Camp “Misery,” Two Miles South
Of Newmarket, April 21, 1862.
The name of our camp did not originate at headquarters, but
it is the most appropriate one I can think of for it. The regiment has been
here for three days without tents, on a bare field, with no other shelter than
what the men could rig up out of rails and straw. The rain has been pouring
down in torrents most of the time, making the whole surface of the ground a
perfect mire. We are lying around, like pigs, in straw, with wet blankets, wet
feet, wet everything, and a fair prospect of nothing for dinner. We have had
some pretty tough times lately, but this knocks everything else higher than a
kite! I think even Mark Tapley would get credit for being jolly here.
Last Tuesday our company went on picket. I was stationed
just at night at a barn on the extreme outpost on the edge of Stony Creek. The
following morning I went out, taking Hogan with me, to make a little
reconnoissance of the enemy's pickets. It was foggy, and I couldn't see more
than a hundred yards. All of a sudden the sun came out and the mist disappeared.
I had hardly brought my field glass to my eyes, when pst — pst — pst — three
bullets came past me. One cut a sprig off a pine tree over my head; another
struck a rail of the fence I was sitting on; the other went into the ground.
You may have seen the Ravels execute some pretty lively movements, but the one
that Hogan and I made to get behind the fence beat them all.
As soon as we were under cover we looked for our enemies.
None could be seen, but Hogan shifted his position, exposing himself a little
and drawing their fire again. This time I saw the smoke come from behind a
fence about two hundred and fifty yards off. 1 saw at once that we could not
touch them. The nearest cover from where we were was about one hundred feet
away; that place had got to be reached in order to get back to my post: I
waited some time before I could make up my mind to exposing my valuable life,
but I got across safely in this way: I put my cap on the point of my sword and
raised it over the fence; their bullets struck in the rails all around it.
Hogan fired a shot where the smoke came from, and then we ran for it! I tell
you, I never felt more comfortable than when I got two thicknesses of a barn
between me and the other side of the river. In the barn there was a little window;
one of the men was taking aim to fire, when a ball struck his hand, inflicting
a slight wound and tearing up his sleeve for six inches. Four other bullets
struck the barn, going in one side and out the other. After that, I kept the
men entirely out of sight, and no more harm was done. To give you an idea of
how well they can fire, one of our sergeants put a board in sight, which they
took for a man's head, and they put three bullets through it.
We returned to camp towards night. Reveillé sounded the next
morning at two-thirty. At four A. M., we started, and marched all day over the
most confounded roads, constantly fording the streams, the bridges being burnt.
Our movement was off on the flank; Shields's division moved straight down the
pike. At one time we were within two hours of Jackson's army, but they got
away. After twenty-two miles of the hardest marching we've ever had, over mud
roads, we got into bivouac about nine P. M. I had nothing but my overcoat, but
I never slept sounder than I did that night on the leaves. I don't know whether
I ever told you that I had been appointed ordnance officer of this regiment;
such is the fact. Early Friday morning I started out to look up my three
ammunition wagons. I found my armorer, who told me they were stuck fast about
seven miles back on the road. Colonel Andrews, on hearing this, ordered me to
take a guard and go back to them. This was pleasant, but no help for it. It
took us till Saturday night to get those wagons up to this present camp, which
is between Newmarket and Sparta.
SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written
During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 52-5
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