Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Thursday, January 9, 1862

Severe cold since yesterday. The Potomac froze to-day. A steam tug coming up the river, was a rare sight to both sides.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 31

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Friday, September 5, 1862

Rienzi.  Went out as No. 6. Was a little unwell. Infantry preparing to move. Bad news from the Potomac.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 3

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Monday, December 30, 1861

The centre section, commanded by Lieutenant Jeffrey Hassard, relieved the section of Battery B, on picket at Conrad's Ferry. Our detachment accidentally changed its position in the battery—we were transferred to the centre section, being the fourth piece, sixth detachment. We arrived at the ferry by one o'clock P. M., and took up our quarters in a deserted nigger-shanty. Splendid view of the Potomac and Blue Ridge Mountains. At night, the camp-fires of the rebels were visible.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 29

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: May 10, 1865

On the morning of the 10th we move towards Richmond. For some cause unknown we do not enter the city, but are ordered into camp three miles from the bridge that spans the James river. remain in camp here until the 14th, when Sherman's victorious army enters Richmond. We pass Libby Prison, which seemed to send an appeal from her dark recesses to Sherman's army to sweep the city from the earth. But Sherman held the rein, and Richmond fell not a victim to their wrath. We pass on through the city, moving on the road leading to Fredericksburg, where we arrive and cross the Rappahannock on the 16th. Night coming on, we go into camp on the banks of the Potomac. In the evening we look away in the distance and behold its winding way. What a tale of blood could this river tell. But the story will never be known until a book unscanned by mortal eyes shall be unfolded before the assembled universe.

SOURCE: abstracted from Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 308-9

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: May 24, 1865

On the 24th of May we cross the long bridge spanning the Potomac and enter Washington City and pass up Pennsylvania Avenue, and by the White House, with Sherman's army in the grand review. This was a proud day for Sherman and his army. Flowers and wreaths, plucked and formed by the hands of the nation's fair ones, fell thick and fast at the feet of the tramping army as it surged like an ocean wave in the great avenue. Passing by the stand where stood the nation's great men, General Sherman turns to his wife and says, "There are the Seventh Illinois and the sixteen-shooters that helped to save my army in the great battle on the Allatoona hills."

On that day there were men in the national capital who were loud in denouncing Sherman as a traitor, for his actions in his conference with General Joe Johnson [sic]. Generals Howard, Logan, Blair and Slocum are familiar with the circumstances that controlled Sherman in that conference. The seventy thousand who with him tramped the continent, have learned the history of those negotiations, and their expression is unanimous for Sherman, and to-day they are wild in denouncing all who oppose him. Catching the spirit of these stalwart men, Lieutenant Flint, of Company G, writes thus:

Back to your kennels ! 'tis no time
To snarl upon him now,
Ye cannot tear the blood-earned bays
From off his regal brow.

Along old Mississippi's stream,
We saw his banner fly;
We followed where from Georgia's peaks
It flapped against the sky.

And forward! vain her trackless swamps,
Her wilderness of pines,
He saw the sun rise from the sea
Flash on his serried lines!

Back to your kennels! 'tis too late
To sully Sherman's name;
To us it is the synonym
Of valor, worth and fame.

A hundred fights, a thousand miles
Of glory, blood and pain,
From our dear valley of the west,
To Carolina's plain,

Are his and ours; and peace or war,
Let his old pennon reel,
And ten times ten thousand men
Will thunder at his heel,"

After the grand review, we go into camp a few miles from the capital near the Soldier's Home. Treason and rebellion being prostrate, and the Union saved, the western troops are ordered to rendezvous at Louisville, Kentucky, preparatory to their muster out of the United States service.

SOURCE: abstracted from Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 309-11

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 23, 1861

As a description of the appearance of the country in which we were settled, I here introduce a letter written at this date to a friend:

CAMP ADVANCE, Sept. 23, 1861.

A short time since I undertook, from a single feature in the marred and distorted face of this country, to give you some idea of the effects of the war on Virginia, and of how dearly she is paying for her privilege of being shamefully servile to South Carolina. It may not be uninteresting for you, now, to know, to know something of its general appearance as it is, and as it was; and yet when I tell you that my attempt to describe one scene fell far short of the reality, you may imagine something of the difficulty of undertaking, in a single letter, to convey any adequate idea of the whole. When Gov. Pickens said last spring to the Carolinians: "You may plant your seeds in peace, for Virginia will have to bear the brunt of the war," he cast a shadow of the events which were coming on the head of this superannuated "mother of States and of statesmen."

