Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: February 11, 1864

The Expedition.

The morning of February 6th found us in line on the parade ground, New York and Massachusetts shoulder to shoulder. Capt. Phillips, wanting a brave and valiant veteran on the left of his company, assigned me to that post of honor. I reckon the reason for it was that two of his sergeants were on the sick list. While standing in line, waiting the order to march, a scene is transpiring which to us of the 25th is altogether new and strange. The ladies living here in camp are all out, and wetting their handkerchiefs with their tears, are watching the preparations to leave. They are struggling under a fearful burden of anxiety which will not be removed until our return. Groups of men and women are standing around, taking each other by the hand and kissing their good-byes. Our Brooklyn friends are visibly affected, while the 25th boys look on stoically. While men and women with streaming eyes are bidding perhaps their last farewells, these roughened, hardened sons of Mars look with unpitying eye on this affecting scene and laugh. I confess I should have taken a greater interest in the thing and my sympathies would have flowed more freely if I could have taken a hand in the kissing.

We marched into town where the brigade line was formed, consisting of the 139th and 118th New York, two regiments of colored troops and one U. S. battery, (the 2d I think). The mounted rifles were to follow later. This comprised the whole force under command of Brig. Gen. Wistar, whoever he is. The line of march was taken up the country on the road towards Richmond. Arriving at the woods, about a mile from town, the column was halted and a detail made to act as skirmishers. The 139th being on the advance furnished the detail. In this detail the 25th was largely represented, and was under command of Major Mulcay. The major marched his command a few rods into the woods, formed his skirmish line and ordered them forward, the column following. I now began to hear plenty of talk about bushwhackers and business for the boys ahead. Capt. Phillips fell back to the rear of his company, marching by my side. I thought this a good opportunity to scrape an acquaintance, and commenced talking to him, but he did not seem to be in a mood for conversation and said as little as possible. He commenced a low, suppressed whistle of a single strain of Rally 'Round the Flag. I tried all means I could think of to draw him out, but finding I could do nothing with him, I turned my attention to the major and his skirmishers. He was as busy with them and as particular as if they were out for skirmish drill, and kept talking to them all the time about preserving their distances and alignments.

After a time, the boys started up a rabbit, and half a dozen of them gave chase, shouting and yelling till they were out of sight in the woods, where they waited for the major to come up. The major lectured them a little about charging without orders and warning them of the great danger they were in from bushwhackers. All the thanks he got from those heartless fellows for all his care and solicitude was: “Oh! damn the bushwhackers!” and as soon as another rabbit or squirrel was started up, away they would go again. Capt. Phillips, who meanwhile had kept up his whistle, suppressed it long enough to say: “Your boys are taking great risks in running off into the woods in that way; some of them will get shot by bushwhackers.” I said I thought our boys had very little fear of bush whackers, and would sooner have the fun of chasing them than rabbits, besides I thought there was little danger from bush whackers, for when a force like this was marching through they preferred keeping at a safe distance.

A little after noon the cavalry overtook us, and we halted to let them go past us. I was surprised to see such a force; there was a whole brigade, numbering between 3000 and 4000, under command of Col. Spear, who had been sent down from the army of the Potomac, landing at Yorktown, and had now overtaken us. I could now begin to see through a glass darkly. This is the raid on Richmond, of which I had heard some hints before. The cavalry of course are the principal actors, and we are simply the supporting column.

The cavalry past us, we again started. The general hurried us up, wishing to keep as near the cavalry as possible, but the major's skirmish line rather retarded us. It was finally thought that with a large cavalry force in advance the skirmish line was not absolutely necessary, and it was withdrawn. The march was forced till past the middle of the afternoon, when it began to tell on the Brooklyn boys, some of them giving out. They were unaccustomed to such severe marching, and it took hold of them severely. We made a halt of an hour for rest and lunch, and before starting, Col. Roberts made a short address. He thought we were on the eve of a severe battle, and he hoped and believed his regiment would stand up and quit themselves like soldiers, and if successful in our undertaking we should deserve end receive the plaudits of the country. In such a battle, there must necessarily be some victims, but just who, we are of course ignorant, but each one is hoping it will not be him. I laughed, and one of the boys asked what pleased me. I said if the colonel did not look out he would have us all whipped before we sighted the enemy. We pushed along till into the evening; the boys were getting pretty well played out and would make frequent halts without any orders.

There was one of the general's aids who seemed to take a great interest in getting us along, and his interest from some cause or other (probably his canteen) seemed to increase with the evening. The boys would be groping their weary way through the darkness, when some one would give a whistle and they would all squat in the road. This aid would ride up in a great passion and order them up, telling them if they didn't get along faster he would put a regiment of colored troops on the advance. The response to that threat would be: “Bring on your niggers!” This officer had another provoking habit which he came well nigh paying dearly for. There were occasional mud holes in the road caused by the rains; some of them two or three rods across. The boys would flank these to keep their feet from getting wet and sore, but this officer attempted to drive them through, saying it took up the time tanking them. At one of these places he was going to drive them through anyway or it would be the death of some of them. I was quietly going around, and halted to see how he made it work with them. He was swearing at them, wheeling his horse right and left among them, and making himself about as disagreeable as he could. Just then I heard the ominous click of rifle locks, and heard some one ask him if he was aware those rifles were loaded. He seemed to catch on to the idea, and got himself out of that as quickly as possible, and was heard from no more during the march. Soldiers are human, with feelings and passions like other men; they can and do stand a great deal, but they cannot stand everything any more than a stone drag.

The night wore on, the boys were well nigh exhausted and made frequent halts. The colonel would sympathize with them, and encourage them by saying he hoped the day's march was nearly over, telling them to keep up courage and a few miles more the end would be reached. At one of these halts the major showed some impatience, and riding up to the colonel said:

“Colonel, I really do not understand the meaning of this?”

“What's the matter now, major?"

“Why, every few moments this entire regiment will simultaneously sit down?”

“Oh, well, major,” the colonel replied, “the boys are tired; they have come a long way and are pretty well played out; change places with some of them, major, and you will understand it better.”

That seemed to be satisfactory to the major and he rode off, but it cheered the boys up wonderfully and they made quite a distance before halting again.

It is curious how sometimes the most trifling act or expression will raise up the almost exhausted energies of men and inspire hope when almost on the verge of despair. As an instance of this, the boys while marching along had for some time preserved a dead silence; not a word had been spoken, and all seemed to be absorbed in their own reflections, when suddenly I stumbled over a stump. Gathering myself up I exclaimed: “There, I know just where that stump is!" The effect was like magic; all within the sound of my voice broke out in a loud and hearty laugh, and for a time forgot their fatigue and trudged lightly along.

We reached the end of our day's tramp at New Kent sometime after midnight, having made a march of thirty miles. Many of the boys were so exhausted that they threw themselves down on the ground and were soon fast asleep. I prepared some coffee, and while it was boiling, washed myself up, and after drinking my coffee, rolled up in my blanket and was soon asleep.

We slept about three hours when we were routed up, and a little after daylight were again on the march. The boys were pretty stiff and sore, but a mile or two took the kinks out of their legs and limbered them up so they were about as good as new. Nothing transpired worthy of note luring the forenoon's march, unless it was that Capt. Phillips kept up his suppressed whistle of that same strain of Rally 'Round the Flag. I tried to rally him and get him to talking, but it was of no use; he was entirely absorbed in his own reflections, ruminating, as I thought, over the probable chances of leaving a widow and orphan children as a legacy to his country.

Before noon we reached what is called the Baltimore cross roads, about two miles from Bottom bridge which crosses the Chickahominy river. Here we met the cavalry coming back, and Col. Spear reported to Gen. Wistar that on reaching the river he found all the bridges up and a considerable force of the enemy, with infantry and artillery guarding the river. With our small force and only one battery he thought it would be useless to attempt to force the passage of the river. On learning this I felt relieved, for if we couldn't cross the river to them, they certainly couldn't cross it to us, and in all probability they had no desire to do so.

