Part 10
_The interval of time between the preceding and the following letters is explained by the fact that the stories and rumors of “going home” actually materialized at this time. The regiment left the Army of the Potomac February 26 and arrived in New Hampshire March 3. It left the state for the front again May 25, arriving in Washington May 27. The “Soldier Boy” and “The Girl I left behind me” were married March 9._
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_LXXXIX_
WASHINGTON, D. C., _May 27, 1863_.
Got into Washington this morning at half-past six—less than forty-eight hours on the route from New Hampshire. George Slade lost his knapsack somewhere on the way. Mrs. Wasley was at Concord and rode down on the train. The last I saw of her she was standing on the plank walk, her eyes full of tears. I was glad you did not come to the depot when the regiment passed through. George Slade’s wife was at Concord, almost heart-broken. [It was their last farewell—George never came back.]
We are stopping now at the “Soldier’s Rest.” Captain Gordon tells me we are ordered to report to General Casey, in command of the defenses of Washington, and will probably stay about here some time. The Fourteenth New Hampshire are here, camped on the hill not far away.
We rode from Norwich, Conn., to Jersey City on an old freight boat. There were no bunks, and I found the deck planks of about the usual quality and finish. The good grub the family so liberally stocked me up with at Manchester is not all gone yet, notwithstanding I have shared it freely with the poor and needy. I saw Norm. Gunnison at Philadelphia. He was discharged for disability, not long ago, and is now working on some newspaper.
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_XC_
CAMP MARSTON, WASHINGTON, D. C., _May 30, 1863_.
We are now fairly settled down in camp on what is known as East Capitol Hill, with nothing to do but eat, sleep, and drill, and make ourselves as comfortable as we can. The camp is right out in the open, with not as much as a huckleberry bush for shade. But we have A-tents to sleep in, which are roomy and comfortable—much more so than our “shelters.” There are only three in my tent—Herm. Sleeper, “Curley” Converse, and yours truly. George Slade did come in, but he was detailed as company cook and now has a tent of his own.
I saw Farnsworth over in the city day before yesterday—[Major Simeon D., Paymaster, onetime publisher of the Manchester _American_.] We were marching toward Long Bridge, headed for Camp Chase on Arlington Heights, and I had a chance to speak to him a moment. Our destination was changed however before we reached the bridge and we were about-faced and marched to our present camp.
I saw Captain Bruce [John N.] Tuesday. He is a sergeant in the Fourteenth. He tapped his chevrons and observed, with a smile: “Coming _up_, you see!” Which reminded me of the old, old times before the war, when he used to parade the streets of Manchester at the head of his crack company, the admiration and envy of every boy in town.
“Old Beauregard” [Orrin S. Gardner,] the old sinner whose picture I sent home once, has deserted. Before we left the state he was arrested and put in the guard house on mere suspicion that he was going to desert; but the morning we started off he was missing sure enough and has not since been heard from. My own private opinion is if he had been let alone he’d have been all right.
General Martindale was in camp yesterday, and the camp gossips greased up the old rumor machine and ground out the following: Martindale said he should try to keep us here, as he wanted one such regiment in this place. And it is supposed that Marston is doing what he can to keep us in the defenses.
_Afternoon._—One of our boys has just come in from the Fourteenth and says they are going to march tomorrow. I wish we could move over to their camp, as it is a delightful location, with shade trees and nice clean grounds.
Our batch of brand-new lieutenants are having the usual experience in getting fitted into their places, and are subjected to the merciless criticism of the old men for any blunder they may happen to make. Frank Wasley was officer of the guard yesterday and got badly rattled and mixed up. It was especially mortifying, as many officers from other regiments were out to see our guard mount. We are to be inspected tomorrow forenoon by an officer from General Casey’s staff, and I have been polishing up my old Springfield. I have been in swimming once in the East Branch.
_Sunday._—Two of our boys who were in the city yesterday saw General Marston and asked him what was to be done with us. He said we would be with our old division in the Army of the Potomac within eight days.
Our inspection is over. It was not an exhausting ordeal. The inspecting officer, as it was very hot and dusty, probably was as anxious as we were to have it over with. He directed the Quartermaster to draw straw enough to bed every tent.
I have sure-enough cow’s milk in my coffee quite often now. Quite a number of cows find free pasturage and very good grazing on the open lands in the vicinity of the camp.
