Part 6

FAIR OAKS, NEAR RICHMOND, VA., _Sunday, June 15, 1562_.

It has been some time since I last wrote, and you are doubtless getting anxious. We are now camped on the battlefield of Fair Oaks. We were not in the battle, but were in line, with skirmishers thrown out and batteries posted, waiting for the attack that never came and listening to the rattle of musketry off to our right. We did not come here until the second day after the fight. Before we started all our baggage was sent to the rear, and with my knapsack went my writing materials. We are having rough duty now. Every third day the entire regiment goes on picket duty for twenty-four hours, which means, as a rule, not even a cat-nap in that time. I was just settling myself for a good sleep today, when the cry went up that our knapsacks had come; so I sorted mine out from the heap and set to work to write some letters.

We arrived here about three o’clock in the afternoon and immediately went on duty for twenty-four hours. It rained all night—a steady downpour—and the whole country was flooded. Coming up, we waded for considerable distances through ponds from ankle to knee deep. Here it was just mud and water. The trenches we would have jumped into in case of an attack were half filled with water. Even if it had been permitted, there was no chance to lie down—no chance for much of anything but to stand up and take it through the long hours of the night. I did manage to get a few slicks of cordwood together and cobbled up a roost that gave two or three of us a sort of perch out of the mud. Directly in front of me lay a dead horse and a dead rebel. Within a short distance were perhaps a hundred dead horses—all killed when the rebels made their rush on our batteries on the first day. These have about all been cleaned up now, by burning, wood being piled upon them and great bonfires made.

The battlefield presented one of the most horrible sights imaginable. Many bodies of men killed in the later stages of the battle were still unburied. Some were in shallow graves, but as a rule burial consisted merely in covering the bodies as they lay. The heavy rains, washing away the covering, had left many gruesome sights. I was an advanced picket the other night, my position being in the midst of several dirt piles, with enough in sight to show that each covered a dead rebel. That day Eugene Hazewell accidentally shot himself through the foot and had to have a toe taken off. We were posted so near the rebels that we could hear them talk. We had orders not to shoot wantonly at their pickets, and we understood they had similar instructions; but if so they disregarded them and took a shot at a Yankee whenever they could draw a bead on one.

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_LVIII_

FAIR OAKS, NEAR RICHMOND, VA., _June 22, 1862_.

Have been out with a work party all the forenoon, and go on picket at three in the afternoon, to remain twenty-four hours, and feel as if I was earning my salary. There can be no question but what we are putting in full time. We are virtually on duty every minute, for, even in camp, we are on the alert ready to turn out for a fight at any moment. Yesterday the rebels attempted to drive in our pickets, and the result was a very lively little skirmish, as our boys had not got quite ready to come in. A few days ago the Sixteenth Massachusetts made a reconnoissance, attacking the rebel pickets for the purpose of ascertaining their position and strength. It cost the Sixteenth four or five men killed and eighteen or twenty wounded. The Sixteenth has recently been attached to our brigade.

I am as well contented in the army as I could expect to be, but still look forward with pleasant anticipations to the time when I will be home again. I was talking with Frank Robinson today about the good times we would have in Manchester. [He was killed, two months later, at Bull Run.] I had a letter from a friend in Great Falls—one of my old school chums—and he had so much to say of the happy times in the old Manchester High School that I had to pinch myself to keep from getting homesick.

We are camped in a swamp, and yet water is one of the scarce articles. We have had no rain for several days, and the sun has dried up most of the surface water, so it is no easy matter to even fill our canteens.

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_LIX_

FAIR OAKS, NEAR RICHMOND, VA., _June 26, 1862_.

Since I last wrote you I have been in two lively fights—one last Monday and the other yesterday. Monday afternoon our pickets were ordered to advance and drive the rebel pickets as far as they could. Company I happened to be one of the companies on the advanced line, so in we went. It was a sneak-up, crawling through the thick swamp brush till we struck the rebel pickets. Jesse Dewey and I, crawling along together, had the luck to open the ball, and in one minute there was lively popping along a half mile front. The rebels had no call to make a very stiff fight—and they didn’t. Gen. Grover, mounted, with his upper works all that was visible above the bushes, directed the movements, and we rushed them back a long distance. Then their reserves came swarming in—and we got back. Our loss was very light. In Company I only one man wounded.

Yesterday the entire Division advanced over the same ground, and we had a mighty stiff fight [battle of Oak Grove.] We found the rebels in heavy force this time, and it was only after a hard and bloody fight that we drove them back over practically the same ground we had covered on Monday. Only one man was killed in my company—John Brown, a fat, hearty, round-faced, good-natured boy as ever lived. Company B had over twenty men killed or wounded out of forty-six that went into the fight. Gen. McClellan arrived on the field in the afternoon and complimented us very highly for our work during the day.