Presently an alarm was raised that the enemy was coming up the White House road. The 139th was ordered down the road to meet them. We went about a quarter of a mile and formed a line of battle. A few cavalry went down the road a couple of miles and when they returned reported no enemy in sight or hearing, a circumstance I did not regret. We then went back and were dismissed for dinner.

This Baltimore is the junction of several roads; the one we came up from New Kent extends on to Richmond, one runs south to Charles City, one northeast to White House, and another runs north over into Northumberland, where once lived a little boy who owned a little hatchet and couldn't tell a lie. It was fortunate for him and the country that he lived at that time for if he had lived in these times the chances are more than a thousand to one that he couldn't have told the truth. There are some half a dozen farm houses scattered round in sight, and also the convenient blacksmith shop is located here.

In the little square formed by the intersection of the roads stands an interesting old building—the church in which Gen. Washington was married. It is a long, low, rather narrow building, without belfrey or ornament of any kind outside or in. It is without paint or even whitewash, and shows the rough marks of age and neglect. It is divested of its seats, having been used for an army hospital. I entered this historic old church and found it half full of the boys cutting their monograms in the ceiling; I uncovered my head in profound reverence for the place and the distinguished parties who were here joined in the holy bonds of wedlock. Here George and Martha mutually pledged themselves each to the other, to share together their joys and sorrows along the pathway of life until death should bring a separation, and well they kept their vows, for I have never learned that either of them ever applied for a divorce, although it is said Martha in prosperous gales was something of a shrew. For this little bit of history I am indebted to one of my Brooklyn friends who had made a previous visit here.

After waiting here a couple of hours the column re-formed and marched back over the road we came nearly to the woods, where we halted to let the cavalry go past us. After passing us they halted to feed their horses and themselves, and while waiting for them an alarm was raised that the enemy were coming through the woods on our flank. Down came the fences and a regiment of darkies filed into the field, and deployed as skirmish

Every few moments they would look back to see where their support was, while their teeth and the whites of their eyes resembled bunches of tallow candles hanging in a dark cellar-way. The alarm of course was a false one, but the colored troops fought nobly.

We arrived back at New Kent about night, and bivouacked on a large field near the village. New Kent is the county seat, and is not much unlike other country places they call towns in Virginia. It contains a court house, jail, church, two or three stores, tavern, a small collection of houses and the inevitable blacksmith shop. There is no such thing in Virginia as a schoolhouse; they have no use for such things. All they want is law and gospel, and I have not been able to find out that these give them a great degree of culture and refinement. More than 200 years ago the colonial Gov. Berkley said: “I thank God there are no public schools in Virginia, and I hope there will be none for the next hundred years.” His hopes have been doubly realized, which probably accounts for the present state of affairs in Virginia.

Getting into camp we built fires, made coffee and began to make ourselves comfortable. Some time in the evening the major happened along where a few of us were standing around a fire of burning rails. He began to upbraid us for burning the rails, telling us if we wanted fires we must go into the woods and get our fuel. I said to the major I thought it was all right to burn the rails; as we were sort of guests on the gentleman's place, I presumed he would be entirely willing and glad to contribute a few rails for our personal comfort during the night. He went off muttering something about destruction of property while the boys added more rails to the fire.

Next morning the march was resumed, Capt. Phillips came out looking bright and pert as a wildcat, the low whistle was no longer heard and he was as full of orders to his company as a major-general. We arrived back on the afternoon of the 9th, and as we sighted Camp West, the ladies were all out on the parade ground, waving their handkerchiefs in greeting of our return. It was like the old Roman armies returning from conquest, when fair maidens, with white waving arms, would welcome their coming. Now another scene ensued; fair women and brave men close in the fond embraces of love and thanksgiving for their miraculous deliverance. I could but feel that the 25th boys were rather slighted in not receiving a share of the kisses, for who can tell that but for them their friends might not now be dwellers in the Hotel de Libby. On the whole we have had rather an interesting excursion, having seen some forty odd miles of the county. It was very woody and I think the poorest I have ever traveled in for chickens, applejack and peach and honey. But the chickens and applejack didn't matter so much as the orders in regard to foraging were very strict. These officers in command here seem to think the proper way to conduct a war is not to hurt anyone or damage their property. The result was not much different from what I expected, and reminds me of the old couplet:

The king of France with 50,000 men marched up the hill

And then marched down again.

I reckon we must have gone very near where Pocahontas befriended Capt. Smith. The history of that little romance is that Smith was captured while ascending the Chickahominy river, and taken higher up the river to Powhatan’s lodge, and that was said to be some twelve miles below where the city of Richmond now stands. So I reckon we must have been in the vicinity where that occurred; I should like to have stayed there two or three days, or at least long enough to have selected some romantic spot as being the place where that drama was enacted, and if possible gathered a few stones and erected some sort of rude monument to the memory of the young lady.

Before dismissing his regiment, Col. Roberts thanked them for their cheerful obedience to orders, endurance and good order while on the march, and especially his new allies, who throughout the long march neither faltered, complained or straggled.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 117-23

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: February 17, 1864

ALONE AGAIN.

Our Brooklyn friends left us the 13th. They were ordered to report at Newport News, and we to remain here to do guard duty. When they left they expected to return in a few days, but I reckon they have gone for good, as they have sent for their ladies and quartermaster, who have gone, carrying everything with them. That leaves us alone again, and we are doing the guard duty up town, which is the outpost. It takes about one third of our men every day, and that brings us every third day. All the camps about here are located near Fort Magruder, a large field fortification built by Gen. Magruder for the defence of Williamsburg. Since coming into Federal possession, it has been slightly altered and the guns, which formerly pointed outward, now point towards the town, about a mile distant. This was an obstacle which McClellan had to overcome in his march on Richmond. About 50 rods from its former front, now its rear, runs a wide and rather deep ravine across the country from the York to the James river, a distance of about three miles. On this line Magruder built his forts, with rifle pits in front on the edge of the ravine, for skirmishers and infantry. He had got only Fort Magruder armed on McClellan's arrival, but it proved a formidable obstacle, as it commanded the road and a wide piece of country. In front of this fort was the hottest of the battle, and not until Gen. Hanancock with his corps had crossed the ravine at Queen's creek on the York river side and swooped down on Magruder's left, did he find it untenable. He then saw the day was lost and beat a hasty retreat. A few of us, while looking over the battle-ground a day or two ago, found the graves of Milford boys, who were in the 40th New York regiment.

I reckon we must have given them quite a scare up in Richmond the other day, for in the alarm and confusion which prevailed, quite a number of prisoners escaped and are finding their way in here. Yesterday the cavalry went out to assist any that might be trying to get in.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 123-4

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: February 19, 1864

We have again got somebody to look after us. Two young lieutenants have been sent here from the 148th New York at Yorktown to take command. They have taken the colonel's quarters and seem to have settled down for a good time by themselves, at any rate they don't trouble us any: They come out in the morning, and look on at guard mounting, and that is about all we see of them. I reckon they are pretty good fellows, and when I get time shall try and cultivate their acquaintance.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 124

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: February 22, 1864

WILLIAMSBURG.

Washington's birthday. How well Virginians have emulated his example and teachings is this day apparent. God pity, the Mother of Presidents.

This classic old town, next to Jamestown, is the oldest in the state. It is full of historical reminiscences and a great field for the antiquarian. Until near the close of the 17th century this was simply a suburb of Jamestown and was called the middle plantation. After the burning of Jamestown by Bacon and the accession of William III to the throne, matters here began to assume a brighter aspect. Situated midway between the York and James rivers, which are here four miles apart, and enjoying the patronage of the king, the colonists became ambitious and thought the town would extend each way to the rivers and become the London of the New World.

