Part 8

I have just finished reading letters from you and Addie that came in this morning. My fingers are so cold I can hardly clutch the pen, and the wind fairly howls as it comes tearing up the gorge. We left our Centreville camp Tuesday and arrived here the next day. Up to yesterday noon it rained without cessation, and as we trudged along through the mud and rain, or shivered in our wet beds with no protection but our little pieces of shelter-tent, you may be sure we thought of the happy homes we had left at Centreville. This is one of the wildest places I have seen in Virginia, the Occoquan rushing down through gloomy gorges clothed in a dense vegetation. The river here is about as wide as Elm street, and only to be crossed at fords, and at this season of the year wading rivers has its disagreeable features. On the crest commanding this ford the rebels had two forts, and along the hillside, between the forts and river, a line of rifle pits. Our regiment is camped on the hillside, between the forts and pits, and the declivity above us is so steep as to be almost a precipice.

Our entire division is now assembled in this immediate vicinity. The wind blows bitter cold today, and there is a good fire going in front of every tent. Bill is sitting on a half-barrel, outside the tent, writing letters, and I am on my blankets at the portal. Every few minutes we have to stop and thaw out at the fire.

Bill and I have really been living pretty high on this expedition. We lugged soft bread enough in our haversacks and knapsacks so that we still have a good supply left. The day we got here I waded back across the creek and went on an exploring expedition. Away back in the woods I came upon a little clearing. In it was an abandoned cabin, and it was a picture of desolation. I imagine there was a tragedy here. There were the ruins of a garden patch which evidently had been raided and plundered by vagabonds like myself. But they had not made a clean harvesting, and ploughing around with a sharp stick I managed to turn up quite a quantity of excellent potatoes. I also found some turnips and onions, and some fairly good apples, and came back to camp loaded with truck. We had fried chicken yesterday morning. Bill borrowed my revolver, went off on a scout, and came back with the bird. I asked him if he shot it or bought it; I suspect the latter. There are quantities of walnuts, butternuts and persimmons about here. These last are a wild plum, growing on a tree looking much like an apple tree. They are awfully puckery when green, and sickish sweet when dead ripe.

Two days before we left Centreville Johnny Ogden’s wife came out to see him. It is no place for a woman, and my opinion is she had better have stayed at home. She has had a chance to see some of the rough side of campaigning. All that could be done has been done for her convenience and comfort. She has a fully inclosed tent here, thickly bedded with hay—the best quarters in camp.

I have some hopes now that this awful war will be over before many months. We all have confidence in Burnside and are hoping he will lead us to victory. “Officers’ Call” has just sounded, and I am afraid it means orders to march.

P. S.—It was an inspection, and we are now ordered to carry an extra pair of shoes in our knapsacks. That looks like some traveling. One pair of my size will be about all I will care to tote.

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_LXXVIII_

CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA., _Sunday, November 30, 1862_.

This is the last day of Fall. Tomorrow commences the Winter campaign, which, if carried on, will necessarily be one of privations and hardships. We arrived in our present position day before yesterday, and are encamped, with the rest of the Army of the Potomac, opposite the ancient city of Fredericksburg, which, with the rest of the territory on that side of the Rappahannock, is held by the rebel army. I can distinctly see their camps and camp fires from where I am sitting. All the New Hampshire troops now in Virginia are camped right here within a distance of a mile or two and I have met hundreds of old friends and acquaintances. I have seen James several times, and we had a hearty laugh over that mix up you made in our letters.

I am going over to the cavalry, right away, to get something to eat. The lean years follow the fat years and the famine follows the feast—and I am almost starved. Have been on short allowance for three days. Sutlers are simply giving their goods away—butter, 50 cents; cheese, 45 cents; tobacco, $2.00 a pound—and everything else in proportion. We have not had a mail for several days, but Bill Pendleton, our mail agent, tells me there will be one tonight.

