Maryland Heights, July 31,1861.
It is just about
midnight; I am seated in the guard tent and have just finished my guard report;
as I have to keep awake all night, I cannot spend my time better than by
writing home.
After closing my
letter of the 29th, all but Companies A, G, and C were ordered across the river
to take position on an elevated plateau as guard to the Rhode Island Battery
which commands the ford and ferry. We forded the Potomac in the middle of the
afternoon, and climbed up a steep, rough road to our new camping ground, an elevation
of some six or seven hundred feet above the river. Rifles were stacked and
knapsacks unslung in time for the men to get the fires going and coffee boiling
at the usual time, as well as the few preparations necessary for bivouacking.
In the mean time, our own stomachs craved a little food. Luckily for our mess,
Bob Shaw had been with the pioneer guard that came up with the Rhode Island
Battery, and had spotted a very neat little log farm house quite near our camp,
and engaged suppers for us. We found a very neat-looking hostess with the
romantic name of Buckles, waiting tea for us. She had some nice broiled
chickens, apple sauce, bread and molasses, etc., set up in tempting array on a
clean white cloth, and altogether, we had the most Christian-like meal, I
think, since we left home. We made arrangements for our board while we staid
here, and have been living there ever since.
About five minutes
after we had lain down for the night, who should come along but C. Wheaton,
Adjutant, with an order saying that Company B was detailed for picket guard, to
extend from camp down to the main road and canal, and to guard the ferry and
ford, and to give a sudden alarm if our three companies the other side of the
river were attacked. Nothing could have been more agreeable to us, and the men,
of course, were delighted to jump up, with their wet boots and tired legs,
after the hard afternoon's march, to have the pleasure of going on twelve
hours' more duty! But orders are orders, and in less than fifteen minutes, we
were moving down our break-neck path full of rolling stone, and dark as a
pocket. Our guard was soon posted; we had a quiet night and were relieved at
daybreak. Our breakfast was eaten with a relish, and two or three hours' sleep
set us up all right. As I said in my last letter, we have got used to
everything now, and when, by chance, we get a six hours' sleep on a stretch, it
is considered a luxury worth taking note of.
SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written
During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 13-4
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