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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