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_XCI_
CAMP MARSTON, WASHINGTON, D. C., _Saturday, June 6, 1863_.
Just at present we are not living very high—not near as well as we did at Falmouth. But George Slade is cook for the company, and he says: “When you want something special, Mart, just give me the wink, and if it’s in the cook house you’ll get it.” This noon we had boiled potatoes and boiled salt pork. Tonight we are to have hasty pudding and molasses. Somebody has been stealing everything eatable lying around loose in the cook house, and Slade has gone down to the city to buy some ipecac. He will set his trap and there is bound to be some awfully sick fellows about camp before long.
I cut a lot of bullrushes down by the East Branch this afternoon—enough to thickly carpet the whole floor of our tent—and they make a glorious bed indeed.
Monday evening the third brigade of the Pennsylvania Reserve Corps, who have been camped on this side for some time, crossed the river, and the Second and Fourteenth New Hampshire and Thirty-fourth Massachusetts are now the only troops on this side. The Fourteenth is doing provost and guard duty in the city.
We got a belated mail last Tuesday. I had a letter from Frank Morrill dated March 2, one from you dated February 24, and a paper from Roger mailed in February. This mail had been hung up in Washington ever since we went home. Of course the boys had lots of fun circulating items of “news.”
Last Wednesday, as I had a pass, I went down to the city, sight seeing. In the forenoon I visited the Patent Office and was greatly interested. Besides the models of inventions there were many relics and curios—Washington’s effects, the presents from the Emperor of Japan, treaties made with various nations, the coat Gen. Jackson wore at New Orleans, and thousands of other objects of interest. In the afternoon I went down to the Capitol. I have been there many times before, but never tire of looking over that building. There are now about five hundred men at work on it. The next time I have a pass I am going down to the Navy Yard.
Gen. Marston was up here Wednesday, looking fat and hearty.
Our cooks have got a barrel of potatoes and a lot of cooking utensils, bought from the “company funds.” This is about the first use that has ever been made of this fund. Our company’s fund now amounts to several hundred dollars, and some of the boys were making ugly inquiries as to why it was not being used for the benefit of the men to whom it belongs.
The drummers and fifers of the regiment have been on exhibition for the past half hour, at the same time giving us a concert that it would not be easy to catalogue. Of all the rattletybang and screeching! On dress parade they made a blunder, then had a big jabbering over it, and came pretty near having a fight. As a punishment they were mounted on barrels out on the parade ground and ordered to do their best. They have a very appreciative and enthusiastic audience, but are about the maddest set of men I ever saw. I wouldn’t be surprised if, after we get paid off, some of the indignant musicians turned up missing.
_Sunday, June 7._
We had a good rain last night and it is cool and nice today. We have had our morning inspection and expect to be gone over, later, by one of Gen. Casey’s staff officers. We had forty rounds of cartridges dealt out this morning. They are called “musket shells”—made to explode—and woe to the Johnny that stops one! We had boiled ham this morning. I got a big bone for my ration, gnawed off all I wanted for breakfast, and have enough left for supper, when no meat ration is served. Just think of it—your husband hiding away bones, like a dog, against future needs.
Alba Woods just sailed down by my tent spreading a story he heard in another company—that Companies I and F are going up to Chain Bridge today. I don’t care a darn, one way or the other.
Being right here in Washington, we put on a good many airs—white gloves, shiny boots, &c. To see the regiment on dress parade now one would hardly recognize it as the same set of men that we have seen plugging through the Virginia mud or dust, dirty, ragged, and lousy.
We have another man in our tent—one of the Seventeenth—James C. Rand. He is nineteen years old, was married just before he came away, and was in the Sixth New Hampshire a while.
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_XCII_
CAMP MARSTON, WASHINGTON, D. C., _June 10, 1863_.
You must not be disappointed if I make a short letter of this. I came off guard this forenoon and am going to have a pass to the city. Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, we start to rejoin the army on the Rappahannock, and I will write more as soon as we are with the old crowd again.
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_XCIII_
TEN MILES ABOVE FALMOUTH, VA., _June 12, 1863_.
