I LEFT home at 7 A.
M., satchel in hand, crossed the ferry, and soon arrived at the armory. It was
already filled with men of the regiment receiving their arms and equipments. We
were furnished with a Springfield musket, bayonet, cartridge-box, cap-pouch,
haversack, and blanket. Our new uniform were not ready, and so the greater part
of the regiment appeared in every-day clothes and hats. Every company had a few
regularly equipped men, however, so that we had some little military
appearance. The greatest difficulty was an absence of knapsacks, which
necessitated carrying valises, a very awkward arrangement, giving us more the
appearance of a lot of emigrants than a regiment of soldiers.
About two hours
after I joined every man had been furnished with all there was for him, and we
were standing for the first time shoulder to shoulder in the ranks. The roll
was called, and all present mustered into the state's service. Immediately
afterwards we marched downstairs into Bond Street, wheeled into column by
platoons, and marched into and then down Broadway to Cortlandt Street, thence
to pier 4, North River, where we embarked on board the steamship R. R. Cuyler.
On reaching the
street from our armory we found ourselves almost unable to move on account of
the enormous crowd, a magnificent crowd too, overflowing with enthusiastic
loyalty and good nature, filling the air with endless cheers and patriotic
songs; there were many, too, who shed tears, — mothers, wives, sweethearts,
sisters, who were seemingly alone fearful of results. I felt very sorry for
many of them. It is easy for us, amidst constant excitement and ever-varying
circumstances, to keep our spirits up, but to these poor women at home, who can
only wait, it must be very trying.
As the head of the
column turned down Broadway it was confronted by a dense mass of humanity,
filling the street from side to side. The doors, windows, and roofs of every
building on Broadway and those adjoining, commanding a view of the line of
march, were jammed with crowds of people waving handkerchiefs and flags, and
cheering with all their might and main. At the corners of some of the streets
were steam fire-engines tooting their whistles, and everywhere myriads of
starry banners fluttering in the breeze. The police, gradually and with much
difficulty, forced a passage through this immense crowd, and we followed
marching to the music of our splendid band, amid the yells and cheers of the
ever-increasing multitudes. They not only cheered and sang and shook hands and
hugged us, but filled us up with every imaginable thing; as we were obliged to
halt every few minutes, they closed in amongst us and delayed our progress
sadly. We were nearly three hours in marching from Astor Place to Cortlandt
Street, and on account of our baggage, very much fatigued. Individually, I got
along very well, wearing a uniform frock coat, and carrying all that I had
wrapped in a rubber blanket strapped to my back. Most of the men, however,
carried valises in their hands. At last we reached the dock and marched
directly on board the ship. She had capacity for about three hundred souls; we
mustered eleven hundred in all ,and hardly managed to find standing room.
However, we got on board, and very shortly afterwards the vessel's lines were
cast off, the whistle blew, and the good ship left her dock and headed down the
stream amid the most tremendous cheering, yelling, and screeching one can
possibly imagine.
The docks and
vessels in the vicinity were crowded with people, many of whom amused
themselves bombarding the ship with oranges; myriads of handkerchiefs and small
flags and lusty arms waved us an affectionate good-bye, and amidst this
glorious and magnificent send-off, we steamed away and were soon well down the
lower bay, our destination unknown, except that we were to meet the enemies of
our country. We go forward in a great cause, confident of victory, delighted
with the surroundings, and happy in the knowledge that the whole city we leave
behind us look upon us as their representatives, and will diligently look after
our necessities while we look after the enemy.
On Tuesday morning
we came to an anchor, and were told the ship was off the Naval Academy at
Annapolis, on the Chesapeake Bay. Our experience the past two days has been
most unpleasant. The ship is outrageously crowded from deck to keelson; towards
evening of the first day out the wind began to blow, increasing until midnight,
when it blew a gale and rain fell in torrents. Those of us who were quartered on
deck got promptly soaked through, and as a rule were horribly seasick, with no
conveniences, and packed literally like sardines in a box; the state of affairs
may readily be imagined by one who has been to sea, but it is difficult to
describe. Seasickness is a dreadful leveler of rank and destroyer of the
ordinary amenities of life; every one is indifferent to the wants of others and
utterly without sympathy. There were a few facetious fellows, too gross to feel
the effects of the rolling of the ship themselves, who took a fiendish delight
in dangling pieces of fat pork from the end of a string in the faces of those
less gross, and this little pleasantry usually succeeded in producing the
desired effect. There were many of us who wished more than once that we had
never been born.