ON JAMES RIVER, _Wednesday, July 2, 1861_.

At last I have got a chance to finish my letter. Lots of things have happened since I commenced it. I have had no good rest for three days and two nights, so you can imagine the condition I am in. Sunday morning we marched away from Fair Oaks with three days’ rations in our haversacks. The way property and supplies were destroyed didn’t look good to us. The rebels followed closely, and a few miles back we went into line of battle, posted batteries, and were ready for them. There was a short and sharp fight a little ways to our right [Savage Station,] but we didn’t get into it. The rebels were repulsed, and we moved on again. Along in the night we got into bivouac in the dark, a great mass of troops, where we could see but little of our surroundings until daybreak. Then we soon studied it out that we were at a cross-roads, with an immense wagon train parked near by, and a heavy force to protect it. During the forenoon the troops were moved into position to meet any advance from the direction of Richmond. We were not attacked until the middle of the afternoon, and then a great battle was fought [Glendale or Charles City Cross Roads.] We whipped the rebels at every point. The Second Regiment was all over the field, generally in support of some battery or other regiment. We lost very few men. I was hit in the groin by a spent ball and crippled about as I would have been if a mule had kicked me. We were advancing up a slope, in line, to support a regiment that was breaking. I heard that bullet, and when it struck me it set me back out of the ranks and I thought I was shot through and through. I saw some of the boys look back sort of pityingly as the line went on. It did not take me long to find out that I was very far from being a dead man. There was a dent in my thick leather belt, but the bullet had not gone through. It had doubtless struck the ground and lost much of its force before it hit me. I was back in my place by the time the regiment reached the crest. But in a little while I was very lame, and it was only by great effort that I kept along with the regiment that day and the next.

That night and the next morning we moved on a few miles farther and took position on high ground not far from the James river. Here another great battle was fought [Malvern Hill.] The artillery firing was simply terrific, we having some of our gunboats in action. The rebels charged again and again, and were driven back every time with frightful losses. It was a terrible punishment we gave them. We were not actively engaged, and so lost no men.

I got in here this afternoon pretty well used up. It commenced to rain last night, the roads were in bad condition, and there were thousands upon thousands of stragglers. But aides were stationed to direct these as they poured out onto the flats, and the disorganization was quickly rectified. Don’t know when I’ll get a chance to send this. Go up and tell my folks.

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_LX_

CAMP NEAR THE JAMES RIVER, _Monday, July 8, 1862_.

Can write only a short letter now, and my old excuse will have to do duty again—“used up.” We are fortifying our position, and as there is a good chance of Johnny paying us a visit most any time, we are putting the house in order to entertain him. We work night and day on our intrenchments. We are camped in an open field, on a gentle slope along the crest of which run our rifle pits and earthworks. The weather is frightfully hot, and as a consequence the men feel very shiftless and lazy. I do, anyway, and judge the rest by their actions. Quite a number of our boys were taken prisoners in the retreat. Perk. Lane is probably among the number, as he was one of the sick sent back to Savage Station, and they were nearly all taken.

Eddie Dakin, the Captain’s waiter, is going home tomorrow, and I will intrust this letter to him, to be dropped in the Manchester or some other post office.

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_LXI_

CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, JAMES RIVER, VA., _July 11, 1862_.

Received a letter from you last night. I am writing under very unfavorable conditions, as it is a rainy day and mud and water reign supreme. Whenever it rains hard the water beats through the canvas like a fine sieve. If the wind happens to blow it is pretty sure, in addition, to beat into one end or the other of the shelter. The prospect now is that we shall lay in our present position for some time and have considerable leisure. If we do you can expect a letter from me pretty often.

We are hard at work fortifying our lines. The camp of our regiment is immediately to the rear of a redoubt where twenty or thirty cannon will be mounted. Two eight-inch howitzers are now in position. We are building rifle pits from the right of this redoubt down to a pond [Rowland’s mill pond.] When you know that our intrenchments form a line several miles in length, you will get some idea of the magnitude of our works. This is a very interesting locality, plastered all over with historic associations. President Wm. Henry Harrison was born near here, and down by the river there is a stately mansion built long before the Revolution of bricks brought from England. In the family burying ground I saw stones dating back over two hundred years.

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_LXII_

CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA., _July 19, 1862_.

Rod. Manning, my present tentmate, and I got tired of lying in the mud, so we sallied over to where they were tearing down a house, about three-quarters of a mile from here, and managed to gather in a quantity of the old clapboards. With these spread on a framework of poles, we have a bunk or platform high enough to keep us out of the water when it rains, and making a very fair seat when, for instance, I want to write a letter to you. This is not the only public improvement. We have built a bough arbor over the front of our tent to give some shade from the scorching sun, and are thinking of a bough screen at the back end of the tent to keep out the wind and rain.

