Bivouac Near Fairfax Station,
December 20, 1862.
I wrote, the other day, from near this place. That day we
marched as rear guard over seven miles of the muddiest kind of Virginia roads,
crossing the Occoquan creek; we went into bivouac in a thick wood a little
while after dark. We made our usual nightly arrangements, eating our supper of
coffee, bread, etc., and spreading our blankets, and very soon lay down for the
night. Towards morning, all three of us awoke simultaneously, with some large
rain-drops spattering in our faces. We drew the rubber blankets out from under
us and put them on top, and turned in again. I was next awakened by a perfect
deluge of water pouring in on me from the blanket where it had collected; as it
was nearly daylight, I concluded to get up. About nine o'clock the rain
stopped, and shortly afterwards we marched. The roads were in the worst
possible condition, wagons sinking to the hubs of the wheels; we went only
three miles, then stopped for the day. The next morning (Wednesday) we started
at daylight, and marched back to this place. If we hadn't got used to such
things, the march back over these horrible roads would have been very
discouraging. We learned, when we got near the station, that our division had
been ordered back because that place had been threatened by the enemy. The most
that could have been lost by losing that place would have been some fifty
thousand rations, yet this seems to have been a sufficient reason for
preventing us from joining the main army. We also learned here that Burnside
had been entirely repulsed, and was again on this side of the Rappahannock. The
rebels have paid us off now for Antietam. No one seems to have any idea what
will happen next. I am more afraid of a disgraceful peace than anything else,
from the looks of everything now.
SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written
During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 113-4
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