Chain Bridge is about seven miles from the Capitol in Washington, and crosses the Potomac at the head of all navigation; even skiffs and canoes cannot pass for any distance above it, though a small steam tug runs up to the bridge, towing scows loaded, principally, with stone for the city. The river runs through a gorge in a mountainous region, and from here to Georgetown, a suburb of Washington, is unapproachable on the Virginia side. There are very few places where even a single footman can, with safety, get down the precipitous banks to the water. The river then is a perfect barrier to any advance by the enemy from this side, except at Georgetown, Chain Bridge, and Long Bridge, at the lower end of Washington City. On the Columbia side is a narrow plateau of land, along which runs the Ohio and Chesapeake Canal, and a public road. These occupy the entire plateau till you come near Georgetown, where the country opens out, making room for fine rolling farms of exceeding fertility, with here and there a stately mansion overlooking road, city, canal and river, making some of the most beautiful residences I ever beheld. On Meridian Hill, a little north of the road from Washington to Georgetown, stands the old Porter Mansion, from which one of the most aristocratic families in America were wont to overlook the social, political, and physical movements of our National Capital; from which, too, they habitually dispensed those hospitalities which made it the resort, not only of the citizens of Columbia and Maryland, but also of the F. F. V.'s, for whom it had especial attractions. All around it speaks in unmistakable language of the social and pecuniary condition of those who occupied the grounds. Even the evidences of death there speak of the wealth of the family. The tombstone which marks the place of repose of one of its members, and on which is summed up the short historical record of her who sleeps within, tells of former affluence and comfort.

A little further on we pass the Kalorama House—the name of the owner or the former occupant I have not learned, but it is one of the most magnificent places that imagination can picture. You enter the large gate, guarded by a beautiful white cottage for the janitor, and by a circuitous route through a dense grove of deciduous and evergreen forest, you rise, rise, rise, by easy and gradual ascent, the great swell of ground on which stands the beautiful mansion, shut out from the view of the visitor till he is almost on the threshold, but overlooking even its whole growth of forest, and the whole country for miles around.

You next pass Georgetown. The plateau begins to narrow, and the dimensions of the houses grow correspondingly less, but they are distributed at shorter intervals till you reach the bridge.

This is what it was. What is it? In passing the Porter mansion, the stately building, with its large piazza shaded by the badly damaged evergreens, and covered more closely by the intermingling branches of every variety of climbing rose, of the clamatis and the honeysuckle, invite you to enter, but the seedy hat and thread-bare coat appearance of the old mansion, give notice that the day of its prosperity is passing away. You would cool yourself in the shade of its clumps of evergreens, but at every tree stands tied a war horse, ready caparisoned for the "long roll" to call him into action at any moment, and, lest you be trampled, you withdraw, and seek shelter in the arbor or summer house. Here, too, "grim-visaged war presents his wrinkled front," and under those beautiful vines where fashion once held her levees, the commissary and the soldiers now parley over the distribution of pork and beef and beans. In the sadness, inspired by scenes like these, you naturally withdraw, to a small enclosure of white palings, over the top of which is seen rising a square marble column. As you approach, large letters tell you that ELIZABETH PORTER lies there, and the same engraving also tells you that she is deaf to the surrounding turmoil, and has ceased to know of the passions which caused it. That marble rises from a broad pedestal, on one side of which are two soldiers with a pack of cards, and the little pile of money which they received a few days ago, is rapidly changing hands. On the opposite side are two others busily engaged in writing, perhaps of the glories and laurels they are to win in this war; but I venture the opinion, never once to express an idea of the misery and despair of the widows and orphans at whose expense their glories are to be won! On the third side of the pedestal stand a tin canteen, two tin cups, and a black bottle! The fourth awaits a tenant. Again, for quiet, you approach the mansion. As you step on the threshold, half lost, no doubt, in musing over what you have witnessed, instead of the hospitable hand extended with a cordial "Walk in, sir," you are startled by the presented bayonet, and the stern command to "halt; who are you and your busines?" A good account of yourself will admit you to spacious rooms with black and broken walls, soiled floors, window sills, sash and moulding, all disfigured or destroyed by the busy knife of the universal Yankee. This room is occupied by the staff of some regiment or brigade. The next is a store room for corn, oats, hay, and various kinds of forage. The house has been left unoccupied by its owners, and is now taken possession of by any regiment or detachment which happens to be stationed near.

