Cannonading heard
toward Warrenton, in the afternoon.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 275
Received two months'
pay. Left camp at seven o'clock at night, in an awful rain-storm; marched
through the mud, and arrived at Hartwood Church at eleven o'clock. Went into
camp for the night. Marched six miles.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 275
Reveille sounded at
half-past two A.M. Started from Hartwood Church at nine o'clock, and marched to
Weaverville. Went into camp at seven P.M., after a march of twenty-three miles.
The day was very pleasant, and the roads good.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 275
Reveille sounded at
two A.M. Left camp at five o'clock, and marched to Manassas Junction, where we
went into position on the left of the railroad, at three р.м. Marched nineteen
miles.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 275
Reveille was sounded
at one A.M. Marched till half-past four, to Centreville, where we saw the Ninth
Massachusetts Battery. Went into camp at three P.M., at a place called Gum
Springs. The day was very hot, and the roads dusty, and several of the men were
sun-struck. Eighteen miles.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, pp. 275-6
Started from
Middleburg at half-past nine A.M., and stopped in the road three hours while
eight or ten thousand cavalry passed us. Saw a lot of rebel prisoners in a
barn. Started about noon, and went back to the town, and went into battery
about a mile from it. Stopped an hour, then limbered up, and started up and
went back to camp at Aldie. Arrived at half-past four, and remained in camp
till June 26.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 276
To-day begins the
Pennsylvania campaign. Reveille sounded at four A.M. Left camp at six o'clock.
Marched through Leesburg, and crossed the Potomac on a pontoon-bridge at
Edwards's Ferry. Went into camp on the Maryland side at eight P.M. There was a
fine rain almost all day, and the roads were very bad; but marched twenty-two
miles.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 276
Started at five
A.M.; marched through Buckeyetown, Md. We passed a great many fields of wheat
and corn. The roads were muddy. Crossed the Monocacy River. Marched fifteen
miles. A year ago to-day was the battle of Gaines's Mills.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 276
Left camp at eleven
A.M.; marched till nine P.M. The day was pleasant, but it rained during the
night. Marched fifteen miles.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 276
Started at five
A.M.; marched through Liberty, Johnsonsville, Middletown, Union Bridge,
Uniontown, and Frizzleburg, and went into camp at six P.M. Marched twenty-eight
miles.
SOURCE: John Lord
Parker, Henry Wilson's Regiment: History of the Twenty-second
Massachusetts Infantry, the Second Company Sharpshooters and the Third Light
Battery, in the War of the Rebellion, p. 277
This morning about
daylight we received orders to be ready to march at 8:30. All is bustle now
getting ready. I have been to the spring for water and have just returned; have
read the 52nd chapter of Isaiah, and 35th Psalm; am now about to pack up.
Sunday evening at
sunset.—We have marched about fourteen miles to-day—a hot dusty march. Nothing
of interest occurred. We are now bivouacked in a pine grove twenty miles from
Fredericksburg, with our arms stacked with orders to be ready to leave at a
moment's notice. The march has not fatigued me anything like as much as many
hunts I have taken at home. Some friend of the soldiers has been kind enough to
send us a number of religious papers, and I am now enjoying the "Christian
Observer," published at Richmond.
SOURCE: John Camden
West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a
Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 56-7
Struck out tents
early this morning and marched to Colliersville, a distance of seven miles from
Lafayette and twenty-four from Memphis. As soon as we had stacked our arms and
broken ranks, John Cumbersworth and I went out a mile and a half from camp
and got a fine hog. While we were skinning it our orderly-sergeant, Sullivan,
Jesse Walker and Mike Walsh were captured not more than a quarter of a mile
distant, by a band of rebel cavalry. Sullivan turned and ran and several shots
were fired after him, which we heard plainly but we thought it was the boys
shooting hogs. When we got into camp Bob Dew and Charlie Berry came in with
their paroles, they having been caught by the same company. Five paroled from
Co. K in one day. Five such days' work will muster Co. K out of service. The
17th Ill. at present musters about three hundred and fifty men. On guard
tonight; storming fearfully.
SOURCE: Seth James
Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells,
Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 25
We were called up at
half past three this morning and were on the road inside an hour, and by
sunrise were four miles on the way. We arrived at Germantown about 10 o'clock.
