Part 5
I talked yesterday with a contraband who ran away from the rebels over in Virginia. He says they are fortifying at Fredericksburg, a place about twenty miles from Acquia and about thirty from here. Very likely that is where we will first run into them; and it will probably be a hard place to take, as they have a great many guns in position there and a large force of soldiers.
James O. Adams was here a few days ago. We had a good time together that evening.
Now comes the best joke of the season. Gen. Naglee is very unpopular—thoroughly hated by everybody from highest to lowest. I said so frankly in a letter which Farnsworth published. Then Halifax broke loose. I don’t know how the matter ever got before the War Department at Washington—but it did. And the first thing Farnsworth knew he got a communication from Washington that scared him stiff. He showed it to my folks, and I guess they went wild—expected me to be taken out at sunrise and shot for high treason. The first intimation I got was in a hysterical letter from my mother, that I could hardly understand. Then in a day or two John Kenney came down from the hospital and said Harriet Dame wanted to shake hands with the private soldier that the War Department had to sit up and take notice of. Showing that headquarters here had some orders in relation to me. I don’t know what was in either of the communications, but the folks at home need have no fear of anybody in Hooker’s division being very severely disciplined for voicing the universal sentiment in regard to General Naglee.
_9 o’clock in the Evening._—You will not hear from me again for some time, probably, as it is given out that the advancing troops shall not write home. The Chaplain says the 9 o’clock mail tomorrow will be the last one out of here. I have eight letters to write to night, closing up my correspondence for the present.
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_XLVIII_
CAMP BEAUFORT, CHARLES CO., MD., _April 3, 1862_.
I have just learned, late at night, that a mail is going out tomorrow morning. It is getting to be very exasperating—these orders to leave, and then having them countermanded. We expected to get off today, and now the announcement is that we are certainly going tomorrow. The transports have been ordered, and temporary piers built to load us from. Captain Bailey has just got along with a batch of recruits. Don’t know yet how many acquaintances I have in the lot.
One of Company E’s men [Luther W. Fassett] was shot by rebel scouts yesterday, on the other side of the river. The company was over there digging up a big gun which the rebels had buried. He was sent back for some shovels, when three rebels stepped into the road and shot him. He had a brother in the same company and a wife and child in New Hampshire.
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_XLIX_
IN CAMP BEFORE YORKTOWN, VA., _Monday, April 14, 1862_.
A mail is going out, I am told, at three o’clock, and it is nearly that time now. We left our old camp, with all its really delightful associations, the day after I last wrote you, and were on the steamer two days and two nights before she cast off from the pier. When we got to Point Lookout, at the mouth of the river, a wild gale was blowing, and it was not considered prudent to proceed down Chesapeake Bay, the “South America” being a crazy old river boat, and overloaded. So we ran in and tied up at the wharf, and almost everybody went ashore. It was a seaside summer resort, out of season, and we took possession. We made ourselves very comfortable in the cottages. There were good fireplaces and plenty of wood, and though it rained great guns, and the gale howled most of the time, we were dry and warm, and made ourselves very comfortable there for three days. But we came pretty near starving before a boat got down from Washington bringing us something to eat. The boys gave it a very appropriate name—“Camp Starvation.”
When we got away we went straight to Fortress Monroe. We got there in the morning, just as the rebel ironclad “Merrimack” came out from Norfolk. The harbor was cleared of shipping in double-quick time, the “Monitor” and other war vessels moved up, and we thought there was going to be another big naval battle. But there wasn’t; and the old “South America” pulled out and ran up to the York river.
There is now a tremendous army before Yorktown, as well as in it, and there will be a great battle. _We_ have got the largest train of siege artillery ever brought together, and _they_ have got some very strong forts and batteries. Our guns will be in position and open on the rebels before this letter reaches you. There is skirmishing every day. Berdan’s sharpshooters are making themselves the terror of the rebels. They have some wonderful marksmen, and firing from little pits dug well out towards the rebel works, they make it mighty interesting for the rebel gunners. In some of the rebel batteries it is as much as a man’s life is worth to attempt to load the guns. The instant he shows himself near the muzzle one of Berdan’s men gets him. Some of them use telescope rifles. At some points the rebels put up planks to screen themselves while working the guns. I was a little acquainted with one of the Sharpshooters who was killed a few days ago—John Ide of Company E—a New Hampshire man from Claremont.