Tired of this desolation in the midst of a crowd, you pass through long rows of white tents, across the little valley which separates you from the hill of Kalorama. Your stop here will be short, for after having climbed the long ascent and reached the house, you find the windows all raised, and anxious lookers-out at every opening. From the first is presented to your view a face of singular appearance, thickly studded with large, roundish, ash-colored postules, slightly sunken in the center. The next presents one of different aspect—a bloody redness, covered here and there with scaly excrescences, ready to be rubbed off, and show the same blood redness underneath. In the next, you find another change—the redness paling, the scales dropping, and revealing deep, dotted pits, and you at once discover that the beautiful house of Kalorama is converted into a pest house for soldiers. Shrinking away from this, you pass through a corner of Georgetown, and then enter the narrow valley between the high bluffs and the Potomac. Onward you travel towards the bridge, never out of the sight of houses, the fences unbroken, the crops but little molested, the country in the peace and quietness of death almost; for the houses, farms, crops, are all deserted, in consequence of the war which is raging on the opposite side of that unapproachable river; and you travel from our National Capital through seven miles of fine country, inviting, by its location and surroundings, civilization and refinement in the highest tone, without passing a house—save in Georgetown—in which the traveler would find it safe to pass a night—indeed I can recall but one which is inhabited by whites. On all these farms scarcely a living thing is to be seen, except the few miserably-ragged and woebegone—looking negroes, or some more miserable—looking white dispensers of bad whisky, who seem to have taken possession of them because they had been abandoned by their proper occupants. The lowing of herds is no longer heard here; the bleating of flocks has ceased, and even Chanticleer has yielded his right of morning call to the bugle's reveille. "If such things are done in the green tree, what may we expect in the dry?" Cross the bridge into Virginia, and you will see.

Gloomy as is the prospect just passed, it saddens immeasurably from the moment you cross the Virginia line. In addition to the abandonment and desolation of the other side, destruction here stares you in the face. Save in the soldier and his appendants, no sign of life in animal larger than the cricket or katy-did, greets you as you pass. Herds, flocks, swine, and even fowls, both wild and domestic, have abandoned this country, in which scenes of civil life are no longer known. Houses are torn down, fences no longer impede the progress of the cavalier, and where, two months ago, were flourishing growths of grain and grass, the surface is now bare and trodden as the highway. Even the fine growths of timber do not escape, but are literally mowed down before the march of the armies, lest they impede the messengers of death from man to man. And this is in the nineteenth century of Christianity—and these the results of the unchristian passions of fathers, sons and brothers, striving against the lives and happiness of each other. Alas! Poor Virginia! Your revenues are cut off, your industry paralysed, your soil desecrated, your families in exile, your prestige gone forever.

But as so many others are writing of exciting scenes, I fear you will grow impatient for my description of the last battles for my account of anthropophagi—of men who have their heads beneath their shoulders—but I have no tact for describing unfought battles, or for proclaiming imperishable glories won to-day, never to be heard of after to-morrow. When we have a fight worth describing, I shall tell you of it. In the meantime I am "taking notes," and "faith I'll print 'em." If the rebels will not give us a fight to make a letter of, I will, at my first leisure, for fear my men forget their Hardee and Scott, have a graphic dress parade, in which our different regiments shall contribute at least a battalion, to pass review before you. Then let him who loses laugh, for he who wins is sure to. Till then good night.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 31-7

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: February 28, 1865

Raining; warm. The Northern papers announce the capture of Wilmington. No doubt the city has fallen, although the sapient dignitaries of this government deem it a matter of policy to withhold such intelligence from the people and the army. And wherefore, since the enemy's papers have a circulation here at least their items of news are sure to be reproduced immediately.