Just this moment I have heard something that encourages me to have hopes that I may see you before long. Johnny Ogden told Bill Ramsdell that Colonel Marston told his (Johnny’s) wife that the time was approaching when the question of this regiment going home would be presented in such a manner that it could not be refused. He thought, though, we would stay and see the Fredericksburg affair through.

We have just got an order for inspection this afternoon, and the men are sitting around on the ground taking their guns to pieces to clean them. I might as well get busy with the rest.

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_LXXIX_

CAMP IN THE MUD, OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA., _December 5, 1862_.

I intend only to _begin_ this letter today, as I cannot hold on long in my present position—the ground for a seat, my knees for a writing desk, and my fingers blue with cold. A cold, drizzling rain set in today, which drove me under my shelter tent. Every little while a drop will splash down over my paper, and I cannot straighten up without hitting my head and shoulders on the canvas. Sally Shepherd’s brother—“Doctor”—was over here yesterday from the Ninth Regiment.

_Saturday, December 6._

You see I didn’t get a great ways on your letter yesterday. The rain changed to snow and beat in at the open end of the tent, so I had to leave off writing and get boughs to close it up. This done, Bill and I rolled ourselves up in our blankets and did not rout out until supper time. As soon as supper was swallowed we denned in again and did not dig out until morning. It snowed considerable during the night and our light tent sagged with the weight of the snow, but, curled up like two bears in winter quarters, we were very snug and warm.

We have just drawn new clothing, and I was getting in need of it. Bill and I have also come into possession of two extra pieces of shelter tent, so we can now close our house in on all sides; and when we get the rubber blankets we are expecting we will be pretty well heeled for winter.

_Sunday, December 7._

We are expecting to march soon with eight or ten days’ rations in our haversacks and on the wagons. We are expecting orders to cook extra rations right away. A good many troops are embarking at Belle Plain, eight or ten miles below here, but for what destination I do not know. All the line officers are confident we are going home before long. I understand the Adjutant told some of the boys who were transferred to the Regulars that the regiment was going home soon; but that may have been simply to make them regret their desertion of the Second.

It looks like winter now—as it is. The ground is covered with snow and the wind blows cold. Woe be to him who has no overcoat. We are beginning to realize the beauties of a winter campaign. But the poorly-clad rebels must suffer much more than we do. Deserters tell us a great many are barefoot, and that General Lee has issued instructions for them to make moccasins of the raw hides of their cattle.

I am on police duty today, so between lugging water for the cooks, wood for my fire, and writing letters, I will manage to make a fairly busy day. Johnny Ogden’s wife has gone home. There is a story that two men were found dead in their tents last night in the camp of the Seventeenth Maine—probably frozen to death, as it was bitter cold. As for myself, I am equipped now so I sleep as well as if I was on a feather bed. There are more than twenty stories afloat about our going home.

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_LXXX_

IN CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA., _Tuesday Evening, Dec. 16, 1862_.

There has been a terrible battle, in which New Hampshire has borne her full share and lost many a loyal son. Thursday we began to lay pontoon bridges at points about two miles apart, on which to cross over and attack the rebels on the heights around Fredericksburg. The rebels vigorously opposed this work, especially at the upper bridge, crossing into the city, and there was heavy skirmishing and a tremendous artillery fire before the bridges were laid and the army commenced crossing. Our regiment crossed Friday night, at the lower pontoons, which we were at once stationed to guard. The great fight took place on Saturday, when thousands of men were killed or wounded. Our regiment was not engaged that day, and by climbing a little elevation near the bridges I could see the fringe of the fight, at long range, over the trees and houses of Fredericksburg. Our men advanced with the utmost bravery, but the rebels had an enormous advantage in position, upon the hills and behind breastworks, and our men charged across the open plain only to be slaughtered by thousands.

