Part 16

A little mail robbery came to light in a queer manner today. A fellow who used to have the run of my tent down in the company gave away a cheap little brass breastpin. The recipient recognized it at sight as the identical pin he had, some time before, sealed in an envelope for one of the men, and addressed and mailed to that man’s little girl. The thief purloined it from the box, and was caught in a trap which nobody set for nobody.

The old boys of Company I are to present Colonel Bailey with a costly sword. The little remnant still left of the old “Abbott Guard”—the boys of 1861—have chipped in $150, and Jess. Dewey and Steve Smiley have gone to Baltimore to buy the sword. The breach between Captain Gordon and the old men is now very wide and the feeling very bitter, and this sword business is in some degree an outcome of the feud. In this way the old men can show, in a way not open to criticism, how much more they think of their first captain than of their last. In addition to this, somebody has put the subs up to get a sword for our second-lieutenant, Dave Perkins. They have more money than they know how to spend, and you can work a collection on them for almost anything. With a sword presentation on each side of him, I don’t see how a more adroit snub could have been arranged. I see Bill Ramsdell’s fine Italian hand in the whole thing.

[This sword presentation record would not be complete without the story of the exploit of one of the subs who sailed under the name of Cady. He made himself conspicuous in denouncing the old men for slighting their captain. He solicited contributions from his fellow subs for a sword for Gordon, which, you may be sure, Gordon was fully advised of. Then he asked Gordon for a furlough of five days to attend to “a little private matter at Baltimore.” He got his furlough, and that was the last ever seen of him in that regiment.]

But Gordon holds one trump card, and he is playing it for all it is worth. He has been making corporals of some of the last batch of bounty jumpers—actually putting these men in authority and position over the old fellows who have given nearly three years of faithful service to their country. I, on my special detail, am out from under it. If not, I think I should find some honorable way out—perhaps through a commission in a negro regiment.

On the night of the first day of this month, one of Gordon’s new corporals was in charge of a squad of four men at the wharf. There were several boats there in their charge, and the corporal and his entire squad, with others to whom the word evidently been passed, made off with one of the boats during the night. Two days after, another squad of three deserters was brought in, having been picked up by one of the guard boats, many miles down the bay. It was a very cold, rough night, and one of the bounty jumpers had done a really good service to the country by freezing to death, while his two companions were, unfortunately, still alive.

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_CXXXII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _February 10, 1864_.

Bill Ramsdell has just gone out of the tent. He is to make the presentation speech when we give Bailey the sword. He has been rehearsing what he is going to say, and it is tip-top—quite ornate and complimentary.

_Friday, February 12._

The steamer “Whildin” is lying out in the river, a little ways from shore, it being so rough she can not get in to the wharf. Col. Bailey’s wife and mother and several officers’ wives are on board, and doubtless very anxious to get ashore. The going-home fever is on the increase, and the betting population are putting up their money freely that we will be home at the March election. I hear a bet of $50 was made this morning, but whether wind or money I don’t know.

_Saturday, February 13._

I received several letters yesterday and today, including a note from mother sent by the hands of Mrs. Captain Platt, who was one of the arrivals yesterday. Col. Bailey’s sword was presented yesterday, and everything passed off slick as a pin. Three more of our subs attempted to desert, the other night. They set out in a dugout canoe, the handling of which they were not equal to, and pretty soon, over she went. Two, unfortunately, managed to reach the shore. The other was drowned. Our deserting subs are really having hard luck. Three are known to have been drowned, and it is hoped the same fate has overtaken the gang Gordon’s new corporal took off with him, as their boat was picked up, far out in the bay and bottom side up.

Uncle Luther’s folks [Luther Trussell, of New London, N. H.] write me that Hamilton Messer, one of my boyhood cronies, who went out in the Eleventh, is dead. It is one of the pleasantest days imaginable, and I am sitting with the door of my tent wide open, looking out upon the camp, where all is bustle and activity—some wheeling sand to grade the company streets, some building houses for the officers, and little groups here and there, chatting, gossiping and arguing. Captain and Mrs. Platt just rode by on horseback.

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_CXXXIII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _February 20, 1864_.