The Governor of Mississippi has called the Legislature of the State together, for the purpose of summoning a convention of the people. Governor Brown, of Georgia, likewise calls for a convention. One more State calling a convention of all the States may be the consequence—if, indeed, rent by faction, the whole country does not fall a prey to the Federal armies immediately. Governor Brown alleges many bitter things in the conduct of affairs at Richmond, and stigmatizes the President most vehemently. He denounces the President's generalship, the Provost Marshals, the passport system, the "Bureau of Conscription," etc. etc. He says it is attempted to establish a despotism, where the people are sovereigns, and our whole policy should be sanctioned by popular favor. Instead of this it must be admitted that the President's inflexible adherence to obnoxious and incompetent men in his cabinet is too well calculated to produce a depressing effect on the spirits of the people and the army.

T. N. Conrad, one of the government's secret agents, says 35,000 of Thomas's army passed down the Potomac several weeks ago. He says also that our telegraph operator in Augusta, Ga., sent all the military dispatches to Grant!

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 435-6

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Tuesday, October 22, 1861

Arrived at Edwards Ferry by six o'clock A. M. Two thousand men were already landed on the Virginia shore, opposite the ferry, others were continually crossing on canal boats. Since daylight, rain fell incessantly. On the Virginia side, skirmishing was going on all day. At five o'clock both lines of battle advanced. brisk fight commenced. Two brass howitzers of Rickett's battery, First United States Artillery, did good execution, being in position on the Virginia shore. While the fight continued, the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania, Col. Geary, the Twenty-ninth, Col. Mury, and Van Allen's cavalry, were sent as reinforcements across the Potomac. Fighting ceased an hour afterwards. Capt. Vaughan went to the enemy's lines, under a flag of truce, to see about some of his wounded men in the hands of the rebels. Gen. McClellan arrived at night.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 25

Diary of Corporal John W. Dennett, October 16, 1862

First division, and one section of our battery and two sections of Hazlett's Battery, went across the Potomac as far as Kearneysville. We drove the rebels from the river to Charlestown, Va., having several skirmishes, with losses on our side small. In our battery we had one man, Charles Donahoe, slightly wounded, and one horse killed. Stopped at Kearneysville that night, and returned across the river the morning of the 17th, passing through Shepherdstown on the way. Gen. Humphreys commanded the Union forces.

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. 268

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 6, 1861

I introduce the following letter to a friend, as sufficiently explicit as to the occurrences since the last date:

CHAIN BRIDGE, VA., Sept. 6, 1861.

 

I commence this letter with the reiteration, Poor Virginia! That State, which for forty years has stood as the guiding star of our galaxy of States,—that State, which alone could, six months ago, have assumed the position of umpire to the belligerents, and which only would have been respected in the assumption—now stands at the very foot of the list. In the commencement of this contest she degraded herself by offering to become the cat's paw for South Carolina, and was still farther degraded by South Carolina rejecting the proposition to become her menial. By her officious subservience, however, she got her paw into the fire, and how dreadfully it is burned only those who are on her soil can form any idea. Everywhere is the destruction going on. Her soil is the battle-field, and, so far as the destruction of property is concerned, it matters but little which party is successful. Armies must have room to move and manœuvre, soldiers will have the fruits and vegetables which grow around their encampment, and camp life is a poor fertilizer of that moral growth which marks the line of "meum et tuum."