Saturday night two regiments relieved us at the bridges and we rejoined our brigade at the front. Early Sunday morning an audacious rebel battery took position in a field on our front and opened on us. The Pennsylvania boys on the picket line couldn’t do a thing with them; but we sent out our Company B, and when their Sharp’s rifles began to bark the rebels couldn’t get away from those guns fast enough. And they made no further attempt to work them that day. We kept out one company at a time, relieving as fast as ammunition was used up. I fired fifty rounds. A dozen of us lay in a ditch by the side of the road, and kept up a brisk fire on a couple of houses used by the rebels as a cover. We fired over each other’s heads sometimes and had a merry time. Some of our boys got cover behind a big pile of loose lumber, and we kept two men behind an old chimney.

After this work had been going on nearly all day, there was a truce for some purpose or other, on that part of the line, the firing ceased, and the two skirmish lines mingled together like the best of friends, comparing notes and joking and chaffing each other. One rebel colonel, for some reason or other, was especially interested in the man behind the chimney and wanted to meet him. After a time the men leisurely meandered back to their hiding places, but there was very little shooting after that exchange of courtesies.

We recrossed the river last night, and got back into our old camp late this afternoon. I saw James this afternoon. He was unhurt and was writing letters. His regiment suffered severely, losing over two hundred. Jason Barker was killed. In the Manchester Battery two of my old acquaintances—John Fish and Tom Morrill—were killed, and Bill Fish was wounded in the foot. Charlie Vickery, of my company, was wounded in the neck. The regiment lost only twelve men wounded [two mortally.]

I will write home tomorrow, and meantime you must slip up and let the folks know I am unhurt. I am glad I am to name my little sister. Shall send some short, pretty name. For the past week my rations have consisted solely of salt pork and crackers, and I am so hungry I think I shall send for a box.

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_LXXXI_

CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA., _December 23, 1862_.

Received a letter from Addie last night and she said they had thought of naming the little sister _Flora_. I had written a day or two before and suggested the name _Cora_. Now, isn’t it a queer coincidence that we should think of names so near alike? Either is pretty enough, and I do not care a snap which they adopt. Addie wrote she imagined I would send _Nealie_ for a name—and I did think some of doing so.

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_LXXXII_

CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA., _January 1, 1863_.

Happy new year! and a great many of them! The new year presents itself to us in very pleasant fashion—clear and bright, but cold enough to suit a Laplander. James was over here and stayed with me Monday night, and we had a gay time. We sat before the fire and chatted and laughed and planned good times for the future. Then we rolled up in our blankets and slept. Jim was the first awake and kicked me out of bed, whereupon I arose in my wrath and drove him out of camp.

I went over to the Ninth Regiment to inquire concerning Sally Shepherd’s brother [Enoch O., familiarly known as “Doctor.”] I could learn nothing further than that he was missing and had not been heard from since the battle. No one knew when he fell. I pity Sally and her mother, as there can now be no doubt that he is another victim of this accursed rebellion. The note written to Sally was doubtless from some one of the burial party who went over, under a flag of truce, to bury our dead, and who, finding the envelope on a body, was thoughtful enough to write to the address. It must remove from her mind all doubts as to his fate.

For days the boys have been kept in a constant stew with stories of marching, but I am not losing any sleep over any of them. My main effort now is to get all the bodily comfort I can out of the situation. Well well, of all the sights! A load of soft bread has just come in. The most popular camp story just now is that Marston is to be appointed Military Governor of Washington and the Second Regiment is going there as provost guard and is to be armed with Allen & Wheelock breechloading rifles.

Bill Ramsdell, who disappeared some little time ago, has been heard from. As near as I can make out he thought that while furloughs were being passed out to the favored few he was entitled to one himself, and applied for it. He got turned down, and now he turns up at his home in Milford and writes that he is recruiting his strength and is coming back “when his furlough expires.”

I have got my tent raised up on logs, with a good bunk of poles and a turf fireplace. Have a big pile of wood to burn tonight, and will have a good fire to drive away Jack Frost.

