[Illustration]
JOHN CALL DALTON
_M.D., U.S.V._
Privately Printed
1892
Copyright, 1892,
BY CHARLES H. DALTON.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company.
_These pages are the beginning of a narrative of the personal military
experience of John Call Dalton, M. D., Surgeon U. S. V., written during
the last year of his life, at the request of his family, and now
printed for the instruction of its younger generation._
_March, 1892._
CONTENTS
PAGE
IN WASHINGTON WITH THE SEVENTH 5
THE EXPEDITION TO PORT ROYAL 35
THE SEA ISLANDS AND FORT PULASKI 64
MILITARY HISTORY OF JOHN CALL DALTON, M. D. 103
IN WASHINGTON WITH THE SEVENTH.
On the evening of Saturday, April 13th, 1861, the intelligence reached
New York that Fort Sumter, in Charleston harbor, had yielded to the
rebel authorities, after undergoing a bombardment of thirty-six
hours. It was felt by all that this act of violence closed the door
of reconciliation, and dissipated every hope of a peaceful solution
for our political difficulties. Two days afterward President Lincoln
issued his proclamation calling upon the states for seventy-five
thousand troops to reassert the authority of the government, to "cause
the laws to be duly executed," and to "repossess the forts, places,
and property" which had been seized from the Union. The first object
of importance was to secure the safety of the national capital; and
the President had expressed a desire that one regiment from New York,
already organized and equipped, should be sent forward at once for
that purpose.
Learning that the Seventh regiment had volunteered to meet this call,
and that the assistant surgeon then attached to it had resigned the
position, I applied to be taken in his place, and had the gratification
to receive my appointment on Thursday the 18th. The regiment was under
orders to assemble and start for Washington on the following day.
Meanwhile other states had also been exerting themselves to forward any
militia regiments that could be had at short notice; and, as usual,
when called upon to act, Massachusetts was the first in the field.
Within three days after the President's proclamation, two regiments
from that state, the Sixth and the Eighth, were on the move. The Sixth
arrived in New York early on the morning of April 18th, by the N. Y.
& New Haven railroad. The terminus of this road was then at Fourth
Avenue and 27th Street, where I saw the regiment disembark and form in
line, before proceeding on its march through the city. Its ranks had
evidently been filled in some measure by new recruits, whose outfit by
no means corresponded altogether with the regimental uniform. There
were common overcoats and slouched hats mingled with the rest. But they
were a solid and serviceable looking battalion; and it was a common
remark that in such an emergency it was a good thing to see the men in
line with their muskets before their uniforms were ready. This regiment
was followed by the Eighth Massachusetts, which passed through the city
twenty-four hours later.
But at that time every one bound for Washington was too busy with his
own affairs to pay much attention to the movements of others; and the
morning of the 19th was filled to the last moment with indispensable
preparations. Early in the afternoon the Seventh regiment assembled at
its armory, which was then on the east side of Third Avenue, between
Sixth and Seventh Streets. It had received within the past few days
some accessions in new recruits. Its regular members reported for duty
in greater numbers than usual; and when finally ready for departure it
paraded nearly a thousand muskets. From the armory it was marched by
companies to Lafayette Place near by, where the line was formed and I
took my place with the officers of the regimental staff.
Up to this time our attention had not been especially attracted to
anything beyond our own immediate duties; and for a novice like myself
they were occupation enough. There had been visiting friends and
leave-takers at the armory, and in the adjoining streets there was
the usual crowd of idlers and sight-seers about a militia parade. But
when the regiment wheeled into column, and from the quiet enclosure of
Lafayette Place passed into Broadway, the spectacle that met us was a
revelation. From the curbstone to the top story, every building was
packed with a dense mass of humanity. Men, women, and children covered
the sidewalks, and occupied every window and balcony on both sides, as
far as the eye could reach. The mass was alive all over with waving
flags and handkerchiefs, and the cheers that came from it, right and
left, filled the air with a mingled chorus of tenor and treble and
falsetto voices. It was a sudden and surprising demonstration, as
unlooked for as the transformation scene in a theatre. But that was
hardly the beginning of it. Instead of spending itself in a short
outburst of welcome, it ran along with the head of the column, was
taken up at every step by those in front, and only died away in the
rear. As the regiment moved on past one street after another, it
seemed as if at every block the crowd grew denser and the uproar more
incessant. Along the entire line of march, from Lafayette Place to
Cortlandt Street, there was not a rod of space that was not thronged
with spectators; and all the while the same continuous cry, from
innumerable throats, kept up without a moment's intermission, from
beginning to end.
No one could witness such a scene without being impressed by it. It
was like the act of a drama magnified in its proportions a hundred
fold, and with the added difference of being a reality. The longer it
continued, the more it affected the senses and the mind; until at last
one almost felt as if he were marching in a dream, half dazed by the
endless repetition of unaccustomed sights and sounds.