Zero weather is pretty strenuous for this latitude, but that is what we have been getting. The frigid wave has struck us good and hard, and the river is again frozen up so that we have had no mail from Washington for five days. Last Wednesday the thermometer stood at _seventeen degrees below zero_, which would do credit even to New England. It was so cold Wednesday night that about midnight I had to turn out and build a fire. I filled my little stove with fine wood and soon had a roaring fire going, over which I sat and dozed until nearly morning.

There certainly is a prospect that a portion of the old men who have not re-enlisted will be given a chance to go home to vote at the coming election. Day before yesterday a list was made of the Republican members of the regiment, and it was my understanding that they were to be furloughed and sent home at the same time as the re-enlisted men. A boat came in yesterday morning to take the re-enlisted men, but went away without them, and it is not improbable that when she comes again it will be found she is to take away a hundred or two staunch Republicans, among whom I will be glad to be numbered.

Again there are apprehensions of a rebel attempt on this post. A picket boat brought information that there is quite a force of rebels at a point on the other side, with many small boats. Our little fleet is all ready for anything they may try on. An armed schooner lies right off our camp, with boarding nets up. A detachment of men from the Second has been sent on board to serve as marines, and if Johnny Reb strikes that boat he will have all the fun he wants.

_Sunday, February 21._

Hen. Everett has a letter from his brother Willie, and they are expecting him home before election. They have what they consider absolutely reliable information that the Republican members of the regiment, if not others, are coming home. They will be disappointed, however. He cannot get away, as there is no one in the regiment who understands his duties well enough to undertake them.

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_CXXXIV_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _February 29, 1864—Evening_.

Just received a letter from you, and answer it at once with the announcement that within one week I will be with you. Furloughs are being made out with all haste, and we will probably be off before tomorrow night—possibly tonight. We are going all the way to Boston by boat, so this letter will reach you before we get to Boston. We will go first to Concord, and will be furloughed for some stated time from there. I shall, of course, make no delay in getting down to Manchester. I am writing identical letters both to Manchester and New London, so as to be sure of reaching you wherever you may be. Good bye, for a week.

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_NOTE_

_On February 24th 450 men from the three regiments started for New Hampshire on the steamer “Admiral Dupont,” on furloughs of 20 days. Returning, they left Boston on March 18th, as narrated in the following letter._

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_CXXXV_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _March 10, 1864_.

Got back to Point Lookout last night at about one o’clock, safe and sound. The first thing, of course, I struck for my tent, with keen anticipation of the comfort ahead. As it came into view it struck me that Pendleton, who had been left in charge as acting postmaster, kept rather open house. The door was wide open, and when I got inside and felt around, I found nothing but an empty shell. Not a solitary piece of furniture met my inquiring touch. The stove was gone, the desk, distributing boxes—in fact, the entire outfit. The establishment was entirely dismantled. For the first time in my whole army experience I was homesick.

_I felt like one who treads alone Some banquet hall deserted, Whose guests were fled, its garlands dead, And all but me departed._

Well, I went down to the company and turned into George Lawrence’s bunk, and today I got the whole story. Pendleton carried things with a high hand, did not attend to his duties in any kind of manner, and his conduct became so outrageous that he was sent back to the company and the business turned over to the chaplain. So now “Othello’s occupation’s gone!” Old Mr. Bailey told me he heard them planning to get rid of Pendleton, and the colonel said very emphatically that he wanted me to have the place when I came back. But they decided it would make but little difference to me what was done, as I would probably receive a commission within a few weeks. My choice seems to lie between taking a commission in a negro regiment or going back to company duty under Gordon and his precious gang of non-coms., and I think my preference will be for the negroes. I will have my furlough made out today, and will probably go to Washington for examination within a few days.

Now I must tell you about our trip back from New Hampshire. On our arrival in Boston we at once went on board the steamer “Guide”—and a slow old guide she was. But slow as she was, she was in a hurry to get away. The instant the baggage was on board she started, so suddenly that a number of the boys never got aboard, but were left behind. This was Tuesday afternoon, and Friday morning we were at Fortress Monroe. We got ashore about noon and loafed around until 5 o’clock, when we took the Baltimore boat. At 11 we met the tugboat from the Point, got aboard, and bobbed about out on the Bay until the boat from Baltimore came along. From her we got some of the boys who missed connections at Boston. Among the number were Jess, Dewey and Johnny Ogden, who had come on to Baltimore by rail. My home grub gloriously met all drafts, and I ate the last of it this morning, for breakfast.

