It was on the afternoon of the sixth of October, 1862, when we kissed our
wives and sweethearts, and
"With our guns upon our shoulders,
And our bayonets by our sides,"
left Camp Stevens for the seat of war. We were in anything but light
marching order when we broke camp. To this day the remembrance of those
back-breaking knapsacks makes me weary. Feminine ingenuity seemingly
exhausted itself in conjuring up all sorts of things, describable and
indescribable, that could make life a burden to a "raw recruit," a
wheelbarrow being needed for their transportation. But the size of those
knapsacks grew "beautifully less" shortly after leaving home, a blanket
and overcoat being all that were absolutely needed in active service, and
often one of these proved a burden rather than a necessity. In addition to
clothing enough to have overstocked one of the numerous Palestine
merchants on Chatham street, in New York, there were, among other things,
family Bibles, pocket Testaments, prayer-books and dictionaries,
Pilgrim's Progress, Old Farmer's Almanac, photograph and autograph albums,
ambrotypes and daguerreotypes, diaries, razors, mirrors of various sizes,
boxes of blacking, button-hooks, collars and cuffs, corkscrews, tooth
powder, brushes for the hair, teeth and boots, whisk brooms, clothing and
hat brushes, combs, shaving utensils, slippers, clothes-wringers,
frying-pans and patent coffee-pots, soap, towels, napkins, pins, needles
and thread, buttons of various dimensions, boots and shoes, both thick and
thin, hair oil and pomade, matches, pipes, tobacco, plug and fine cut,
rolls of linen bandages and bundles of lint, Pain Killer, Jamaica ginger,
Seidlitz powders, pills, cayenne pepper, and almost everything else but
umbrellas. Then there were the equipments provided by the
government,--haversack, canteen, cartridge box and sixty rounds of
cartridges, not to mention the musket,--until our appearance resembled the
pictures of the dromedaries crossing the Great Desert which I saw in the
geography in my school days. When we embarked on the cars at Olneyville,
bound for New York, and unslung those corpulent knapsacks, the sense of
relief which we experienced was, I fancy, somewhat akin to that felt by
Bunyan's pilgrim when he dropped his burden. Indeed, it seemed like
getting out from under a haystack or a mountain.
From New York to Washington our trip possessed no features uncommon to
other regiments. From Philadelphia to the National Capital we were
transported in freight cars, a new experience to all of us, but one to
which we became accustomed before we saw Rhode Island again. It was at
Perryville, Maryland, that we had our first glimpse of the devastation
wrought by war. Here the extensive bridge across the Susquehanna had been
burned by the enemy, and we were transferred in detachments across the
river to Havre de Grace in a small steamer. We arrived in Washington about
ten o'clock on one of the most beautiful moonlight nights I ever saw. Our
arrival was expected by some of our friends who had enlisted earlier than
ourselves, and they were at the railroad station to welcome us.
Immediately upon landing from the cars we were marched to the "Soldiers'
Retreat" for refreshments. No soldier who has frequented that place needs
to be told that we beat a hasty retreat therefrom. I am very confident
that the most of the men would gladly have taken the next train back to
Rhode Island, if the matter of return tickets had not been entirely
overlooked by the master of transportation.
How marked the contrast between our reception in Washington and in
Philadelphia! Even to this day pleasant memories remain of the hospitality
dispensed to our regiment by the patriotic ladies of the "City of
Brotherly Love," at the famous "Cooper Shop Volunteer Refreshment Saloon,"
a hospitality which was extended to all of the "boys in blue" who passed
through Philadelphia on their way to the National Capital.
Fancy our feelings when we were informed that our first night in
Washington must be spent in this same unsavory "Soldiers' Retreat." Acting
upon the maxim that "what cannot be cured must be endured," and in
unquestioned obedience to orders, we spread our blankets upon the hard,
dirty floor, and taking our huge knapsacks for pillows we wrapped our
mantles (poetry for army overcoats) about us and laid down to pleasant
dreams of home, and feather beds, and hair mattresses, and other comforts
and luxuries to which we had been so long accustomed as to have wholly
failed to appreciate them at their proper value. Truly in our case,
distance lent enchantment. But to come down to solid, matter-of-fact
prose, we didn't sleep much that night anyway. Whether it was the effects
of the heat of the preceding day when we were marching through Baltimore
at a "double quick," with those burdensome knapsacks breaking our backs,
or whether it was the souvenirs left by our comrades-in-arms who had
occupied that same floor the previous night, I cannot positively affirm,
but this one thing I know, that we _scratched_ out a miserable existence
until morning, when, after declining without thanks to regale ourselves
with the so-called coffee which was furnished us, which our boys affirmed
was poor water spoilt, and the turning of the cold shoulder upon the salt
junk which was so temptingly spread before us, we cheerfully obeyed the
order of our Colonel to "fall in," and were soon wending our way to East
Capitol hill, near the east branch of the Potomac, where, our tents not
having arrived, we encamped in the open air, which was far preferable to
spending a second night at the "Soldiers' Retreat." The soil where we
encamped was of a clayey nature, and the surface as free from moisture as
polishing powder, and when we awoke on the following morning we had very
much the appearance of having slept in an ash-pit.
We remained here but a day or two, when we received orders to join General
Casey's Division, and bidding adieu without regrets to "Camp Misery," as
our boys had named the spot, we were soon on our way across Chain Bridge,
and in due season found ourselves on the "sacred soil" of Virginia.
I can never forget a laughable scene which was enacted on Pennsylvania
avenue by Company B while on this march. We were on the extreme left of
the line. In front of a tonsorial saloon on the avenue our boys espied a
Dutchman who formerly carried on business in Pawtucket. The surprise at
the unexpected meeting was mutual on the part of the barber and the boys.
It was his habit when a customer entered his shop to inquire as to whether
he preferred the water hot or cold, but for any one to repeat the question
in his presence, whether on the street or elsewhere, was sure to stir up
the barber's ire. Immediately upon seeing him standing in front of his
shop, our boys began to sing out, "Vater hot, or vater cold?" The old
Dutchman became terribly excited, and the result was that that portion of
the procession which was composed of Company B became sadly demoralized.
As soon as our officers took in the situation, order was at once
restored, and a few minutes of "double quick" enabled us to regain our
position in line. But no sooner had this been done than we saw coming
directly toward us, down the avenue, a regiment which had the appearance
of having just come from "the front." It was a new and strange sight to
us, those "battle-scarred veterans" of the war, and we made up our minds
that the right thing for us to do was to tender them a reception. Without
any orders from our officers, and without even their knowledge, we
immediately came to "company front" and presented arms, to the great
amusement and evident astonishment of those old soldiers. This action on
our part caused us to receive a well-merited reprimand from our officers,
and it was the first and only performance of the kind in which Company B
bore a conspicuous part.