used to the load,” answered Louis. “But it’s no fun, Hans,
that’s a fact. But you must remember, we didn’t enlist for the fun of
the thing.”
“Oh, no; put too much ist too much,” and Hans went off shaking his
head. He was extra tired, and suffering from a bunion, and the fact
that it was his duty to play cook for the next week did not tend to put
him into good humor.
“To the field on the right, boys,” came the order from Captain
Paulding, and the Goreville Volunteers hopped over a worm-fence located
along the roadway. Two days later the fence had disappeared--chopped
up for firewood. Firewood was not plentiful in the vicinity, and
everything--fences, sheds and trees had to go for fuel. Only the log
cabins and houses of the inhabitants were spared.
In going into camp, Louis soon learned that a regular rule was
adopted. The four regiments forming a division were first placed in a
large square, one regiment to each corner, or quarter, with the tent
of the brigadier-general commanding in front of the whole. The grand
square thus divided, each regiment was divided into divisions of two
companies each, one company placed in a line behind the second company,
the two about ten or fifteen yards apart, with each company divided
from that next to it by about the same distance. When thus stationed,
the soldiers were ordered to stack arms and unsling knapsacks, and then
began the work of building up the tents in long rows behind the stacked
guns, the officers’ quarters being placed on a line with the others,
but either on the outside of all or in the “cross streets” between
companies.
Before starting out on the campaign each soldier had been supplied
with a bit of strong canvas about five feet square, having on the edges
rows of strong buttons and button-holes. Usually four of these pieces
of canvas were buttoned together, making a sheet ten feet square. This
square was now thrown over a ridgepole, sometimes a straight branch
of a tree, sometimes a fence-rail and then again nothing but a musket
with bayonet attached, the ridgepole held up at each end by a short
post driven into the ground. Thus “hoisted,” the canvas was stretched
out as far as possible upon either side and pinned to the ground with
sharpened sticks, after which a fifth patch of cloth was buttoned fast
over the back end, when the “dog tent,” as all the soldiers called
them, was ready for occupancy. Under such a covering would sleep,
closely huddled together, the five men who had contributed their
patches of cloth. Sometimes a sixth man would join the crowd or mess,
when the weather was cold, and then the “dog” would have a “front door.”
“Gosh, this ain’t no palace, is it?” queried Nathan Hornsby, who was
one of the members of the mess to which Louis belonged. “It’s all right
enough in good weather, but creation help us if it storms.”
“I wonder how long we’ll stay here?” queried Louis.
“We’ll have to stay until all of the troops come down from Alexandria,
I suppose,” said Harry, who also belonged to the mess, and who now sat
on his knapsack in the shelter. “I heard somebody say that the last of
the transports wouldn’t be in for a week yet.”
“If we stay here long the rebs will steal a march on us,” put in Moses
Blackwell, who was vainly trying to light some green tobacco picked
up at a ruined storehouse on the route hither. “Of course, it’s only
natural they should fight like wildcats to keep us out of Richmond.”
“I think myself some of the troops ought to be sent ahead, at least as
far as Yorktown,” said Louis. “That place ought to make a splendid base
for supplies, being right along the York River, where our ships of war
could cover it all the time.”
“I reckon we’re going to have lots o’ fightin’ afore we see the
streets o’ Richmond,” ventured Bart Callings, who stood by. “We’ve got
Yorktown to pass, an’ it’s full of rebels, an’ Williamsburg, an’ the
Chickahominy River, where they’ll make a stand as sure as eggs is eggs,
and then comes a lot of swamp woods, an’ I don’t know what all--an’
they’ll have every hole an’ corner o’ it fortified, mark my words!”
“Oh, we’ll get fighting enough,” answered another. “The rebs are just
as brave as we are, every bit, and we might as well understand it so,
first as last.”
“I go in for a dash,” was the comment of a little wiry man named Fleck.
“Start the army on a run for Richmond and let it stop at nothing, and
the day will be ours in less than a week.”
How long the discussion might have lasted, there is no telling, but
just then came the cry: “Company B fall in for supper!” and every man
sprang for his cup and dinner plate, for Company B in that regiment
meant the Goreville Volunteers.
The cooking was done under a large tent at the end of the division
grounds. Here, over a long fire built up of fence rails, tree branches
or any other fuel which came handy, hung a row of smoky kettles, one
containing coffee, another soup, another fresh or salt meat, and so on,
the diet varying but little from meal to meal and day-to-day. The men
marched up in a row, from kettle to kettle, each getting his cup and
plate filled and also his supply of pilot crackers, or “hard tack.”
This ended, the soldiers would return to their quarters, each crowd of
five occupying a tent usually forming a mess of their own.