Our rifle pits are finished, so we will have no duty except guard duty and a short drill each day. I hope the North will send reinforcements on quickly, for I want to see our army advance again on Richmond and end the war. This is a good place to rest in for a few weeks, where we can have our supplies landed at our very door from transports.

In the retreat from Fair Oaks our company lost ten men taken prisoners. We have a pitifully short line now, compared with what it was when we left Manchester.

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_LXIII_

CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA., _July 23, 1862_.

By the papers I see that a hospital is to be established in New Hampshire for the care of sick and wounded soldiers from our state. That is all very nice, but, as much as I would like to see home, I hope I will never have any use for that establishment. I have been out today to a review by Gen. McClellan and am pretty well fagged out. Now I will try to answer some of your questions. There are not many houses about here—it’s right out in the country. Such houses as there are are mostly occupied as hospitals. Those outside our lines that would interfere with the range of our guns have been torn down. Notwithstanding the ravages of war, it is a most beautiful region. The busy place now is down at the landing, where the negroes are kept busy unloading supplies from the transports. Our food, for a few days, has not been quite up to the New Hampshire standard. Our meat has been “smoked sides”—a very poor quality of bacon. I have almost forgotten how a real first-class meal does taste.

“Those curls?” Well, I came to the conclusion, yesterday, that inasmuch as I had lost my comb and didn’t know where I could get another, heroic measures were necessary. So I hunted up a camp barber and had my hair cut and my head shaved, sandpapered and varnished. I was looking at the little round picture yesterday, and a little end of black hair that straggled out between the case and the picture reminded me that you placed it there the night I told you I had enlisted. It was braided and tied just as you tied it that evening. We had but little idea then that I was to be so long away.

_Thursday, July 24._

It is about three o’clock in the afternoon, and I have just finished my dinner. I looked over the miserable piece of miserable bacon that the company cook handed out to me, and then started off into the wilderness, and when I came back I had gathered in a pint of blackberries, which helped out very materially.

General McClellan was around today looking over the intrenchments. One of his staff had quite a little misadventure down by the pond, where a lot of us were having a swim. A small canal, or sluice, runs out of this pond, which is crossed by a frail plank bridge. The General and staff were crossing this bridge, when a plank gave way and down into the ditch went one horse and rider. The officer managed to crawl out—and a very draggled specimen he was—but it took the united efforts of the whole party to get that horse onto terra firma.

I received a letter from Roger [Woodbury] yesterday. He was of opinion that the Third Regiment would come up to the Peninsula, as troops were being sent from that Department to reinforce McClellan. I saw Hen. [W. H. D.] Cochrane yesterday, and he told me the Third and Fourth were actually embarked for here.

_Saturday, July 26._

Yesterday morning the Second Regiment went out on picket and got in at noon today. I had the most enjoyable picket tour in all my experience. We were out about two miles from camp, and as there were cavalry vedettes and patrols still farther out, we had no fears of a surprise attack. There were so many of us that no man had to stand a post more than one one-hour turn. The rest of the time we were at liberty to roam, pick blackberries and gather green apples and have a good time generally. No camp ever had a more perfect picket protection than was given by that swarm of foragers and sight-seeing scouts. Close to headquarters was a house—a well-shaded, cozy southern home. The owner and his two sons are in the rebel army, but his wife and daughter remain and have a safeguard of our soldiers. And you never saw such a swarm of little negroes as there was about that place.

Today has been feast day—the greatest dinner within the memory of man—a genuine “biled dish”—potatoes, beets, onions, cabbage and boiled salt pork. And just now Rod. Manning is frying some apples that are going to make a pretty good dish, if I can judge by the smell.

_Sunday, July 27._

Hen. Everett has just been over here, and we had a good long chat about times in the old printing office in Manchester. The sun is coming up in a way that promises a hot day—and a hot day down here _is_ hot.

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_LXIV_

CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA., _August 3, 1862_.

Our Division went out, last night, on a reconnoissance most up to Malvern Hill, where the last great battle was fought on the retreat. We went on through woods, over stumps, wading brooks and bog holes, until we were pretty near the enemy’s lines, when Gen. Hooker learned that Kearney had accomplished what we had set out to do, and we about-faced and blundered back to camp through the darkness. It was almost three o’clock when we got back, and I was tired through and through. [The expedition was really misled by a guide.]

There has been some little stir here for a few days in relation to transfers to the gunboats, as twenty-five or thirty seamen are wanted from each regiment. Those who have been to sea and want to go again have passed in their names, but we do not know as yet who, if any, have been accepted. Gunnison sent in his with the rest.

