We drilled forenoon
in manual of arms & afternoon in battallion drill & dress perade Our
Reg took a march through the citty & drilled some on main Street evening I
wrote our Capt a letter visited the hospitals & with our 1st & 2nd
Seargent took a dish of Oisters two of the men of our Reg in Capt Vermilions
Co. ware sent home to be buried
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2,
October 1925, p. 93-4
WE are nearly out of
sight of land. Wild ducks and geese cover the water. The sun is just coming up,
and seems to me I never saw such a lovely morning. Besides the ducks and geese
on the water, the air is full of them, some alighting on the water and others
rising from it. They are so tame they only get out of the way of the boat, and
if shooting was allowed, hundreds could be shot from where I stand. I am sore
and stiff from my run to catch the boat, but I am thankful to be here and take
in these new sights on this glorious morning. Chaplain Parker is on board and
is pointing out places and vessels, and helping us to enjoy it all.
11 a. m. We are
sailing over the spot where the Monitor and Merrimac fought. An eye-witness who
is on board has been giving a vivid description of it, to which I listened with
the deepest interest.
Noon. We have landed
at Newport News; so they call it, but there are only a few shanties in sight,
and beside each one is a huge pile of oyster shells. The boys are here, having
been brought off from the Arago, which lies off shore. Oysters are plenty and
cheap, and I am full of them, the best I ever tasted, fresh from the water, and
so large many of them make two good mouthfuls. The Monitor, which saved the day
when the Merrimac came out of the James River, lies near by, and the wrecks of
the Cumberland and Congress which were sunk, show above the water. The Arago
lies just outside and at 2 P. M. we go on board. The only white men I have seen
are soldiers. The negroes and their shanties are all I can see of Newport News.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 61-2
Our Third and Fourth
Detachments are camped for the winter at Land's End, under the command of
Lieutenant John M. West, and supported by the Fourteenth Virginia Infantry,
Colonel Hodges commanding. The third gun is stationed immediately on the James
River where the Warwick empties into it, and the fourth gun one-and-a-half
miles up the Warwick River, supported by Company "K," Fourteenth
Virginia Infantry, Captain Claiborne, of Halifax county, Va., commanding. We
have comfortable log cabins, built by our own men, with glass windows, plank
floors, kitchen attached, etc., and our cuisine bears favorable comparison with
home fare. Time does not hang very heavily on my hands, for I am now drilling a
company of infantry from Halifax county, Captain Edward Young's, in artillery
tactics, previous to their making a change into that branch of the service.
Then we get up an occasional game of ball, or chess, or an old hare hunt, or
send reformed Bob to the York River after oysters, we preferring the flavor of
York River oysters to those of Warwick River.
Fortunately we have
managed to scrape up quite a goodly number of books, and being in close
communication with Richmond, we hear from our friends daily.
Soon the spring
campaign will open, and then farewell to the quiet pleasures of "Rebel
Hall," farewell to the old messmates, for many changes will take place
upon the reorganization of our army during the spring. No more winters during
the war will be spent as comfortably and carelessly as this[.] Soon it will be
a struggle for life, and God only knows how it will all end.
My health has but
little improved, but I had rather die in the army than live out.
SOURCE: William S.
White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 110
We had a verry heavy
rain before day wett us in our tents I mustered the company & took them out
on Dress perade evening I took I. Spooner went to Coz Kelleys then to the
Demming house then to an Oyster shop & had a fine dish of Oysters returned
to Camp & at 11 Oc nite the rain commenced to pour down & we took it in
our tent.
SOURCE: Edgar R.
Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October
1925, p. 91
We are now on the “heaving
sea and the bounding wave.” We were aroused yesterday morning at four o'clock,
ordered to prepare breakfast and be ready to march at a minute's notice. At
five-thirty the bugle sounded "fall in." We slung our accoutrements,
the first time since the battle of Fredericksburg, and in fifteen minutes were
en route to the depot, distance about two miles. After some delay we took cars
for Aquia Creek, where we arrived at 10 o'clock a. m., and were immediately
transferred to transports, bound for Fortress Monroe. The Seventy-ninth New
York and Seventeenth Michigan were crowded on the North America, an old Hudson
River propeller. There was hardly standing room, much less room to walk about.