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_LXXXIII_

CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA., _January 9, 1863_.

Charlie Vickery is going home on furlough tomorrow. So am I—in about sixteen months. We have moved camp about a mile and a half, and already have very comfortable winter quarters fixed up. Yesterday I wrote home for a box. The chances are good for our staying here long enough for me to get it. I am tenting now with George Lawrence, who was one of my tent’s crew at Camp Sullivan. Of my six tentmates there, two have been killed, one died of disease, and one joined the cavalry. Ed. Bailey [Major commanding the regiment] is under arrest on charges of disobeying orders of General Carr. I don’t imagine it is anything very serious.

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_LXXXIV_

CAMP OPPOSITE FREDERICKSBURG, VA., _January 16, 1863_.

Everything seems to be going wrong today. The wind has been blowing a perfect hurricane; last night it rained hard; just now there is a good prospect of our having to leave the snug huts we have built and go somewhere—the Lord only knows where. Marston has been appointed Brigadier-General, and the story persists that he has had this regiment detached for special duty at Washington and that the order is now at headquarters.

Bill Ramsdell’s “furlough” appears to be still in good working order. There are doubtless some details under the surface that we don’t know, but I’ll bet on Bill. So will all the old boys. He was not the type of patriot who couldn’t serve his country unless he was ornamented with shoulder straps, and there is a quite general sentiment that smaller men than he is have refused him a square deal.

There was a terrible catastrophy in my tent last night. Over our bunk was a shelf loaded with a miscellaneous assortment of a little of everything—letters, papers, portfolio, a dish of cooked rice and a can of molasses. All of a sudden, Lawrence, in performing some of his antics, sent the shelf flying, and such a mess! The molasses seemed to have a chemical affinity for everything there was in that tent, and it is unnecessary to say it was a total loss.

Perk. Lane, Rod. Manning and the other boys who went into the cavalry are visiting in camp. Their regiment is near here. Hen. Pillsbury and Joe Hubbard are here and well. Joe is captain of Company B. He is one of the best fellows and most popular officers in the regiment.

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_LXXXV_

CAMP NEAR FALMOUTH, VA., _January 24, 1863_.

Since last Tuesday we have been paddling around in the rain and mud to our heart’s content—and a good deal more. The short of the story is that Gen. Burnside intended to cross the Rappahannock a few miles above here and attack the enemy, but owing to continuous rains the roads became impassable and the army was obliged to wallow back to its old position and wait for better conditions. Our division left camp Tuesday noon, in a pouring rain, and accomplished about a mile and a half, under difficulties. Then we waited until about nine o’clock at night, when we were ordered back to our camps. Wednesday we tried it again and managed to get about six miles. The mud was simply awful, and it was almost an utter impossibility to move the wagons and artillery at all. The Manchester battery was striddled along the road, a gun here and a caisson there, over a stretch of three miles. And that was the way everything on wheels was hung up. General Burnside had issued an address to the army, saying they were soon to meet the enemy and enjoining them to display their old-time bravery. But God willed that the battle should not take place just at present, and with the elements at command He prevented it. Yesterday the division made its way back to the old camps. Lawrence and I rehabilitated our old shanty and are now as comfortable and cozy as you please.

I saw George Dakin day before yesterday—the first time since he went into the army. I got a letter from Addie and expect my box is on the way. I am actually suffering for something good to eat. Have you seen the picture I sent Addie? Did you ever see a more disreputable-looking outlaw?

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_LXXXVI_

HEADQUARTERS SICKLES’ DIVISION, NEAR FALMOUTH, VA., _Sunday, February 8, 1863_.

