CHAPTER II.

Tuesday, Sept. 17, was ushered in by a warm sun and a genial atmosphere, which only served to increase our interest in the busy scenes that were before us, for we were all aware that the old Sixth would soon be en route for the seat of war. The colonel and staff were busy issuing orders, captains of companies were instructed to issue no passes to leave camp, and so far as was practicable all visitors were excluded from the precincts of the camp proper. The cooks were busy preparing our rations, and every one seemed to think himself an important personage around the cook’s tent. As the day wore on the clouds began to thicken, portending a storm, and as the call was sounded by the drummers at 2 o’clock to “strike tents,” the rain came down copiously. We rolled up the wet canvass as expeditiously as possible, which was quickly loaded on our army wagons, together with other camp equipage.

We received two days’ rations for our haversacks, consisting of boiled ham and hard bread, to nourish the inner man, and were soon in line for our departure, but the usual delays incident to such an occasion kept us in line about three hours. 5 o’clock came, and with it the order to “Forward, march.” The band struck up “The gal I left behind me,” and we marched through the rain and mud to Belle Dock. The rain did not dampen the ardor of the boys nor decrease the patriotism of the citizens of the Elm City. Handkerchiefs from fair ones waved us adieu; men shouted “God bless the boys,” together with the martial music of the band to increase the enthusiasm, made our departure from New Haven pleasant to contemplate. Pleasant, from the fact that we felt that the prayers and best wishes of our good people would go with us, as incentives to noble principles and holy action. We embarked on the steamer Elm City and soon stretched ourselves on the several decks and in the cabin, glad enough for a chance to rest ourselves, for the rain had drenched us through to the skin. The boat left her moorings at 8 o’clock, and when we awoke we found ourselves alongside the dock at Jersey City. For some unknown reason we did not disembark till about noon. At 2 P. M. we left by rail for the capital of the nation. Arriving at Philadelphia we were entertained at the Union Refreshment Rooms with a bountiful collation, which was indeed refreshing to the inner man, and it also gave evidence of a large stock of loyalty on the part of the good people of that city. Every regiment passing through the city were made heartily welcome to their hospitality, and none will ever forget the hearty cheers and the “God speed” which was heard on every hand.

Leaving Philadelphia, our next stopping place was at Perryville, where we arrived at 8 o’clock in the evening. We were delayed here about two hours, and were then ferried across the river to Havre-de-Grace, when we again started by rail for Baltimore, arriving there at 10 P. M. No cheers for the Union soldier startled our ears at this place. No demonstration of delight at our arrival, but all seemed sullen, and their actions showed more of a secession spirit than otherwise. We were ordered to fix bayonets before we crossed the city, for the memory of the Massachusetts Sixth who had preceded us was not forgotten, and a repetition of those scenes would not have found us unprepared. The spilled blood of the Massachusetts Sixth will ever be a stain upon the records of the Monumental City while this generation inhabits this mundane sphere.

We crossed the city to the depot where we found cars waiting to transport us to Washington. We were huddled aboard cars that we understood were used to transport cattle the day previous, and we had no reason to disbelieve the report, for the muck and filth covered the floors to such a depth that anything short of a pair of Uncle Sam’s “tan-yards” would have been lost sight of in a short time. However, we accepted the situation, believing that it all made up the three years of a soldier’s life. We arrived in Washington on the 19th, at 6 o’clock in the morning, very much fatigued by our wearisome ride in the cattle cars, wishing, longing, hoping, for what the soldier calls “a good square meal.” We expected Washington would not be behind Philadelphia in this respect, and after stacking our arms and waiting patiently for about two hours our ears were startled by that sound so welcome to every soldier, “Fall in for rations.” They marched us into a building having a sign over the door reading “Soldiers’ Retreat.” Visions of cold ham and soft bread appeared unto us, and that beverage, which always cheers but does not inebriate, we thought we smelt afar off; but alas, for a soldier’s hopes. What a sight greeted our eyes as we filed into that building. Three long rows of tables, running the length of the building, were piled up with chunks of half boiled pork which looked as if they had been cut from the hog when just killed, for the bristles were long enough to lift up each piece by. A quantity of stale and musty bread and some very muddy coffee, completed our bill of fare. We had not anticipated such a re-treat as this; however, we felt that it was nothing like getting used to these things, and we did retreat and got our breakfast at the eating houses. We had a few hours to see the sights of the city, and improved them by a visit to the Capitol and House of Representatives, also the Senate chamber, where some of the boys sat down in the chair which Jeff. Davis had vacated, just to see how it would seem. Others made impromptu speeches on the great questions which were agitating our country.

