CITY POINT, VIRGINIA--A DAY IN THE ARMY
From a letter written Nov. 8, 1864
November 8th (Election Day) dawned upon a cloudy sky and misty
atmosphere as peculiar to Virginia as is also the renowned and
“Sacred Soil,” after a few days’ rain. This however, we observed
after we had risen from our narrow hospital bed, which stood close
by the side of the tent, that flapped in the face of the sleeper
(or waker) as the wind rose or fell. The rain descended in torrents
during the night, and all was damp as usual in our rag houses. Our
sleeping apartment, or tent, the second one of the Maine Agency,
was well stored with boxes of goods and delicacies for the sick,
leaving little moving space. Late as was the season our tents were
made comfortably warm with army fireplaces, and stoves, though the
floors, made of broken boxes, were sometimes covered with mud. “Oh,
were you ever into an Irishman’s shanty?” I can not here describe
our excellent agency which did more for the relief of soldiers, and
more fully realized the idea of an army home, than any agency or
commission on the field.
I accepted a pressing invitation from the New Jersey State Agent,
Doctor Hettie K. Painter, to join a pleasure excursion. She, by the
by, was a living example of the usefulness of a lady in the army,
who can frequently effect more good by personal influence than would
be allowed through regular channels.
[Illustration: DR. HETTIE K. PAINTER]
Our pass being sufficient, we started in an ambulance with a clever
driver, who drove around the camp and gave us an opportunity to
see the extent of our hospital, having a capacity of over 9,000,
and covering an area of twenty-five acres. We then crossed the
Petersburg railroad, to which had been added a branch running
directly into the middle of our camp for the more direct and
comfortable conveyance of the sick and wounded.
We splashed on in the mud, through an opening in the fortification
which protected the base. This defense extended about fifteen miles
from the Appomatox River to the James River, and was a high, heavy
earthwork, further protected by a deep ditch; earthworks having been
found to be superior to stone fortification. How little did those at
home know of the immense amount of labor here necessary! The pick and
spade still played an important part in the warfare of our country.
Virginia was stripped of her artificial culture and bore on her bosom
the scourge of war in the form of burned and felled woods, torn and
altered roads, plantations deserted and laid waste, deeply furrowed
fields turned into stony roughness and corduroy unevenness, which
resisted even the indentation of wheels, and threatened frequent
overturns. With all these marks of desolation, waste and destruction,
Virginia was still beautiful in her woods and varied trees, now
gorgeous in the oriental splendor of fall,--crimson, orange and pale
yellow, with a background of the darkest green, fading into tan or
sere and yellow,--with blended colorings indescribable, and hills
receding in the distance. Near us--beyond the winding river and
bayous, the dells and ravines and bluffs, which give to the quiet
and beautiful scenery of this section its greatest variety and
charm--was the Point of Rocks.
On we jogged in our springless ambulance, here passing an army
train of supplies, or a load of logs for building winter quarters.
Further on we ran our wheels into a loaded army wagon, drawn by six
mules, but a dexterous turn brought us upon an evergreen bank, and
we rode safely along, following a cavalry force. After riding about
four miles, we came to Broadway Landing, (why so called I can not
surmise), a depot at which General Butler’s supplies were received
and forwarded. Here we crossed the pontoon bridge, formed by placing
flat-bottomed boats sidewise about ten feet apart, and fastening
these by ropes and beams laid across from one boat to another, and
heavy planks laid transversely across the beams. This makes a very
simple, portable and strong bridge. The river at this point is less
than a quarter of a mile in width, having a steep bank on either side.
On the eminence of the James River side of the Appomattox we came
upon the marine artillery performing their drill. The rapidity with
which they dismounted, and took to pieces and reconstructed their
cannon seemed wonderful to an ordinary spectator. To the left we
passed the spot said to be the veritable and memorable site of
the historical incident of the saving of Captain Smith’s life by
Pocahontas. Her direct descendants, the Rolfs, give this as the
locality, and the stump of a large oak tree at the extreme end of the
Point of Rocks as the identical one,--now felled and lying down the
bank,--under whose shade might have perished John Smith. And what
then would the world have done for a scapegoat?
Still further to the left of us was the 18th Army Corps Hospital, and
in the background, on the river bank, rose one of General Butler’s
great signal stations, 125 feet in height, to which were communicated
from the smaller and hidden stations, the results of their
observations, and whence they were transmitted to General Butler’s
headquarters. While at one of these smaller stations, we saw through
glasses a train of nine empty cars, passing on the rebel road, which
fact was immediately conveyed by a singular numerical motion of a
signal flag. The flagman who gave this communication was remarkably
expert in his motions.