The day is fine, and the bay, unruffled by a breeze, presents a lively and
picturesque appearance. Steamers are continually arriving and departing,
sailboats of all sorts and sizes spread their white wings and glide leisurely
through the still waters, while the active little tugs go whisking and snorting
here and there, assisting larger and more unwieldly vessels. We left Aquia
Creek at 10:30 o'clock a. m., expecting to reach the Fortress by nine o'clock
next morning. I love the sea in all its forms and phases, and it was with a
thrill of joy I took my seat on deck, prepared to enjoy whatever of interest
might present itself. The Potomac, at Aquia Creek, is truly a noble stream, if
stream it may be called, for there is no perceptible current, being, I judge,
one and one-half miles wide, gradually broadening out as it nears the bay,
until at its mouth it is nine miles wide. There is a striking contrast between
the Maryland and Virginia shores. The Virginia side, nearly the entire
distance, presents a rugged, mountainous aspect, with very few buildings in
view, while the Maryland shore is level, dotted with farm buildings, and, at
frequent intervals a village with its church spires glittering in the sun. In
contemplating these peaceful scenes of rural life, the quiet farm houses
surrounded by groves of trees, the well-tilled fields, outbuildings and fences
undisturbed by war's desolating hand, the genial air of quiet repose that
pervades the scene calls up emotions that have long lain dormant. For many long
months, which seems as many years, my eyes have become inured to scenes of
blood, of desolation and of ruin; to cities and villages laid waste and
pillaged; private residences destroyed; homes made desolate; in fact, the whole
country through which we have passed, except part of Maryland, has become
through war's desolating touch, a desert waste. As I gazed on these peaceful
scenes and my thirsty soul drank in their beauty, how hateful did war appear,
and I prayed the time might soon come when “Nations shall learn war no more.”
Gradually the wind
freshened, increasing in force as we neared the bay, until it became so rough
the captain thought it unsafe to venture out, and cast anchor about five miles
from the mouth of the river to await the coming of day. I spread my blanket on
the floor of one of the little cabins and slept soundly until morning. When I
awoke in the morning the first gray streaks of early dawn were illuminating the
eastern horizon.
The gale having
subsided, we were soon under way, and in about half an hour entered the broad
Chesapeake. And here a most grand and imposing scene met my enraptured gaze. Not
a breath of air disturbed its unruffled surface. Numerous vessels, floating
upon its bosom, were reflected as by a mirror. A delegation of porpoises met us
at the entrance to welcome us to their domain; they were twenty-two in number,
were from six to eight feet in length; in color, dark brown. It was truly
amusing to witness their sportive antics as they seemed to roll themselves
along. They would throw themselves head foremost from the water half their
length, turning as on a pivot, perform what seemed to be a somersault, and
disappear.
A flock of sea gulls
fell into our wake, sagely picking up any crumbs of bread that might be thrown
them. They are a strange bird, a little larger than a dove, closely resembling
them in color and gracefulness of motion. They followed us the whole distance,
and as I watched their continuous, ceaseless flight, the effect on the mind was
a sense of weariness at thought of the long-continued exertion.
Soon after we
entered the bay I observed what I thought to be a light fog arising in the
southeast. We had not proceeded far, however, before I discovered my mistake,
for that which seemed to be a fog was a shower of rain. I was taken wholly by
surprise, for I had been accustomed to see some preparation and ceremony on
similar occasions. But now no gathering clouds darkened the distant sky,
warning me of its approach, but the very storm itself seemed to float upon the
waves and become part of it, and before I was aware, enfolded us in its watery
embrace. The storm soon passed, but the wind continued through the day, and, as
we neared the old Atlantic and met his heavy swells, they produced a feeling of
buoyancy that was, to me, truly exhilerating.
Some of the boys
were seasick, and a number "cast up their accounts" in earnest. We
entered the harbor about sundown and cast anchor for the night under the
frowning guns of Fortress Monroe.
Vessels of war of
every class, monitors included, and sailing vessels of all sizes, crowded the
harbor. It was a magnificent scene, and one on which I had always longed to
gaze.
In the morning we
learned our destination was Newport News, distant about five miles. We arrived
about eight o'clock, marched two miles to Hampton Roads, our camping ground,
pitched tents and, at noon, were ready for our dinner of coffee and hardtack.
We have a pleasant
camping ground, lying on the beach, where we can watch the vessels as they pass
and can pick up oysters by the bushel when the tide is out.
SOURCE: David Lane,
A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 30-3
Nothing of importance
stirring—very hot and rather hard to get anything to eat unless one's pocket is
well lined with Confederate money and then you can get any quantity of prime
fish and oysters, with an occasional "snifter" to aid digestion. Our
men seem disposed to find fault with everything—continually quarreling among
themselves, and seem disposed to fight something.
SOURCE: William S.
White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, p. 102
WILLIAMSBURG, VA.
Leaving Newport News
on the afternoon of the 21st, we made a march of about ten miles, reaching
Little Bethel just before dark, when we halted and put up in an old church
building for the night. Little Bethel contains beside the church an old grist
and saw mill, a blacksmith shop and three small houses, all in a rather
dilapidated condition. There was no enemy within 100 miles of us, but Capt.
