ARMY LIFE AT WASHINGTON.
Meridian Hill--Neighboring scenery--First Sunday in
camp--Drills--Sickness--The Hospital--General Casey--"Why don't
the army move?"--Washington blockaded--Burnside's heroes--Orders
to move--Something of a train--Smith's division--Our first
reconnoissance.
We encamped on Meridian Hill December 1st, 1861, with 960 men.
Meridian Hill is the most delightful locality in the vicinity of
Washington. The plain on which the city stands, extends northward from
the Potomac about two miles where it is abruptly terminated by a line of
hills. From the summit of these hills stretches back another plain, at
an elevation of one or two hundred feet above the first. Along the
margin of these eminences were some fine old suburban mansions. On our
right towards Georgetown, was Kalorama, a charming spot, once the
residence of Joel Barlow, the author of the famous poems "Hasty Pudding"
and "The Columbiad." Now the building was converted by the government
into a hospital. In close neighborhood to us was Columbia College, also
used as a hospital, and to the east was the fine mansion of Colonel
Stone, and other superb places, all of which, like Kalorama and the
college, were full of sick men.
Meridian Hill was in the center of this line of once beautiful country
residences, directly north of the President's house. It had been the
residence of Commodore Porter, and the house still bore the name of "the
Porter Mansion." The grounds had been elegantly laid out with box and
juniper, while the rich groves of oak and chestnut surrounding lent
additional charms to the locality. The hill was dotted with the white
tents of a dozen regiments, but none were so pleasantly located as our
own, under the shadow of those grand old trees.
The mansion itself became our hospital, and for a time also served as
our head-quarters. From its broad piazza we could look upon the busy
scenes of the city, and watch the vessels passing up and down upon the
river. A week had passed before we were fairly established in our
quarters, but we rapidly learned the mysteries of the soldier's life.
The weather was delightful; more like September than what we were
accustomed to experience in December. Although heavy mists hung over us
until nine or ten o'clock in the morning, they were dispelled by the
warm sunshine, and then all was bright as midsummer. This lovely weather
continued until about the first of January.
The country in rear of our encampment was charming. Fine groves,
traversed by streams of pure, sweet water, and fields surrounded by
hedges, stretched far to the northward. The dark green leaves of the
magnolia were to be seen here and there among trees of larger growth,
and the shining, ever-green laurel forming a dense undergrowth, gave the
woods a lively and spring-like appearance. On the open plain might any
day be seen a regiment of Lancers, wheeling and charging in their
brilliant evolutions, their long lances with bright red pennons adding
greatly to the beauty of the display, and, as we at that time vainly
believed, to the efficacy of the troop.
The first Sunday came, and we had religious services. The regiment was
formed in front of the mansion, every man being called out, unless on
duty or excused on account of illness. This became an established rule
with us for all time; every man was required to attend divine service
unless especially excused. Chaplain Tully and the members of the staff
occupied the piazza. The chaplain offered a prayer for the loved ones at
home, and then we all sung "Coronation," and after the sermon, we sung
"Cambridge" and "Old Hundred." The men seemed deeply affected by the
simple service, and many a quivering lip betrayed the emotions of the
heart.
Drills became the order of the day. Every morning the hill rang from one
end to the other with the sharp commands of the company officers to
"Order arms!" "Shoulder arms!" as the men exercised by squads. Besides
the regular drill in the manual of arms, some of the companies delighted
in that system of military gymnastics called the bayonet exercise. In
the afternoon Colonel McKean usually trained the regiment in the more
difficult exercises of the battalion drill.
But we began to feel the scourge of new regiments. Disease became almost
universal. We had but a single medical officer and he was tasked beyond
his strength. One hundred and fifty or two hundred men were prescribed
for every morning, aside from those so ill as to be in the hospital.
The large parlors of the old mansion were neatly fitted up for our
hospital, for which they were admirably adapted. The two principal wards
were the large front parlors, which communicated by folding doors; the
ceilings were high, and the large open fire places in either apartment
served the double purpose of supplying heat and ventilation, so that
while about fifty beds were always occupied, the air was kept fresh and
pure. Typhoid fevers, typhoid pneumonias, diphtheria, and remittent
fevers were prevalent, while now and then the malaria manifested itself
in the form of the terrible spotted fever. Besides, as usually occurs
when the last named disease prevails in camps, some died suddenly from
unknown causes.
By the tenth of the month the majority of the men were unfit for duty.
In one company the three commissioned officers were in the hospital, and
but twelve men could be mustered for evening parade. The labors of the
medical officer who undertakes single-handed to minister to the wants of
a regiment of recruits can only be known to those who have tried it. Our
doctor was as much worn out by the perplexities of organizing his
department as by the actual attendance on the sick. New demands came
almost every hour of the day and night, and it was only when the
violence of disease had subsided, and another officer was added to the
medical staff, that our weary son of Galen found a degree of respite.
