A WINTER CAMP
The following letters were written from the winter quarters of the
regiment on the Rappahannock, and explain themselves.
"In this letter I merely propose to give some glimpses of camp
life. When the army lay quiet for two or three weeks after the
battle of Fredericksburg, we began to think of winter quarters; so
one fine morning our whole division started out in search of a
desirable locality. In some respects it was a rather novel
expedition. We were seeking a place that would probably be our home
for months; and I assure you, as we marched along, that unknown
spot of ground became to us an object of no small anxiety and
interest. Those officers who had designs on Washington, rather than
Richmond, hoped it would be near the steamboat landing on the
Potomac. Many wishes were expressed that wood would be plenty and
convenient; for winter quarters without wood is an impossibility.
Speculations were indulged in regard to the locality and soil,
whether it would be a dry, sheltered little valley, or a bleak
cornfield capable of all degrees of mud. The place of encampment
selected for our regiment was apparently the latter. I must say
that many of us were not very enthusiastic about the position, and
we could not feel indifferent, for our comfort and perhaps health
depended on the suitableness of the place.
"Imagine yourself, my reader, riding into a large, bleak, hilly
cornfield, the stalks still standing, with your whole personal
property in this region of the world strapped behind you on the
saddle, your horse sinking at every step fetlock deep in the soft,
spongy soil, and being coolly told to make yourself comfortable
here for the winter. Probably you would feel as we suppose the
Israelites did when required to make bricks without straw. But
necessity and experience have taught the soldier many lessons, and
he knows well how to make the best of everything. In a few minutes
the long picket lines are uncoiled and stretched from post to post
inserted for the purpose. To these the horses are tied and then
unsaddled. The little shelter tents range themselves, as if by
magic, in long rows between them, and within a half-hour or so the
place begins to assume the appearance of a well laid out
encampment.
"But this is merely temporary, and the building of regular winter
quarters is next in order. The size and character of the huts being
left to the fancy and ingenuity of each individual, there is, with
much apparent sameness, a great deal of diversity and originality
to be observed. The most simple is merely a 'dug-out,' as it is
termed. A hole is dug six or seven feet square, and from two to
four feet deep, and over this is placed the tent. The floor and
sides are lined with boards if they are to be had, otherwise round
poles and rails answer the purpose. Opening into this 'dug-out' is
a small trench two or three feet long, wide at its mouth, and
narrowing towards the end farthest from the tent. Across this
trench are laid any old pieces of iron that can be found, and upon
them is placed earth so as to exclude the air entirely except at a
small aperture at the farther end, around which is built a sod
chimney; and your winter quarters are complete. Thus you may have
in your tent all the warmth and cheerfulness of an open fire.
"Myself and servant alone built one of these in an afternoon, and I
spent in it some of the coldest weather we have had this winter
very comfortably. The 'dug-out' principle enters into the
construction of nearly all our little cabins; and, like the foxes,
we have holes, and literally live in the 'caves and dens of the
earth.' The officers generally build their quarters in the side of
a bank, and have them logged up nicely, and they are very
comfortable except in a long storm. Sometimes our frail canvas
covering sways terribly in the wintry blasts, and I have often laid
down to sleep more than half expecting to find my house gone when I
awoke. Still our little holes in the ground are a hundredfold
better than no shelter at all, and far preferable to those in which
the soldier 'sleeps the sleep that knows no waking.' Some of the
men who have the faculty of making anything and everything with an
axe put up quite large substantial log shanties, with two or three
tiers of berths, as in a steamboat. Some have quite a neat,
homelike appearance, and are furnished with fanciful little tables
and shelves according to the tastes and wants of the occupants.
Others are dismal and dirty in the extreme, and are mere dens.
Nothing shows the character of the men more thoroughly than the
little huts they inhabit. A few are too indolent to build
themselves anything, and are still living in their shelter tents.
But over the heads of us all is merely a canvas roof, which will
often leak, and it is a very common thing to see puddles of water,
or a muddy floor, in our winter quarters.
"Still those who are well live in the main a very comfortable life.
The abundance of pure air and exercise makes us strong and
vigorous. It does not always storm. We have many days that are warm
and sunny, and then give me camp life in preference to any other.