For some time the founding of a college had been agitated and after the accession of William the charter was granted, he making large endowments of land and money in furtherance of the object. This was the second college in the British colonies, and in honor of the king and queen was named William and Mary. The great object of it was to educate in Virginia a succession of Church of England clergymen. After the erection of the college the town was laid out and named Williamsburg in honor of the king. From this time, under the patronage of the king and gentlemen of rank and wealth who came over and took up settlement, the town went ahead. A church, state-house and other public buildings were erected. An immense residence was built for the colonial governors and called the King James palace.

The town was the capital of the state or colony, and here the burgesses were wont to meet. It grew in population and wealth, and up to the time of the breaking out of the revolution was the most aristocratic and loyal town in all the colonies. The first thing that disturbed this truly loyal people was the debates in the house of burgesses on the stamp act, about the year 1765. Patrick Henry, then a young man and just elected to the house, opposed the act and with all his powers of reasoning and eloquence, advocated resistance to it. In these debates he gained the displeasure of some of the older members and especially those resident here. At this time Thomas Jefferson, a student in the college here, began to get interested in public affairs; he often looked in on the house of burgesses and listened to the debates, and a dozen years afterwards, in his declaration of independence, shone out the principles he there learned. Henry continued a member of the house of burgesses for several years, advocating the cause of the colonies, and in the Virginia convention to choose delegates to attend a congress of the colonies to be holden at Philadelphia to draft a declaration, he advocated it with all his impassioned eloquence, closing with those memorabile words: “I know not what others may think, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”

About the time that Governor Gage of Massachusetts attempted to seize the stores at Concord, a similar proceeding took place here, under the direction of Lord Dunmore, the colonial governor. At midnight Capt. Collins of the armed schooner Magdalen, with a company of marines, entered the town and carried off twenty barrels of powder from the public magazine. This so incensed the people in the adjoining counties that they rose in arms and demanded a return of the powder or they would march on the town. Dunmore, becoming frightened, moved his family aboard a ship at Jamestown, and some of the leading citizens quieted the people by promising them the powder should be returned or paid for. But those promises were not kept, and Patrick Henry, at the head of about 1500 militia moved on the town, declaring he would have the powder or would make a reprisal from the public treasury. When within about fifteen miles from here he was met by a courier who paid for the powder, thus ending the expedition.

A year or two afterwards Henry was chosen governor of the colony, and on his coming here brought with him quite a force of militia. On Henry's approach Gov. Dunmore went aboard a vessel and the fleet sailed down the river. Lord Dunmore was the last colonial governor and the last occupant of the palace. Ilenry so hated everything that pertained to kings or royalty that he positively refused to occupy the palace, and it was left to go to decay and ruins. Nothing now remains of it save the foundations and a few scattering bricks.

WILLIAM AND MARY COLLEGE.

Is now a mass of ruins; a company of the 11th Pennsylvania cavalry were the vandals. As this company were returning from a scout they were fired on with one or two shots from out the college as they were riding past. Instead of surrounding the building and capturing the murderers, they set it on fire and burned it to the ground. This college was located at the extreme western end of the town, and was a fine brick building over 100 feet in length and three stories high, with two tower entrances about 80 feet apart, in one of which was a fine bell. In front is a large park, coming to a point, forming the main entrance some 30 rods in front of the building. On each side of the gate are large live oak trees. In this park are situated four large old English style houses, two on each side and facing each other. They are about 40 feet square, two stories high, with a four-cornered roof coming to a point at the top. These were the residences of the officers and tutors of the college.

The college stands facing down the main street, which is quite a mile long; straight as a line and very wide, giving a fine view from the college. This is the second or third time that this college has been burned, but this last time seems to have been without cause or reason.

THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH,

An antiquated structure of gothic architecture, its brown spire and slender turrets pointing to where man's heart should oftener turn, is situated near the center of the town. It is built of brick brought over from England; they are very different in shape and color from those made in this country. There are no services held here now, but that doesn't matter much as it needs something more than the grace of God to keep this people in the line of duty and loyalty to the government. Their great need just at present is gunpowder. The churchyard contains over an acre, and is a cemetery where countless generations sleep forgot, and where rests his head upon the lap of earth the youth to fortune and to fame unknown.

THE OLD STATE HOUSE.

Situated not far from the church, is a plain old brick building about 60 feet long and about 30 feet wide, built on a basement story. The entrance is from a portico reached by a wide flight of steps. Here in these classic halls have been discussed grave questions of state-the destinies of the colonies, and as one walks through them, he can easily imagine he hears the voice of Patrick Henry saying: “The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to your ears the clash of resounding arms."

THE INSANE ASYLUM

Is a large, massive, prison-looking building, filled with the unfortunate wards of the State of Virginia, but who are now the wards of the nation, and are being well and tenderly cared for. On pleasant days the mild and harmless patients have the liberty of the yard, which is spacious, well laid out and set with trees. At the entrance gates are small brick houses into which they can go when so disposed. At the gates they will stand and talk with the passers-by, asking a thousand questions and all manner of favors. Some of them are intelligent and will converse for a few minutes in a rational manner, when they will switch off on their crazy talk and lingo. This is said to be the oldest insane institution in the United States, having been founded previous to the revolutionary war, but the present building would seem to be of more recent construction.

KING JAMES' PALACE.

I have not been able to get much history of this, when or by whom it was built, and the only tradition I have been able to gather is that it was a magnificent and gorgeous establishment, where the colonial governors lived in great pomp and state. All there is left of it now is a small piece of brick work about four feet high on one of the south-west corners or angles. It was situated on the north side of the town, and back some 30 or 40 rods from the main street on which it fronted. It is difficult to form much of an idea of this building, as only the foundations are left, and a part of these are only dimly traced; but it must have been a very extensive affair. It was all of 125 feet front and 50 feet deep, with two wings in the rear extending back nearly 100 feet, leaving an open court or garden. The foundations on the front and ends show several angles, as though fashioned after some of the old English castles. The height of it can only be guessed, but probably it was not less than three stories.

The grounds and gardens which surrounded it were extensive, and must have been tastefully laid out, if one can judge by tracing the old walls, and by the few remaining shrubs and bushes which survive. The grounds in front extended to the street, making a lawn or park of some two or three acres. This has been a good deal curtailed, having been built over on three sides, leaving a common or park on the street of about an acre, called the Palace Green. Why such an establishment as this was. built in this wilderness is only a matter of conjecture. It certainly was far beyond the needs of the colonial governors, and was probably built with an eye to its being a convenient refuge for royalty in case of adverse fortunes at home. Why it should have been left to decay and ruin is more than we at this day can understand. After the loyalists had left on the breaking out of the war, there probably was no one who cared enough about it to look after it, and the colonists so hated everything that pertained to royalty that it was left to the bats and owls, and in time went to ruin. Patrick Henry refused to occupy it while governor, and his successors followed his example. Egad! but what good cheer and right royal times must have been had here in those good old colony times, but the old palace to ruins has gone, leaving no memories or associations clustering around it save that it was the king's palace.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 124-8

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: February 27, 1864

GUARD DUTY.