It is a village. At five minutes before 12 o'clock we halted for dinner, and
started again on our march at 1 o'clock, our regiment in advance. We reached
the edge of a town at dusk where we learned that we were selected as guard at
the navy yard. As we passed through the town, the little children followed us
and hurrahed for Jeff Davis. We moved to the upper end of town and encamped on
land adjoining the navy yard. Col. Norton bought five cords of wood for us. He
made a speech in which he said Gen. Hamilton ordered McArthur to send his best
disciplined regiment here as guard, and he wanted us to be strict, orderly, and
diligent. He also said the duty was a kind of secret service (how so I do not
understand). The guerillas crossed over last night, cut around and burned a
steamer. We are very tired this evening, having made the heavy march of
twenty-six miles.
SOURCE: Seth James
Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells,
Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 26
I had comforted
myself with the reflection that when we returned to Kentucky, where
communications were uninterrupted by guerillas, and were only separated by
twenty-four hours of time, I might be permitted to correspond with my family
without such harrowing delays, for I would not have my darling in doubt as to
my situation or whereabouts for one single day, knowing, as I do, the
uncertainty of suspense is worse than the reality. But 'tis said, "The
darkest hour is just before the dawn," and, even as I write, my mind
filled with dark thoughts, a ray of light from my Northern home flashes across
my vision. The whole current of my thought is changed, and thankfulness takes
the place of my repining. Thankfulness that it is as well with my beloved ones
as it is. Oh, that I could remove every burden, and make their pathway smooth
and flowery. I find most of our trials are imaginary, but none the less real
for being SO. For instance, my beloved wife's imagination pictures me on my
weary way back to old Virginia's blood-stained fields, subject to every
hardship, exposed to every danger, and her suffering could be no greater if it
were so. On the contrary, I am still in Kentucky, in a pleasant, shady grove,
enjoying a season of welcome quiet and repose, soft bread to eat, plenty of pure,
cold water to drink. What more could mortals crave. The newspapers were right,
as far as they went, about our being ordered to the Potomac. We did receive
such orders, but General Burnside telegraphed the War Department the Ninth
Corps had marched, during the year, an average of twenty miles a day; that it
had just returned from an exhausting campaign in Mississippi; that the men were
worn down by fatigue and sickness, and were unfit for active service, and asked
that they be allowed to remain here for a season. His request was granted. One
year has passed since I left my pleasant home to serve my country a year big
with the fate of millions yet unborn—a year the most eventful in our history;
perhaps in the world's history.
SOURCE: David Lane,
A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 81-2
Camp Dick Robinson,
Ky. Again we are on the move en route to Crab Orchard, thirty miles from our
late camp, where a military post is to be established. I understand there is to
be a line of posts from Lexington to Cumberland Gap. Report says these
posts are to be held by the Ninth Corps. I hope not. I much prefer active
service, with its toil and exposure, to a life of comparative ease in camp.
While there is work to be done, and God gives me strength, I want to be doing.
When I can be of no more service, then I would go home.
But I see no
preparations for field service. We have no artillery or ambulances, which is
proof conclusive. I was disappointed in Camp Dick Robinson. I had read so much
of it, I expected to find a military station, or fortifications of some kind.
Instead, I find a beautiful grove of oak and black walnut trees. It is noted as
being the first camping ground occupied by loyal troops in Kentucky. General
Nelson, its founder, who was shot last fall by General Davis, is buried here.
I have borne the
march well today. My feet were somewhat tired, and what wonder? Two hundred
twenty pounds the weight of myself and load is quite a load to carry ten miles
over a macadamized road in half a day.
SOURCE: David Lane,
A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 85-6
Crab Orchard, Ky. We
arrived at 10 a. m., making ten miles from Lancaster this morning. Crab Orchard
is a lovely town of about one thousand inhabitants. We are encamped about one
mile south of the village, in a lovely spot, shut in on all sides by high hills
and forests. To the south, far in the distance, the Cumberland Mountains raise
their blue peaks as landmarks to guide us on our course when next we move.
From what I see and
hear of the surrounding country, the boys will have to depend on their rations
for food.
Soldiers are strange
beings. No sooner were our knapsacks unslung than every man of us went to work
as though his very life depended on present exertions. We staked out streets,
gathered stakes and poles with which to erect our tents, and now, at 3 p. m., behold!
a city has arisen, like a mushroom, from the ground. Everything is done as
though it were to be permanent, when no man knows how long we may remain or how
soon we may move on.
Part of our route
from Camp Parks lay through a country made historic by the chivalric deeds of
Daniel Boone. We passed his old log fort, and the high bluff from which he
hurled an Indian and dashed him in pieces on the rocks below. At the foot of
the bluff is the cave in which he secreted himself when hard pressed by savages.