Beside that, it gave us a different idea of the city of New York.
For most of us, especially those of the younger generation, it was
mainly a city of immigration, offering to all comers its varied
opportunities for activity and enterprise. Hardly any one gave a
thought to its local traditions, or believed in the existence of any
unity of sentiment among its inhabitants. But now, all at once, it had
risen up like an enormous family, with a single impulse of spontaneous
enthusiasm, to declare that it valued loyalty and patriotism more than
commerce or manufactures. The time and the occasion had brought out its
latent qualities, and had given them an expression that no one could
misunderstand.
When we turned from Broadway into Cortlandt Street the tumult partly
subsided; but after crossing the ferry to Jersey City it began again.
There were demonstrative crowds in the railroad depot, and as the train
moved off they followed it with cheers that were repeated at every
station on the route to Philadelphia. It did not take long to discover
that transportation by railroad train, with a regiment of troops on
board, was by no means a luxurious mode of traveling. With no seats to
spare, many standing in the aisles, and the remaining space encumbered
with arms and accoutrements, there was little opportunity for ease or
comfort; and as for sleep, that was out of the question. Sometime
after midnight we reached Philadelphia, and were transferred to the
cars for Washington, at the depot of the Philadelphia, Wilmington and
Baltimore railroad. But here our onward movement ceased. The train
rested stationary in the depot. Expecting every moment the signal
for starting, we could only wait patiently until it should come.
Nevertheless the night wore away, the gray dawn found us still waiting,
and no locomotive had even been coupled on to the train. What could
be the cause of such delay, when everything demanded promptitude and
celerity? We already knew that the Sixth Massachusetts, the pioneer
regiment in advance, had been attacked the day before in the streets
of Baltimore, and had only forced its way through the mob at the
expense of fighting and bloodshed. Was our own march to be obstructed
at the outset by a rebellious city, standing like a fortress across
the route? Or were the railroad officials in sympathy with secession,
and purposely hampering our movements by pretended friendship and
false excuses? The Eighth Massachusetts, which had left New York some
hours before us, was also in the depot, on board another train,
equally helpless with ourselves, and apparently with as little prospect
of getting away. As daylight came, we began to straggle out of the
car-house and up and down the streets of what was then a rather
desolate looking neighborhood. The necessity of foraging for breakfast
gave us for a while some little diversion and occupation; but that was
soon over, and all the forenoon our uneasiness was on the increase. Who
could tell what might be happening even then at the national capital?
And thus far we had barely accomplished one third of the distance from
New York to Washington. There were interviews and consultations between
the field officers and the railroad authorities; and General Benjamin
F. Butler, who was in command of both Massachusetts regiments, also
appeared upon the scene. But for the rest of us there was little food
for thought beyond rumors, doubts, and surmises. So we kept on rambling
to and fro near the depot, and wondering when this thing would come to
an end.
Toward noon some information began to filter through from headquarters,
and we came to understand, more or less distinctly, what was going
on. In reality the state of affairs was this. The railroad managers
were as anxious as ourselves to facilitate the transportation of the
regiment; but they had no means of overcoming the difficulties of
the situation. The tracks through Baltimore had been obstructed with
barricades, so that the cars could not pass. Even if these should be
cleared away, there was no certainty that the company could retain
control of the depots and rolling stock on the other side of the city.
That would depend on the coöperation of the police and perhaps of the
city militia, neither of which were felt to be reliable. In fact,
the Governor of Maryland and the Mayor of Baltimore had both sent
despatches strongly objecting to the further passage of troops through
the city in its present excited and disorderly condition. Between the
Maryland state line and Baltimore there were two railroad bridges,
crossing the Little Gunpowder and Bush rivers; and both these bridges
had been destroyed by secessionists during the night. To repair them
would need the protection of an armed force, and would be a matter of
further uncertainty and delay. The object of the regiment was to reach
Washington at the earliest possible moment; and for that purpose the
route by Baltimore was evidently impracticable.
The next accessible point was Annapolis on the Chesapeake Bay, where
the grounds of the United States Naval Academy, located at the harbor,
offered an additional advantage. It could be reached by either of two
ways. The Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore railroad runs direct
from Philadelphia to the mouth of the Susquehanna river, at the head
of Chesapeake Bay, where at that time there was no bridge, the cars
being taken across on a steam ferry-boat, the _Maryland_, from one side
to the other. The troops might be carried by rail to this point; and
then, taking possession of the ferry-boat, might go down the bay, past
the harbor of Baltimore, to Annapolis. This was the route selected by
General Butler for the Eighth Massachusetts. Our commanding officer, on
the other hand, Colonel Lefferts, decided to charter at once a steamer
capable of taking the regiment from Philadelphia round by sea to the
capes of Virginia, and so up Chesapeake Bay to Annapolis.