We were in the command of General Silas Casey, a noble specimen of a man
and a soldier. His manly dignity and kindly bearing impressed all with
profound respect for him, and although we were but a few weeks in his
command we never ceased to remember him with pleasure. The provisional
brigade and division to which we were attached was frequently reviewed
and drilled by the general, and made a fine appearance.
Thus the time passed until the opening of the New Year. Our men, like
most fresh soldiers, were anxious for a fight, and were heartily tired
of what they considered inglorious inactivity. Many of them expressed
great fears that they would be obliged to return home without ever
hearing the sound of battle. How greatly they were mistaken we shall see
as we trace the bloody campaigns of more than three years of hard
fighting.
Our friends at home were not unmindful of us. Boxes of clothing and
other comforts for the sick were sent in goodly numbers; so our sick
were well supplied with bedding and changes of clothing, as well as
jellies and other luxuries. Our friend, McMicheal, of Congress Hall,
Saratoga, thinking we could better celebrate the New Year with a good
dinner, sent us one worthy of his fame as a landlord. Could Mack have
heard the cheers of the boys that made the ground tremble as the four
hundred pounds of cooked chickens and turkeys were distributed among
them, his glory as a caterer would have been complete. With the New Year
came stormy weather; rain was the rule, sunshine the exception. The mud
became almost unfathomable and it was not uncommon to see the six mules
attached to an army wagon tugging and striving with all their power to
drag the empty wagon out of a mud hole. Boys who had plied the trade of
bootblack gave up their profession and with pail and sponge in hand
called to the passer by, "Wash your boots, sir?" During the lovely month
of December we had been impatient for action; but now the oft repeated
question, "Why don't the Army of the Potomac move?" became ludicrous to
our ears.
Thus passed another month in drills and camp duties. Some recruits came
to us, while many of the men who came out at first were found unfit for
field duty and were discharged.
Distrust arose among officers and enlisted men of our army about the
capital, in regard to the manner in which the army was managed. A
wilderness of men surrounded Washington, and yet we were blockaded by
the rebels on all sides except one.
Government was paying enormous prices for fuel consumed by the army,
because the Potomac was closed, and all wood had to be brought by rail
from the sparsely wooded districts of Maryland. Provisions sold at
fabulous prices, and Washington was in fact a beleaguered city. Some
rays of light from the west penetrated the thick darkness; but it cannot
be concealed that while the Grand Army stationed about the capital
panted for action and longed for the glory of the battle-field, a gloom
possessed the spirits of the men, and a feeling, that all this splendid
material was destined to a "masterly inactivity," prevailed. Our hopes
were newly kindled when the affairs of the War Department passed into
the hands of a live man, and when Mr. Stanton's practical energy began
to be manifested both in the department and in the field. We heard from
Burnside; first sad news, and then of success; and our hearts burned to
be with him. Fort Donelson followed Roanoke; and Price's army was routed
in Missouri. We envied the men who had been our nearest neighbors, but
who had followed Burnside to the South. Glorious fellows! What cared
they now for the fury of the waves or the hardships of short rations? We
were afraid of being left as idle spectators of great things in which we
should not be allowed to participate.
On the 15th of February came an order for us to move in a few days, and
join Smith's division. This division lay upon the other side of the
river, and although we had been anxious to move we did not wish to get
permanently fixed in the mud by moving there. We knew little of General
Smith or his division, only that the general had been trying very hard
for some time past to get the regiment, and we had little hopes of good
from the new arrangement. How little did we then suppose that the cross
of that old division would be one of the proudest badges of honor that
men could wear!
Sunday night came, and the order to move at once, came also. What a
scene of confusion! We had never broken up camp before, and the
excitement ran high. The pounding and tearing of boards, the shouting of
men and braying of mules, combined in a grand uproar. Bonfires blazed
from every part of the camp, and the whole night was spent in tearing
down quarters and loading the stuff into army wagons as they presented
themselves in great numbers. It was a rare sight. The camp glowing with
a hundred fires, and the men and teams moving about among them like
spectres. Morning came, and the teams were loaded, and the men ready to
march. The teams drove out and formed a line reaching down 14th street
from our camp nearly to the White House! One hundred and five six-mule
teams constituted the train for our regimental baggage; and so much
dissatisfaction prevailed among certain company officers that we were
allowed twenty-five more teams next day! Rain had fallen nearly all
night, and the prospect looked dreary. As the day advanced the rain came
faster and faster, until it fairly poured. The men waded through mortar
nearly to their knees.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we reached Smith's division
and the ground on which we were to make our camp. The prospect was not
cheering, and as two or three of our staff officers rode upon the
ground, the place seemed forbidding enough. It had been recently the
location of a thicket of scrub pines, but the trees had been cut down
for fuel, and the stumps and brush remained, so that the mounted
officers found much difficulty in reining their horses into the midst.