The camp which was assigned to us was out to Meridian Hill, about four miles from the capitol, and thither we marched and pitched our tents, and were quite willing to enjoy a comfortable snooze when the drums beat the tatoo.

The Sixth was brigaded with the Fourth and Seventh New Hampshire and the Seventh Connecticut, which arrived the next day, all under command of Brig. Gen. H. G. Wright.

A member of Co. “B” was taken ill when but a few days in camp, and was removed to Columbia Hospital, where he died of congestion of the brain on the 26th of September. This was the first death since our organization. Death claimed another victim in a member of Co. “F,” Theodore Gibbons by name. He died on the 7th of October.

The twenty days of our camp life in Washington was one unceasing drill: morning drills by the sergeants, before breakfast; company drill after that meal was over; then the brigade drill after dinner, taken with our other duties, made our time pretty much all occupied. We began to see in these extra duties the inner life of a soldier, and our proficiency in drill was manifest from day to day, yet as we heard of the clash of war and read the accounts of skirmishes, we longed to be at the front where we might participate in those stirring scenes. Several times during our camp life here, we were called into line and extra rounds of cartridges given us, with the orders to hold ourselves in readiness to move at a moment’s notice, but as often dismissed to await the next call.

On the 8th day of October we left Washington by rail for Annapolis, Maryland, and arrived there after a wearisome ride of twelve hours. We were quartered in the Navy Yard for a few days, which gave us an opportunity of seeing a few of the relics of the war of 1812. Many ancient looking swords, old flintlock muskets and wooden canteens were among the collection. A few days passed and we went outside the town and pitched our tents near a grove of fine old trees, where we might have better facilities for drilling, &c. We were inspected several times by prominent officers of the regular army, which gave evidence of some movement or other on foot, and a short time elapsed ere it was noised abroad that we were going on an expedition.

The 19th of October found us all packed up and tramping up the gang-planks of the steamers to sail on the great expedition, with sealed orders, under Gen. Sherman. The right wing of our regiment was assigned to the steamship Marion, the left wing to the steamer Parkersburg. There were seventeen regiments in all, and thirty-three steam transports to hold us, besides quite a fleet of gunboats, made up the entire fleet. Such formidable looking boats presented to our vision, gave evidence of something else beside a mere excursion. We knew that hard work and fighting were before us and that only a few days would elapse ere we should see the rebel soil.

Weighing anchor, we passed down the bay to Hampton Roads, Va., where we remained several days, waiting like Micawber, for something to turn up. Finally, the union jack gave the signal for sailing, and glad enough were we at the prospect of soon being able to step on terra firma once more. Two days out from Hampton Roads we experienced a terrible storm at sea, and for several hours the prospects of seeing anything but a broken wreck and finding a watery grave, were exceedingly dubious. Wave after wave poured over us. The hatches were fastened and everything on deck was lashed tight to prevent being washed away. The red glare of the lightning, with the terrific peals of thunder, made the scene awfully grand. Now in the trough of the sea and another moment upon the crest of the waves, with all on board terribly sea-sick, was a picture not very pleasant to dwell upon. Our fleet became scattered and two vessels were sunk; others had horses washed overboard; while another was forced to throw into the deep her entire armament, which consisted of some improved guns which we expected would do some very effective service. A merciful Providence permitted us to outride the storm and once more see the scattered fleet all together again, save those that went to the bottom. Many a prayer of thankfulness went up to God for our safe deliverance from such a storm.

A day or two of pleasant sailing brought us at anchor in the harbor of Port Royal, South Carolina, with two very formidable looking rebel batteries on either side of the harbor. Here we saw that our mission was to reduce these works and gain a foothold on South Carolina soil. The rebel soldiers gazed at us from their strongholds, and two very scaly looking gunboats ventured down from their hiding place a short distance above the batteries, and sent us their compliments in the shape of a few shells for about the space of half an hour, but with no damage to our fleet; but as soon as one of Uncle Sam’s boats gave them a few messengers of war, they were glad enough to change front to the rear and troubled us no more that day.