This was accordingly done. The regiment was paraded, marched down to
the pier, and embarked on the _Boston_, a freight and passenger steamer
formerly running between Philadelphia and New York. Her capacity was
just sufficient to receive so large a company with the necessary
supplies; and when all were on board there was hardly more freedom of
space than we had found in the railroad cars. But no more time was lost
in waiting. That afternoon carried us down the river; by sunset we had
entered Delaware Bay; and the next morning, which was Sunday, the 21st,
we were fairly at sea, headed south for the capes of Virginia.
All that day we ploughed on over a smooth sea, with a fair wind, a
bright sun and a clear sky. The scene everywhere was exhilarating;
and the interest of the expedition increased every hour with the
uncertainty of what lay before us. We were approaching a region where
all was on the border line between loyalty and secession, and which
included the most important military and naval positions in the
country,--Hampton Roads, Fortress Monroe, and the Norfolk Navy Yard.
Intelligence from these points was eagerly looked for, and early in
the afternoon, when nearing the capes, we came within hailing distance
of a schooner bound north under full sail. The information she gave us
was that of the destruction of Norfolk Navy Yard and its abandonment
by the United States authorities. This had been done the day before
by order of the navy department, to prevent the ships and ordnance
falling into the hands of the rebels. It was the best thing to do in
the emergency. All the ships left there had been scuttled, the guns
spiked and the buildings burned; and the enemy in possession could not
have made anything serviceable for aggressive purposes under at least a
month. But we were ignorant of these details. We learned only that the
navy yard was lost; and for anything we knew to the contrary, Hampton
Roads might already be patrolled by rebel gun-boats, and even Fortress
Monroe might have shared the fate of the navy yard. In that case, it
would be no place for an unarmed transport, loaded with troops. As we
entered Chesapeake Bay and passed by the suspicious locality, many eyes
were turned in that direction; and when fairly out of reach of Hampton
Roads, all felt relieved that our way to Annapolis was once more clear.
That night our course lay up the Chesapeake, and at dawn on the 22d
we were anchored in the harbor of Annapolis. But to the impatient and
inexperienced volunteers it seemed as though the complications of our
journey were to have no end. General Butler had arrived the day before
from the head of the bay with the Eighth Massachusetts regiment, on
the steamer _Maryland_; and he had rendered good service in saving
the United States school ship _Constitution_ from a threatened rebel
attack by towing her out from shore toward the harbor entrance. But
in doing so his own steamer had grounded on a shallow bar, where she
was now lying hard and fast, with the Massachusetts troops still on
board. The first thing to do was to release her, if possible, from this
awkward predicament. Our vessel, the _Boston_, was again put under
steam, and harnessed with heaving-line and hawser to the ferry-boat.
Then she would go to work like a willing draught-horse, and pull this
way and that for five minutes together, straining every nerve to start
her clumsy load, but without effect. Her paddles only brought up from
the bottom such clouds of yellow foam that it made the narrow harbor
look like an enormous mud-puddle; and with every new attempt we began
to think that instead of floating the _Maryland_ we should, in all
likelihood, get stuck fast ourselves. Finally, much to our relief, it
was decided to land the regiment and stores from the _Boston_, and wait
for another tide to liberate the _Maryland_.
So, in the afternoon the regiment landed and occupied the grounds
of the Naval Academy. There we found that many of the officers and
cadets had left for their southern homes, to side with the rebellion.
Even some of those who remained were by no means encouraging in their
words or manner; they were impregnated with the doctrine of state
sovereignty, as something equal or superior to that of the nation,
and they had an exaggerated idea of the numbers and audacity of the
insurgents who would occupy all roads and dispute every mile of our
advance. One of them told me that he hoped that we would not attempt
it; and declared that if we did so, not half the regiment would reach
Washington alive. I shall never forget the disgust that rose in my
throat, at hearing a man with the uniform of the United States on his
shoulders offer a welcome like that to volunteers who were trying to
save the government that employed him.
The Governor of Maryland, who was then at Annapolis, also protested
against any forward movement of the troops, and even against their
landing. But these official fulminations had no longer any weight.
It was only the physical obstacles in our way that were now to be
considered. In the evening the officers gathered in council round a
fire on the greensward, and it was decided to move forward at once
by the most practicable route. While this was going on, General
Butler joined the group and was invited to speak with the rest. The
extraordinary character of this man's career from first to last, his
many clever successes and preposterous failures, and the furious
denunciations he has received from both friends and enemies, make it
hard to say what place he will finally hold in public estimation.
