Friday, November 28, 2014

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, July 24, 1861

July 24, Wednesday.

A moment after I stopped writing, I was busy ordering tents struck, wagons packed, and everything got ready for a start. We were almost prepared to move, when General Patterson got a dispatch from General Scott ordering him to stay where he was; so unpack wagons, pitch tents, was the order. We were generally glad of it, as it would have looked as if it were a regular runaway, and we haven't got over feeling sore at not getting to Winchester and giving General Johnston a try.

My story left off at Charlestown, where we were last Thursday. About noon, our regiment received orders to march at half-past three P. M., on detached service. Everything was moving at the appointed time. We marched out in good spirits, but with empty stomachs. After traveling about a mile, we were informed that we were going to Harper's Ferry to hold the place. I was assigned the honorable command of the rear guard. We had a very pleasant march of eight miles through some of the finest scenery I ever saw. We met with quite a reception in the town; men, women and children cheering us, waving flags, and evidently overjoyed to see United States troops again. We camped on a high bluff just over the Potomac, and proceeded to put the town in a state of martial law, taking several leading secessionists prisoners. Here we got plenty to eat; my first purchase was a gallon of milk; Captain Curtis and myself drank the whole of it before we lay down for the night. The next day we had a good rest. Captain Curtis picked up, during the day, information of a party of troopers that were camped over the other side of the Shenandoah, and obtained permission to take me and forty men and find them, if we could, that night. We called our men out at twelve and started. It was very dark, and there was a severe thunderstorm. We were ferried across the Shenandoah, and scouted all over the mountains, visiting every farm-house and barn, but we found we were just too late, as they had left, suspecting our approach. We got back to camp at eight or nine o'clock, wet and tired, having traveled some ten miles over the roughest possible roads.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 9-10

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