Our guard duty is just outside the town. There are three stations: one on the south side next the asylum, one at the college on the west side, and one on the north side on the Palace Green. This last station is the one I usually take charge of. At each station the guard is divided into three reliefs, and the duty is simply to keep a lookout for the approach of the enemy and turn out the guard in honor of the officer of the day and to Col. West, the post commander. Our quarters at this station are in a small house which was formerly negroes' quarters. In the yard stands a large, unoccupied house owned by a Mr. Saunders, now a resident of New York. He is said to be a loyal man and a lawyer by profession. When McClellan passed through here, Mr. Saunders availed himself of the opportunity, and taking his family, went to New York. When I first took command of this station several mornings ago, the instructions given me to keep a sharp lookout for the approach of the enemy. I had not been engaged in this business a great while, when the approach of Col. West was announced. I turned out the guard with a great dash, extending all the honors due his exalted rank. He inquired my instructions. I informed him of those I had received. He then inquired if I had not received instructions in regard to this house in the yard. I said I had not. “Then I will give you some; I shall expect you to look after this house and see that no one goes in there or in any way disturbs anything around it, and shall hold you responsible for its safe keeping while you are on duty.” I promised to faithfully attend to that important duty. He then dismissed the guard and rode over to call on a lady friend of his.

A FRIGHTENED DARKY.

I now had a very important trust imposed on me, and I naturally felt a sort of womanly curiosity to explore that sacred realm. Soon after daylight the next morning, I took three of the boys and went around to the back side of the house and effected an entrance, but it was evident we were not the first explorers. We found nothing but a few articles of heavy furniture until we went into the southwest corner room next to the veranda. Here was a rich find, a large library. This room was about 15 feet square, and on all sides were books from the floor to the ceiling. Here was history, biography, travels, fiction, religion, law and miscellaneous works, magazines of all kinds, public documents, reports on all manner of subjects, and a large quantity of letters and private papers.

We tarried here over an hour, and on coming out met a darky on the veranda. He put on one of his ugliest looks and said:

“Wot doin' in dar? Mus keep out dar!"

“What's that to you, you black cuss?”

“You fine out, you go in dar. Colonel West tole me look out for dis yer property an' tole him wot I sees goin' on yere.”

“And do you tell Colonel West what you see done here?”

“O, yas sah, yas salı, Ize tole him ebery ting Ize sees.”

“Look here, boy, do you want to live to be old?”

 “O, yas sah, yas sah."

“Well then, if you are cherishing any such desire, you must be a little careful what you say to West, for if he ever comes to any stories from you, we will take you out here into the woods and leave you for the buzzards to eat.”

“O, lorra goliy mity, boss, Ize neber ses nosin' bout de sogers, it's on’y dese yere citizens roun yere Ise looks arter, fore ile Lord, boss, Ise done sa nosin bout de sogers."

“That's right, boy; you stick to that and keep it right on your mind when you see West, unless you want buzzards to your funeral.”

That darky came down from boiling heat to zero in a short space of time, and as we have heard nothing from him he probably keeps the buzzards on his mind.

SALUTING THE POST COMMANDER.

A few mornings ago it was warm, sunshiny and spring-like. It was my turn on guard, and I was in command of the whole party marching through town. On the way I saw Col. West coming, and gave the order: “Shoulder arms; close up!” Just then we were passing a house on the right side of the street. On the veranda were several ladies taking their morning airing. I gave the order: “Eyes right!” West heard the order, and caught the idea; laughing, he touched his cap as he rode past us.

I reckon he was pleased with my style of soldiering as he called on me at the station a few hours afterwards. I turned out the guard and extended the customary honors. After looking us over he said: "Sergeant, suppose you should see a force of the enemy file out of the woods over yonder, what would you do ?”

“Well, sir, that would depend altogether on the size of the force."

“Well, say one or two regiments of infantry.”

“In that case I should deploy my men among the buildings here, and skirmish with them until reinforcements arrived.”'

“Very well. Suppose a brigade of cavalry should dash out, what then?"

“In that case we would empty our rifles on them once twice, and out and run like hell for Fort Magruder.”

“You'll do, dismiss your guard;” and wheeling his horse he rode off laughing.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 128-30

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: February 29, 1864

SECESH LADIES.

Most of the residents in town are women and small children, and a few old men. Of course the colored people are with us always. All the men being away makes society for the ladies a little one-sided. At the evacuation most of the women remained here to take care of their property, and there are very few empty houses. These ladies pretend to have a great contempt for Yankees, but still they don't appear to have quite enough to prevent their talking or chatting with us. On Sunny days they may be seen at the windows or on the verandas, and a passing soldier who touches his cap in a respectful manner will perhaps get an invitation to call. If he conducts himself with propriety and is agreeable, they will ask him to be seated or perhaps ask him into the house, and on leaving, if he happens to suit them, they will invite him to call again, but some of them are not always so agreeable that a second call is desirable. These ladies pride themselves on being the regular F. F. V's, and have a great pride of birth and ancestry; they will sit by the hour and talk and boast of it. They claim to be the real thoroughbreds and can trace their lineage in a direct line right straight back to William and Mary.

One day, while a party of them were talking that kind of nonsense and making right smart of fun of the mixed Yankee race, I said: “So far as anything that I know to the contrary that may all be as you say, but if appearances go for anything one would naturally conclude that some of the colored people about here might boast that some of William's and Mary's blood coursed through their veins.” That seemed to bring a sort of coldnessover the meetin', and I began to suspect that I had seriously offended, but they soon rallied and the conversation drifted into other and more agreeable channels.

Some of the ladies are very agreeable conversationalists when they converse on something besides politics and secession, but what they say does not disturb me. I rather enjoy it, and have the fun of laughing at them. One day, in company with a party of them, they were having right smart of fun, laughing and making sport of the Yankees. I kept my end up as well as I could against such odds until they tired of it, when they switched off into secession and the war. On a table lay a small Confederate flag which one of them took up, and flaunting it around asked me how I liked the looks of it, remarking that it would finally triumph. I said that was no novelty to me, I had had the honor of helping capture quite a number of those things, “That does not represent anything, ladies; if you take any pleasure in keeping that little flag to look at occasionally as a curiosity, I presume there is no one who has the slightest objection, but be sure of one thing, you will never again see it floating in the breeze in this town.”

One replied: “You seem to feel pretty secure in your holding here, but it would not take a large force of our troops to set you Yankees scampering towards Fortress Monroe."

“I know, but whatever force it might take, your people don't care to pay the cost of retaking it. Your people have too many other jobs on hand at present, and a good prospect of having more to take much trouble about this place, besides it is of no use to them anyway and but very little use to us."

Some of the women here seem to think it a mark of loyalty to their cause to exhibit all the contempt they can towards the Yankees. I fell in with a party of that kind one afternoon out in the churchyard. I sometimes go in there and spend an hour looking around and scraping the moss off those ancient stones to find names and dates, and I have found some that date back into the 17th century. In this yard are some 20 or 30 mounds beneath which sleep the Confederate dead, killed in the battle here or brought from other fields; at any rate they are here and the mounds are kept covered with flowers and evergreens. while looking around there a party of women entered, bringing wreaths of evergreen and commenced decorating those graves.

I approached to within a respectful distance and watched them perform their sad rites of love and affection. When they had finished one of them, pointing at me, addressed me in this beautiful language: “But for you, you vile, miserable Yankees, these brave men would now be adorning their homes.”

Not knowing exactly whether they would or not, or just how much of an adornment they would have been, I deemed the most fitting reply to that crazed woman was dignified silence.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 130-1

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 25, 1864

WILLIAMSBURG, VA.