The company cooks are preparing a great dinner—soup, with potatoes, onions and cabbages in it. It certainly is a feast to men who have learned not to be surprised if they get nothing but hard bread, or even nothing at all. I have just heard that we are to go out tonight on another reconnoissance. I hope not. I had much rather lie comfortably in my tent than go on any such tramp as we had last night.

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_LXV_

CAMP NEAR HARRISON’S LANDING, VA., _August 8, 1862_.

Since I last wrote we have been on quite a little expedition to Malvern Hill and back. We left our camp Monday afternoon, just before sunset. It was a beautiful evening, and as we followed a fairly good road we trudged along very comfortably until about midnight, when we halted and slept on our arms until daybreak. Bright and early we resumed our march. The enemy’s cavalry pickets were struck within a few hundred yards and our cavalry sent them flying, after the exchange of a few shots. When we came out into a large field I saw that we were on the ground where we fought on the second day of the retreat from Fair Oaks—[at Charles City Cross Roads.] Then we swung to the left and pushed down the road to Malvern Hill—the same we had followed once before. When we came out into the great open area around Malvern Hill, one of our light batteries was already engaged with a rebel battery of four pieces. These guns naturally paid some attention to us, but with the exception of one shell which burst in our ranks before we filed out of the road and did some damage, not a man was hit in the Second Regiment. We had, really, remarkable luck, as they did some very good shooting and burst a number of shells and case-shots in our very faces. The Eleventh Massachusetts had two men killed and eight wounded by one shot. After half or three-quarters of an hour of this, the rebel battery limbered up and struck up the river road for Richmond, and our cavalry went after them. We gathered in quite a bunch of prisoners, singly and in little squads—men scattered around on outpost and picket duty, who came up out of the woods to see what the trouble was—and found out. One of these was particularly low-down mean and “sassy,” and he and “Heenan” had it out. After looking us over he said there was one thing he cussed himself for, and that was that he looked so much like a Yankee. Then Nich., leaning on his gun took Johnny in hand. He looked him up and down, with _such_ a contemptuous sneer on his face. He commented on his general disreputable appearance, and to wind up with, set the fellow fairly wild with rage, by leaning forward and confidentially asking him how much nigger blood there was in him.

The rebel battery was posted under big trees in the grounds of the old mansion house on the hill. When we advanced to the position we found three or four wounded and one dead batteryman that the rebels had left behind. The dead man had been hit on the head by a piece of shell, and lay all curled up, but still tightly clasping in his hands the shell he was carrying to his gun.

We occupied the hill until Thursday morning, when we leisurely returned to camp. It was really a delightful outing. When we returned, my haversack was bulging with the fruits of my foraging—apples and plums, fresh pork, hog’s liver, and one good fat chicken.

Perk. Lane and four others of our boys who were taken prisoners have returned. They have had a pretty hard time of it, but have many amusing stories to tell of prison life in Richmond. Provisions there are very high indeed—molasses six dollars a gallon, flour twenty-five dollars a barrel, bread twenty-five cents a loaf, and everything else in proportion. We are beginning to get a little soft bread now ourselves. Yesterday we had a whole loaf to a man, and we have had one meal before that.

_Sunday, August 10._

I hear from home that a great many of the white-livered gentry swear they will not submit to being drafted. Then shoot them—that’s my advice—and the Second Regiment would like the job. I can hardly write at all, the flies bother me so. They are here in millions, and nobody can take any comfort, for the torments.

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_LXVI_

CAMP NEAR ALEXANDRIA, VA., _September 6, 1862_.

After being here two days I have managed to get the materials together for writing a letter. We have had a mighty strenuous time since we marched away from Harrison’s Landing [August 15]—in two hard battles, to say nothing of hard marches and transportation by sea and land, on crowded steamers and rattletrap freight cars. Marching to Yorktown, we were there loaded onto transports. No sooner were we fairly landed in Alexandria than we were toted out to Warrenton Junction and dumped, late at night, in the fields by the side of the road. Here, we were told, we would have a chance to rest, and we did, just one day and one night. That night Stonewall Jackson showed up at Manassas, directly in our rear, and we were sent after him. We came upon him at Kettle Run and had a rattling smart fight, with several hundred men killed and wounded on both sides. Two days later we were engaged in the second great battle of Bull Run. Our brigade here showed its mettle as it never had before, and especially the Second Regiment. We were ordered to advance through woods, without any supports, and attack the rebels behind a railroad grade five or six feet high. We went in. They gave us a volley, and we charged them, the Second going over the work with a yell and giving those fellows the surprise of their life. It was savage work for a short time, but we were determined to drive them, and we did. Then we went for the second line, a few rods further on, and set them agoing. And pretty soon it became apparent that what there was left of us were being surrounded. Then we got out—we had to or be taken prisoners. We lost 147 men out of a little over 300 that went in, and most of these within a very few minutes. Gen. Grover said it was the greatest bayonet charge of the war.