The soldiers sit and lounge around their cabin doors in motley
groups, reading (if they have anything to read), smoking, and
gossiping, for a camp is a little miniature city, with its daily
budget of news and sensations, its streets, squares, and centers,
and also many of its nuisances. For the roar of New York we have a
drowsy, diminutive hum, frequently broken rudely by a loud laugh or
command, the clangor of weapons, and sometimes, I am sorry to say,
by loud oaths. Instead of musical chimes from Trinity and her
sister steeples, the silvery notes of the bugles proclaim the hours
and duties of the day. Our lights glimmer and flicker out upon the
night like long rows of glowworms rather than Broadway lamps; and
instead of the heavy tramp of police armed with star and club, the
night-long rattle of sabres shows that the guards and sentinels are
on their posts of duty. Sometimes there will be a heavy fall of
snow during the night, and then the tents and cabins look like huge
snow-banks, and the poor horses shiver all the more under the cold
white blankets so summarily furnished, the only ones they ever get.
These suffer more than the men, for in the main they can have no
shelter, and often have to do hard work on short rations. Their
gaunt appearance and the number of their dead tells its own story.
Our colonel remarked one day that he hoped the mud would get so
soft and deep that the horses would sink in sufficiently to enable
them to stand upright.
"The greatest hardship of a soldier's life in winter is picket
duty. For instance, our whole brigade, recently assigned to Colonel
Kilpatrick, left their comfortable quarters a few mornings ago, and
went out on picket duty for ten days. A cold, wet snow filled the
air and clung to and dampened everything. It settled on one's hair
and neck, melted, and ran down his back, producing a general
feeling of discomfort. As the men formed preparatory to marching,
their uniforms of blue rapidly changed to white, and as they filed
off in the dim morning light they presented a shadowy, ghost-like
appearance. When you realize what it is to march eighteen or twenty
miles in such a storm over horrible roads, and then form a cordon
of pickets twenty miles long in a wild, desolate country, you have
some idea of the not unusual experience of a soldier.
"When he reaches his destination, it is not a disagreeable journey
over, and comfortable quarters in which to dry and refresh himself.
All his conditions of comfort are carried on his person, or
strapped to his saddle, and he is thankful even for the shelter of
a pine wood. Immediately on arrival, without time for rest, a large
detachment must form the picket line, and stand ever on the alert
from two to four hours at a time, be it day or night. It should not
be forgotten, during these long winter evenings when the stormy
wind sweeps and howls around your comfortable dwellings, that among
the wild woods and hills of Virginia, or on the plains of the far
West, the patient sentinel walks his desolate beat, or sits like an
equestrian statue on his horse, thus forming with his own chilled
and weary frame a living breastwork and defence for your homes.
Pray for him, that during these long, lonely hours of hardship and
danger our merciful God may excite within his mind thoughts of that
better life and happier world where the weary are at rest--where
even the names of enemy and war are forgotten."
"The regiment referred to is the Ninth New York Cavalry. Their
chaplain is not with them at present. My offer to preach for them
on the Sabbath was readily accepted, and though at the time of
service it was cold and even raining slightly, a large congregation
turned out and remained patiently throughout the service. One of
their officers remarked afterwards that he had not had the pleasure
of attending anything of the kind before for five months.
"If Christians North, who have piles of reading matter lying idly
about their houses, could see how eagerly those men pressed forward
to get the few tracts I offered, they would suffer it to remain
thus useless no longer. Our soldiers seem to be hungry and almost
starving for the want of mental and moral nourishment.
"I often feel it my duty to be somewhat officious, and to offer my
service outside of my regiment sometimes, for even such as I can
give is better than nothing, which would be their lot if some did
not go forward. I think Christians should be aggressive in their
character, and seek opportunities to extend the dominion of their
King. There are too many professors who are like a certain
chaplain, concerning whom I heard an officer remark "that he was a
good, inoffensive man, and never disturbed the devil nor any one
else in the camp." A prayer-meeting was appointed on Monday
evening, but on the morning of that day the regiment received
marching orders and departed for parts unknown.