But the qualities he displayed on that occasion deserve the cordial
recognition and gratitude of all. When he spoke, it was to the
purpose. With a practical insight and ready comprehension that took
in the situation at a glance, he swept away in a few words the whole
pretentious fabric of state rights, local supremacy, inviolability of
the soil, and such like. The capital of the nation, he said, was in
danger from armed rebellion. We were on our way to protect it with
an armed force. That was a state of war; and it created a necessity
superior to every other claim or consideration. All ordinary laws
and authorities in conflict with it must be in abeyance; and, as for
himself, he should lead his troops to Washington, no matter who or what
might oppose his passage. More than that, he should seize upon any
property or means of transportation necessary to accomplish the object,
without regard to governors, mayors, or railroad companies.
I have no doubt that the Seventh regiment would have carried out
its design if General Butler had not been there; but it was certain
that his intellectual promptitude and directness of speech imparted
new confidence to all who heard him. He struck the same chord in his
written correspondence with Governor Hicks. During the day he had
received from the governor a formal communication, protesting against
the "landing of northern troops on the soil of Maryland;"--to which
he said in his reply: "These are not northern troops, they are a part
of the whole militia of the United States, obeying the call of the
President." Now that the question is settled, it seems plain enough.
But at that time it was a great satisfaction to hear the doctrine of
supreme nationality proclaimed in the terse and expressive language of
General Butler.
It was intended that the regiment should march for Washington by the
direct country road, a distance of about thirty miles; and much of the
time next day was spent in scouring the neighborhood for horses, mules,
and wagons, to serve as ambulances and for transporting the baggage
and camp equipage. But in the afternoon dispatches were received from
Washington, directing the troops to come, if possible, by the Annapolis
branch of the Baltimore and Washington railroad, in order that this
important line of communication might be kept open for future use.
This was a single-track road, running twenty miles northwest from
Annapolis to its junction with the Baltimore and Washington line. The
depot at Annapolis was closed and abandoned by the company, and the
track had been disabled for some distance out of town. When General
Butler, with two companies of the Eighth Massachusetts, broke open
the depot, he found there a few passenger and platform cars, with
only one locomotive; and that had been taken to pieces and rendered
unserviceable. But the Massachusetts regiment was largely composed
of mechanics, who were not only good workmen but enterprising and
quick-witted. By a singular chance one of them recognized, among the
fragments of the engine, a piece of machinery which he had himself
helped to make; and he lost no time, with the aid of his comrades,
in putting together again the disjointed limbs of the locomotive,
and making it in a few hours once more fit for work. Others repaired
the railroad track in the neighborhood, and before dawn on the 24th
everything was ready for two companies of the Seventh to move forward
as advance guard on the line of march.
Soon after daylight the whole regiment was in motion. The locomotive
and a couple of platform cars were in front, carrying a howitzer with
its caisson; and one or two passenger and baggage cars served to carry
baggage and camp equipage, and to provide for the transportation of
sick or wounded. The railroad embankment, which was our only route,
ran through a narrow clearing in the woods, with low hills and swampy
lands alternating on either side. The day was still and warm, and
a few of the men were prostrated by the unaccustomed exertion and
heat. About noon we came up with the advance guard, and from that
point, after a short halt, all moved on together. Missing rails and
broken culverts were a constant impediment to our advance; and toward
evening we came to a deep and wide watercourse, where the long trestle
bridge had been burned a day or two before. But these obstacles only
seemed to stimulate the volunteers. Heretofore their annoyances and
disappointments had been from causes beyond their control. Now that
every difficulty was within reach, they went at it with a will, and
thought of nothing but how to overcome it. The ruined bridge hardly
delayed them three hours. The engineer officer and his men went into
the woods on each side, where a hundred busy hands were soon at work,
felling trees and hauling them into place; and before dark, the stream
was spanned by a new bridge of rough-hewn timbers that carried the
train over safely, and our march began again.
So it went on all through the night. The missing rails had often been
thrown, for better concealment, into some deep pool or watercourse
near by. But after a little experience, that was the very first place
where they were sought for and generally found. If the search proved
ineffectual, it made little difference at last; for at every siding the
extra rails were taken up and carried forward on the train, to be used
as they might be needed further on. So the track was made serviceable
for ourselves, and left in good condition for those who were to follow.
There was a line of skirmishers in front and one on each flank, to
beat up the enemy, should he be there lying in wait. Once or twice a
few marauders were sighted, tearing up the rails or reconnoitering our
advance; but they all retreated promptly, without firing a shot or
waiting for the head of the column, and none of them were even seen by
the main body. That was all. The desperate resistance we were expected
to meet with from swarming rebels and armed guerrillas turned out to
be a sham. When the advance guard about daylight occupied the village
of Annapolis Junction, there was no opposition. The regiment took
possession of a deserted station, and the railroad communication with
Washington at last was ours.
It is remarkable how greatly the presence of an armed force conduces
to friendly feeling on the part of the inhabitants. No doubt the
secessionists hereabout had done their best for a few days past to
prevent our ever arriving at Annapolis Junction. But now that we were
there, and especially in need of a freshly cooked breakfast, there was
little difficulty in obtaining one for the officers' mess. The fatigue
and drowsiness that had been almost overpowering during the night, gave
way like magic before the refreshing stimulus of the dawn; and the keen
morning air awakened an appetite that demanded something better than
pork and hardbread from the haversack. Among the neighboring farmhouses
there were some quite ready to supply our wants.