His name is chiseled in the rock above the entrance. The place is now being
strongly fortified.
We had a lively
skirmish in Company G this morning. About a week ago the Brigade Surgeon
ordered quinine and whiskey to be issued to every man in the brigade, twice
daily. During our march the quinine had been omitted, but whiskey was dealt out
freely.
Solon Crandall—the
boy who picked the peaches while under fire at South Mountain—is naturally
pugnacious, and whiskey makes him more so. This morning, while under the
influence of his "ration," he undertook the difficult task of
"running" Company G.
Captain Tyler,
hearing the "racket," emerged from his tent and inquired the cause.
At this Solon, being a firm believer in "non-intervention," waxed
wroth. In reply he told the Captain, "It's none of your business. Understand, I am running this
company, and if you don't go back to your tent and mind your own business, I'll
have you arrested and sent to the bull pen. At this the Captain
"closed" with his rival in a rough-and-tumble fight, in which the
Captain, supported by a Sergeant, gained the day.
I have the most
comfortable quarters now I have ever had. Our tent is composed of five pieces
of canvas, each piece the size of our small tents—two for the top, or roof, the
eaves three feet from the ground. The sides and ends are made to open one at a
time or all at once, according to the weather. Three of us tent together, and
we have plenty of room. We have bunks made of boards, raised two feet from the
ground. This, with plenty of straw, makes a voluptuous bed. I received a letter
from home last evening, dated August 13th. Oh, these vexatious postal delays;
they are the bane of my life. I wonder if postmasters are human beings, with
live hearts inside their jackets, beating in sympathetic unison with other
hearts. I wonder did they ever watch and wait, day after day, until hope was
well-nigh dead, conscious that love had sped its message and was anxiously
awaiting a return. A letter from home! What thrilling emotions of pleasure;
what unfathomable depths of joy it brings the recipient. It is not altogether
the words, be they many or few, but the remembrances they call forth; the
recognition of the well-known handwriting; old associations and past scenes are
brought forth from the storehouse of the memory and held up to view. The joy of
meeting—the agony of parting—all are lived over again.
We are having
brigade inspection today, which is suggestive of a move, but our artillery has
not turned up yet, and we will not take the field without it.
The health of our
men has improved wonderfully since we reached Kentucky. A more rugged, hearty
set of men I never saw than the few who are left. But, as I look around upon
the noble fellows, now drawn up in line for inspection, a feeling of sadness
steals over me. One short year ago nine hundred ninety-eight as brave, true men
as ever shouldered gun marched forth to battle in their country's cause. Of all
that noble band, only two hundred in line today. Where are the absent ones?
Some, it is true, are home on furlough, but not all. They have left a bloody
track from South Mountain's gory height through Antietam, Fredericksburg and
Vicksburg to Jackson, Mississippi.
Oh, how I miss
familiar faces!
SOURCE: David Lane,
A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 86-89
Then Lieut. Newell told us to "go," and we went, as well as we could, for quarters. Arriving at the granary, and having left our chickens at a negro shanty to be cooked, we turned in, all booted and muddy, and slept through everything till nearly noon. When we started up for breakfast it was a comical sight. Nearly all had turned in their wet clothes, and of course were about as wet when they got up, and very stiff. We found our chickens and ate them. While eating, the 27th guard called us, saying the regiment was under orders and we were to leave immediately. The way those chickens disappeared made those darkies laugh. We went back happy, as we knew when once on board the steamer we could sleep for a while and get rested; for after being on an all-night march of twenty-five miles at least, we were tired out, and felt we would be safer from another trip, for a day or two, than if on shore. We were all on board by half-past four o'clock, and soon after dropped down stream, leaving Plymouth and the 27th in all their glory. The boys who had bunks coming up are forbidden that pleasure now, so a dozen of us congregated together on the deck, outside the cabin, with shelter tents tacked up as roofs ; and we think we are having a better time than those inside, and no "sour grapes" in the mess either.
SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 38
Left Louisville camp
and marched to South Fork, and encamped for the night, making a march of 20
miles.
SOURCE: Adam S.
Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22
Left South Fork
camp, marched to Taylorsville, and went three miles out on picket the same
night, making a march of 23 miles.
SOURCE: Adam S.
Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22
Left Taylorsville
camp, remaining the 3d on picket and marched the 4th to Bloomington, and
encamped for the night, making a march of 10 miles.
SOURCE: Adam S.
Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22