For over a week the Goreville Volunteers lay in the camp on the road
not far from Big Bethel. During that time the weather remained fairly
fine and, consequently, all were in the best of spirits, and even Jerry
Rowe brightened up, although still grumbling because the fare was so
plain and the war was not pushed so “it could be got done with and they
could go home.”
At last, early in April, came the order to move, “in heavy marching
order,” and once more the boys in that division found themselves on
the way to Yorktown. In the meanwhile, another corps of the Army of
the Potomac was pushing forward from Newport News Point, intending to
clear the road up past a settlement called Lee’s Mills, for it must
be remembered that in advancing upon Richmond it was the intention of
General McClellan to make a general advance from the York to the James
up the peninsula. A glance at a map of this territory will aid my
readers greatly in following the movements which ensued.
“Forward, march!” came the command, about the middle of the forenoon,
a band ahead struck up the then popular Washington March, and off the
columns moved, the men four abreast, every uniform carefully brushed
up, each button polished, the bright red blankets carefully rolled,
and each musket and bayonet glistening brightly in the morning light.
It was a sight to inspire the most listless and Louis felt almost like
singing, as he moved away on the long, swinging route step.
Twelve miles were covered that day, and early in the morning the march
was again resumed. But now the sun failed to shine and soon there
started a light rain which by noon settled into a steady downpour.
Louis threw his cape over his head, and shielded himself as much as
possible, but the elements could not be fought off, and an hour later
he was wet almost to the skin.
“An umbrella wouldn’t be a bad thing to have,” Harry Bingham started
in to say, when the report of a number of firearms cut him short. The
rattle of the musketry sounded from ahead, and a moment later came the
command to halt.
The army was still some two miles and a half from Yorktown when the
advanced guard had come upon some formidable earthworks stretched
across the road and well into the woods beyond. As a matter of fact,
the Confederate defences were afterwards found to stretch directly
across the peninsula, from in front of Yorktown, as described, to
Southall’s Landing. A sharp skirmish ensued between the advanced guard
of the Union army and the Confederate outposts, and then the former
fell back.
“Something is up,” said Louis, when the orders finally came to go into
camp. “And it’s not a battle, either.”
He was right. Instead of making another demonstration, all became
quiet, saving from the direction of Lee’s Mills, where the corps on
the road from Newport News Point had also received a check. A regular
camp was laid out, and the boys in blue proceeded to make themselves as
comfortable as the state of the weather permitted.
Early in the morning Benny Bruce, as bright and eager as ever, sounded
the reveille, and the soldiers came tumbling out of their tents to
listen to a few words from Captain Paulding.
“This regiment is to march to the front, to do picket duty for
twenty-four hours, from sunset to sunset. I wish all the men to
remember that we are now in the very heart of the enemy’s country, and
that each man must do his full duty. There must be no shirking from
work, no nodding on post. Remember, a picket found asleep on his post
is liable to be shot for his offense. Company will get ready to march
in fifteen minutes.”
“Hurrah, we’re going to the front at last!” cried Louis. “I’m glad of
it,” and he started to pack up with all possible haste. Soon they were
on the march, Benny beating his drum louder than ever, until stopped
by a general order to keep quiet, as they were now within easy hearing
distance of the Confederates.
At the time the sun set, although there was no telling when that was by
looking at the sky, for it still rained, Louis found himself on picket
duty for almost the first time in his life. He had often stood guard,
but picket duty was different, for now it was positively known that
the enemy was just ahead. He had been stationed close to the edge of a
woods and was given a beat of twenty feet, ending on the right at a big
oak and on the left at a sideroad running into the Yorktown highway.
Next to him, at the other side of the oak, Harry was stationed, while
Callings covered the road. The reserves, or companies sent forward to
aid the pickets, if needed, lay in a hollow some distance back, and
with these were several cavalrymen detailed for any messenger service
which might be deemed necessary.
Up and down his short walk tramped the young Union soldier, his gun
loaded and his eyes and ears on the alert for anything which might
appear in the least suspicious in the uneven field beyond the woods. He
felt that he was now placed upon his mettle, and resolved that nothing
should happen which might be put down to the enemy’s credit.
Two hours went by, long hours to the youth, for the short beat soon
became a wearisome one, and the pickets had been cautioned not to speak
to one another unless it became necessary. Stopping now and then, he
could hear Harry tramping up and down, and occasionally came a murmur
from the roadway, as Callings forgot himself and started to hum some
well known tune.
And then, Louis stopped short again and clutched his musket tighter.
What was that out in the field, moving slowly along beside a large,
rough rock? With his heart standing fairly still, he dashed the rain
from his eyebrows and took a step forward. Beyond a doubt it was the
form of a man.