CAMP NEAR MILLWOOD, TWENTY MILES
WEST OF HARPER'S FERRY ,
JUNE 23RD, 1863.
To Miss Decca Stark, Columbia, South Carolina:
DEAR DECCA: Yours of
the 6th inst., with one from Miss Nannie Norton of the same date reached me
about eight days ago, and I have not had a moment since to answer you, and even
now cannot tell whether I shall be interrupted before I am half done this. I am
writing on my knee, with everything packed ready to move at the sound of the
bugle. I wrote you last on the 6th of June from near Culpepper Court House. On
that day we took a hard march of eighteen miles through the rain, and on very
muddy roads. We halted about 10 o'clock at night. I was wet and very tired.
There was an order
against making fires, as we were near the enemy, being on the same ground on
which Stuart fought them a few days afterwards. Of course I slept; a soldier,
if he knows his own interest, will sleep whenever opportunity offers, but there
were 10,000 or 12,000 men huddled on the side of the road in a promiscuous
mass, just as you have seen cattle about a barn lot; no one knowing how much
mud or filth he reposed in until the generous light of day revealed it. It
rained a good deal during the night and kept me thoroughly soaked. The next
morning we were ordered back to the camp near Culpepper, and marched over the
same road by 1 o'clock and remained there until the 9th, when early in the morning
about 5 o'clock we heard heavy firing of artillery. This was the opening of
Stuart's cavalry fight. We formed and marched to Lookout Mountain, about three
miles from Stephenburg, and lay in line of battle upon it until the fortune of
the day was decided and then returned to camp.
Colonel Frank
Hampton was killed in or near Stephenburg by a pistol shot. He was in a hand to
hand encounter, it is said. On the 13th we received orders to be ready to march
or fight, but it turned out to be only a march of five miles, which we
accomplished in an hour and reached Cedar Run, the scene of one of Stonewall
Jackson's battles last August. There were a great many unburied skeletons,
presenting a very ghastly appearance. There were forty-nine skulls in one
little ditch; the bodies were torn to pieces and scattered about, having been
taken from their shallow graves by hogs or other animals. A hand or a foot
might be seen protruding from the earth, here and there, to mark the last
resting place of the patriotic victims of this horrible war.
We left this camp on
the 15th and marched through Culpepper towards Winchester. This was one of the
hottest days and one of the hottest marches I have yet experienced. Over 500
men fell out by the road side from fatigue and exhaustion, and several died
where they fell; this was occasioned by being overheated and drinking cold
water in immoderate quantities, and the enforcement of the order requiring us
to wade through creeks and rivers up to our waists without the privilege of
even taking off our shoes. I felt quite sick and giddy with a severe pain in my
head as I was climbing the hill after wading the Rappahannock, but it passed
off, and I kept with the company, though I saw two dead men during the time and
several others fall.
Oh! how I would have
enjoyed one of mother's mint juleps then as we rested in "the shade of the
trees." I slept gloriously that night on a bed of clover and blue grass
and thought of the little "pig that lived in clover and when he died he
died all over." On the 16th we marched twenty miles without so much
suffering, though the day was very warm, and many fell by the way, and like the
seed in the parable, “on stony ground," for we were getting towards the
mountains. Camped that night near Markham station in another field of clover,
though not so comfortable, for I was very cold and slept little. On the 17th
marched fourteen miles up hill and down dale through a beautiful, mountaineous
region and camped in a splendid grove of oak and hickory about one mile from
Upperville, and the neighborhood of some of the most beautiful family mansions
I ever saw, All the country we have passed through is perfectly charming, and I
cannot see why any Virginian ever leaves Virginia. All that I have seen so far
fills my ideal of the "promised land." On the 18th we marched to the
Shenandoah, ten miles, and waded it with positive orders not to take off any
clothing. The water was deep and cold. I put my cartridge box on my head. The
water came to my arm pits. We camped about a mile beyond the river. A
tremendous rain drenched us before night, so we were reconciled to the wading.