Have you begun to wonder why I have not written for a fortnight? Well, I have made another lightning change and am now on the provost guard at division headquarters. I am not prepared to say that I exactly relish the change. I was denned in for a comfortable, easy-going winter, without much work, when I was pitchpoled into this place, where it is nothing but hard work. Lawrence and I were notified by the Orderly Sergeant that we were detailed for special duty, that we were to take our entire outfit with us, and report to the Adjutant. We dismantled our shack, packed up, and reported. We found nine more victims, from other companies. I was placed in charge of the squad and ordered to report to the Provost Marshal at Sickles’ headquarters. It snowed and was awful cold. Along with detachments from other regiments of the division we were quartered two nights in a barn, which was dry enough, but we came near freezing. Then we pitched our tents and began to hustle to make ourselves comfortable. In company with four from my own squad and two from the First Massachusetts, I am now comfortably housed in a log and canvas palace, 17x7 feet, inside measurement, with a big fireplace and good bunks.

I have been promoted, “for gallant and meritorious”—_cheek_. When I reported my squad, I gave in, of course, the names and rank of all as privates. My first detail was for guard duty. I stood a post for two hours, and I did a lot of thinking. I had been taking things in, and had discovered that a private soldier on provost guard had about the worst job in the army. It was not only guard duty, but police duty of all kinds, and they were hewers of wood and luggers of water for everybody. I wasn’t brought up that way. And at last I made a guess, and I guess that I made a pretty good guess. When I came off post I marched up to the Marshal’s tent, saluted, and delivered the following oration: “Captain, I am Private Haynes of the Second New Hampshire. The order for detail from my regiment called for ten privates and a corporal. We are very short of non-commissioned officers, so I was placed in charge as an acting corporal. It was my oversight in not so stating when I reported my detachment. So I was given a post as sentry today and have stood it, but I thought it best to call your attention to the matter.” When the next relief was called Sergeant-Major Featherstone announced: “Corporal Haynes takes charge of this relief.” Relieved from a common laborer’s drudgery and from the heavier part of guard duty, I will get along, probably, as comfortably as I would with the regiment. And I am in position to make it easier for my boys from the Second. Featherstone seems to have a pretty high idea of the average capacity of my New Hampshire Yankees. The other day he called on me for a skilled wood worker, who could do repair work mainly. I recommended my bunkmate Lawrence, and now George has the softest job of any man on the Guard—nothing to do but whittle. And the axe-helves and tool handles he turns out to replace the broken ones are really a credit to his skill.

My box has not come yet. The express matter is at Belle Plain, but it is hard to get anything but army supplies up over the railroad. I have not seen James for some time. His camp is a mile and a half from here, and I have to stick pretty close to these headquarters, just now. I have heard that the Ninth Army Corps, to which his regiment belongs, is on the way to North Carolina. If so, I shall not see him again. He was over here a few days ago, but I was off in the woods with a squad of men. [I never saw him again. He was killed, the following year, at Spottsylvania.]

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_LXXXVII_

HEADQUARTERS BERRY’S DIVISION, NEAR FALMOUTH, VA., _February 15, 1863_.

Out I go again into the cold—the same old story. Somebody else is enjoying the cozy quarters I helped build over at the Fitzhugh house, while I am sitting in my little shelter tent, hardly big enough for two, with the rain pouring and all my surroundings wet and uncomfortable. It all comes from the fact that Sickles, having been put in command of the corps, retains his old quarters as corps headquarters, while Berry, put in command of the division, has to set up housekeeping somewhere else, taking the division provost guard along with him, of course. We are now about two miles from the camp of the Second, and fully a mile from any of the division, and it is said we are to move again in a day or two. The entire brigade is out on picket now. Went out three days ago, and rations have been sent out for three days more. They are out six or seven miles, above Falmouth. My box has not reached me yet, and I am getting a little mad about it. Many of the boys have got theirs, which started at the same time; but there is still a great pile at the landing and mine is probably among them.

Charlie Vickery has got back looking like a new man. I was glad to see him, for he brought me a half-dollar’s worth of postage stamps just as I was all out and wondering where I would get more.