Leaving Newport News on the afternoon of the 21st, we made a march of about ten miles, reaching Little Bethel just before dark, when we halted and put up in an old church building for the night. Little Bethel contains beside the church an old grist and saw mill, a blacksmith shop and three small houses, all in a rather dilapidated condition. There was no enemy within 100 miles of us, but Capt. Parkhurst, either as a matter of form or through force of habit, put out a few pickets. The old church had long ago been stripped of its seats and pulpit, if it ever had any, leaving the whole floor unobstructed. After supper and getting a little rested, a dance was proposed. A gallery extended across one end, and on the front of this the candles were thickly set, lighting up the old church in fine style. One of our German comrades of Company G had a violin and furnished the music. Sets were formed and the fun commenced. The pickets outside, hearing the sounds of revelry within, left their posts and came in, and standing their rifles in a corner threw off their equipments and joined in the dance. The captain remonstrated at such unlawful proceedings, but the cry was “Never mind the pickets! on with the dance! let fun be unrestrained.” The dance was kept up until the candles burned low, when we spread our blankets and laid down for rest.

In the morning we found outside five men with their horses and carts, waiting to sell us oysters. Fortunately we were the possessors of a few scraps of paper bearing the signature of Uncle Samuel. With a portion of this paper we bought the men's oysters, and after breakfast we chartered them to carry our knapsacks to Yorktown, thereby nullifying the order of the great Mogul at Fortress Monroe, and I have not the slightest doubt that if he knew of it he would hang every one of those men for giving aid and comfort to the incorrigible.

Leaving Little Bethel we marched over McClellan's famous corduroy road through white oak swamp, coming out at Warwick court house. This is a county seat, containing a small court house situated in a pretty grove of trees, a jail, church, half a dozen houses and a blacksmith shop. We arrived at the forks of the roads, a mile below and in full view of historic old Yorktown, about the middle of the afternoon.

Here we were met by an officer and commanded to halt till further orders. I thought this was as near as they dared have us come the first day for fear the malaria would strike us too suddenly.

From here the dim outlines of Washington's old intrenchments could be traced and near by was what appeared to be an angle in the line on which guns were probably mounted and which commanded the whole open plain between here and town. Now it did not require a great stretch of the imagination to go back to those days and see those brave men toiling and suffering behind those works, to build up for themselves and their posterity a country and a name. I could see in my mind the haughty Cornwallis march out upon this plain, surrendering his army and his sword to Washington, in the last grand act in the drama of the American revolution. But how is it today? Yonder rebel fort tells in thunder tones how well their degenerate sons appreciate the legacy.

About dusk an orderly rode up, bringing an order for us to proceed to Williamsburg, some fifteen miles further up the country. We tried to get the captain to stop here till morning and go through the next day, but it was of no use; he had got his orders to march and was going through tonight. I could not see that it was a military necessity to force the march, and after we had gone three or four miles my knapsack began to grow heavy and I grew tired. I halted by the roadside and said I was going to put up for the night and if any one would like to keep me company I should be pleased to have them. About twenty rallied to my standard. After the column bad passed we stepped through a low hedge of bushes into a small open space, surrounded by high bushes which served as a shelter from the winds. There we spread our blankets and laid ourselves down to forget in our slumbers the weight of our knapsacks. The stars looked down on us and the watchful eye of the Almighty was the only sentinel.

When we awoke in the morning the rising sun's bright ray was peeping through the bushes. The first object which met our gaze was a lean, lank, sundy-complexioned, long-haired native, who stood peering over the bushes at us. The first salutation that greeted his ears was, “Who are you and what do you want?" He replied, “I seed you was down yere, and thought I would come down and see if I could get some 'baccer?” Looking up we saw a house out in the field some distance off, and asked him if he resided there. He said he did. We gave him some tobacco and inquired about the roads and distince to Williamsburg. We inquired if there were any bush whackers about here? He said “There mought be once in a while one found." Then we put on a ferocious look and said they had better not be found by us unless they wished to join the antediluvian society and have their bones scattered in every graveyard from here to Jerusalem. The old chap's eyes stuck out and he began to edge off, thinking perhaps we had got on a thick coat of war paint. We made our coffee and started on our journey, and by easy stages came up with the boys in the afternoon. They had pitched the camp and got it all fixed up and named Camp, Hancock.

I thought the captain was as glad to see us as anyone, but he put on a stern look and inquired where we had been and why we fell out. We told him we were tired and lay down by the side of the road to rest and take a nap. He lectured us on the enormity of such proceedings, telling us we had committed a very flagrant breach of good order and military despotism. We assented to all the captain said, but kept thinking all the time that as we were a sort of outcasts, did not belong anywhere and were under no particular command, there wouldn't much come of it.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 111-3

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 21, 1864

It now appears there are 225 of us who go into exile. We are to take all our earthly effects with us and get them along as best we can, notwithstanding a boat goes around with our camp equipage and might just as well take us, but that would be no punishment for our stubbornness. In justice to our officers, however, I learn that they endeavored to get transportation for our knapsacks but were not successful. We took our last dinner with the boys at Camp Upton, and at 2 p. m. were in line awaiting marching orders. Capt. Parkhurst is in command; Lieuts. Johnson and Saul, with Assistant Surgeon Hoyt accompany us.

As we stand waiting orders the officers and boys gather around us and a feeling of sadness seems to pervade the whole crowd at the thought that this is the dissolution of the old regiment. Mutual handshakings and best wishes are exchanged, we say good-bye and move off.

And so they parted,

The angel up to heaven and Adam to his bower.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 111

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: December 10, 1863

NEWPORT NEWS.

I am now on the sacred soil of old Virginia, and my first care will be to seek an introduction to some of the F. F. V's. What this place derived its name from, or why it was named at all, I have not been able to learn. It was simply a plantation before its occupation by Federal troops, and perhaps the name is good as any to distinguish it by. Our camp is near the river, and only a few rods from us lie the wrecks of the frigates Cumberland and Congress, sunk by the rebel ram Merrimac. The Cumberland lies in deep water out of sight, but the deck of the Congress is seen and often visited by the boys at low water. Since the occupation of this place by Federal troops it has grown into what they call down this way a town, containing quite a collection of rough board store-houses, sutler's shops, negro shanties and horse sheds. A boat runs from here to Fortress Monroe every day, and three times a week to Norfolk; the distance to either place is about the same, some twelve miles.

For the first time since the war began, the oyster fishing is being prosecuted, and Hampton Roads are alive with oyster schooners. The oysters have had a chance to grow, and are now abundant and of good size and favor. Newport News was the first place in Virginia, except Washington, that was occupied by Federal troops, and it was from here that a part of old Ben's fàmous Big Bethel expedition started.

During my absence, this military department has gone all wrong. Gen. Foster has been ordered to Knoxville, Tenn., and Gen. Butler has superseded him to this command. I am not. pleased with the change. Gen. Foster was a splendid man and fine officer, and I would rather take my chances with a regular army officer than with an amateur. The first year of the war Gen. Butler was the busiest and most successful general we had, but since then he has kind o' taken to niggers and trading. As a military governor he is a nonesuch, and in that role has gained a great fame, especially in all the rebellious states.

He is a lawyer and a man of great executive ability, and can not only make laws but can see to it that they are observed, but as a commander of troops in the field, he is not just such a man as I should pick out. He had a review of our brigade the other day, and his style of soldiering caused considerable fun among the boys who had been used to seeing Gen. Foster. He rode on to the field with a great dash, followed by staff enough for two major-generals. He looks very awkward on a horse and wears a soft hat; when he salutes the colors he lifts his hat by the crown clear off his head instead of simply touching the rim. The boys think he is hardly up to their ideas of a general, but as they are not supposed to know anything, they will have to admit that he is a great general. He is full of orders and laws (regardless of army regulations) in the government of his department, and his recent order in relation to darkies fills two columns of newspaper print, and is all the most fastidious lovers of darkies in all New England could desire. Hunter and Fremont are the merest pigmies beside Ben in their care of darkies.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 109-10

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 1, 1864

RE-ENLISTING.