## Parties of our men now go across to Virginia every day, for wood. So

far as fuel is concerned, we are living off the enemy’s country.

Not more than half our furloughed men have got back yet, and they will probably be straggling along for some time.

_Afternoon._—My furlough to go to Washington has just gone to headquarters for indorsement, and I shall be off within two or three days. Frank Wasley sent me word that he and Irene would like to see me, so I went up and called. They were living as cozy as could be, and I had a jolly visit. They have two tents, boarded up and the walls neatly papered, making two very attractive rooms.

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_CXXXVI_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _Friday, March 25, 1864_.

I believe I was never lamer or more absolutely used up than I am right at this present moment, the result of my participation in a great snowball battle, yesterday, between the Second and Twelfth. I emerged with both eyes blacked and a big cut over one, with minor contusions too numerous to mention, and thoroughly soaked and bedraggled from top to bottom. The Twelfth turned out _en masse_, which was more than our fellows did, as half of them were lying in their bunks, asleep, having been on guard the night before, while our subs didn’t care nor dare to mix into anything so strenuous. The Twelfth mustered three men to our one, but we held up our end in good shape. At the close both sides got to throwing ice and bricks, and several men received quite severe injuries.

It was a great storm that brought that snow down upon us. It set in Tuesday, and at 9 o’clock in the evening was at its height—the fiercest storm, by all odds, I have ever seen in this part of the country. I slept in a bunk in the company cook-house. Snugly curled up, I slept perhaps a couple hours, when I woke up and decided to straighten out my cramped limbs. I opened out like a jack-knife, took just one second to catch my breath, and pulled up again like a turtle going into his shell. I had rammed both head and feet into a snowdrift. The next morning the inside of our tent was like a view in the arctic regions—everything covered or filled with snow. In front of the tent was a drift five feet deep. I guess it was about the toughest snowstorm this part of Maryland ever experienced.

_Evening._—I have a little piece of news which I know will make your heart glad. I have decided not to go to Washington nor to make any further move for a commission. The move served as an anchor to windward in case I should otherwise have to go back to company duty under Gordon. I appreciated that it was a good deal like deserting you to go off again, perhaps for years. But things have come my way, and I do not want a commission now any more than I have in the past, but will come home and settle down in a few weeks.

No sooner did I make known my disinclination to go to Washington than an order was made out detailing me again as regimental P. M., and I am once more on my old job. Oh, it was sweet—the way I threw the hooks into the captain! I was in the adjutant’s office, playing cribbage, when Gordon came in. Just as he was going out he turned to me and said, “Well, Haynes, when do you expect your furlough back?” “I don’t know when it will come,” I answered, nonchalantly, “but probably before long.” “Well,” he snapped back, “if it doesn’t come in a day or two I’ll have to give you a gun and put you on duty.” “All right!” I said—and butter wouldn’t have melted in my mouth. But no sooner had he gone than John Cooper, the adjutant, turned to Hen. Everett and said, “Make out a special order detailing Mart. for special duty at these headquarters, and serve it on Captain Gordon.” The thing was done so quickly that Gordon was hardly back to his tent before the order reached him. It tickled Bill Ramsdell and my particular gang immensely, and I could see them going around and laughing and slapping each other on the back.

_Saturday, March 26._

I have been at work today fixing up my tent, and expect to move into it tonight. The Washington mail is taken off, which makes my already light work much lighter. The boat is needed in carrying troops to the Peninsula, which the camp strategists think it likely will be Grant’s line of advance on Richmond. And it is also the general impression that we will leave here before many weeks.

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_CXXXVII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _March 28, 1864_.

Have got my old tent in running order again, fixed somewhat as it was before the Pendleton disaster overtook it. It does seem good to be back doing business at the old stand. But still it does not look exactly homelike yet. For a stove I have got one of the little sheet-iron conical “Sibleys.” It was donated by Charlie Shute, the quartermaster, but he had no stovepipe for me. But I made a raise of four lengths in Bailey’s sutler shop, and stole one length down in the company, which was sufficient for my purpose, and the stove works to perfection. But yesterday and today have been so very, very pleasant that there has been but little need of any fire. Warm, summery days, with the sun shining and the robins flying.