This letter is written on sheets taken from the former residence of Hon. W. W. Slade, once a member of Congress from Virginia. I rode around with a foraging party. We entered his fine old mansion, and I could not but weep over the sad changes which I could see had taken place within a few hours, Within no living soul was left. The soldiers entered; for a time I stood back, but when I did go in what a sight presented itself! Already the floors were covered knee-deep with books and papers, which it must have required a long life of toil and trouble to amass, fine swinging-mirrors shivered into thousands of pieces—a fit emblem of the condition to which efforts are being made to reduce this glorious government—each piece reflecting miniature images of what the whole had shown, but never again to reflect those pigmy images in one vast whole. In the large and spacious drawing-room stood the ruins of one of those old-fashioned sideboards, around which had grown so much of the reputation of Southern high life and hospitality; its doors, wrenched from their hinges, lay scattered on the floor; large mahogany sofas, with their covers torn off, marble-top tables, stationery, china, stoves and spittoons, were there in one promiscuous heap of ruins. I stepped into the library, hoping to bring away some relic that had been untouched by the soldiers, but I was too late—all here was ruin. In a corner I picked up a few yellow pamphlets, and read "Constitution and By-Laws of the National Democratic Association." Sadly enough I left the house, and seated myself, to rest and think, on the spacious verandah. For a moment I looked on the vast orchards, the beautiful flower garden, the long rows of laden grape vines, the broad acres of corn and clover, and thought, "What a place and what a condition to pass old age in comfort and quiet," and my heart began to lighten. How momentary the lightning, for just then company after company from the different regiments came up; gates were thrown open, fences thrown down, and horses, cattle and mules were destroying all these evidences of prosperity and comfort. And this is but one feature in the great haggard countenance of war which stares at us whenever we look at Virginia's "sacred soil." Alas, poor Virginia! This subject alone would give interest to a whole volume, but I must leave it.

On Tuesday night, at half-past ten o'clock, the "long roll" brought our brigade, of five regiments, to their feet, when we found ourselves under orders to march at once for the Virginia side of the river, where, it was said, a large body of rebels had been collecting just at night. We had had slight skirmishing in that neighborhood for several days, and now the crisis was expected, and our regiment was to have a chance. All was excitement, and in half an hour from the alarm we were ready to start. By the time we arrived here it had commenced raining—we found no enemy—bivouaced for the night, and slept in the rain to the music of the tramp, tramp of infantry, and the rattling, roaring tear of artillery wagons over the roughly macademized road which passed by our encampment. Yesterday it rained all day, as if every plug had been pulled out; still we kept on our arms and ready for action—our general and brigade officers dashing about all the time, and warning us to be ready for an attack. Day before yesterday a scouting party of our brigade went in pursuit of a party of cavalry who had been seen hovering about us. When they came in sight the cavalry took to their heels, leaving to us only three large contrabands, who "tink massa oughten to run away from poor nigga so, heah! heah! They just run and leab us to de mercy of de darn abolishuns, heah! heah!" They report that around Fairfax and Centreville there are sixty or seventy regiments, who are well provisioned, but that there is a great deal of sickness among them, measles being the prevailing disease. We had, when we left Kalarama, about twenty-five in the hospital, whom we left there under the charge of Dr. There are three or four here who have sickened in consequence of exposure to the two days and two night's rain, but they will be out in a day or two. We have not yet lost a man by disease or accident, though I hear that one man yesterday received a musket ball through his cap, but as it did not hit his head it is thought he will recover. The musket was carelessly fired by some soldier in our camp.

A little occurrence to-day has caused quite a stir in our camps, and I deem it worthy to be noted here for my remembrance. Capt. Strong, of the Second Regiment of Wisconsin Volunteers, was with a small party on picket guard. He strolled away from his company, and suddenly found himself surrounded by six of the rebel pickets. Being out of reach of help from his men, he surrendered himself a prisoner. After a short consultation as to whether they should kill the "d----d Yankee" on the spot, they concluded that they would first take him into camp. They demanded his pistols, which he took from his belt and presented. But at the moment when the rebels were receiving them, they both went off, killing two of his captors on the spot. But there were four left, two on foot, two on horseback. He dashed into a pine thicket, they discharging their pieces after him and immediately giving chase. He struck into a deep hollow or ravine leading down to the Potomac. It was so precipitous that the horsemen could not follow. But when he emerged from it near the river; he found himself confronted by the two horsemen who had ridden around and reached the spot in time to head him off. He had received a shot through his canteen. Immediately on seeing his pursuers he fired again, killing one more of them, and simultaneously he received another shot through his cheek. He continued firing with his revolvers till he had made in all eleven shots. By this time the fourth man had been unhorsed. The footmen did not pursue, and he made his way into camp. This is the story, though some are so uncharitable as to discredit it, notwithstanding one hole through his canteen and another through his cheek.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 21-5

