I have let one of my men copy this out of my journal, which
I wrote after we got here Sunday night. Part of it was a letter to Ben. I am
well and comfortable.
Camp Foster, September 15, 1861.
After three days' continual marching, we have arrived at the
most magnificent spot I ever saw. To go back: I last wrote home from Camp
Burnside, near Washington. We received orders on the 12th to move immediately
across the river. We had heard firing all the day before, and every one was on
the qui vive. We had tents struck, baggage packed, and knapsacks slung,
and had reached the foot of the hill on which our camp was pitched, when an
aide-de-camp of General Lander rode up at full speed, and asked for the
Colonel. I directed him, and in a moment the word came down the line, “Column
halt!” The order for crossing the river here had been countermanded, and we
were ordered to start for Poolesville, up the river towards Harper's Ferry. We
countermarched, and started up the main road. It was very hot but not dusty. We
made about nine miles over an uneven road, and at night bivouacked under the
starlit skies. The water was deep in the hollows of our blankets in the
morning, and the dew-drops glistened on our noses and hair in the rising sun.
I caught no cold and never rose more refreshed. We fell in
for the march about half past nine. To-day it was cooler on account of a fresh
breeze from the west. I led the column at a smart step until the Colonel rode
up and said that the men were complaining of having to march too fast, and
asked for an easier gait. We slackened up. We marched on through a hilly
country for some miles, when we struck off the main road to the left for
Rockville. It now began to look more like my idea of an army on the march, now
fording a shallow stream and now climbing a long, steep, and rocky hill. Being
at the head of the column, I could look back as we reached the top, and see the
bayonets glisten down the narrow road until the rear was lost in a cloud of
dust.
We stopped two miles outside of Rockville for dinner, which
consisted of hard bread and salt meat from our haversacks. The men have an idea
that we live better than they do, wherever we are, but in many cases we do not
fare so well. After a short rest we fell in at the beat of the drum, and struck
Muddy Branch at sundown, passing through Rockville under the waving of Union
flags. In talking with natives here they are strong Union, but this one and
that one, their neighbors, are secession.
We bivouacked at Muddy Branch, on a steep hillside, where
lying on the ground brought you to almost a perpendicular position. It was very
wet before morning. The sensation is a new and not altogether unpleasant one,
of opening your eyes and seeing the stars above you. Saturday morning we
received orders from General Lander to take extra precautions, as the rebel
cavalry had crossed the river in great numbers, and were intending to cut us
off with our large baggage train and ammunition.
An advanced guard of picked men of Company I was sent
forward under my command, with ten rounds of ball cartridges, rifles loaded and
capped. Caspar Crowninshield, being second Captain, was given command of the
rear guard, with an equal number of men. The regiment had cartridges
distributed, but were not allowed to cap their pieces. We left Muddy Run at
ten, with a faint hope in my mind of meeting anything like rebel cavalry, but
the men were quite elated at the idea of having a brush. We had to halt several
times to make the streams fordable for the wagons, and halted without adventure
at Seneca Creek, six miles from Poolesville, for the noonday rest and meal.
We passed on our march within a mile of Gordon's regiment,
which is in camp near the road, and saw Lieutenant Morse of the same. During
our halt, Captain Abbott, Little's1 brother, rode up, having heard
of our approach. Of course we were glad to see him. All the fellows of their
regiment are well and sent love.
Tom Robeson is at Washington on signal duty, telegraphing,
etc. Ned Abbott rode on with us when we marched, as far as Poolesville, where
we halted. The gradual rise to this place is imperceptible, until you see
before you in the distance what appear to be clouds in the western horizon.
They do not seem to change their shape, and you recognize them soon as
mountains, the famous Blue Ridge of Virginia. But what is more surprising, you
find yourself on a mountain, and looking across a valley of some sixty or
seventy miles, through which the Potomac runs. Imagine yourself on the summit
of Mount Washington, or higher if you please, and then have the summit stretched
out into a flat tableland of fifty square miles, with nothing to obstruct the
horizon, and you have a slight idea of our position and view. We were thousands
of feet above the level of the sea, and still on every side it was perfectly
level until your eye stretched across the surrounding valley and rested on the
blue hills beyond. Towering above the others was the famous Sugar Loaf
Mountain, from whose summit the signal fires tell the numbers and movements of
the foe.
The scenery was appreciated even by the tired men, and
exclamations of surprise would occasionally be heard from the ranks. Our
bivouac here at Poolesville has surpassed all others. We are so high that very
little dew falls, our blankets being only damp in the morning, and the air is
so invigorating that a person is inclined to be pleased with everything.
Although this was our third day on the march, and we had come farther than on
any other day, the men were in better spirits and really not so tired as on the
night of our first bivouac.
The river is but four miles from here, and our pickets there
exchange shots daily with the rebels. To-day one of ours was killed. Sometimes
the pickets will make friendly advances to each other across the river, and
leaving their arms will meet half way on the ford, and chat in the most
friendly manner. In one case they exchanged a Boston Journal for a Mobile
paper. We have seen nothing of the Rebel cavalry, and before stacking I ordered
the guns to be uncapped.
September 15, Sunday, we had looked forward to as a day of
rest, literally, but at eleven we were ordered to have dinner as early as
possible, as we must start again for a new camping ground two and a half miles
nearer the river. The sun was broiling. I picked up a tin cup lying in the sun,
without thinking, and dropped it as though it was red. I believe if my hand had
been wet, it would have sizzled. We fell in at two, and passing the advanced
regiment of Minnesota Volunteers, descended from our table-land towards the river,
and are now in advance of everything in this direction. We have the post of
honor. In the first advance into Virginia, our regiment, having the right of
the brigade, leads; Company I, having the right of our regiment, also leads.
The Minnesota regiment which is to support us is the same that behaved so well
at Bull's Run, and was the last to leave the field, and in good order.
The Colonel considers it a great compliment, placing his
regiment so well in advance. But we compare in appearance and drill certainly
with any that I have seen since
I left home. We reached our final camp ground about four o'clock, have got our
camp laid out, our tents pitched, and guard mounted, and hope to stay here a
week or two to get up again on our drill, etc., which must have lost something
from our late irregularities. As soon as our brigade is full, we shall probably
go on picket duty on the river, which they say is quite pleasant, having just
enough danger to make it exciting. A whole company is detailed for a certain number
of days, perhaps a week, when it is relieved by the next. I will write at the
first opportunity, giving you some of my adventures and experience on picket.
The Colonel was down at the river to-day with General Stone,
and got one of our pickets to make advances to his neighbor opposite, and draw
him into conversation across the river. They kept in the back-ground, and
listened to the dialogue, which of course wasn't in a whisper. The rebel said
they had but two or three hundred cavalry there, and only one or two batteries.
Of course their information goes for what it is worth. But it seems rather
laughable, the whole thing. It is impossible for me to realize that we are so
near the enemy. I shall, perhaps, when I hear a bullet whistle by my head.
I have written a good deal, considering we have been on the
march for the last four days, but I do not feel tired in the least; the men are
somewhat used up, it being their first march, but they have stood it very well,
especially my company. I haven't had one straggler.
I must stop, not for want of matter but for brevity of
candle. The air of the tent feels close and uncomfortable after living so long
in the open air.
My next may be dated from the “Banks of the Potomac.”
_______________
1 Little, here and elsewhere, is Henry L. Abbott,
the accomplished officer who was killed in the Wilderness in May, 1864, as
Major of his regiment. The story of his life is told in the Harvard Memorial
Biographies.
SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William
Francis Bartlett, p. 1-13
