I introduce the following letter to a friend, as sufficiently explicit as to the occurrences since the last date:
CHAIN BRIDGE, VA., Sept. 6, 1861.
I
commence this letter with the reiteration, Poor Virginia! That State, which for
forty years has stood as the guiding star of our galaxy of States,—that State,
which alone could, six months ago,
have assumed the position of umpire to the belligerents, and which only would
have been respected in the assumption—now stands at the very foot of the list.
In the commencement of this contest she degraded herself by offering to become
the cat's paw for South Carolina, and was still farther degraded by South
Carolina rejecting the proposition to become her menial. By her officious
subservience, however, she got her paw into the fire, and how dreadfully it is
burned only those who are on her soil can form any idea. Everywhere is the
destruction going on. Her soil is the battle-field, and, so far as the
destruction of property is concerned, it matters but little which party is
successful. Armies must have room to move and manœuvre, soldiers will have the
fruits and vegetables which grow around their encampment, and camp life is a
poor fertilizer of that moral growth which marks the line of "meum et tuum."
This letter is
written on sheets taken from the former residence of Hon. W. W. Slade, once a
member of Congress from Virginia. I rode around with a foraging party. We
entered his fine old mansion, and I could not but weep over the sad changes
which I could see had taken place within a few hours, Within no living soul was
left. The soldiers entered; for a time I stood back, but when I did go in what
a sight presented itself! Already the floors were covered knee-deep with books
and papers, which it must have required a long life of toil and trouble to
amass, fine swinging-mirrors shivered into thousands of pieces—a fit emblem of
the condition to which efforts are being made to reduce this glorious
government—each piece reflecting miniature images of what the whole had shown,
but never again to reflect those pigmy images in one vast whole. In the large
and spacious drawing-room stood the ruins of one of those old-fashioned
sideboards, around which had grown so much of the reputation of Southern high
life and hospitality; its doors, wrenched from their hinges, lay scattered on
the floor; large mahogany sofas, with their covers torn off, marble-top tables,
stationery, china, stoves and spittoons, were there in one promiscuous heap of
ruins. I stepped into the library, hoping to bring away some relic that had
been untouched by the soldiers, but I was too late—all here was ruin. In a
corner I picked up a few yellow pamphlets, and read "Constitution and
By-Laws of the National Democratic Association." Sadly enough I left the
house, and seated myself, to rest and think, on the spacious verandah. For a
moment I looked on the vast orchards, the beautiful flower garden, the long
rows of laden grape vines, the broad acres of corn and clover, and thought,
"What a place and what a condition to pass old age in comfort and
quiet," and my heart began to lighten. How momentary the lightning, for
just then company after company from the different regiments came up; gates
were thrown open, fences thrown down, and horses, cattle and mules were
destroying all these evidences of prosperity and comfort. And this is but one
feature in the great haggard countenance of war which stares at us whenever we
look at Virginia's "sacred soil." Alas, poor Virginia! This subject
alone would give interest to a whole volume, but I must leave it.
On Tuesday night, at half-past ten o'clock, the "long roll" brought our brigade, of five regiments, to their feet, when we found ourselves under orders to march at once for the Virginia side of the river, where, it was said, a large body of rebels had been collecting just at night. We had had slight skirmishing in that neighborhood for several days, and now the crisis was expected, and our regiment was to have a chance. All was excitement, and in half an hour from the alarm we were ready to start. By the time we arrived here it had commenced raining—we found no enemy—bivouaced for the night, and slept in the rain to the music of the tramp, tramp of infantry, and the rattling, roaring tear of artillery wagons over the roughly macademized road which passed by our encampment. Yesterday it rained all day, as if every plug had been pulled out; still we kept on our arms and ready for action—our general and brigade officers dashing about all the time, and warning us to be ready for an attack. Day before yesterday a scouting party of our brigade went in pursuit of a party of cavalry who had been seen hovering about us. When they came in sight the cavalry took to their heels, leaving to us only three large contrabands, who "tink massa oughten to run away from poor nigga so, heah! heah! They just run and leab us to de mercy of de darn abolishuns, heah! heah!" They report that around Fairfax and Centreville there are sixty or seventy regiments, who are well provisioned, but that there is a great deal of sickness among them, measles being the prevailing disease. We had, when we left Kalarama, about twenty-five in the hospital, whom we left there under the charge of Dr. There are three or four here who have sickened in consequence of exposure to the two days and two night's rain, but they will be out in a day or two. We have not yet lost a man by disease or accident, though I hear that one man yesterday received a musket ball through his cap, but as it did not hit his head it is thought he will recover. The musket was carelessly fired by some soldier in our camp.
A little occurrence
to-day has caused quite a stir in our camps, and I deem it worthy to be noted
here for my remembrance. Capt. Strong, of the Second Regiment of Wisconsin
Volunteers, was with a small party on picket guard. He strolled away from his
company, and suddenly found himself surrounded by six of the rebel pickets.
Being out of reach of help from his men, he surrendered himself a prisoner.
After a short consultation as to whether they should kill the "d----d
Yankee" on the spot, they concluded that they would first take him into
camp. They demanded his pistols, which he took from his belt and presented. But
at the moment when the rebels were receiving them, they both went off, killing
two of his captors on the spot. But there were four left, two on foot, two on
horseback. He dashed into a pine thicket, they discharging their pieces after
him and immediately giving chase. He struck into a deep hollow or ravine
leading down to the Potomac. It was so precipitous that the horsemen could not
follow. But when he emerged from it near the river; he found himself confronted
by the two horsemen who had ridden around and reached the spot in time to head
him off. He had received a shot through his canteen. Immediately on seeing his
pursuers he fired again, killing one more of them, and simultaneously he
received another shot through his cheek. He continued firing with his revolvers
till he had made in all eleven shots. By this time the fourth man had been
unhorsed. The footmen did not pursue, and he made his way into camp. This is
the story, though some are so uncharitable as to discredit it, notwithstanding
one hole through his canteen and another through his cheek.
SOURCE: Alfred L.
Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of
Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B.
McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day
January, 1863, p. 21-5
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