Camp Near Newtown,
June 14, 1862.
After about eighteen days' absence, here we are back again
in Virginia, camped on the identical piece of ground where the fight raged the
fiercest on Saturday night, the 24th of May. We crossed the Potomac the 10th,
Tuesday, and bivouacked on this side of the river; the next morning we started
early, six o'clock, and marched to Bunker Hill, twenty-two miles, camping there
that night; the next day we marched twenty miles to this place. Our march
through Winchester was with closed ranks, band playing “John Brown,” “Yankee
Doodle” and “Dixie,” and our old Harper's Ferry flag flying, almost torn to
pieces by the bullets of the Twenty-fourth and Twenty-fifth. People scowled as
we marched through town.
As I said before, our camp is on the ground occupied by us
in the first skirmish of Saturday night, and what is a still more striking
coincidence, our mess tent is pitched on the exact piece of ground that our
skirmishers rallied on when they poured in such a deadly fire to the rebel
cavalry. The last man of ours that was killed here was buried close by, by a
citizen. Yesterday afternoon, I rode back to Winchester and over the battle
field. The effects of the artillery were still very apparent; stone walls and
fences knocked to pieces, trees cut off, etc. Near where our right was, are
three graves of our men who were killed there.
I had a very pleasant visit to the hospital where our
wounded are; they are mostly looking very well. It does one good to see how
they brighten up when one of their officers comes into the room where they are.
I believe I spoke in one of my last letters about a private named Stevens, in
our company, whom I saw wounded, first by a piece of shell, then by a bullet.
The poor fellow is dead; I could not find out any particulars about him
yesterday, only that he died in hospital June 4th. He was a very good boy, not
more than eighteen years old; he was one of the recruits that joined us last
fall; he always did his duty faithfully, and was a brave little fellow. It
seems sadder about him because he had an older brother in the company, who
always took care of him when anything was the matter. He has been very anxious
since the fight, and now the first news he has received is of his death. It is
a severe shock, but he bears it bravely, and says he feels happy that his
brother never showed himself a coward.
SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written
During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 68-9
