Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Thursday, October 3, 1861

Left the picket line again, returned to Camp Jackson, started for Darnestown by six o'clock, and arrived there by eight o'clock P. M. Thus ended our stay at Seneca Mills, the most pleasant period of our three years service. Vegetables and fruit, chickens and pigs, were plenty, for we owned the whole plantation of that old rebel Peters, who was sent to Fort Lafayette for treason. The Thirty-fourth New York, having the picket line on the river, always proved good companions. The view of the surrounding country is really imposing, including Sugar Loaf Mountain, the natural observatory of the signal corps. Some remarkable items must not be forgotten—for instance, novel songs of "The Nice Legs;" "Jimmy Nutt's Measuring the Guard Time by the Moon;" "Griffin's Apple Sauce," and "Doughnuts for Horses."

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 22

Major Wilder Dwight: December 7, 1861

Camp Hicks, Near Frederick, December 7, 1861.

When I scribbled a hasty note to send by Colonel Andrews, I was looking grimly forward to a snow-storm. That foreboding was premature. In its place, I might have indulged midnight orders to march, and a winter's morning to start in. On Monday night, at eleven, our quiet camp near Seneca was invaded by a mounted orderly, who brought orders for an early start. The night was given to preparation. Colonel Andrews was to go off in a canal-boat at six in the morning. I had planned to escort him. Instead of this, I was obliged to content myself with a hasty good-by at the house, and a careful packing of him and his wife in the hospital wagon, and starting them for the canal. How cold it was! At last we started in good order. The morning was so cold that horseback was penance. I marched on foot, leading my horse. We went, by a new road, toward Frederick. The cold that nipped our ears stiffened the mud, and our path was made easy. A brisk march of seventeen miles brought us to Barnesville, just under the Sugar-Loaf Mountain. The latter part of the way hung heavy on the legs of the men, and they straggled badly. So at evening in the village, whither we went supper-hunting, we found some officers of the –– Massachusetts boasting of the fine marching condition of their men, and alluding to our stragglers. This piqued us. We were assigned the advance, the next day, unless, as General Abercrombie said, some other regiment gets started first!

I should like to describe our camp at Barnesville. It was on a wooded ridge. The night was intensely cold. Colonel Gordon and I shared a tent, and we put up his stove. The men had good fires. The scene was wintry, and the experience was harsh. The order was issued, “Reveillé at half past four”!! The men got to bed early. At half past four came the rattle of get up. Our candle was relighted, our stove glowed again, a big fire crackled before the tent, our hastily built straw-bed aided the flames, but the weather kept the keen edge on. We breakfasted on some coffee borrowed from one of the company kitchens, and some bread and cold chicken, — frozen chickens. Soon after half past six the men were all breakfasted, the wagons ready, the line formed. At quarter to seven we were out on the road started. The sun was just showing an intention to rise. The Colonel and I walked. He led off at a smacking pace. Our rear-guard was made up of picked men under Lieutenant Sawyer, an energetic officer. There could be no stragglers. On we went over a mountain road, on, on, on! The sun came up. It even began to melt the ice a little: still we marched on, till we had made between ten and eleven miles without a halt! A short rest was all the impatience of the Colonel would allow. Onward again. General Abercrombie here overtook us. “Great marching,” said he. “I thought you had missed the road.” He had no idea we could so get the start of him. On along the bank of the Monocacy, — on across the river and the railroad.

The cars were just coming in. “Hallo,” says one soldier to another; “what's that?”

“I don't know, it's so long since I've seen it, — believe it's a steam-engine.” The steam-whistle screeched.

We halt just outside Frederick at about eleven o'clock. Fourteen miles with knapsacks in four hours and a quarter! Beat that if you can, over a mountain road.

The Colonel formed the line in a grove, and the men rested. We awaited orders. But we were so early that the orders were not ready. Two or three hours after, the –– Regiment came along with thin ranks. The Colonel had told our regiment, before starting, that the –– boasted they marched better than the Second. It was that emulation which made us march so well. Now the men enjoyed their victory, and chaffed the late regiment. “Tell your colonel,” says one, “that we 'll lend him some of our wagons to help him along,” &c., &c . I marched the whole distance and felt finely. So you may know I am well. We went into camp, after recrossing the Monocacy. Another cold night.

The next morning, just as the regiment was ready to start on its march to its present permanent camping-ground, we were sitting about the fire on a hillside overlooking our camp, when up came R––. I was delighted to see him, and to hear from home. He made only a short call on us, and left for Frederick just as we started for our new camp. It was Thursday morning. We marched round to the southwesterly part of the city, and struck the Baltimore turnpike. Our camp site was on a wooded slope facing the south and the sunshine. The latter is pouring into my tent as I write, this fine Sunday morning. We were soon busy getting into camp. I have been up to Frederick twice. The first time I went to General Banks's head-quarters, and happened to be invited in at General Shriver's, the Union man of Frederick. I found myself in a parlor, talking to a young lady! What a transition!

Frederick is a fine old town. Our band-leader already talks of giving concerts there. Our thoughts are all turning on peace and quietness.

The principal duty will be keeping the men in order, and preventing drunkenness. Yesterday, as field-officer of the day, I was very busy at it. But had you seen our Sunday morning inspection, you would have seen order, neatness, and system transplanted with no check of growth. Opinions may vary of Colonel Gordon, but his administrative success is testimony enough in his favor. I wish you could see our camp. Perhaps you will one of these days. We have had glorious weather since the cold abated. It is Indian summer. At last I have actually caught that evanescent and supposititious season. We have had the President's Message and all the reports

I hope there will be no hasty and ill-considered legislation about the army. The volunteer force, as it stands, ought not to be put on the same footing as regulars. A hasty, extempore, uneducated army made permanent, — what folly!

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 165-8

Captain William Francis Bartlett: September 15, 1861

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