We have now entered on the last year of our soldier service and are looking forward to the end, and may it not only end our service as soldiers, but the war as well, when both sides can meet between the lines, shake hands, smoke the pipe of peace and together sign a long and lasting truce, and all say homeward bound. But I am sermonising, and however much that happy end may be desired, the indications now are that it will not be realized. For a month past our regiment has been a good deal excited. About thirty days ago orders were received from the war department at Washington, soliciting re-enlistments from among the soldiers of the old regiments of 1861. Liberal money inducements were offered, and in addition the present term of service would end on re-enlistment; the $100 bounty due at the expiration of the three years term could be drawn, together with a thirty day's furlough. Lieut. Woodworth of company H was appointed recruiting officer, but up to the present time there have been but few enlistments. We all understood the terms and all thus far have been left free to act according to their own judgment. The officers have not seemed to take much interest in it and have not used their influence to get the boys to enlist but have given advice when sought for. If a man re-enlists he has some motive for it; if he does not he has his reasons, and both may be equally patriotic. I shall not re-enlist, and my reasons are, first, I have no desire to monopolize all the patriotism there is, but am willing to give others a chance. My second reason is that after I have served three years my duty to the country has been performed and my next duty is at home with my family.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 110

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 14, 1864

Up to this date about 200 of our men have reenlisted, and today the first detachment left for home on their thirty days' furlough. They were accompanied by three of the officers, one of whom was Lieut. McCarter of company B. I hope they will have a good time and enjoy themselves. Orders keep coming from headquarters at the fort to hurry up enlistments and some of them are of a rather threatening character.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 110

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 17, 1864

The balance of the re-enlisted men left for home today, several of the officers going with them. We have now got our ultimatum, either enlist or go into exile. An order was received intimating that as enlistments seemed about through in this regiment, we would be more useful at Yorktown than here, and for us to be ready to march in heavy marching order at any time; but enlistments still drag.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 110-1

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 18, 1864

The order has arrived and we are under heavy marching orders for Yorktown, which is 30 miles distant and where, it is said, we shall probably all die of malarial fever or other contagious diseases. But there is one redeeming feature to the order; that is, if we will enlist, or three-fourths of those reported for duty will enlist, then they can all go home together as a regiment, while those not enlisting will be sent into banishment, the non-coms reduced to the ranks and permanently assigned to other organizations during their terms of enlistment.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 111

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 20, 1864

Yesterday and today have been busy days at Camp Upton. The idea of going home as a regiment has found favor with the officers, and as this is the last day of grace they have been raising heaven and earth to get us to enlist. They have had us out on the parade ground using all their powers of persuasion and eloquence for enlistments, and have succeeded in enlisting nearly the whole regiment. I have reported these speeches and when I get them fixed up with all the necessary embellishments and illustrations, they will make an interesting chapter of literature.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 111

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: January 20, 1864

It now appears there are 225 of us who go into exile. We are to take all our earthly effects with us and get them along as best we can, notwithstanding a boat goes around with our camp equipage and might just as well take us, but that would be no punishment for our stubbornness. In justice to our officers, however, I learn that they endeavored to get transportation for our knapsacks but were not successful. We took our last dinner with the boys at Camp Upton, and at 2 p. m. were in line awaiting marching orders. Capt. Parkhurst is in command; Lieuts. Johnson and Saul, with Assistant Surgeon Hoyt accompany us.

As we stand waiting orders the officers and boys gather around us and a feeling of sadness seems to pervade the whole crowd at the thought that this is the dissolution of the old regiment. Mutual handshakings and best wishes are exchanged, we say good-bye and move off.

And so they parted,

The angel up to heaven and Adam to his bower.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 111 

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: December 1, 1863

NEWPORT News, VA., Dec. 1, 1863.

On receipt of my furlough, which came promptly to hand at the appointed time, I, in company with eight others from the three companies, left Hill's Point for Massachusetts. I had 25 days at home, a part of which I used up on the lounge, with chills and fever, and listening to the expressions of sympathy from callers. Ordinarily, when a person is sick, it is pleasant to be surrounded by sympathizing friends, but a person with chills and fever does not want sympathy; that only makes him mad. What he wants is whiskey and quinine, and the more whiskey the better. I was asked if the disease ever terminated fatally. I replied that the most provoking thing about it was, there was not the slightest danger of dying from it. After recovering from the chills and fever, I enjoyed the balance of my visit very much, and reported back in New York the next morning after the expiration of my furlough.

Arriving in New York, I went directly to the New England rooms on Broadway. These rooms are a kind of free hotel for New England soldiers en route through New York, but will accommodate any others when they are not full. The rooms well fitted up and there is a spacious loft or hall which is used for sleeping with 100 or more single cots, on each of which is a good mattress, pillow, a pair of woolen blankets and white spread. In this room a man is in attendance day and night to attend to the wants of patrons, preserve order and look after things generally. The dining hall will seat about 200 persons, and the tables are well supplied with plain, substantial, wholesome food. Another room is used for a sick room or hospital, and is filled up few cots and lounges, and the tables are well supplied with books and newspapers. This room is presided over by a kind-hearted, sympathetic lady, who was formerly a hospital matron in McClellan's peninsular campaign. Besides, there is the office and baggage room, where one's knapsack or other baggage is put away and checked. The owner takes his check and gives no further thought or care of his baggage until wanted. In addition to these, are all other necessary conveniences. These rooms were fitted up and are supported by the patriotic generosity of New Englanders, residents in New York, and many are the thanks and blessings they receive from their beneficiaries. Here I found Spencer and Lewis, who were furloughed with me, and who had just arrived. The clerk told us we must report to a certain quartermaster up town for instructions. We reported; he examined our papers, endorsed on the backs "reported back all right and on time," and told us we must report at the transportation office with a down near the battery park. We reported, and were informed there was no transportation waiting, but we must report every morning in order to avail ourselves of the first boat that left.

RECLINING ON OUR MILITARY.

There were 100 or more soldiers waiting transportation to Newbern, besides hundreds of others for all parts of the army: The officer in charge of the office would no more than get his coat off and sleeves rolled up, ready for business in the morning, when we would appear to him. He would get rid of any of us by a wave of his hand and "No boat for Newbern." This continued for several mornings, until he became tired of seeing us and hung a card on the door with “No boat for Newbern.”

One morning the card was off and all hands made a grand charge inside. He gave us the cheering information that Gen. Foster had moved his old brigade from Newbern to Fortress Monroe, and he would give transportation by way of Baltimore to as many of us as belonged to that brigade. No one seemed to know just what to do, and no reply was made to the statement. After waiting a few moments, he inquired what we were going to do. As no one spoke, I ventured the remark that I had received no official information of the removal of the brigade or of my regiment and until further orders, I thought I had better stick to the order in my furlough and report in North Carolina. That seemed to clear away the cloud that hung over the boys, and we were soon on the street again.

The next morning, however, the clouds thickened again. The officer said he had reliable information that the 23d, 25th and 27th Massachusetts and 9th New Jersey regiments, together with the 3d New York cavalry, were at Fortress Monroe; he was going to give orders for rations and transportation by way of Baltimore to all those belonging to those regiments, and we could come in the afternoon and get them. I inquired if he was authorized to order us to report at Fortress Monroe. That gave him a sort of blind staggers. He said he was not really, but it would be all right enough, especially if we were anxious to join our regiments.

I replied, “We are anxious to join our regiments, but as everything in military has to run in its regular groove, and as order holds good until another is given, it would hardly look military to be acting on our own judgment and hearsay stories, and going off across lots, reporting somewhere else than where our orders say.”

"You seem to be right on your military. Do you always pay as strict observance to orders?”

“That is the way we have been educated, sir.”

That question settled, we were soon on the pave again.

AN ENCOUNTER WITH A POLICEMAN.