After riding some three miles further we reached General Butler’s
provisional camp, then in command of General Graham. Only a part
of the supplies were now forwarded to this point, the rest being
conveyed by way of the James River. Here we stopped at the Hatcher
farm. Judging from the number of barns and small houses scattered
about, this must have been quite an extensive plantation. The owner
and present occupant had taken the Oath of Allegiance, and having
sent his slaves farther south, lived here quietly with his wife and
three pretty children. But General Butler’s vigilance would not allow
him to leave his house or to speak to any one without the immediate
attendance of a guard, who constantly walked before his door. Our
cook supplied this rusty cavalier and family with the necessities of
life, as if he were a northern “mud sill.”
On the farm was quite a large negro cabin, built of logs, consisting
of two rooms, one above the other. This was the telegraph station
of this section and was under the supervision of the son of Doctor
Hettie K. Painter, a lad of less than seventeen summers, who
conducted the business as thoroughly as if it had been under the
guidance or experience of grey locks. What strange stories passed
over the lines from that mysterious little instrument, quietly
working away on a side table as if only an ornament! These boy
employees,--for our young friend Painter had assistance,--were all
able to read by sounds which, to unpractised ears, seemed all alike.
In a large fireplace, over a log fire, Mrs. Painter made a camp
kettle of cornstarch pudding, and George Washington, the contraband,
boiled potatoes and fried the mutton chops; and with the addition of
a few delicacies and good Java coffee, which we had carried with us,
we had as good a dinner as hungry mortals could wish.
Dinner over, we gathered some of the beautiful autumn leaves, and
rode on our way until we reached the renowned original “Crow’s
Nest” signal station. This was a huge tree seventy-five feet high,
surmounting which was the “Crow’s Nest,” reached by rude ladders
from one platform to another. This “Nest” resembled a thatched
bird’s nest on a large scale, about four feet square, and it was
almost hidden by surrounding trees. A new skeleton station erected
on the opposite side of the road left unused the “Old Nest.” Several
gunboats were lying in the river, below the banks of the James, ready
for action.
Entering the ambulance, we continued our ride over hills and through
ravines, at the risk of an upset, until we safely reached Dutch Gap,
General Butler’s famous canal. This was nearly completed at the cost
of much time and labor, and only waited the blasting of a rock at the
other end, to complete the work which would form an island of the
narrow peninsula dividing the River James into two branches, to be
connected by the canal.
Along both shores were heavy guns and strong fortifications, quite
formidable, showing much labor and ingenuity. Despite the almost
constant courtesy of interchanging shells passing overhead, the
“Johnny Rebs,” on one side of the river, and the Yanks on the other
bank, had many quiet talks across the narrow stream. Talks like this
were quite usual, and were even winked at by officers.
“Hello Yank, hev u’uns got any good coffee?”
“Well I guess! It can’t be beat. Say, Johnny, how are you off for
tobac?”
“O, we’ve got heaps of that. I reckon u’uns had better just float
some of that coffee across.”
“All right, Johnny, you get your tobac ready!”
By a little practice in watching the current, they became quite
expert in floating across many exchanges besides the tobacco and
coffee. They even risked being shot from their own side as deserters,
and swam across after dark to enjoy a supper of “hot pone” on the
“Reb” side, or hot coffee and some luxuries on the “Yank” side, where
the sutler often consumed a month’s pay at a time in selling good
things to some “Boy in Blue.”
Returning, we stopped only at the embalmer’s, where many bodies were
daily prepared to be sent to friends at home. The morbid fancy which
is manifested by so many to possess dead bodies, especially those
which have long laid buried, seems one of the most barbarous customs
permitted in a civilized country.
We reached our hospital just as “night drew on her sable mantle and
pinned it with a star.” The camp fires and chimneys were throwing
over the scene a bright and cheering glow. A good supper was prepared
by our contraband Hannah, who, with a broad smile, declared in her
own peculiar vernacular: “I’s jes goin’ gib you alls up; t’o’t de
rebs done got you dis time shoo nuff--I’se so glad.”
We pressed our collection of leaves, and, after a short visit to
headquarters and the ladies’ tent where our stores were kept, we
returned to “Maine” and laid away our weary bones, nearly shattered
after a day’s shaking over the corduroy roads. We were soon lulled
to sleep by the 6th Army Corps singing “The Girl I Left Behind Me”
and the humming of the singing mice which infected our tent.