Early in the forenoon a train made its appearance from the direction
of Washington. It had been sent out to meet us, under guard of a
detachment of National Rifles, a volunteer company of the District
of Columbia; and we were soon on board and under way. The cars were
crowded to the utmost; but we were now nearing our destination, and
every discomfort seemed a trifle. For some distance this side of
Washington the road was picketed; and before long we began to see at
intervals the head and shoulders of a National Rifleman, with his fresh
looking uniform and glittering bayonet, peering at us over the bushes
as the train went by. Finally, about noon, the city came in sight. It
was Thursday, the 25th. We had been six days in getting from New York
to Washington. They had been days of doubt and anxiety, of hindrances,
delays, and stoppages. Every hour was precious, and yet we knew that
with all possible dispatch we might still be too late. And even now, at
the outskirts of the city, we could hardly help looking to see whether
the flag of the nation still floated over the Capitol. The train rolled
into the depot, the regiment disembarked, formed in column, marched
to the White House, reported to the President, and our journey to
Washington was accomplished.
There was no doubt about the sense of relief created by our arrival.
After nearly a week of isolation and peril, Washington breathed more
freely. The only troops there before us were the Sixth Massachusetts,
a handful of regulars, and about thirty volunteer companies of the
District of Columbia, mainly recent recruits. The Seventh was a full
regiment, well disciplined and thoroughly equipped. What was of still
more consequence, it had opened the door of Annapolis and reëstablished
communication with the north. The Eighth Massachusetts arrived next
day from Annapolis Junction; and within another week one more regiment
from Massachusetts and four from New York followed by the same route.
After that, the city of Baltimore ceased to be an obstruction, and the
trains came through from Philadelphia as usual. By the middle of May
there were nearly twenty-five thousand troops gathered for the defense
of Washington.
For the first week after our arrival we were quartered in the Capitol
building; but at the end of that time the regiment went into camp a
mile or so north of the city, on Meridian Hill. This was a plateau of
about forty acres, admirably adapted for the purpose. It was on the
direct road to Harper's Ferry, where the rebels were in possession, and
would give security against incursions from that quarter. The camp was
on the east side of the road, where there was a fine suburban estate,
with a large, square-built mansion house and outbuildings. From the
road entrance a well graded avenue led up to the house porch, which
stretched its hospitable covering over the carriage way. The house was
occupied by regimental headquarters and the staff officers. In front
were green fields and orchards, falling away in a gentle slope toward
the city; and beyond was the broad Potomac, with the Virginia shore
and Arlington Heights in the distance. In the rear were the lines of
company tents, and an ample parade-ground, where the regiment was
reviewed every day or two by the President, the Secretary of War, the
general commanding, or some other high civil or military official, who
was usually as much an object of inspection to the troops as the troops
were to him.
By degrees other camps began to spring up round about us. On the
opposite side of the road were three regiments of New Jersey
volunteers, under General Runyon. A field in front of us was the daily
exercise ground of a mounted battery of the regular army; and farther
down, on the left, was the Twelfth regiment of New York volunteers. The
Eleventh New York, under Colonel Ellsworth, was in camp below the city
beyond the navy yard. This regiment was affiliated with our own through
its second officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Farnham, who had been until then
a lieutenant in the Seventh, and had commanded the skirmish line in the
march from Annapolis.
The time was coming when the regiment would have something else to
do than drilling and camp duty. Washington was saved from the danger
that menaced it at the outset; and so long as the troops were there,
it was secure from a sudden inroad. But it had no permanent defenses.
The Potomac River was the limit of its territory. On the opposite
shore the rising ground of Arlington Heights commanded all approaches
from that direction; and every day, with a good spyglass, we could see
the fluttering of a secession flag in the little city of Alexandria,
only six or seven miles away. This was a precarious situation for the
seat of government and centre of military operations; and no one was
surprised when it made an attempt to burst its shackles.
On the 23d of May, at midnight, the regiment was put in motion and
marched down through the city, to the neighborhood of the Long Bridge.
Its departure had been quiet and noiseless, as if the expedition
were a secret to all but the commanding officer. It soon appeared,
however, from signs that the uninitiated are not slow to comprehend,
that something more was going on than the night march of the regiment.
The order to halt came from other sources to our own commander.
After some delay, a part of the New Jersey brigade came up from the
rear and passed on in advance; and there was riding here and there
of officers and messengers, going and coming in various directions.
Nevertheless, everything was done in silence. Not even the occupants of
the neighboring houses seemed to be awakened or disturbed; and it gave
to the scene a mysterious kind of interest to feel that we were on some
errand that neither friends nor enemies were to know of until it was
accomplished.