"One of the most remarkable conversions in our regiment is that of
a quartermaster's sergeant. The man, although around the camp
attending to his duties, is in a critical state of health, bleeding
almost daily at the lungs. When but a mere boy he ran away from
home because punished severely by his father for some fault, and
was not heard from for over two years, during which time he
suffered many hardships in the West. Not long after his discovery
his father died and left a mother and a sister dependent upon him
for support. This responsibility he nobly undertook, and worked
hard, early and late, and denied himself everything to give them
the comforts of life. Still, he was noted for his fiery and
ungovernable spirit, which often got him into trouble. At an early
age he went to sea and visited nearly all parts of the world. He
engaged extensively in smuggling, which occupation he followed both
in English and Spanish waters. He returned home from this roving,
reckless life but a short time before the war broke out, and was
among the first to enlist. During the past summer he has often been
in circumstances of the greatest peril, but escaped unharmed. Once,
in the confusion of battle, he found himself directly in front of a
battery loaded with grape and canister. For some reason or other
his horse would not move but stood stock still, and thus he had to
wait for the terrible discharge which soon came. He said it seemed
as if a perfect torrent of iron hail rushed by and all around him,
and that his only thought was that his time had come now, and that
the devil had got him then surely. By a miracle, as it seemed to
him, he escaped unharmed, and was enabled to get out of range. Many
and many a time he had heard the bullets hiss by his ears, and the
shrill screams of shell overhead, but they raised in his mind no
thoughts of God or repentance.
"As I described in a former letter, a prayer-meeting was started in
the camp, and held in the quarters of the new recruits. He heard
the singing, and passing by the next day remarked to a new recruit
that 'they seemed happy down there last night--guessed they must
have had some whiskey.' The person addressed happened to be one of
the three Christian men who first started the prayer-meeting, and
he explained to the sergeant the somewhat different source and
occasion of their happiness. The sergeant promised to attend that
evening, which he did, and the 'still small voice' of the Spirit
spoke to him louder than the thunders of the battlefield.
"An evening or two after that I noticed him among those who had
come to the chaplain's tent to be conversed with on the subject of
religion. I was struck by the contented, happy expression of his
face. He told me that he had gone from that prayer-meeting to his
tent, and commenced reading a Testament. His tent-mate came along,
and he immediately put out his light and hid his book. When he was
alone again he knelt and prayed for the first time in his life, and
afterwards, he said, 'he felt so happy he could not sleep.'
"The next day, while about his work, something vexed him, and he
swore, before he thought, as usual. He said 'it grieved him so that
he sat down and cried.' Though, as it were, alone in the world and
bereft by death of almost every friend he loved, and now seemingly
suffering from an incurable disease, he is a happy Christian man.
"In our meetings he has to be constantly on his guard against
over-excitement, since it would cause him to bleed at his lungs,
but the expression of his face, as he sits quietly in one corner or
beside the fire, shows how intense and keen is his enjoyment of
that which he is forbidden to take part in actively. At first his
change of life caused a good deal of remark and some merriment in
his company. He would be asked 'when he was going up to heaven.'
When he commenced his evening devotions there was at first a good
deal of jesting. 'The quartermaster is going to pray' would be
called out, and remarks of a similar nature. They soon saw that he
was sincere and respected him, and 'now,' he says, 'he can hear a
pin drop while he is at prayer.'
"This is one of many of the interesting cases of conversion in our
regiment. The chief feature of this work, however, seems to be the
renewal of backsliders in their allegiance to God. But time will
not permit me to write more at present."
"How often when a boy I have shuddered at Indian atrocities. With
what morbid pleasure I have searched through the early records of
colonial history for details of horror, fatal surprise, and
midnight massacre. How I have watched in imagination, with
suspended breath, the wary, noiseless approach of the painted
savages, till with one wide-ringing war-whoop they rushed upon
their unconscious victims, destined now to either death or
captivity. The dangers and terrors of open battle seemed nothing to
this constant dread of an unseen treacherous foe. I little thought
that it would one day be my fortune to live under very similar
circumstances, for life in Virginia now is not so very different
from that of our forefathers a century or more ago. Pioneers in
this wilderness of despotism and treason, we are exposed to dangers
and hardships not much inferior to theirs. Ever near us we know
there is a great army watching with sleepless vigilance, and, like
a wild beast crouching for its leap, it is ready to take advantage
of the slightest mistake or show of weakness on our part. It is
very strange, truly, when one comes to realize it, this living for
years within a few miles of thousands who would take your life in a
moment if they got a chance.