My blankets and everything that I had was soaked, except Mary's daguerreotype,
which Colonel B. F. Carter took charge of for me. I slept in clothes and
blankets soaked wet. On the 19th we marched down the river about ten miles over
a very muddy road, and crossed several little streams about knee deep, and then
re-crossed the Shenandoah and marched up through Sniggers Gap to the top of the
mountain, and here about dark we experienced the hardest storm of wind and rain
I ever saw. It seemed to me as if the cold and rain, like the two-edged sword
of holy writ, penetrated to the very joints and marrow.
I laid down but did
not sleep a wink until about an hour before day, and woke up cold and stiff.
More than half the soldiers spent the night in a desperate effort to keep the
fire burning, which was done with great difficulty.
I took off my
clothes, one garment at a time, and dried them, and baked myself until I felt
tolerably well; but truly a soldier knows not what a day may bring forth. Just
as I was thoroughly dried, up came another cloud and soaked us again, and then
came an order to fall into line "without arms." We were then marched
about half a mile from camp and ordered to build a stone fence about half a
mile long. This, several thousand men accomplished in about two hours; though
it worked me pretty hard to carry and roll stones weighing from 50 to 200
pounds. After my morning's work I dined with Captain Bachman, who had an
elegant dinner, consisting mainly of cow-pea soup. After dinner, while we were
taking a sociable smoke and chat, an order came to get ready to leave
immediately. I hurried to my company and we started back down the mountain, and
it was only after getting into the valley, where the sun was shining, that we
discovered that we had been encamped in a cloud on the mountain top, right in
the heart of the rain factory, the summer resort of Æolus himself. The division
again crossed the Shenandoah, but this time I mounted one of Captain Bachman's
caissons and rode over, thus escaping the chill of the waters, though the rain
had wet me thoroughly before. I would like for Mrs. Bachman to paint such
a scene. It was one of the most splendid for a picture I ever witnessed, 25,000
or 30,000 men, with the wagons and artillery, and horses, all crowding into the
stream; a perfect living mass, with towering mountains looking down upon us,
and the old stone mill reminding one of the halcyon days of peace and a hundred
other incidents which I have not the ability to describe correctly; all united
to form one of the most picturesque and wonderful sights my eyes ever beheld.
We camped on this
side of the river two nights and one day, and on yesterday morning marched for
this place, where for the first time, since the reception of your letter, I
have had an opportunity to answer it, for the captain carries my paper for me,
and frequently, when we stop, the wagon which carries his baggage is not near
to us. I have not written to Mary for ten days, and must ask of you the favor
of writing to her for me and giving her the principal items of my journey, for
I shall hardly ever get an opportunity of sending a letter by hand from here,
and the mails are so uncertain that there is little satisfaction in writing. I
am glad she does not know of the privations I am suffering, for it would give
her more pain than I have felt in enduring them. I saw Captain Bachman again
yesterday. He is well and in fine spirits. I have seen James Davis and all the
Camden boys and old friends, and schoolmates in McLaws division. They each hold
an office of some kind.
They are very lucky
in having friends on good terms with the appointing power. I think I could get
a place above the ranks, but I doubt my qualifications for a higher place. I can
march and shoot, and I love my musket next to my wife and my country, and this
constitutes my qualifications for military service. I have quite a severe cold,
though I am better to-day than I was yesterday. Don't write this to Mary. I
hope we will soon get through our demonstrations and come to the fighting part
of the drama.
I have not heard
from home yet, though it is more than two months since I left Texas, and there
are several letters in the regiment of recent date. I understand there is a
large mail for our brigade at the Texas depot, in Richmond, awaiting an
opportunity to be sent to us. My love to all, and tell "Theo" to
study hard and get his lessons well, for an educated man can make a better
soldier, a better ditcher, or well digger, and a more perfect gentleman than an
uneducated one.
Your brother, truly,
JOHN C. WEST.
SOURCE: John Camden
West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a
Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 73-9