At 5 P. M. the first
day out we fell in for dinner, struggled up to the galley, and there received a
chunk of salt pork and large slice of bread, which we ate standing, bread in
one hand, meat in the other. My piece of meat had a large bone in it, and smelt
so badly that I threw it overboard to the fishes, and ate the bread alone. As
the wind was freshening every minute, and the ship beginning to roll
suspiciously, my appetite was not of the best, and later on entirely
disappeared. Monday the wind went down and it stopped raining, but we did not
get dried out, and as we had no shelter, were much the worse for want of sleep.
There is not much romance about this, certainly, but we are beginning to get
experience.
This morning,
Tuesday, we found ourselves in company with five other vessels, all packed with
troops similar to our own, convoyed by a small cutter called the Harriet Lane,
a handsome craft carrying a couple of guns, and regular man-of-war crew. She is
ready for action and looks quite warlike. About nine o'clock we anchored,
rations were issued, including hot coffee, the band shook themselves together
and played some stirring airs, and as the sun came out just about this time, we
soon forgot our little troubles and became thoroughly interested in the
magnificent view around us. The bay was smooth as glass, all the ships were gay
with bunting, and crowds of armed men were mustering on every deck, while their
bands were playing, sending their martial strains far over the silvery surface
of the placid waters. Surely this is a small but beautiful picture of glorious
war that we have dreamed of so much. Some time afterwards a tug boat came
puffing along, and reported to the officer commanding the Lane that the rebels
were reported in force ashore, intending to dispute our landing. In consequence
the Lane steamed in towards shore, guns shotted and run out; when she got
pretty close she lowered boats, armed with howitzers and marines, and sent them
in to land and reconnoiter the town. We knew Maryland was a questionable state,
being about evenly divided in its sympathies, and, consequently, were greatly
interested in the outcome of the present affair. If they proved friendly, our
chances would be greatly improved; on the contrary, if they opposed our
landing, the capital might be in serious danger. After a good deal of delay and
manoeuvering, the boat's crews landed, finding nobody to oppose them. This was
signaled to the Lane, when our ship was immediately ordered to weigh anchor, go
in and disembark the regiment. We got aground, and were transferred to the
steamer Boston, and then landed at the Naval Academy docks. The Academy we
found deserted, the students scattered, and only a few men in charge. We
stacked arms, broke ranks, and received rations, coffee, meat (the same old
salt pork), and bread, but we did not confine ourselves to this diet; the
grounds swarmed with negroes, men and women, who had for sale, in abundance,
eggs, pies, butter, and milk; we soon bought them out, and for the first time
since leaving home fared sumptuously. We appreciated it immensely, not yet
being used to hard living and roughing it, and miss our regular meals
prodigiously.
There were no white
persons in the camp, nor any white men in town; all had disappeared, the
negroes say, to join the rebel army. We remained overnight for want of
transportation for the quartermaster's department, and were quartered in some
of the many class-rooms. We heard various rumors about the doings of the rebels
in this neighborhood, and since dark have seen many blue lights and rockets in
the air, no doubt signals to warn their friends of our arrival; we conclude rail
traffic between here and Washington is destroyed, from the reports of the negroes,
and that we shall have to march, instead of going by train, as was expected;
and possibly have to fight, if, as is reported, some organized rebel troops are
in the neighborhood. Marching in the condition we are in, loaded down with
satchels, bundles, etc., is going to be very tiresome. It is nearly thirty
miles to the junction, the place we must reach before we can go by rail.
SOURCE: Josiah
Marshall Favill, The Diary of a Young Officer, p. 15-9
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