Do not know when I shall have a chance to finish or to send this letter, but just now I have plenty of time to begin it. We left Washington about noon yesterday, on the steamer “Hugh Jenkins,” for Acquia Creek. There we took a train for Stoneman’s Switch, where we arrived about dark and bivouacked for the night. I did not go to the trouble to pitch any tent, but “Curley” Converse and I made up a bed together and slept soundly. I woke up once during the night and found the rain beating in my face, which was very easily remedied by simply pulling my head down under the blankets. This morning we were off again at about sunrise. I understand our destination is Warrenton, about forty miles from Falmouth. The rest of the Third Corps started yesterday, and is on ahead somewhere. We may not catch up with them before they reach Warrenton. We halted here about noon, having made a march of a dozen miles or so during the forenoon. Notwithstanding the showers in the night, the roads were dusty and the march fatiguing.
I made a pretty busy day of it the day before we left Washington. I went down to the city in the forenoon, after getting off guard. First, up to the post office and posted my letters. Then down to a Dutch cobbler’s shop, where I had some staving thick soles and heels put on my boots. I waited while he did the job, and when he got through it was dinner time. So I went into a restaurant and ate ham and eggs, strawberries and cream, and other luxuries. I didn’t know as I should have another chance at a decent meal for eleven months, and I filled up accordingly. Then I went around and laid in a big stock of writing materials and stamps and was ready to go to the front.
About two miles back from here is a little brick church, known as “Hartwood Church,” which possesses a great deal of interest on account of the pictures and inscriptions on the walls. There is a picture, drawn by one of our cavalrymen, representing a cavalry charge. It is on a grand scale, drawn with charcoal, and is wonderfully well done. The cavalryman artist—so the story goes—began it for his own amusement, and was “laying on the colors” when the Rebs dropped in and took him prisoner. They insisted on his finishing up his picture, so he drew in a lot of ragged, unkempt Rebs running as fast as their legs would carry them; and the artist’s captors laughed and roared and thoroughly enjoyed the lampoon on themselves. There is an inscription on the wall which is a rather neat little puzzle—“Major BBBB CCCC.” Have you made it out? Major Forbes’ Forces.
We have run across a good many of our old brigade boys, and they were mighty glad to see the Second again. Ran across Hen. Everett today. Also Stearns, who used to keep store in Manchester. He was on a sutler’s wagon—is sutler for some Pennsylvania regiment, I understand. A two-years regiment, whose term had expired, passed us on its way home today.
RAPPAHANNOCK STATION, _June 13_.
We have had a hard march today and I am very tired. The dust was simply stifling, and some merciless old rascal on horseback, at the head of the column, evidently set the pace and gauged the capacity of the men at what he and his horse could do. We were hustled right along, hour after hour, without a moment’s rest. Fool orders were read in the morning, that if three men straggled from any one company the officers of that company would be tried by court martial. But this did not prevent straggling, for many men simply _could not_ keep up—especially our Seventeenth recruits.
We are getting mighty hard up for grub and are anxiously looking for our supply train. When I started out this morning I had a piece of boiled salt pork about as big as two fingers. At noon we halted about three-quarters of an hour for rest and refreshments. We were short on both. Other troops had camped on the same ground and moved on, and among the embers of one of their campfires I saw some ribs of fresh pork. Some old Virginia razor-back had died to make a Yankee holiday, and perfectly good pork had been recklessly and wastefully thrown onto the coals. I pulled out a chunk that looked good to me, carefully scraped and pared off the charred outside, and never had a better pork roast than I got by picking those ribs. Tonight I made a sumptuous repast on hardtack and water. I missed, however, the “one day’s solitary” that usually goes with that fare up in New Hampshire.
We do not know whether or not we are to go back to our old brigade, but we are now with the old Excelsior Brigade. Rappahannock Station, where we are camped, is a fine location—open, rolling country, with two or three little redoubts in sight from our camp. The rebels are on the other side of the river, and we have a strong force here, facing them. It is getting so dark I can hardly see, so good night.
_Sunday, June 14._
We drew three days rations today and are under orders to be ready to march at a moment’s notice. Three regiments from this brigade are on picket, and it is very evident that trouble is apprehended in some direction. We will probably move from here very soon, and the fact that our wagon trains are not brought up here is a pretty good indication that we are going to move fast and don’t want to be encumbered with a train.
I had as much beefsteak as I could eat this morning. George Lawrence cut up the fresh beef, and as pay for his trouble took what he wanted for breakfast. This noon we were served with “_beef soup_”—the water in which our fresh beef was boiled, with hardtack crumbled into it.