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 7, 1861

On the high land overlooking the Potomac, about six or seven miles above the Navy Yard at Washington, we have, since our arrival here, thrown up a small fort, formed extensive abattis, and made redoubts and fortifications to command the turnpike leading down the river, and the bridge over which any enemy must pass from any direction above here to reach Washington. This looks like business. The earthwork fort is small, but very strong, and its large siege guns, from twelve to eighteen feet long, with their sullen faces watching up and down the road in every direction, give it a most formidable appearance. A brigade (I have not learned what one) has just advanced beyond us to commence another fort, about two miles to the southwest of us. Neither fort has yet been officially named, but the one just finished is called by the soldiers Fort Mott; the one about to be built they will for the present distinguish by the name of Fort Ethan Allen. In this manner we are closing on the enemy by slow approaches, or parallels. Let Dupont and Butler, from North Carolina, advance to meet us, whilst Fremont takes care of the Mississippi, and we shall have an early closing up of the war. Every day's observation more and more satisfies me that the enemy will not fight us here.

9 P. M.—Our fort is completed, and we have just received orders to cook three days rations, and be ready to move at a moment's notice.

I will here note, once for all, the manner of the soldiers taking care of themselves in a storm, when they have no tents. They all have "rubber blankets." Two forks are set, and a pole laid from one to the other, some four or five feet from the ground. A kind of lean-to roof is made by placing brush or poles against this, one end resting on the ground, the other end resting on the pole. To make this roof water-proof, the rubber blankets are stretched, like tiles on a roof, and no water gets through. In moderate weather the men cuddle together under this, and are reasonably comfortable. In cold weather they make large log fires in front of these "bivouacs," and pass the nights without freezing.

An order was received to-day from the War Department, that in future no labor shall be required of soldiers on the Sabbath, except what is absolutely necessary for our defence.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 25-6

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 15, 1863

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

Diary of Musician David Lane, March 27, 1863

Louisville, Ky. We did not go to Suffolk as I anticipated. Third Division went in our stead, while we took another direction, and in eight days, by water and rail, landed in Louisville. We broke camp at Newport News on the 19th inst., marched on board a fleet of transports, went to Norfolk, where we took in coal. While lying there a heavy storm of snow set in, which lasted several hours. It was bitterly cold, or so it seemed to us, and we suffered severely. Toward night the storm abated and we sailed for Baltimore. There we were transferred to cars and came by the way of the B. & O. R. R. to Parkersburg, W. Va. From Harper's Ferry our route followed the course of the Potomac River to Columbia, a lovely city far up among the mountains, and near the head of that river. The country from Harper's Ferry is mountainous, and Columbia is near the dividing line, from which point the water flows in opposite directions. We were three days and three nights on the cars, winding around or darting through the rocky barriers that opposed us. For, where they could not be evaded, the energy and power of man pierced their huge forms and ran his fiery engines beneath their towering summits. There are twenty-seven tunnels on this road, twenty-five of which we passed through in the daytime. Some of the shorter ones are arched with brick, others with heavy timbers, while some are cut through solid rock and need no support. At Parkersburg our three regiments were crowded into one vessel, and away we went "down the Ohio." We made a short stop at Cincinnati, where we received orders to report at once to Louisville, as an attack at that place was apprehended. We halted on our way through Louisville and partook of a free dinner, prepared for us by the loyal ladies of that city. Soft bread, potatoes, boiled ham, cakes and hot coffee were served us till all were filled (and many a haversack was also filled), when we gave three cheers and a tiger for the generous donors.

We found much excitement, as bands of guerillas came within six miles of the city the night before, conscripting men and confiscating horses and other supplies.

We stole a march on the Johnnies in coming here, they having notified the citizens that they would breakfast with them on the morning of our arrival, and when they—the citizens—saw their streets filled with soldiers, they thought the promise about to be fulfilled, but the Stars and Stripes soon undeceived them. Here our brigade was divided, the Eighth Michigan and Seventy-ninth New York going to Lebanon, the Seventeenth and Twentieth Michigan remaining at this place.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 35-7

Northern Sentiment

The following sweet morsel of her fierce defiance and blustering braggadocio appears in the Philadelphia Transcript, under the head of “Crush the Traitors.” It will be perused with more of pity than of anger toward the poor wretches whose ignorance would counsel its indorsement:

