Diary of Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle: Sunday, June 21, 1863

We got the horse shod with some delay, and after refreshing the animals with corn and ourselves with bacon, we effected a'start at 8.15 A.M. We experienced considerable difficulty in carrying my small saddle-bags and knapsack, on account of the state of our horses' backs. Mine was not very bad, but that of Norris was in a horrid state. We had not travelled more than a few miles when the latter animal cast a shoe, which took us an hour to replace at a village called Sperryville. The country is really magnificent, but as it has supported two large armies for two years, it is now completely cleaned out. It is almost uncultivated, and no animals are grazing where there used to be hundreds. All fences have been destroyed, and numberless farms burnt, the chimneys alone left standing. It is difficult to depict and impossible to exaggerate the sufferings which this part of Virginia has undergone. But the ravages of war have not been able to destroy the beauties of nature — the verdure is charming, the trees magnificent, the country undulating, and the Blue Ridge mountains form the background.

Being Sunday, we met about thirty negroes going to church, wonderfully smartly dressed, some (both male and female) riding on horseback, and others in waggons; but Mr Norris informs me that two years ago we should have numbered them by hundreds. We soon began to catch up the sick and brokendown men of the army, but not in great numbers; most of them were well shod, though I saw two without shoes.

After crossing a gap in the Blue Bidge range, we reached Front Royal at 5 P.M., and we were now in the well-known Shenandoah Valley — the scene of Jackson's celebrated campaigns. Front Royal is a pretty little place, and was the theatre of one of the earliest fights in the war, which was commenced by a Maryland regiment of Confederates, who, as Mr Norris observed, “jumped on to” a Federal regiment from the same State, and “whipped it badly.” Since that time the village has changed hands continually, and was visited by the Federals only a few days previous to Ewell's rapid advance ten days ago.

After immense trouble we procured a feed of corn for the horses, and, to Mr Norris's astonishment, I was impudent enough to get food for ourselves by appealing to the kind feelings of two good-looking female citizens of Front Royal, who, during our supper, entertained us by stories of the manner they annoyed the Northern soldiers by disagreeable allusions to “Stonewall” Jackson.

We started again at 6.30, and crossed two branches of the Shenandoah River, a broad and rapid stream. Both the railway and carriage bridges having been destroyed, we had to ford it; and as the water was deep, we were only just able to accomplish the passage. The soldiers, of whom there were a number with us, took off their trousers, and held their rifles and ammunition above their heads. Soon afterwards our horses became very leg-weary; for although the weather had been cool, the roads were muddy and hard upon them. At 8.30 we came up with Pender's Division encamped on the sides of hills, illuminated with innumerable camp-fires, which looked very picturesque. After passing through about two miles of bivouacs, we begged for shelter in the hayloft of a Mr Mason: we turned our horses into a field, and found our hayloft most luxurious after forty-six miles’ ride at a foot's pace.

Stonewall Jackson is considered a regular demigod in this country.

SOURCE: Sir Arthur James Lyon Fremantle, Three Months in the Southern States: April-June, 1863, p. 226-9

Major Wilder Dwight, April 20, 1862

bivouac Near New Market, Virginia,

Raining from the East. Easter Sunday, April 20, 1862.

Looking back, it seems an age since we dwelt peacefully in the wooded camp near Edinburg. It was Wednesday night that our marching orders came. On Thursday morning at a quarter before two we had reveillé, and marched before light, under a pale moon, toward Mount Jackson.

Shields's division had gone on in advance. The day was a glowing one, and the valley spread itself out before us like a garden in its fresh green.

After a short halt at Mount Jackson, which is a town, and filled with evidences of Rebel occupation, such as large hospitals, one of them unfinished, we were ordered to march round to “turn the enemy's left.”

Our path was a rough one, through a river, over rocks, and through deep mud, on, on, on. We heard occasional cannonading over toward the centre, where Shields's force remained drawn up in line of battle, to await our tedious circuit. The day was long and hot; the artillery labored over the almost impassable road. I went on in advance, with some pioneers to aid a little by removing obstacles. As we passed through the little village of Forrestville, a party of young girls sang Dixie to us. I bought a loaf of bread there of a woman, and paid her five cents in silver. “It’s too much,” said she. “No,” said I. “It’s more money than I've seen for a year,” said she. On we go. We have got round the enemy's position. It is dark; too late to ford the North Fork of the Shenandoah to rejoin the rest of the army, who have now entered New Market, which Ashby even has left. Tired and foot-sore, we lay down to sleep in the woods. Marching for eighteen hours, and such marching! the bivouac, in the warm, pleasant night is a luxury. The next morning we start again, and ford the Shenandoah, and get on to the turnpike at New Market which we had left at Mount Jackson. The Shenandoah is swift, and up to one's middle. Fording is an exciting, amusing, long task. It is finished at last, and the brigade, led by our regiment, moves through the town of New Market to the saucy strains of Yankee Doodle. We move two miles beyond the town, and bivouac on a hillside. Our tents and baggage are all sixteen miles back, at Edinburg.