Snow covered the ground to the depth of several inches. Here our men,
tired and wet, cold and hungry, were to pitch their tents, cook their
suppers, and make their beds.
The men fell to work heartily, and by dark they had cleared off the snow
and brush enough to make room for their tents, and many cook fires
blazed over the camp.
The regiments of the division showed us much hospitality, and a very
pleasant acquaintance commenced on that day, which was destined to
become earnest friendship. The next day was spent in putting the camp in
order. As rain continued to fall, the mud in the company streets became
knee-deep. Our sick, those unable to walk, had been left in our old
hospital with a sufficient number of faithful nurses, under charge of
the surgeon of one of the regiments that remained.
Let us for a moment glance at the composition of the division of which
we now formed a part. We were assigned to the Third brigade. It
comprised, beside our own, the Thirty-third New York, Colonel Taylor, a
regiment whose gallantry at Yorktown, Williamsburgh and Fredericksburgh
fully established its reputation as one of the best fighting regiments
in the army. The Forty-ninth New York, Colonel Bidwell, a noble regiment
with a noble commander, a regiment which could always be counted on to
do all that men could do; the Seventh Maine, Colonel Mason, whose men
were patterned after the pines of their own forests, tall, straight and
powerful fellows, who never forgot their proclivities for hunting, and
who were never so happy as when they could pick off a few rebel pickets
with their rifles. The brigade was commanded by General Davidson, who
afterwards made himself exceedingly disagreeable to the rebels, and
famous at the north by his daring cavalry raids in the west. The first
brigade included the Forty-third New York, Colonel Vinton; the
Forty-ninth Pennsylvania, Colonel Irwin; the Sixth Maine, Colonel
Knowles; and the Fifth Wisconsin, Colonel Cobb; all of them excellent
regiments, under command of General Hancock, who has since placed his
name high on the roll of fame as the commander of the old Second corps.
The Second brigade was composed entirely of Vermont troops, including
the Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Vermont regiments, commanded
respectively by Colonels Henry Whiting, B. N. Hyde, E. H. Stoughton, L.
A. Grant and N. M. Lord, and known as the "Vermont Brigade," and nobly
did they sustain the traditional reputation of the Green Mountain Boys,
as stern patriots and hard fighters. They were commanded by General
Brooks, who afterward commanded the Tenth corps.
General William F. Smith, or, as he was familiarly known, "Baldy Smith,"
commanded the division. He is too well known to all who admire a true
soldier to require more than a mention here, and his great fame has been
well and faithfully earned.
No more splendid material, either for officers or men, ever entered into
the composition of a division, and how nobly it played its part in the
great drama of the war, it shall be part of our duty to record. Drills,
regimental, brigade and division, were again in order, and picket duty
now became a part of our routine.
This would not be a faithful chronicle of the doings of the new
regiment, were we to forget to relate the history of our first
expedition into the enemy's country.
An order came one evening in February for Colonel McKean to take his
regiment and make a reconnoissance towards Vienna. His instructions were
to pass the picket line, advance towards Vienna, make a thorough
reconnoissance and return.
The news spread through the camp, and the regiment was ablaze with
excitement. Some who had been on the sick list, and were excused from
camp duty, sought from the surgeon permission to accompany the
expedition, while a few who had been, up to this time, well, were
earnest in their applications to be excused from the march.
The regiment was formed at ten o'clock at night; thick darkness,
darkness of the blackest and most intense degree, prevailed. One could
scarcely see his neighbor whose shoulder touched his own. We were miles
away from the enemy, but the men were to be instructed in performing
their movements in secrecy; so the commands were passed along the line,
as the companies were forming, in whisper. No lights were allowed, and
we left our camp a column of blackness. We were presently joined by a
guide who carried a lantern. We passed a great many regiments, all the
while observing strict silence.
The mud was deep, very deep; some of the men lost their shoes in the
depths of the mire, and some even lost themselves, and were only
discovered when they arrived in camp some hours earlier than the
regiment. Through the darkness we plodded until we reached our
destination, at daylight on the following morning. Here we found bough
houses which had been used by rebel cavalry; and the tracks of many
horses imprinted only a little while before, whether by the horses of
our own cavalry, or by those of the enemy, we never knew. The battalion
was halted and scouts were sent to the front and on the flanks. Some of
the boys who had lost their shoes in the mud before we had advanced the
first mile, had made the whole march in their stockings; while others,
who had been sick, looked as though they could never get back to camp.
The companies deployed and marched through the woods, but as the enemy
was on the other side of Vienna we saw no rebels. It was noon when we
reached our camp, tired and covered with mud. Those who went laughed at
those who remained behind, and called them "dead beats!" The "beats"
tauntingly demanded of the others what all their demonstration had
amounted to.
The New York papers heralded the exploit as a grand advance on the
enemy, and we said little about it.