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_L_
CAMP WINFIELD SCOTT, NEAR YORKTOWN, VA., _April 20, 1862_.
Today we received our first mail since leaving Camp Beaufort. We have moved up three miles nearer the rebel lines and are now doing our full share in the siege operations. We are working hard, building forts and trenches and roads, and should soon be able to qualify as experts with the pick and shovel. While our camp is probably a mile and a half from the rebel lines, our work is being done very much nearer, you can be sure. Yesterday and today we were out building roads. From where we were working we had a better view of the rebels than they did of us, and they didn’t pay much attention to us until we were on our way back. We got a little careless then, I suppose, and the first thing we knew one big shell burst directly overhead, while another tore up the landscape not very far away.
Day before yesterday a lieutenant of the Engineer Corps was brought on a stretcher back by our camp, one arm torn off and otherwise mutilated. He was sitting on the ground, making a sketch, when a rebel shell burst almost in his lap.
We are having, really, a pretty hard time of it. We are turned out almost every night and held in line to repel anticipated attacks. [This was one of Gen. Naglee’s fool stunts, that Hooker soon put a veto on.]
Our camp is on a big plain, gullied here and there by creeks. Near to us are the spots pointed out as the headquarters of Washington and Lafayette during the Revolutionary siege. I saw a little earthwork yesterday which was thrown up at that time, and a rusty iron cannon ball was dug up by the working party.
Our new four-piece [“shelter” or “dog”] tents have one great advantage—perfect ventilation. The tent’s crew of four button their sections together, and have a roof to crawl under; but the house is wide open at both ends.
It was just one year ago tomorrow that our company was first sworn into the service. We hardly thought then that one year from that date would still find us ’way down South. So far as I am concerned, I am enjoying myself immensely. Was never in better spirits or in better health.
_Wednesday, April 23._—At last I have another chance to write on my letter. I have been on duty every day for six days. Today I am on camp guard. Our siege guns are now almost all in position, and they will doubtless get to work pretty soon. Thousands of men are working day and night on the siege works and the roads. On this wing of the army we are building a road along the side of a creek leading up to the rear of our batteries. The roadbed is twenty-four feet wide, made by tumbling in one bank of the creek. As this is mostly on the side toward the rebel works, leaving the road under embankments from ten to twenty feet high, troops and supplies going up to the front will have almost perfect cover and protection.
There is a continual skirmish all along the line, and men are killed or wounded every day. The other night a large force of rebels made a sally upon six companies of the Third Vermont, but the Sixth regiment, with a section of artillery, came to their support, and the rebels were sent back home in a hurry. We lost about 45 men, including two captains; the rebels about the same number, including a colonel.
Day before yesterday I managed to work about as much discomfort into twenty-four hours as ever fell to my lot. We were working on the road. It rained all day, and I was, of course, thoroughly soaked. And when we got back to camp there was no warm, dry nest to crawl into. Instead, the rain poured through the tent in streams, and there was no way to get away from it. It has taken me till now to get back to anything like normal conditions.
I saw two deserters from the rebels, who came in this morning. One of them was from Pennsylvania. He was pressed into the rebel service and took the first opportunity to desert.
My old tent-crew of Camp Beaufort is broken. It is no longer a matter of choice and selection. We are counted off in fours and tent in the same order we stand in the ranks. My present mates are Bill Ramsdell, Lyn Woods and Joe Gleason—all royal good fellows.
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_LI_
CAMP WINFIELD SCOTT, BEFORE YORKTOWN, VA., _May 1, 1862_.
Physically I am pretty near used up. Night and day we are on duty in the trenches or on fatigue work, supporting batteries, throwing up earthworks, building roads, regardless of weather conditions. Last night we were digging on a parallel, or trench for infantry, the end of which was at the edge of the bluff overlooking the York river. It was all open ground between us and the rebel works, and, though very dark, the rebels kept the scene fairly well lighted up. Every two or three minutes there would be a flash way up there to the front, then a roar, another flash in the air down our way, and pieces of iron flying. The big guns, though, did not worry us much. It was practically impossible to land a shell in the trench from one of these guns. But they had one big mortar working that was quite another matter. Every time this was fired the burning fuse marked its course. Up, up, up it would climb, then hang for an instant and come sweeping down, down, down. It did not land one shell in our trench, although it put some uncomfortably close.
