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