During our long wait for transportation we had a fine chance of doing the city, an opportunity of which availed ourselves in the most thorough manner. We visited all places of interest and everywhere that there was anything to be seen or heard. One day Spencer and I, after a long ramble over the city, wandered into City Hall park, and feeling rather tired sat down on the City Hall steps to rest and watch the passing throng. We had not sat there many minutes when a policeman came along, and pointing to us with his cane, said: “You can't sit there," and passed along. We regarded that as a sort of camp rumor and kept our sitting. He presently returned, and coming up to us in a very imperious manner, said: "How many times do you fellows want to be told that you can't sit there?" I looked at him, and with all the innocence and simplicity I could assume, I said: “You see, sir, that we do sit here.” That shot struck below the water line, and he then said: “What I mean is, you are not allowed to sit there.” “Ah! in that case we will remove hence, as you will observe by our raiment that we are preservers, rather than breakers, of law”

Visit To BARNUM'S.

The outside of Barnum's Museum is always covered with immense show bills and people have become so accustomed to them that they attract but little attention, unless it is some new and curious thing he has got on exhibition. Noticing a picture of an enormous sea lion and railing glowing descriptions of him in the newspapers, I remarked to Spencer: "We had better take that in.” Now Barnum’s is a good place to go, as it is a highly moral show, and inexpensive—twenty-five cents giving one the whole range from basement to attic. Taking those things into consideration he thought we had better go, so one evening we went up.

Exchanging our quarters at the office for tickets we were admitted to the great show. After strolling around awhile and looking at some of the minor curiosities, we went down into the basement where is located the aquarium. We soon found the sea lion.

He laid on a large platform with his head towards the grating and about three feet from it. At the rear end of the platform was a large tank of water where he could bathe. He was a harmless looking lion enough and resembled a mule as much as a lion. He looked like pictures I have seen of the walrus, and laid there, a huge jelly-looking mass apparently dead, but on close inspection respiration was observable. We tried to start him up, but he seemed to prefer quiet, and no motion with our arms and caps had the slightest effect on him. I had an uncontrollable desire to see him go into the tank, and looked in vain all around the place for something to stir him up with. Presently a gentleman came along and stopped to look at him. He had an umbrella and 1 asked him to stir the creature up and see him go into the water. But he thought he had better not, saying it was probably against the rules for visitors to disturb him. I said that was probably the case, but we had paid our money to come into the show and wanted to see all the tricks, and if he would let me take the umbrella I would stir him up and take the responsibility. But he declined, and moved on.

A bright thought now struck me; I would fill his eye with tobacco juice and see what effect that would have. I chewed up a large piece of tobacco; filling my mouth with the juice and getting a beautiful range on his left eye, let drive, covering it completely, and to my utter astonishment that creature never so much as winked. I was dumbfounded at the result of my experiment, as this was the first creature I had ever seen which had eyes that a little tobacco juice in them would not make things lively for a few minutes. I can account for my failure in no other way than that, being a marine animal, there is probably some kind of film or covering over the eye that protects it from foreign substances while in the water. Spencer laughed at my discomfiture, and said perhaps we could find something else I would have better luck experimenting with.

Strolling around up stairs we came to the mummy cabinet. Now I like mummies and am always interested in them; they have a habit of minding their own business the steadiest of any class of people I ever met with, besides they are always civil to callers and are free from the disputes, quarrels, gossiping [sic], slanders and other vices with which our generation is afflicted. They are a very ancient people, and in their time were doubtless an intelligent and highly respectable class of citizens, but they don't amount to much now; they are too far behind the times and I don't think it would be of much use for them to try to catch up. In this cabinet was quite a large collection and they looked black and dirty as though they neglected their baths and toilets; they all looked so much alike it was difficult to distinguish their sex. I think if they could be taken out and washed and dressed up in fashionable clothing they would make quite a respectable appearance.

I looked around to find some biographies of these people but could not. I called the attention of an attendant and inquired of him if there was any. He replied there was none that he knew of. I then asked: "Is Mr. Barnum about the place? I should like to see him.” He stated that Mr. Barnum was away and inquired my business with him. I said I wanted to suggest to Mr. Barnum that if he would hang a biography on every one of these mummies it would be the most taking thing he ever had, not excepting the What-is-it. This attendant somehow didn't seem to get interested in Barnum's interests, and dodged off out of the way. I pointed out the largest one to Spencer and said: “That gentleman was once a soldier and did provost duty in the city of Thebes 3000 years ago.” He made no reply but kept looking at it and presently I heard him muttering to himself: "Can that be possible? Brave old fossil!”

We got up into the exhibition room, near the close of the play; they were playing the ghost. I should think it might be a good enough play, but the acting was not all that a connoisseur would accept, but then it was good enough for soldiers and the price. I thought the ghost illusion was very cleverly performed, but Spencer said it was tame compared with the Gum swamp trick.

OFF FOR NEWBERN.

After waiting thirteen days a boat arrived and we were now off. The boat leaves in the afternoon and all hands go down to the transportation office to get our orders and say good bye to the genial officer in command: I noticed that my draft for rations was on the Park barracks. Now I had a dim recollection and a sort of instinctive horror of those barracks, and it occurred to me that I had seen down on the Battery park, near the water, a small building where was kept first class rations, which were dealt out to officers, and other attaches of the army as department and sutler's clerks and such like nobility. I suggested to Spencer that we go down there; we could fix up some kind of a story and perhaps succeed in getting our rations.

Now Spencer is a conscientious young man and objects to anything that does not dovetail in the exact line of right and honor. He objected to going, saying we should have to tell some extravagant stories and then get nothing, and perhaps get ourselves into some trouble. I said we would make only a plain statement of facts; that we are living in perilous times and that the end would justify the means.

We went down there and the only regalia the supervisor of the place had on that denoted any rank in the army was a pair of blue pants; just what rank he held we were unable to determine by those pants. We showed him our orders. He looked at them and said: “What are you here for? Go up to the Park barracks where your orders say.”

“Yes, I know; but we have just come from there; they are all full up there and are running short of rations; they sent us down here."

“Don't believe a word of it; they have no business to be short of rations up there and have no business to send you here anyway, and I don't believe they did.”

“You, sir, have a perfect right to believe just what you please, but here is an order for rations; the boat leaves in about an hour and if we don't have the rations we shall not go in her, and if we don't go it will be somebody's fault."

Thinking perhaps that tracing out faults might prove unpleasant, he pointed us to a tub of boiled corned beef and a basket of soft bread, telling is to take as little as would do us. To allay any fears he might have on that score, we said we did not care to burden ourselves with any superfluous freight. We not only took the meat and bread he told us to, but helped ourselves liberally to some boiled ham and raw onions that stood near by against his most emphatic protest. So, with some lying on our part and considerable swearing on his part, we succeeded in supplying ourselves with first-class rations.

When we came out, Spencer said: "I was shocked to hear you lie so.”

“But I have not been lying."

“Well, then, I should like to know what you would call it ?”

"What I said might possibly be twisted and contorted into something that would give it the appearance of lying, but I have only made few positive statements, and as I said before the end justifies the means."

That statement seemed to satisfy him, and a little while after we were aboard the steamer Albany, bound for Newbern. Standing on the quarter-deck as we steamed down the harbor and through the narrows,

We watched the big city with curious eye,

'Till the last towering dome had gone out in the sky.

We arrived at Newbern after a four days passage and reported to the provost marshal, Capt. Denny of our regiment, who welcomed us back and gave us the liberty of the city. He informed us the regiment was at Fortress Monroe, and if we had only known it while in New York, we could have saved ourselves the trouble of coming here and having to go back.

We were somewhat surprised at this intelligence, and disappointed at not knowing it while there, and saving ourselves all this unnecessary trouble and delay. But, however, we must put up with it, and take the next boat back which leaves for Fortress Monroe.