I managed to steal one little nap, but it didn’t last long. I got quite a comfortable seat at the end of the trench, overlooking the river. I have a recollection of watching the lights on vessels far down the river and in distant camps, and of listening to the lap of the waves on the beach below me. And I went to sleep. And I woke up—quick. I was trying to decide whether the rebels had sprung a mine or landed a shell in the trench, when it happened again, and I saw what the trouble was. Only a short distance below was the black mass of one of our gunboats, which had crawled up unusually close, and was firing her big shells right over our heads into the rebel works.
The rebels made an effort to drive in our pickets on a part of the line, this morning, but got rather more than they were looking for. A burial party has just gone by, to give a soldier’s burial to a New Jersey boy killed in the affair. The cemetery, near our camp, is rapidly filling with the bodies of men who have been killed or have died of disease. Each grave is marked by a neatly-lettered headboard.
Company H of the Massachusetts First charged a lunette, or small outer earthwork, which had become a nuisance, the other morning, and drove the rebels out at the point of the bayonet. They had three men killed and a dozen or fifteen wounded. One of their men had a remarkable escape. A ball struck the eagle plate on his breast strap—a round brass plate backed with lead—doubling it up and going through just far enough to show the point at the back. The blow knocked him several feet, and he naturally thought, for a little time, that he was a goner.
That night we were in the trenches in support of the Hungarian battery. The rebels appeared to have a pretty accurate idea of its location, notwithstanding it was screened by trees, and sent shot and shell thick and fast. One shell struck on the parapet and rolled down under a platform on which six men were sleeping, but fortunately did not explode.
It rains or drizzles most of the time, so we are kept tolerably uncomfortable.
_May 2d, afternoon, 2 o’clock._—The regiment went into the trenches to work today, but as I was not feeling well I remained in camp. The rebels have been doing more shooting today than any other day before, and many of their shot have struck near our camp. I went to sleep about noon, but was awakened by the infernal screech of a shell, and took it as a hint that I had better finish your letter. I do hope that May will prove a pleasanter month than April. I hope our batteries will open before long, for I want to see this affair closed up. If we thrash them soundly here and at Corinth, I think the war will be about as good as over.
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_LII_
WILLIAMSBURG BATTLEFIELD, VA., _May 7_.
I am all well—not hurt a bit. Not time to write any. Mail going right out by a private citizen. Go right up and tell my folks I am well. An awful battle. Harder than Bull Run. MART.
[Written on an irregular scrap of brown paper.]
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_LIII_
NEAR WILLIAMSBURG, VA., _May 8, 1862_.
Have just come in from a trip over the battlefield, and was fortunate enough to pick up the big sheet of paper on which I am writing this letter. I will commence at the beginning and tell you all about it.
On Sunday morning, as soon as it was discovered that the rebels had evacuated Yorktown, we were ordered to pack knapsacks and be ready to march immediately. We had no time to cook rations, and went for two days with only the fragments we happened to have in our haversacks. We marched up over the rebel intrenchments and through Yorktown. The rebel works were very strong and would have been a hard nut to crack. The rebels had planted torpedoes along the road, but none of our regiment were hurt by them. The road was in a horrible condition and badly crowded, and we did not get along very fast. It was nine or ten o’clock at night when we filed out into the woods by the side of the road and, with all our harness on, laid down for such rest as one could get under such conditions and in a drizzling rain. We were up at half-past four the next morning and soon on the road again, up through the woods. We had gone about a mile and a half when we came to a big slashing, where the trees over an area about twice as large as Merrimack Common had been felled, criss-cross, in every direction. Beyond this, a large open plain, with a line of small forts, one of which was directly facing the road up which we were advancing. Our regiment filed out and formed line to the right of the road, and the Massachusetts First upon the left. We threw out skirmishers and advanced up through the slashing. It was rough navigating in that network of prostrate trees and interlaced limbs and branches, as we had all our housekeeping outfits on our backs. My haversack got caught and was torn to pieces, but I made that good on the field the next day. We wormed our way ahead, up to the edge of the open field, and there halted for our artillery and the rest of the division to come up. We had a pretty lively time there, but nothing very fierce. The rebels had four or five field pieces in the fort and skirmishers scattered along the front in little pits. We distributed ourselves behind stumps and logs, and quite a number had a genuine earthwork, made by punching holes through a thick mass of dirt that clung to the roots of an overturned tree. The cannon in the fort sent a solid shot, every little while, smashing and crashing down through the timber; but a number of our crack shots paid particular attention to those guns, while others devoted their talents to educating the rebels in those little picket holes. Perhaps half a dozen, selecting some particular hole, would lay with their sights covering the little mound of fresh dirt outside. The instant a head showed, there was trouble in that pit. They soon got enough of it, and for a long time the pits in front of the Second, for all we could see, might have been so many graves. All this time the rain was pouring, and we were fairly waterlogged. As business dragged, some of the men unfolded the little sections of tent and spread them over branches for a shelter. Others nursed up little fires and cooked a cup of coffee. Up to this time we had not had many men hit. Lieut. Burnham, of Manchester, was shot in the leg, and will, I am told, have to lose it. A man named Cole [Uriah W., of Co. H] was killed by a cannon ball.