The Point has been reached where forbearance is a crime against our country. The seceding States, for five months past, have been perpetrating a continual series of outrages against the Constitution, against the common courtesy of nations and states, against all public decency and right. Whatever may have been their complaints or wrongs, they have resorted, not to any remedy of them, but to disgraceful violence, robbery, murder and treachery. They have spurned all offers of conciliation or adjustment; they have inaugurated wholesale schemes of revolution; they have made war upon the Union, simply because it attempted to victual its starving soldiers, and they have attacked and murdered volunteer troops peacefully marching to defend the capital. Virginia and Maryland are not out of the Union, and yet, instigated and applauded by the Cotton States, they commit monstrous acts of avowed treason. Baltimore has capped the climax by its cowardly assault upon unarmed men, and by its brutal murder of many of them.

Now the time has come to end all this. The slaveholding States must be taught a lesson that will never be forgotten—a lesson of fire and blood. Their threats, bluster, arrogance, and outrages must be forever terminated. They must be made to feel that they cannot and dare not arrest and assault our Union and our flag. They are as weak as they are insolent. The gigantic strength, the superior civilization, and the boundless resources of the free States are able to carry desolation from the Potomac to the Rio Grande. The whole North, from Maine to California, although usually “slow to wrath,” patient and forbearing, is at last fearlessly aroused. The descendants of the heroes of Bunker Hill, Saratoga, Brandywine, Tippecanoe, Chippawa, and Fort Meigs, are flying to arms. Presently the continent will resound under the stern and steady tramp of unprecedented myriads of the free laborers and mechanics of the North.

Let them finish their enterprise. Let them plant the stars, stripes, and eagles of an indissoluble Republic on the steeples of Richmond, Charleston and New Orleans. Let the traitor States be starved out by blockade and given to the swords and bayonets of stalwart freemen. No matter at what cost of treasure, blood and suffering, the slaveholding States must be scourged into decency, good behavior and subjection.

The cannon is now the sacred instrument of union, justice, and liberty. The Union heretofore has been a smiling angel of benignity. Now it must be an angel of death, scattering terror and destruction among its enemies. If necessary, myriads of Southern lives must be taken, Southern bodies given to the buzzards, Southern fields consigned to sterility, and Southern towns surrendered to the flames. Our flag must wave in triumph, though it float over seared and blackened expanses, over the ruins of razed cities. Our Union must be maintained, and our Constitution respected, and the supremacy of Federal law vindicated, if it requires armies of millions of men.

So let no true man shrink or flinch. All duties, all occasions must be postponed, until the cannon and the musket have restored decency to the South, and peace and order to our country.

Our only desire is that just such fellows as the valorous editor of the Transcript may be sent on the above delightful “enterprise.”

SOURCES: “Northern Sentiment,” The Memphis Daily Appeal, Memphis, Tennessee, Thursday, May 2, 1861, p. 1; "Specimens of Northern Civilization," Nashville Union and American, Nashville, Tennessee, May 22, 1861, p. 2.

Diary of Corporal John W. Dennett, September 20, 1862

Went into battery on the banks of the Potomac. In the mean time the first brigade of the first division went across the river to reconnoitre, but were driven back by the rebels with considerable loss. Our battery, as well as the First Rhode Island and Battery D, shared in the fight. The One Hundred and Eighteenth Pennsylvania Volunteers lost severely. When the rebels retreated across the Potomac, after the battle of Antietam, they left a number of pieces of artillery behind them, and also left in Sharpsburg a lot of their wounded. On picket at Sharpsburg, with our guns in battery, from Sept. 20 till Oct. 30, with the rebels on the other side of the Potomac. Gen. Porter's division was reviewed by Gen. McClellan and President Lincoln on the 3d of October.

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. 268

Diary of Musician David Lane, October 3, 1862

October 3d, 1862.

We have moved camp three miles, and are now five miles above Harper's Ferry, on the banks of the Potomac. The days are extremely hot; the evenings deliciously cool, and mornings cold. We had a grand division review this morning, in honor of the President, who favored us with his presence. My curiosity was gratified by seeing a "live President," and, above all, "Old Abe." He looks much better than the likenesses we see of him—younger, and not so long and lank.