After a four days' visit here we went aboard the little steamer Vidette, bound for Fortress Monroe. We had aboard about 200 soldiers and about 100 Confederate prisoners. We left in the afternoon and the next morning were at Hatteras inlet. The sea was pretty rough, and in crossing the swash we fouled with a schooner, carrying away her bowsprit and losing one of our anchors. The old captain, who by the way was a jolly old fellow, said he never had so good luck before in getting through the inlet; he had only lost an anchor and taken off a schooner's bowsprit. As we went past the battery, he yelled out to them to fish up his anchor against he got back.

The following morning we were at Fortress Monroe and here learned that our regiment was at Newport News, at the mouth of the James river. We re-shipped on another boat, and an hour after were receiving the ovations and congratulations of our comrades, after an absence of nearly two months.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 103-9

Diary of Sergeant David L. Day: September 20, 1863

FURLOUGH.

Our last furloughed men have returned, and I have the promise of one next week, and am congratulating myself on the prospect of once more seeing home. I am anticipating a great deal when I get home; among other things the pleasure of once more sitting down to a clean, well-spread table, with a good square dinner before me. In anticipation of such an event, I send by this mail a small bill of fare of such dishes as I think I shall relish, and have ordered them to be ready and smoking hot on my arrival:

Roast—Sirloin of beef, spare rib of pork, breast of veal, turkey with cranberry sauce, chicken.

Baked—Bluefish, oyster dressing. Chicken pie.

Boiled—Halibut. Fried—Pouts.

Chicken salad. Lobster salad.

Oysters—Stewed, fried, escalloped. Clam chowder.

27 dozen Providence river oysters on the half shell.

Mashed potatoes, boiled onions, beets, turnips, squash, sweet corn, string beans, succotash, stewed tomatoes, tomatoes sliced with vinegar or sugar, apple dumplings with sugar sauce; mince, apple, berry, lemon, cream and custard pie.

Also one moderately sized pumpkin pie, say about thirty-six inches across and not less than eight inches deep; that is as small a pumpkin pie as I care to bother with.

Oranges, apples, pears, grapes, chestnuts, walnuts, cider.

N. B. No boiled salt pork, beef soup or rice and molasses. I don't hanker for that.

With that bill of fare, and such other things as my folks will naturally think of, I reckon I can make a tolerable dinner.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 102

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: May 3, 1863

WE RETURN TO NEWBERN.

Attended church this morning. Steamer Thomas Collyer arrived this afternoon with orders for the regiment to report at Newbern. All was bustle and hurah boys; down came the tents and a general packing up followed. At dark we were aboard the boat, and, giving three cheers to Capt. Flusser and his men, steamed down the river. We had a beautiful moonlight night and a splendid sail down the Albemarle; arriving at Newbern in the afternoon of the 4th, we went into the Foster barracks for the night.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 91

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: May 5, 1863

ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND.

This morning we pitched our tents once more Camp Oliver. This seems like home again. We shall now have little else than guard duty to perform, keep ourselves slicked up and do the town. This is what we call being on waiting orders, but as the colonel has not had a hack at us lately, I presume he will want to practice some new evolutions he has been studying up out of the tactics. At any rate, we shall not long remain idle.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 91

Diary of Corporal David L. Day: May 25, 1863

THE BOYS' STORY.

For the past day or two I have been a good deal amused and interested in hearing the boys relate their adventures at Dover and Gum swamps. Their stories conflict a little, but as: near as I can make it out I fix up a little story: To prepare little, we hold an outpost and signal station some twelve miles up the railroad, it Bachellor's creek towards Kinston. This is garrisoned by the 58th Pennsylvania, Col. Jones. He is one of those stirring, active, restless sort of men, always finding out everything and getting interested in it. Well, he had discovered an outpost of the enemy some ten or twelve miles in his front and some six miles this side of Kinston, at a place called Gum swamp, and garrisoned by a considerable force. Now it occurred to him that it would be a capital joke to capture that post. So he comes down and shows his plans to the general, asking permission and troops to carry them out. He knew just who was there and how many; he had been around that swamp half a dozen times and knew all about it. That suited the general; he patted Jones on the back, called him a good fellow and told him to sail in, and he should have all the troops he wanted.

On the afternoon of the 21st, the 25th, with two or three other regiments, went aboard the cars for Bachellor's creek. Not feeling very well, I was excused from going. Arriving at the creek, Col. Jones with his regiment heads the column, and leads off into the woods. This was a night march, and just here I will explain that always on the march, whether day or night, all the officers that are mounted (and any of them can be who will take the trouble to steal an old horse or mule), have a disagreeable habit of riding up and down the column, opening it to the right and left, and those that have the least business do the most riding: The boys have become so accustomed to jumping out each side of the road on hearing Right, and Left, that this is about the first thing they do on hearing almost any order. .

THEY SEE A GHOST OR SOMETHING.

Sometime towards midnight the boys heard the cry, "Right and Left, double quick !” They made a jump, and just then what appeared to them like a streak of greased lightning went down the line. They say it wasn't a horse or man or anything they ever saw, and they are so filled with the marvelous and supernatural that some of them actually think they saw some sort of phantom or ghost. What they saw was probably a frightened deer or fox, but in the lone, dark woods, and near the witching hour of midnight, with their nerves and imaginations strained to their utmost tension, expecting that any moment, almost anything might happen, it is not surprising that they could see ghosts, phantoms and witches. But it is laughable to hear them tell it.

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

Soon after midnight they reached Core creek. Here they halted to rest and concert their plans. It was agreed that Jones, with his regiment and the 27th Massachusetts should make a detour around and gain the rear of the enemy, while the others were engaging their attention in front. When they heard him thundering in the rear, they were to charge in, and bag the whole swag. The plan was successfully carried out, so far as the charging in was concerned, but as they charged in most of the enemy charged out on either flank and escaped. They met with partial success, however, as they captured 165 prisoners, one 12-pounder gun, fifty horses and mules, and destroyed their camp and earthworks. The conflict was not very severe, as they had only five or six men slightly wounded. After having accomplished their object and sending off their trophies, instead of immediately starting on their return march, they lingered amid the scenes of their triumphs until late in the afternoon, when the enemy in force, swooped down upon them, cutting them off from the railroad and with shot and shell greatly accelerated their retreat.

THE RETREAT.

Late in the evening they reached Core creek, and being a little beyond pursuit, halted to rest. But instead of forcing the march and reaching our lines the same night, they crouched down and remained till morning. Then they discovered the enemy on three sides of them, with an almost impenetrable swamp on the other. This was Dover swamp, and as near as I can judge was similar to the one we went through on Roanoke island, only of greater extent.

There was only one choice, and that must be quickly accepted. Into the swamp they plumged, with mud and water to their knees, and thick tangle brush and briars higher than their heads. They could go only in single file, and their progress was slow and tedious. Towards noon they were met by another enemy; the water in their canteens had given out and they began to experience an intolerable thirst. With a burning sun above them and scarcely a breath of air, with all manner of insects, reptiles and creeping things around them, their condition was indeed pitiable. Still they pressed forward, some of them filtering the slimy, muddy water through their caps or handkerchiefs and drinking it, but it served better as in emetic than for quenching thirst. About 2 p. m., they emerged from the swamp, and nearly dying from exhaustion, reached our lines at Bachellor's creek. Here they had rest and refreshment, after which they boarded the cars and arrived back to camp about night, tired, ragged, covered with mud and completely played out. This was their Gum swamp excursion as they tell it. After the boys had left for home, the enemy still hovered around the vicinity of Col. Jones' camp, and in his impulsive way he went out to meet them, and while skirmishing with them was shot dead. The enemy soon afterwards retired. Col. Jones was a brave man but of rather rash judgement.

SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 91-3