Again our column was on the march, and we soon found ourselves at the
entrance of the Long Bridge. We passed between the two guard-houses,
under the black timbers of the draw-frame, and over its three quarters
of a mile of roadway to the Virginia shore. It was the first hour of a
moonlight night, and half a mile farther on, at daybreak, the regiment
was halted and went into bivouac on an open field by the roadside.
Not long after sunrise a horseman came clattering along the road
from the direction of Alexandria, and as he galloped by toward the
bridge, he flung out to us the news, "Alexandria is taken, and Colonel
Ellsworth is killed."
This was one of the minor events in the early part of the war that
excited a wide-spread interest, mainly from the dramatic features of
the incident. The Eleventh New York had reached Alexandria by steamer,
and landed there about daylight. Immediately after disembarking,
Colonel Ellsworth had left his regiment, and with a small squad
hastened to secure the telegraph office, to prevent communication with
the south. That done, he noticed, flying above the principal hotel
in the town, a secession flag. It was the flag we had seen so often
for the last fortnight from the direction of Washington. The colonel
effected an entrance, and with his companions mounted to the roof,
hauled down the flag, and brought it away with him. When about halfway
down he was shot dead by the keeper of the hotel, who was lying in
wait for him with a double-barreled gun. Instantly the soldier next
him discharged his musket in the face of the homicide, and, driving
his bayonet through his breast, hurled his body down the remaining
stairway; so that within a minute both the colonel and his assailant
were dead men. None of those in the hotel knew of the arrival of the
regiment, and probably thought they had to do only with a few raiders
from abroad.
This news of the occupation of Alexandria was our first intimation
of the actual extent of the movement we were engaged in. The truth
was that between midnight and dawn about 12,000 men had crossed the
Potomac by the two bridges at Washington and Georgetown, beside the
Eleventh regiment which went by steamer. They were to hold and fortify
a defensive line extending from below Alexandria, around Arlington
Heights, to the Potomac River above Georgetown; comprising, when all
complete, a chain of twenty-three forts, for the permanent security of
the city on its southern side. Our own destination was a locality not
far from our first bivouac, and where the New Jersey troops, who had
gone before, were already breaking ground for the trenches.
Next day the men of the Seventh were also set to work with pick and
spade and barrow, excavating the ditch and piling up the rampart along
the lines laid down by the engineers. One fatigue party followed
another, all doing their best, like so many ants on an ant-hill; and
before night the place began to look something like a fortification.
When finished it was the largest of those on the south side of the
river, occupying a space of about fourteen acres. It was an inclosed
bastioned work, covering the two forks of the road; one leading south
to Alexandria, the other southwest toward Fairfax Court House. It
defended the Long Bridge, and secured its possession for ingress and
egress. It was named Fort Runyon, in honor of the general commanding
the New Jersey brigade.
After a few days on the Virginia shore, the regiment was ordered back
to its camp at Meridian Hill. It had been mustered into service for
one month, to meet an emergency which was now past. Orders for its
return north were received on the 30th of May; and on the 31st it broke
camp and embarked for New York, arriving there on the 1st of June. It
was then mustered out of service, having been under arms forty-three
days.
This was the "Washington campaign" of the Seventh regiment. It was a
campaign without a battle, and the regiment was not once under fire
from the enemy. Its only casualties were one man killed in camp by the
accidental discharge of a musket, and another wounded in the leg by his
own pistol. But it came to the front at a time when one battalion for
the moment was more needed than a brigade afterward. Though mustered
out as a regiment, it at once began to supply material for other
organizations. Of its members in 1861, more than six hundred entered
the service during the war; over fifty became regimental commanders;
from twenty to thirty, brigadier-generals; and more than one reached
the grade of major-general. With all this depletion, its ranks were
kept tolerably full by new recruits, and it was twice afterward called
into the field for temporary duty, once in 1862, and again in 1863.
THE EXPEDITION TO PORT ROYAL.
After my return from Washington in 1861, I resigned my commission in
the Seventh regiment, and looked for an opportunity of more permanent
connection with the service.
The most attractive position which offered was that of surgeon of
brigade, recently established by act of Congress; and, a medical board
having been convened for the examination of candidates, I appeared
before it, passed the examination, and in due time received my
commission as Brigade Surgeon of Volunteers.
At that time each volunteer regiment had its surgeon and assistant
surgeon, who were in general quite competent to the work they had to
do. Like other regimental officers, they received their appointments
and commissions from the authorities of their own state, and were
permanently attached to their particular regiments, without being
either authorized or required to go elsewhere.
But when the volunteer army came to be organized into brigades, under
command of brigadier generals with a general staff, it was found that
there were no medical officers to correspond. They were needed to
receive and consolidate the regimental reports, inspect the health of
the commands, establish field hospitals, and perform in every way the
duties of a general medical officer. Such places were filled, so far as
possible, by the surgeons and assistant surgeons of the regular army.