Strange rumors have been in circulation for several days—rumors of compromise; of almost unconditional surrender. What does it all mean? Is there a bare possibility the Rebels have had enough of it? That "chivalry" will acknowledge itself whipped by "mudsills," and ask for peace, while they have six hundred thousand men in the field? As far as the rank and file of this army is concerned, we would like to see them "line up" in front of us and fight it out, and have done with it.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 14-5

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Thursday, September 5, 1861

At dawn of day, contrary to our expectations, the enemy did not open on us again. Having had no food since the day before, some of us went to the town, and as fortune, would have it, found bread, molasses, and that renowned coffee kettle, the fourth detachment will well remember. We enjoyed a good soldiers' breakfast. Lieut. Tompkins, behaving towards the men like a gentleman, they would have done most anything for him. In several cases he relieved our wants, out of his own purse. Late in the afternoon we left Great Falls, marching towards Seneca Mills, as the enemy made various demonstrations up and down the Potomac. Rain falling incessantly, and passing through dense woods marching became a matter of impossibility, and it was decided to halt by the roadside until daylight. An unoccupied house being close by, we all took possession of it, and found ourselves quite comfortable.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 19-20

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Friday, September 6, 1861

A bright morning greeted our eyes. The clear sky promised a pleasant day. We discovered an orchard near by, which furnished us with a variety of the most beautiful peaches. After taking a good supply of them, marching was resumed. Arrived by nine o'clock A. M. at Camp Jackson, occupied by the Thirty-fourth Regiment New York Volunteers, Col. LaDue. We were well received. Towards evening, the Colonel and Lieut. Tompkins took the fifth piece along, in the direction of the Potomac, getting the gun in position close to the canal, after masking it. All quiet during the night.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 20

Diary of Musician David Lane, September 4, 1862

We have been three days in camp, and have fully recovered from the fatigues of our long journey. Drill is the order of the day, as it is the necessity of the hour. Officers and men have yet to learn the rudiments of military maneuvering. There is not a company officer who can put his men through company drill without making one—or more—ludicrous blunders. Yesterday our First Lieutenant was drilling a squad of men. He was giving all his attention to "time," and did not notice a fence had planted itself directly across our path. Suddenly he shouted: "Who—who—who! Come this way, you fellows in front—don't you see you are running into that fence?"

On Monday morning one of the men had been cleaning his gun, and, wishing to know if it would burn a cap, laid it down for the purpose of getting one. When he returned, instead of picking up his own gun, he took a loaded one that belonged to a guard. As a result of his stupidity, the ball passed through two tents, entered a young man's heel and passed through his foot lengthwise, rendering him a cripple for life. Rumors were in circulation all day Tuesday of Rebel movements. At dusk twenty rounds of ammunition were distributed.

We were then sent to our quarters to await orders. A spirit of unrest pervaded the camp. Men gathered in groups and whispered their conviction of a night attack.

At nine o'clock a picket fired an alarm. The bugle sounded "To arms." Orderlies ran up and down the line of tents shouting. "Fall in! Fall in with your arms; the Rebels are upon us!"

For a moment there was some confusion, but in less than five minutes we were in line, eager to meet the foe. But no enemy appeared. It was a ruse gotten up by the officers as an emergency drill, and, as such, it was a decided success. There were some ludicrous incidents, but, as a rule, the men buckled on their arms with promptness and appeared as cool as on dress parade.

Yesterday morning, as we were forming for company drill, a courier rode into camp with dispatches from headquarters. Five companies from our regiment were ordered to repair at once to Fort Gaines, eight miles distant, on the Virginia side of the Potomac. We started off briskly, but before we had gone a mile the order was countermanded, and we returned to camp.

The news this morning is not encouraging. General Pope has been defeated and driven back upon the fortifications around Washington, and the Rebels are trying to force their way across the Potomac. We are under marching orders. Rumor says we are to join Burnside's forces at Frederic City.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 8-9

Diary of Private Louis Leon: May 13, 1864

Left here this morning and passed through Fredericksburg. Crossed the Rappahannock on pontoon bridges, and got to Belle Plain on the Potomac at 3 o'clock-nineteen miles to-day. It rained all day, and it is very muddy.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 62