Parkhurst, either as a matter of form or through force of habit, put out a few
pickets. The old church had long ago been stripped of its seats and pulpit, if
it ever had any, leaving the whole floor unobstructed. After supper and getting
a little rested, a dance was proposed. A gallery extended across one end, and
on the front of this the candles were thickly set, lighting up the old church
in fine style. One of our German comrades of Company G had a violin and
furnished the music. Sets were formed and the fun commenced. The pickets
outside, hearing the sounds of revelry within, left their posts and came in,
and standing their rifles in a corner threw off their equipments and joined in
the dance. The captain remonstrated at such unlawful proceedings, but the cry
was “Never mind the pickets! on with the dance! let fun be unrestrained.” The
dance was kept up until the candles burned low, when we spread our blankets and
laid down for rest.
In the morning we
found outside five men with their horses and carts, waiting to sell us oysters.
Fortunately we were the possessors of a few scraps of paper bearing the
signature of Uncle Samuel. With a portion of this paper we bought the men's
oysters, and after breakfast we chartered them to carry our knapsacks to
Yorktown, thereby nullifying the order of the great Mogul at Fortress Monroe,
and I have not the slightest doubt that if he knew of it he would hang every
one of those men for giving aid and comfort to the incorrigible.
Leaving Little
Bethel we marched over McClellan's famous corduroy road through white oak
swamp, coming out at Warwick court house. This is a county seat, containing a
small court house situated in a pretty grove of trees, a jail, church, half a
dozen houses and a blacksmith shop. We arrived at the forks of the roads, a
mile below and in full view of historic old Yorktown, about the middle of the
afternoon.
Here we were met by
an officer and commanded to halt till further orders. I thought this was as
near as they dared have us come the first day for fear the malaria would strike
us too suddenly.
From here the dim
outlines of Washington's old intrenchments could be traced and near by was what
appeared to be an angle in the line on which guns were probably mounted and
which commanded the whole open plain between here and town. Now it did not
require a great stretch of the imagination to go back to those days and see
those brave men toiling and suffering behind those works, to build up for
themselves and their posterity a country and a name. I could see in my mind the
haughty Cornwallis march out upon this plain, surrendering his army and his
sword to Washington, in the last grand act in the drama of the American revolution.
But how is it today? Yonder rebel fort tells in thunder tones how well their
degenerate sons appreciate the legacy.
About dusk an
orderly rode up, bringing an order for us to proceed to Williamsburg, some fifteen
miles further up the country. We tried to get the captain to stop here till
morning and go through the next day, but it was of no use; he had got his
orders to march and was going through tonight. I could not see that it was a
military necessity to force the march, and after we had gone three or four
miles my knapsack began to grow heavy and I grew tired. I halted by the
roadside and said I was going to put up for the night and if any one would like
to keep me company I should be pleased to have them. About twenty rallied to my
standard. After the column bad passed we stepped through a low hedge of bushes
into a small open space, surrounded by high bushes which served as a shelter
from the winds. There we spread our blankets and laid ourselves down to forget
in our slumbers the weight of our knapsacks. The stars looked down on us and
the watchful eye of the Almighty was the only sentinel.
When we awoke in the
morning the rising sun's bright ray was peeping through the bushes. The first
object which met our gaze was a lean, lank, sundy-complexioned, long-haired
native, who stood peering over the bushes at us. The first salutation that
greeted his ears was, “Who are you and what do you want?" He replied, “I
seed you was down yere, and thought I would come down and see if I could get
some 'baccer?” Looking up we saw a house out in the field some distance off,
and asked him if he resided there. He said he did. We gave him some tobacco and
inquired about the roads and distince to Williamsburg. We inquired if there
were any bush whackers about here? He said “There mought be once in a while one
found." Then we put on a ferocious look and said they had better not be
found by us unless they wished to join the antediluvian society and have their
bones scattered in every graveyard from here to Jerusalem. The old chap's eyes
stuck out and he began to edge off, thinking perhaps we had got on a
thick coat of war paint. We made our coffee and started on our
journey, and by easy stages came up with the boys in the afternoon. They had
pitched the camp and got it all fixed up and named Camp, Hancock.
I thought the
captain was as glad to see us as anyone, but he put on a stern look and inquired
where we had been and why we fell out. We told him we were tired and lay down
by the side of the road to rest and take a nap. He lectured us on the enormity
of such proceedings, telling us we had committed a very flagrant breach of good
order and military despotism. We assented to all the captain
said, but kept thinking all the time that as we were a sort of outcasts, did
not belong anywhere and were under no particular command, there wouldn't much
come of it.
SOURCE: David L.
Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p.
111-3