Yesterday morning I was awakened, very early, by a violent banging which threatened to burst in my door. I asked, in the polite manner customary in camp, who was there, and the reply that came left no doubt: “Hey, _Muggins!_ Get up and let me in here, won’t you?” Only one of all my old school crowd remembers and still hails me by my schoolboy nickname—“Muggins.” I tumbled out of bed in a hurry and opened the door to our old friend Charlie Wilson, just in on the boat from Portsmouth, Va. [Charles H. Wilson, of Manchester, until discharged for disability a member of the New Hampshire battalion First New England Volunteer Cavalry, and then in the employ of the Quartermaster Department at Portsmouth, Va.] He was going back last night, but he enjoyed himself so well yesterday that he decided to accidentally miss the boat. He goes back tonight—that is, if he does not accidentally get left again.

_Tuesday, March 29._

One day nearer home, and only sixty-seven more are between us. I have a card almanac hung up, and as soon as a day passes I scratch it off, just as I have heard of men doing who were going to be hanged. The fine weather I was bragging about has changed to cold and windy, with every indication of a coming storm. Charlie Wilson started back last night, and I went down to see him off. I am messing now with the cooks, down at the company cook house, and you may be sure we have the best of rations and plenty of them.

The wind is piping up furiously, and my old tent is shaking and creaking like a ship in a gale, but I guess she will weather it. Charlie Wilson sent his regards—come to think of it, I guess it was his love.

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_CXXXVIII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _April 5, 1864_.

The mail boat did not go out last night, owing to the storm, and it bids fair to be much rougher tonight. It is an awful storm we are having, and I would like to see the sun once more and feel its warmth.

Yesterday General Marston was relieved by General Hinks, and from this the boys look for an early transfer of the regiment to the front, as Marston will probably want us with him, while Hinks would naturally prefer his own old regiment, the Nineteenth Massachusetts. The paymaster is expected here day after tomorrow to make what will probably be the last payment we will receive in the southern country.

A drop of water comes through the tent occasionally and strikes this paper with unerring accuracy, but I am bound to write in spite of it. Jess. Dewey and I are going up the river for sea shells the first fair day. He is now “right general guide” for the regiment, and has his time to himself quite as much as I do, so there is nothing to stand in the way of our little expedition when the weather will permit. The Veteran Volunteers have returned from their furloughs, some of them completely “busted,” so far as finances are concerned.

_Wednesday, April 6._

Orders have just come for our regiment to be ready to embark tomorrow morning. We are to take two days’ rations, and are going, probably, to either Norfolk or Yorktown. I may stay here a day or two, or may not, to look after the mail. The officers of the regiment have for some time been making great preparations for a grand ball to come off tomorrow night. It was to have been held in the chapel, and as it would not sound well to talk of a dance in the church, the affair, was designated as a “picnic.” But it is all the same now. Some of the officers do not relish the idea of leaving the quarters they have fitted up so comfortably and at considerable expense. Frank Wasley swears he will burn his when he has to leave it, orders to the contrary notwithstanding.

Bill Pendleton has been down to headquarters, and he says Gen. Marston says we are going to Norfolk, and that we will have an easier time than we are having here. Marston has been appointed military governor of Norfolk. As for myself, if I fare as well where we are going as I have here I will have no reason to complain.

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_CXXXIX_

YORKTOWN, VA., _April 11, 1864_.

Here I am again, only a couple miles from the spot where we camped two years ago. I have been looking around a little since we arrived here. Yesterday Hen. Everett, Jesse Dewey and I paid a visit to that old camp, and it was intensely interesting to us. The company streets and the ditches around the tents were there almost as we left them, and even much of the litter of the camp. I found the site of my tent and sat down on the very spot where, two years ago, I used to rest after a night in the trenches, and where the letters addressed to “Miss Nealie T. Lane” were written. I picked up one of the old tent-pins, and intend to make some little souvenir of it. Also a piece of shell and a fragment of boiler from the old Magruder sawmill, the music of which was continually in our ears.

Perhaps you remember about an old tentmate of mine named Damon. When we were here then he hollowed out an oven in the steep bank of a ravine, and as that was one of the institutions of Company I, we hunted it up. We found it in perfect condition and as good as new, and as we stood there Damon was right before my eyes again, bobbing about and learnedly discoursing on the peculiar advantages of ovens built on that peculiar plan.