Reveille at daybreak, when we fell in and stood under arms
for half an hour, when, finding everything quiet, and no enemy in sight, we
broke ranks and prepared breakfast. Authentic reports came in early that the
railroad between this place and the junction has been destroyed, and all the
bridges burnt. We have orders to march immediately after breakfast, but cannot
do so until transportation for officers' baggage, ammunition, etc., has been
found; the quartermaster is at work, and has many varieties of wagons already
engaged, drawn by mules, oxen, cows, and horses. The camp is still abundantly
supplied by the colored folks with eatables, and we have filled our haversacks
with boiled eggs, corn bread, and home-made pies. At 6 P. M. of the 25th we
fell in, and to the music of the drums and fifes, began our first real march;
we stepped out at a brisk pace, full of enthusiasm, thoroughly rested, and
ready for anything required of us; reports of the close proximity of the enemy
were abundant, which kept us well closed up throughout the day, and after dark,
the rockets and blue lights discharged in various directions stimulated us to
constant and renewed exertions. These signs of hostilities greatly interested
us, and made us think we were already in an enemy's country. About midnight we
suddenly came upon a brilliant scene, being a bivouac of the First and Second
Rhode Island regiments. There were more than a hundred fires burning, and the
picturesque groups sitting around them gave us a delightful little view of campaigning
most unexpectedly. The Rhode Islanders cheered us heartily, and as soon as we
halted, invited us to share their hot coffee, which we were not slow to do.
We rested here over an hour, the Rhode Islanders preceding
us by about an hour; we were greatly fatigued, as the roads were very heavy,
being knee-deep in sand, and were loath to move forward again, but it had to be
done, and footsore and weary, valises and bundles in one hand, guns in the
other, we started off again, to march the remainder of the thirty miles. Many
of the fellows lightened their burdens by throwing away some of their things,
their views of the necessities of military life undergoing very serious changes
as they encountered the hardships of campaigning. I was sorely tempted to throw
away something myself, but held on to the end, although greatly exhausted.
The night was dark but fine, and as soon as we got warmed up
again, we stepped out at a lively gait, smoking, telling stories, and helping
each other; about two o'clock a couple of rockets were suddenly discharged
almost directly in front of us; the regiment was halted, and a company deployed
as skirmishers, while the remainder formed in hollow square by the roadside. It
was rumored there were a couple of rebel cavalry regiments in the neighborhood,
and we supposed they were probably going to attack us. As soon as the square
was formed, the men were told to sit down, arms in hands, and there we sat in
perfect silence, while the skirmish line advanced to discover the enemy. We talked
in whispers, gave each other our home address in case of accident, then quietly
awaited results. All of a sudden a strong beautiful tenor voice broke the
silence, singing, “Vive l’America.” It was Pendergast, a noted professional
singer, and was indeed exquisite, rendered unusually so, of course, by the
surroundings. It was strange, romantic, and delightful, and I know I shall
always remember it most distinctly. After nearly an hour's delay, the company
ahead reported the coast clear, so we fell in and resumed the march. One of the
funny things about this march was the depressing responses of the natives to
our frequent inquiries as to the distance to the junction, the invariable
replies being nine miles, and it began to look as though that nine miles was interminable.
At last, just about the dawn of day, we reached the little station and village
known as the junction, closed up the ranks, stacked arms, and lay right down in
the street, and fell fast asleep.
About seven o'clock we were on the alert again, and quickly
transformed the nice rail fences into roaring camp-fires, around which we
prepared our coffee and ate our breakfast. Afterwards we went foraging,
capturing chickens, ducks, pigeons, and whatever was eatable, and had lots of
fun; as the government had not provided us with anything to eat here, we were
obliged to help ourselves or fast, and under such circumstances we did not
hesitate. The natives protested in vain; hungry soldiers must eat, and if the
government cannot provide, the country must do so, and the people will be
obliged to charge up their losses to the calamity of war.
We remained all day and quite recovered from our thirty mile
march. About five P. M. a long train of cattle-cars came in from Washington, to
which we were promptly transferred, and arrived at our journey's end,
Washington, about six o'clock the following morning, marching directly to the
navy yard, where quarters were already prepared for us.
SOURCE: Josiah Marshall Favill, The Diary of a Young
Officer, p. 19-21