But these were too few in number to provide for the large volunteer
force suddenly called into action; and for that reason the new grade of
brigade surgeon was created. My commission was dated August 3, 1861.
But it was not until the first week in October that I received orders
to report in Washington at army headquarters. On arriving there, I was
directed to join General Viele's brigade and report for duty to that
officer.
General Viele's brigade was at Annapolis. So, as soon as possible, I
proceeded, with my horse, baggage, and camp equipage, to Annapolis
Junction, and thence, by the branch road that I had traveled with
the Seventh, to Annapolis. There I found the general and his staff,
quartered in the old St. John's College, a little outside the town. A
locality always looks different when you are arriving and when you are
going away; and, notwithstanding my brief acquaintance with Annapolis
six months before, now that I was coming to it from a different
direction and for another purpose, I should hardly have known it for
the same place.
The building where we were quartered was a plain brick edifice, several
stories in height, facing the town, with a distant view of the harbor
beyond. In front was the college green, where some of the regiments
were paraded for the presentation of flags. One of these presentations
was made, a week after my arrival, by Governor Hicks, who had now seen
his way clear to support the Union. In the rear and to the westward
were the regimental camps.
It soon appeared that the troops were gathering at Annapolis in
considerable force. In all, there were three brigades: General
Viele's, General Stevens's, and General Wright's,--the whole forming
a division of a little over twelve thousand men, under command of
General W. T. Sherman. In General Viele's brigade there were five
regiments,--the Forty-sixth, Forty-seventh, and Forty-eighth New
York, the Third New Hampshire, and Eighth Maine. This brigade was
the earliest on the ground and ranked first in the division. General
Stevens's was the second brigade, and General Wright's the third. Each
had a brigade surgeon; and a chief medical officer, from the regular
army, was attached to the staff of the division commander.
It was also claimed that we were going somewhere. Already a number of
transports were in the bay, and others continued to arrive, evidently
for our accommodation. Orders from the commanding general or his
adjutant were dated: "Headquarters, Division E. C." These cabalistic
letters were supposed to indicate in some way our future destination,
though I do not remember ever seeing them, either written or printed,
except as initials. After a time they were understood to mean
Expeditionary Corps; but that hardly made us much wiser as to how far
or in what direction we were bound.
At the end of a fortnight all was ready. One by one the transports
came into the harbor and took on their load of stores, artillery,
ammunition, and wagons; and finally the troops embarked. Our own
vessel, occupied by General Viele and his staff, was the _Oriental_,
an iron-built ocean steamer of nine hundred tons, formerly a packet
running to Havana. She also carried provisions and ordnance, and one or
two companies of soldiers belonging to the brigade.
After saying good-by to Annapolis, our vessels steamed slowly together
down the broad highway of the Chesapeake, past the mouth of the Potomac
river, almost as broad, and the next day came to anchor in Hampton
Roads. So far, our voyage was only a preliminary. We had arrived at
a second rendezvous, where the remainder of the expedition was in
waiting; and we now began to have an idea of its real magnitude.
Grouped around us over the ample roadstead, there were war vessels of
all grades and dimensions, from a steam frigate to a gunboat. Whether
they were all to go with us we knew not, but the number of coaling
schooners lying about seemed to indicate that most of them were under
sailing orders.
However, there was more waiting to be done before the final start, and
we passed a week without shifting our anchorage. Not being responsible
for anything outside our own brigade, we devoted ourselves mainly to
cultivating the virtue of patience. Yet we could not help feeling that
such a military and naval demonstration, gathered at such a point,
could not long remain a secret; and that, wherever we might be bound,
if it were any object to arrive without being expected, the sooner
we could get away the better. For medical officers there was another
cause of anxiety, which I began to appreciate almost as soon as our
anchor was down. When soldiers are on land it is always possible to
care for their sanitary condition. Camps can be cleansed and drained,
or shifted to better ground; and the sick can be placed in hospital,
or isolated at a respectable distance from the rest. But how to do
this with troops confined within the narrow quarters of a ship? And
what if some contagion should break out among them, like smouldering
fire in a haystack? Every exertion was made to keep the transports
in fair condition as to cleanliness and ventilation, and to watch
for the appearance of any suspicious malady. But every day made it
more difficult to do the one, and added to the danger of the other.
Fortunately, we got through without any serious mishap of this kind.
Meanwhile, we had some entertainment in watching our naval colleagues,
and trying to learn what and who they were. They were in frequent
communication with each other or with the shore; and their trim barges,
with the regular dip of their oars, and a kind of scientific certainty
about the way they went through the water, contrasted well with the
rather sprawly fashion of our own boats and their soldier crews. The
commander of the naval force was Captain Dupont.