It is late Friday evening before we get bivouacked. Many of the men are barefoot and without rations. Saturday morning it begins early to rain, and ever since we have been dripping under this easterly storm. Luckily, Mrs. Williamson, whose husband is with the “other army,” and who has a fine farm and a roomy, old-fashioned, ante-Revolution-built house, surrounded by generous barns and outbuildings, swarming with negroes of every shade and size, — luckily, Mrs. Williamson and her six little boys and her aged uncle need our protection; and, in return, she gives us a shelter for our meals, and so alleviates the adversity which had reduced our commissariat to starvation. Mr. Williamson is a major in the Rebel army. His wife is true to him and to Virginia. The eldest boy, of fifteen years, is a stubborn little traitor. Mrs. Williamson invited us all to tea on the first night of our arrival. She spread a most bounteous meal for us, but hardly sweetened it by the bitterness with which she snarled at our invasion. The general statement that these people are traitors, and deserve all the horrors of civil war, is easy; but the individual case, as it comes up under your eye, showing the helpless family in their dismay at our approach, can hardly fail to excite sympathy. When we came into New Market on Friday, we met General Banks in high spirits. He complimented our march, and said the Secretary of War had telegraphed thanks to us, &c., &c., that when our movement was perceived, the rear of Jackson's force fled hastily, &c. My own opinion is, and was from the beginning, that the movement was all nonsense, and pretty expensive silliness for us.

Jackson was ready to run, and began to do so as soon as we began to move. But perhaps we hastened him a little. Here we are, eighty miles from our supplies, all our wagons on the road, our tents and baggage behind, our rations precarious, and following a mirage into the desert. Well, the Secretary of War is much obliged to us “for the brilliant and successful operations of this day.” So we ought to be happy, and to conclude that glory looks very different to those who see it close to. Our news now is, that Jackson is hurrying to Richmond as fast as possible. We are probably Pattersonized, as General Shields calls it, and shall be too late for any decisive part in what is now expected as the great battle of Yorktown. Still I do not regard it as impossible that the wheel may so turn as to give us a little conspicuousness in the next movements. It is our misfortune not to be in a condition of outfit, transportation, and supply to enable us to do much. We are working, too, on a frightfully long line of operations. Still hope.

Aha! the clouds begin to break. I wish you a pleasant Easter Sunday. One thing at least we may hope for, that before another Easter day we may be at home again; for this Rebellion will die rapidly when we hit its vitals. They have not been hit yet, however.

I wish you could look at our regiment under rude shelters of rails and straw, and dripping in this cold storm. Our shoes and clothing came up yesterday, and this morning we are giving them out. So we are not wholly helpless yet.

The first night that we bivouacked here a charge was made on our New York battery. A desperate cow swept in upon it, and actually knocked down and trampled on two men before it could be shot. It was a gallant charge! You need have no anxiety about us. We are safe enough. Our future is uncertain, and we are wet.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 234-7

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: July 26, 1864

Called up early this morning. Wade the Potomac River over into Maryland. Marching on down the river road, across the Burnside Bridge, over Antietam Creek and the battlefield, passing the Dunker Church, located in the woods on the right. The rail fences were riddled with bullet holes, showing how fierce the battle must have been. Marched on through Sharpsburg, going into camp near the town, which shows the effects of the battle. The battle is known in the South as Sharpsburg. A fearful hot day, and a hard march. Our record for today is a march of about fifteen miles. Many of us fellows are marching shoeless.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 106

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: July 20, 1864

Called up early, this hot, muggy morning. The 6th Corps early on the move. Watching them cross the Shenandoah River at Snicker's Ford. No enemy in sight. We follow on after the 6th Corps. As we wade the river I think it was never known to rain harder. We were soaked from head to foot. Crossing the river we filed to the right, going down the river into camp on the battlefield of the 18th, two days before. Looking over the field we were surprised to see that the enemy had not decently buried our dead who fell into their hands. Our boys gave them a decent burial.

