Still in Hudson. Was routed
out twice last night, for no particular reason as far as I can discover, unless
it was to make a miserable night still more miserable. After forming in line
and standing there, half asleep, for awhile, the order, "Break Ranks"
would come and we would go back to our bunks, and so the night wore away. At
4.30 we were called again, marched out for our morning ablutions, and then
marched back again, wide awake, but pretty cross and ugly. We signed receipts
for one month's pay in advance, and then had breakfast. We did nothing more
until dinner time and were then told to take our haversacks and canteens with
us. After dinner we were each given a day's supply of bread and a canteen full
of coffee, and told to be ready to march at any minute.
Six P. M. On board the steamship Oregon, bound for New
York City. We had a busy time getting off. Crowds upon crowds of people lined
the way from the camp ground to the steamboat landing. The windows and the
house tops were also full. I don't see where so many people came from. Men,
women and children were waving flags, handkerchiefs or anything else that would
wave. They cheered us until hoarse. Bands played, every steam whistle in Hudson
was blowing, in fact every thing that could make a noise did so. Through it all
we marched, reaching out every little while for a final handshake, and a last
good-bye. Everyone seemed to know everybody else. I presume I shook hands with
a hundred that I never saw before and may never see again. But the heartiness
of it all, and the sincerity showed so plainly, that by the time the landing
was reached the tears were washing the dust from our faces. I am glad it is
over. No matter what comes next, it cannot be more trying than that march
through Hudson.
Later. The sail down the
Hudson is glorious. It is all new to me. As soon as we were clear from the dock
I got into the quietest place I could find and told my diary about it. I wish I
could better describe the doings about me. This will do to remind me of it all,
if I ever see these scribblings again, and if not those that do see them may
turn their imagination loose, feeling sure that it cannot overdraw the picture.
But there is no use trying to write any more. Confusion reigns, and I am going
to put away my dairy and take a hand in it.
SOURCE: Lawrence Van
Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p.
15-7
No comments:
Post a Comment