"The forests and country around us swarm with guerillas. In place
of some savage Indian chief, the terror of the whole border, the
frontiers of our army are infested by the ubiquitous Mosby. The
capture of a sutler's train near Fairfax and a raid upon an outpost
on the Rappahannock occurring at the same time are both ascribed to
Mosby in person by the soldiers. If a picket hears a distant gallop
in the night upon one flank of the army, and a sudden shot startles
the air upon the other flank, Mosby is invariably the author of
both alarms. No wonder the poor contrabands say 'Mosby mus' be like
de debbel and go all ober to oncst.' He was once captured by our
regiment while bearing dispatches and afterwards exchanged. After
he was taken he tried to escape by running his horse, but one of
our men sent a bullet whistling so near his head that it produced a
sober second thought, and he, from that time, followed quietly. But
he was not so famous then, and had not so many trained associates
like-minded with himself. Now they follow a marching column like
hungry sharks about a ship, and woe be to the man that lags behind
or strays from the main body.
"This evil has one great advantage, however, and that is the almost
entire suppression of straggling. Mosby and his companions have
done more to abolish this disgraceful custom in our army than all
the orders and edicts from the War Department and Major Generals
down. A year or more ago, I saw bodies of men marching in a way
that reminded one of a comet, the head of the regiment being the
nucleus, the density decreasing rapidly as you went toward the
rear, and finally a straggling raft of men scattered over two or
three miles of territory constituting the tail. Now you will find a
column moving trimly and compactly, and the rear files often
looking suspiciously over their shoulders among the dark pines
through which they are passing, for sometimes, especially at
nights, shots are fired into the rear.
"There are very few in the cavalry that have not had narrow
escapes, for our position on the front and flanks of the army
always brings us next to Mosby. Just before we crossed the
Rappahannock the last time, our division commissary, Lieutenant
Hedges, was returning to his quarters from a short ride to another
part of the army, when he was hailed and ordered to surrender.
'Never,' he replied, at the same time striking spurs to his horse
and leaning down upon him. He succeeded in escaping, but not before
the guerilla, or as it is affirmed, Mosby in person, put a ball
through his body. For some days he was not expected to live, but is
now recovering slowly. I have had two or three narrow escapes
myself where it almost seemed that Providence interfered to save my
life. Once, when our regiment was doing picket duty at a distant
outpost, I rode down to General Kilpatrick's headquarters on some
business. As I was starting to return in the dusk of the evening,
the general came out and asked me to stay with him that night. I
replied that with his permission I would come again in the morning,
and that I would rather be with my regiment at night; but as he
insisted upon it, I stayed. The next morning, a little after
daylight, one of our men was shot dead and robbed upon the road
that I would have taken. A woman living near said that two
bushwhackers had spent the night upon the road with the avowed
intention of murdering and robbing the first man that went by. As
no one passed that way during the early part of the night, they
went into a house and slept till morning, and again were on the
road in time to meet poor Francher of Company B, who had been after
his pay. They took this, for his pocket was found turned inside
out. It was my sad duty to bury him the next day, and as we lowered
him into his lonely grave, I could not help asking myself, Why am I
not in his place?
"Once again, last November, while on the march, Lieutenant Whitaker
and myself were about to pass over a road between our wagon train
and General Kilpatrick's headquarters, when a little incident
detained us about fifteen minutes. As we were going by the house of
quite a noted secessionist, some of our boys began to make free in
his cabbage garden and poultry yard, and a scuffle ensued between
the old citizen, his wife and daughter, and the soldiers. An
infantry colonel who was at the house came violently out, and
instead of quietly showing his rank and firmly ordering the men
away, commenced cutting them with his sword, and made some quite
serious wounds. It was with great difficulty that we prevented our
men from killing him on the spot. But as the colonel outranked us,
we could do nothing with him, and so passed on, but before we got
fairly started upon the road again we met a man running,
breathless, with his hat off, who said that he had just escaped
from the guerillas. Lieutenant Newton of the First Vermont Cavalry
was passing over the road with several men, when fifteen rebels
sprang out upon him, killed one, took two prisoners, and the rest
saved themselves only by rapid flight. If we had not been detained,
we would have arrived at the same spot a few minutes earlier and
received their concentrated fire.
"At times they have captured our mail, and afterwards they have
taunted us by shouting out the contents of our letters to our
pickets across the Rappahannock. One very dark night they slipped
into the quarters of one of our officers while he was on picket,
shot his colored servant, and carried him off to Richmond. Thus
vigilance is a cardinal virtue in this, as well as in the Christian
warfare. But we never suffered as much on the south as on the north
side of the Rappahannock. The country between the two rivers is now
thoroughly occupied by our troops, and our picket lines so close
and well posted as to render it almost impossible for the rebels to
indulge themselves this winter in many murdering and horse-stealing
expeditions."