We are camped, I am told, on one of the estates of John Randolph, well known in Virginia history. One of the natives tells me the soldiers have burned thirty-five miles of fences on this plantation. I suppose while I am here by the Rappahannock, crouched in my tent and wondering if those dark clouds over yonder mean rain, you are listening to the words and admonitions of good old Parson Wallace.
We have just had a little excitement. Three foolish hogs ventured out into sight upon the meadow on our front, and more than two hundred whooping savages started out in chase and killed two with clubs.
We have just got word that we are to march tonight at sunset, and of course are speculating as to the movement. The favorite opinion of our most astute camp strategists is that Hooker is going to fall back to Washington and the Potomac, and that we are way up here as a sort of rear guard, to give the rebels a hack if they try to crowd too hard. I have got back again to the old, careless army spirit of don’t-care-a-cent, and take everything as philosophically as circumstances will permit. We have just heard the roar of guns in the direction of Warrenton, which is ominous. I have had all the cherries I could eat today. Have been jotting this letter down, bit by bit, through the day. The old fellow who lives in a house near the camp has a son who is a colonel in the rebel army. “Curley” Converse is smashing up a blacking brush that he won’t carry any further and won’t leave for the enemy. He says: “If I had a house out here I would burn it up before I would let those fellows have the use of it.” I must pack up now and be ready to march.
MANASSAS JUNCTION, _Tuesday, June 16_.
After a most exhausting march we find ourselves here at Manassas once more. We left Rappahannock Station Sunday night at ten o’clock and marched to Catlett’s Station—about fifteen miles—arriving there yesterday morning at seven o’clock. At two o’clock in the afternoon we continued on to this place—another fifteen miles. When we arrived here, about midnight, I was actually all in. Half a dozen of us, all in the same condition, consulted together and decided that if the column passed out of the line of rebel redoubts we would drop out, get a little rest and sleep, and chase on and catch up with the regiment early in the morning. We fell out, went up into one of the redoubts, laid down on the grass carpet that covered everything, and slept. We were up before sunrise, and the first thing to greet our vision as we looked over the parapet was the old regiment bivouacked out on the plain, only a few rods beyond.
It was a frightfully hot day yesterday and a number of the men were sunstruck. George Lawrence was one of the victims. Every one of the Seventeenth men gave out. We marched over the same road as a year ago, and several men were sunstruck at that time.
I saw Sam. Newell yesterday—one of the boys who went from our company into the regulars. He said Perk. Lane was either killed or wounded and taken prisoner, in the fight at Beverly Ford. The last seen of him he was shot from his horse and surrounded by rebels. Nich. Biglin—our famous “Heenan”—has gone up to one of the gaps in the mountains, with the pioneers, to obstruct the roads against the rebels.
During our march night before last our whole division made one of the most ridiculous breaks on record. We were marching along the railroad when, at a highway crossing, a runaway horse bolted into the column. It got the right of way right there, and the men beyond, unable to see what the trouble was, got off the track without stopping to ask any questions. It went through the whole division like the tumble of a row of bricks, and the ditches, stumps and pitfalls made an awful mess of things.
There has just been a little excitement out in camp. Some of the men rushed a couple of sutlers’ carts that were passing. One of the sutlers whipped up and managed to get away after a smart chase, but the other was not as fortunate. The raiders surrounded his cart and tipped it over, and would doubtless have robbed him of his stock but for a mounted officer who plunged into the crowd and put a stop to the lawless raid.
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_XCIV_
CAMP NEAR CENTREVILLE, VA., _June 18, 1863_.
I heard, last night, that a mail was to go out this morning. I had an unfinished letter in my knapsack, but it was so dark I could not see to write; so I did it up just as it was and put it in the bag. They say we will get a mail before long, and then I shall expect enough accumulated reading matter to keep me busy for a while. Today is the hottest yet. I could not stand it in camp, so I went over and filled my canteen with cool, fresh water, gathered up my writing materials, and came down here into the shade of the bushes. Now I will tell you what we have been doing.
As I have written you, we got into Manassas about twelve o’clock Monday night. We lay on the plains all day Tuesday, and drew three days’ rations. The meat ration was salt pork only, but we were very glad to get that. I had the use of a fry-pan for a short time, sliced and fried the whole of my ration, and carefully packed it away in my haversack, convenient for transportation.