His flagship, the _Wabash_, a double deck steam frigate of forty guns,
was the most imposing object in view. Then came the sloops-of-war
_Mohican_, _Seminole_, and _Pawnee_, with gunboats of various sizes,
and the great transports _Atlantic_, _Baltic_, and _Vanderbilt_, each
of about 3000 tons burden; making altogether, with the additional
transports and supply boats, a fleet of nearly fifty vessels.
At last the preparations were complete, and on Tuesday, October 29th,
the signal for starting was given. Away from Hampton Roads, through the
mouth of the Chesapeake, past the capes of Virginia, and then at sea,
with prows toward the south, the stately procession moved along, every
vessel in its place. The flagship led the van, with other men-of-war
trailing behind, like ripples, in two diverging lines. Then came the
transports in three columns, formed by the three brigades, and lastly
a few gunboats brought up the rear. The vessels of the first brigade
formed the right column, and as the sun went down the Virginia shore
was just sinking out of sight. The weather was favorable, and every one
felt pleased to see the expedition now fairly on its way.
Our progress was not very rapid. Many of the war vessels were
slow-going craft, and the rest had to accommodate their speed to the
leisurely rate of five or six knots. We were fully twenty-four hours
in making Cape Hatteras; and, notwithstanding the bad reputation
of this locality, we found there hardly enough wind and sea to be
uncomfortable. The main topic of talk was our destination. No one in
the fleet knew what that was except the two commanders, Captain Dupont
and General Sherman. The commanding officer on each vessel brought with
him sealed orders, which he was not to open unless separated from the
rest. But all were at liberty to guess; and in our discussions there
were three objective points favored by the knowing ones; Bull's Bay
on the coast of South Carolina, Port Royal entrance about a hundred
miles farther down, and Fernandina in Florida. As I knew them all
only as so many names on the map, and had no idea why one should be a
more desirable conquest than the other, I listened for entertainment,
without caring to choose between them. Our military family was made
up of various elements, but all were good-natured and companionable,
and promised to grow still better on acquaintance. General Viele was
a graduate of West Point, and we all looked to him for information in
regard to military affairs.
The order of sailing became somewhat deranged after a time, though at
the end of two days we were still in sight of the flagship, with from
thirty to forty others in the horizon. So far, the weather had given
us no trouble. But on Friday, November 1st, it began to be rough. The
sky was overcast, the ship rolled and pitched, and the wind howled in a
way that gave warning of worse to come. As the day wore on, there was
no improvement, and before nightfall it was blowing a gale.
There is a difference between a storm and a gale of wind. A storm is
disagreeable enough, with the driving rain, the lead-colored sky, the
sea covered with foam, and the wet decks all going up and down hill.
There is not much pleasure while that lasts. But in a gale of wind,
discomfort is not what you think of. After the tempest has grown and
gathered strength for five or six hours together, it begins to look
threatening and wicked. The sea is a black gulf around the ship; and
the great waves come rolling at her, one after the other, like troops
of hungry wolves furious to swallow her up. A thousand more are behind
them, and she has to fight them all, single handed, for life or death.
She must keep her head steady to the front, and meet every billow as
it comes without faltering or flinching; for if she loses courage or
strength and falls away to leeward, the next big comber will topple
over her side and she will go under.
When a good ship is wrestling with such a sea, she does it almost like
a living creature. She sways and settles, and rises and twists, and her
beams groan and creak with the strain that is on them. But her joints
hold, and she answers her helm; and the steady pulsation of her engines
gives assurance of undiminished vitality and motive power. So long
as she behaves in this way, you know that she is equal to the work.
But what if the sea should grow yet fiercer and heavier, and buffet
her with redoubled energy till she is maimed or exhausted? She is a
mechanical construction, knit together with bolts and braces; and the
steam from her boilers is to her the breath of life. However stanch and
true, her power of resistance is limited. But in the elements there is
a reserve of force and volume that is immeasurable; and when they once
begin to run riot, no one can tell how severe it may become or how long
it will last.
So it was on board the _Oriental_. All that evening the wind increased
in violence. Every hour it blew harder, and the waves came faster and
bigger than before. The sea was no longer a highway; it was a tossing
chaos of hills and valleys, sweeping toward us from the southeast with
the force of the tornado, and reeling and plunging about us on every
side. The ship was acting well, and showed no signs of distress thus
far; but by midnight it seemed as though she had about as much as she
could do. The officers and crew did their work in steady, seamanlike
fashion, and among the soldiers there was no panic or bustle. Once in
a while I would get up out of my berth, to look at the ship from the
head of the companion way, or to go forward between decks and listen to
the pounding of the sea against her bows. At one o'clock, for the first
time, things were no longer growing worse; and in another hour or two
it was certain that the gale had reached its height. Then I turned in
for sleep, wedged myself into the berth with the blankets, and made no
more inspection tours that night.