Camp in the woods that were occupied by the enemy during the battle. Raining very hard. We build a large campfire which helps to keep us more comfortable during the night.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 102

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, June 4, 1864

We started at 8 o'clock and marched fifteen miles today. Have had rain for three days now, but late in the afternoon it cleared off. We had to wade a river, the water being only three or four feet deep, and the boys had great fun in trying to carry the powder on their heads to keep it dry. We were soaking wet from the rain so we did not mind wading the river. But the muddy roads make marching very hard, especially since we are kept on two-thirds rations when we might just as well have more. Large foraging parties were again sent out, but there isn't anything in the country to be had, although we traversed a level country between two mountains the whole day.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 193

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, May 21, 1864

Reveille sounded at 3 o'clock and at 5 we took up the line of march, our company being rear guard for the brigade. We marched seventeen miles and went into bivouac several miles beyond Elkhorn. which we reached at 1 o'clock. Here we waded the Elkhorn¹ river, which is from three to five feet deep and two hundred feet wide. The boys had a great deal of fun in wading across. The country is very rough and rocky, and the hard turnpike over which we marched most of the day made our feet very sore.

_______________

¹ Now called Elk river. The town which our diarist calls Elkhorn was probably what is now Aspen Hill. — Ed.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 189

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: July 15, 1864

Came off picket very early. A fine morning. The army again on the march. Our regiment in the rear, waiting for orders. Passed through Knoxville, pushing on to Berlin, Maryland. Coming to a halt discovered the advance wading the Potomac River, over into Virginia, the Loudon Valley country. At this point there was a stony ridge running diagonal across the river. At low water it could be forded. At this time the water was about waist deep and the stones were very slippery. In order to keep our ammunition and rations dry we carried our equipments and haversacks fastened to the muzzle of our muskets, over our shoulder. Some of the boys lost their footing, went down under the water, getting a ducking. There was much laughing, joking, and shouting, in spite of the wetting we were all getting. On reaching the Virginia shore no time to halt, not even to stop and pour the water out of our shoes. Must push on in our wet clothes over dusty roads which soon formed a mud covering. After a time our clothes began to dry as we marched on in the hot sun, the dirt dropping off. By night our clothes were all dry and we were all in better spirits. Many reports are in circulation that we are following on after the rebs under the command of Jubal Early, who have been raiding into Maryland. Late tonight camp near Hillsborough.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 98-9

Wilder Dwight to Elizabeth White Dwight, Saturday, July 13, 1861

in Camp, Martinsburg, Saturday, July 13, 1861.

Voici que nous sommes arrivés. I am in my tent, on the high ground, south of the town of Martinsburg. Our regiment is a part of what is called General Patterson's column, and we are on the advance post. It would have done your pride good to have seen us form the regiment, and start on our march from Hagerstown. My own responsible position, in rear of the column, led me to watch its progress, to return to give orders to the rear-guard and wagons, and, in general, to be lively. I am very well, and, though living under high pressure, getting my load along. At about half past six on Thursday afternoon we reached the bank of the Potomac, passing down from the high ground on which Doubleday's battery stood two weeks ago. We camped on the bank, without crossing the river. It was a long job getting the men into camp, and getting their supper into the men. At four the next (yesterday) morning we were up striking tents and getting breakfast. Then the battalion formed, and then came our first regular undress parade. At the command, the men prepared to ford the Potomac. In a few moments, the regiment was without its pantaloons. The vulgar prejudices of society, I am aware, are on the side of these appendages, but society does not cross the Potomac on foot in the freshness of the morning. The column moved forward in regular order. The band advanced into the stream playing a confident march, and so we passed the river gayly. Then came a long march, — thirteen miles. We were told that the enemy's cavalry were on the hills on the Virginia bank of the river, but we saw nothing of them, though the regiment marched with loaded muskets. The march was a new experience, — it was an interesting one. The morning was fresh and cool; the horses and wagons were our chief source of delay. One balky horse jumped up, leaped over the wheel-horses, fell, and hooked himself to the pole. He was left behind. One team spent a long time in the river. Still, at last, the train moved on. With frequent halts, we reached Martinsburg at three in the afternoon. We marched with music playing, and amid some attention of thousands of troops, to our camping-ground. Then we pitched our tents, and, in the midst of a violent thunder-storm, mounted our guns, got supper, and then I suppose you expect me to say went to bed. Not so, however, the Major. Instead of bed, which I desired, I went about in the pouring rain to visit sentinels, see that the men had supper, &c., &c.  At twelve o'clock I crept under cover. At five this morning, got up, put on wet boots, and went on duty again. To-day I have been attending drills, &c. I see clearly that there is no rest in this life. With care, I can keep well, I think, and I hope can do well for the men. But the care is a very great one. I have written this note in the midst of interruptions of every kind, and I have no more time now. We are under orders to move on Monday somewhither. We are in a beautiful country; everything here is new under the sun, or rather under the clouds. That, in itself, is spicy and cheering. In great haste.  . . . with much love to all.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 47-8