At length our artillery came up and went into position in front of us. We lay supporting them an hour or two—and they were not having a very hot time of it. Then in the woods to our left, beyond the slashing, a tremendous fire of musketry broke loose. Volley followed volley, and after a while it was evident the firing was coming nearer, which meant that our troops in that part of the field were being driven back, and the rebels were gaining ground towards us. They came upon us through the slashing and along the edge of the field. I got in three or four shots across the road—which was better than most of our fellows could do—when the order was passed to fall back to the edge of the woods and re-form. This was no boys’ play. Balancing on a log and looking for the best path, my cap went flying and the bark from a limb I was holding onto. I had no further doubts as to the proper course—a tunnel was safer than an overhead bridge, just then, and the rest of the way I kept as close to the ground as I could.
Once again out of the slashing and in line, we were ordered across the road, where the entire regiment was deployed as skirmishers through the woods some distance back from the slashing. Then we were ordered to sail in, and moving forward we were soon in as lively a mix-up as you could well imagine. The first squad of rebels I ran onto I mistook for Eleventh Massachusetts men, there being a similarity of uniforms, and I was going right up to them, when Al. Simmons shouted, “Look out, Mart—those are rebels!” and fired. Quicker than you could say it, I was behind a big tree, and the ball had opened. It was a regular Indian fight, dodging through bushes and from tree to tree, sometimes forward and sometimes back. There were no end of personal encounters, and fights between squads and detachments, and all sorts of mixups, some ludicrous and some tragic. “Heenan” had his usual luck, coming out damaged but alive. He had a sudden and close collision with a rebel who came up out of somewhere like a jumping-jack. Nich. grabbed the reb’s bayonet and pushed it one side just as the fellow fired. He says he intended to polish that fellow off with his fists, but two others jumped in, and things were going hard with Nich., when some of us saw his predicament and started for the rescue with a big whoop and empty guns. They faded into the background, however, and we didn’t get one of them. Nich. is now nourishing a somewhat lacerated powder-stained hand.
One of the funny incidents was when Dave Steele, a lieutenant in Company G, made a dash into a squad of rebels, shouting, “Surrender, you d— cusses, or I’ll blow you to Hell!” What he was going to do his “blowing” with—as he had no arms but his sword—is still a question; but the rebels took his word for it and dropped their guns.
Gardner [Orrin S.] of my company—said to be part Indian and who looks it—was peekabooed and pestered by a couple of rebs in the cover of an old rifle pit, until he got out of all patience, gave a wild Indian war-whoop, and closed in like an express train and put a stop to any further foolishness.
Toward the last of the fight, though, we had all we could do to keep from being run over. From the way they swarmed in on our front it was very evident the rebels were being heavily reinforced. We were in a pretty solid line now, with stragglers from other regiments mixed in. But we were getting short of cartridges. Hooker, plastered with mud from head to foot, rode along the line and told us to hold that line fifteen minutes longer. Back in the woods we heard a band strike up and play “Yankee Doodle.” We were losing men rapidly. Captain Drown was killed and others killed or wounded. Then our reserves came up, paddling through the mud as fast as they possibly could, and we all went in together and won out.