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Camp Winfield Scott,Before Yorktown, Va.,May 1, 1862.
Camp Winfield Scott,Before Yorktown, Va.,May 1, 1862.
Camp Winfield Scott,Before Yorktown, Va.,May 1, 1862.
Camp Winfield Scott,
Before Yorktown, Va.,May 1, 1862.
PHYSICALLYI am pretty near used up. Night and day we are on duty in the trenches or on fatigue work, supporting batteries, throwing up earthworks, building roads, regardless of weather conditions. Last night we were digging on a parallel, or trench for infantry, the end of which was at the edge of the bluff overlooking the York river. It was all open ground between us and the rebel works, and, though very dark, the rebels kept the scene fairly well lighted up. Every two or three minutes there would be a flash way up there to the front, then a roar, another flash in the air down our way, and pieces of iron flying. The big guns, though, did not worry us much. It was practically impossible to land a shell in the trench from one of these guns. But they had one big mortar working that was quite another matter. Every time this was fired the burning fuse marked its course. Up, up, up it would climb, then hang for an instant and come sweeping down, down, down. It did not land one shell in our trench, although it put some uncomfortably close.
I managed to steal one little nap, but it didn’t last long. I got quite a comfortable seat at the end of the trench, overlooking the river. I have a recollection of watching the lights on vessels far down the river and in distant camps, and of listening to the lap of the waves on the beach below me. And I went to sleep. And I woke up—quick. I was trying to decide whether the rebels had sprung a mine or landed a shell in the trench, when it happened again, and I saw what the trouble was. Only a short distance below was the black mass of one of our gunboats, which had crawled up unusually close, and was firing her big shells right over our heads into the rebel works.
The rebels made an effort to drive in our pickets on a part of the line, this morning, but got rather more than they were looking for. A burial party has just gone by, to give a soldier’s burial to a New Jersey boy killed in the affair. The cemetery, near our camp, is rapidly filling with the bodies of men who have been killed or have died of disease. Each grave is marked by a neatly-lettered headboard.
Company H of the Massachusetts First charged a lunette, or small outer earthwork, which had become a nuisance, the other morning, and drove the rebels out at the point of the bayonet. They had three men killed and a dozen or fifteen wounded. One of their men had a remarkable escape. A ball struck the eagle plate on his breast strap—a round brass plate backed with lead—doubling it up and going through just far enough to show the point at the back. The blow knocked him several feet, and he naturally thought, for a little time, that he was a goner.
That night we were in the trenches in support of the Hungarian battery. The rebels appeared to have a pretty accurate idea of its location, notwithstanding it was screened by trees, and sent shot and shell thick and fast. One shell struck on the parapet and rolled down under a platform on which six men were sleeping, but fortunately did not explode.
It rains or drizzles most of the time, so we are kept tolerably uncomfortable.
May 2d, afternoon, 2 o’clock.—The regiment went into the trenches to work today, but as I was not feeling well I remained in camp. The rebels have been doing more shooting today than any other day before, and many of their shot have struck near our camp. I went to sleep about noon, but was awakened by the infernal screech of a shell, and took it as a hint that I had better finish your letter. I do hope that May will prove a pleasanter month than April. I hope our batteries will open before long, for I want to see this affair closed up. If we thrash them soundly here and at Corinth, I think the war will be about as good as over.