XCVI
Taneytown, Md.,June 30, 1863.
Taneytown, Md.,June 30, 1863.
Taneytown, Md.,June 30, 1863.
Taneytown, Md.,June 30, 1863.
MY NOTEof last evening will let you know I am still alive. As there are no signs as yet of an immediate movement, I will commence a letter, not knowing when I will have a chance to finish or to send it. The Second Regiment, in company with two other regiments, left Gum Springs on the afternoon of Wednesday, the 24th, marched out about three miles on the Leesburg road, camped, and threw out patrols on the road and in the neighborhood. The boys foraged about and brought in an unusual abundance of fresh meat of all kinds. As for myself, I not only gorged at supper, but had my haversack loaded when we started in the morning. There was a house close to camp, occupied, so far as we could see, only by two solitary women. Some of the boys discovered a great quantity of bacon in storage—enough, in fact, for a small army. They intimated to the women that it looked very much as if they had unearthed a guerrilla base of supplies. It probably was a good guess, and the women were very much frightened. But our men wanted that bacon, and a business arrangement was concluded under which the women were paid a fair price for it in good Yankee money.
Thursday forenoon the whole corps marched past us and we fell in and brought up the rear of the column. That was a hard day’s march. Late in the afternoon we reached the Potomac at Edwards’ Ferry. There were three pontoon bridges over the river, on which we crossed over into Maryland. As it was near night and raining we expected to halt somewhere near the ferry. But we were not permitted even to cross the canal to the turnpike beyond. Instead, were switched onto the towpath of the Ohio and Chesapeake Canal, heading up stream. The night settled down, dark and gloomy, but no halt or rest. There was no place for either. The path was but a mule track with the canal on one side and the river on the other. Occasionally there was a little point or elbow of land on the river side. Then the rain came, and we were soaked. The towpath became muddy and slippery. The men had not had a chance since morning to cook coffee. By ten o’clock there was no organization left. The division was a straggling, swearing, disgusted mob. The men “went into camp” whenever and wherever they could find aplace big enough to lie down on. I dug along until I was all in. I slid down the bank to the river’s edge, along with Jess. Dewey and Joe Gleason, and camped down on a pile of brush. Jess, was a fair example of the utter demoralization. He was the color-sergeant and had the regimental colors with him. “Anybody that wants to carry the flag can have it,” he said, “but I won’t lug it another inch.” The rain was pouring, and all I could do was to cover myself with my piece of shelter tent and take what came. I had lost my good old rubber poncho at Edwards’ Ferry—sat down on it while waiting a passage, and forgot to pick it up when I started for the bridge.
Friday morning we cooked coffee, had a good breakfast, and started up the towpath again. There was no chance to get out of the trap till we got to Monocacy Bridge, fifteen miles from Edwards’ Ferry. There the General—who probably has learned something about driving cattle—collected his command as they came straggling along for hours. We camped, that night, about a mile from Point of Rocks. I had a share in a big fire of fence rails, and made up in a great measure for the discomforts of the previous night. Had a great warming up and drying out, hung my boots before the fire, got into my reserve pair of stockings, and slept soundly and restfully.
Saturday we marched through a very rough, broken country. We passed through one village—Jefferson. South Mountain, where the battle was fought last fall, was in sight all day. At night I was detailed for brigade camp guard. The brilliant idea of a camp guard in that place was conceived by the colonel of the Ninth New Jersey, commanding the brigade. It was about as much use as a second tail for a cat. I felt that I had done enough marching for one day, so when I was posted I laid down where I could watch my beat and, of course, went to sleep. I didn’t wake up until “Curley” Converse, on the next beat, shook me and told me the relief was falling in. I was greatly relieved, on looking around, to find that nobody had run away with the camp in my absence.
When we started out Sunday morning we were assured we were going only nine miles—to Frederick City. We marched to that place on a splendid turnpike, over a mountain with an unpronounceable name, and arrived in good season. We found quite a town, old and quaint, largely built of brick. But we did not stop accordingto the advertised schedule. We pushed on and on until we had passed through Walkerville, about eight miles beyond. The first thing on getting into camp, we were ordered not to take any fence rails, as wood would be hauled to us. It was late, and we couldn’t wait the arrival of wood teams, in which we didn’t take much stock anyway. But the men were sparing in their use of rails. It didn’t take many to cook our coffee and keep all the campfires we needed.
Yesterday morning we started again, early, and marched to this place, which is, I should judge, about fifteen miles from Walkerville. We are now in a country where the people are our friends, and where the Old Flag and cheers for the Union are the rule and not the exception. We can buy about anything we want in the grub line, as the country has not been ravaged and plundered by the armies. I have just had a good meal of home-made bread, right out of the oven, with delicious butter. The butter was a streak of luck for me. Strolling off a little ways into the country, I saw a swarm of men from various regiments at one of those stone spring-houses which answer the purpose of an ice-box in this country. An old lady was peddling out her stock of butter in pound pats, and there were a dozen hands reaching for every ball. Being a late arrival and on the outskirts, it didn’t look as if I was in the game. But I was. The old lady held the last ball in her hand. There was a wild competition for that. “No!” she said, decidedly, “this belongs to a gentleman over there; I promised him he should have one, sure.” “Thank you, ma’am!” I called out, “I knew you wouldn’t forget me!” and I reached over half a dozen heads, got the butter, passed over a quarter, and struck for camp.
Just now, old Dan. Desmond is assuring me, “By cripes, Mart., ye’ve saved me life.” And I don’t know but what I have. The old man was off his feed and flat on his back, in almost complete collapse, when I sailed forth. I divided my plunder of fresh bread and butter with him, and he ate ravenously, and in a little while was on his feet, bright and chipper. He got just the medicine he needed.
The talk is that we are not going farther today. We hope it is so, for we need rest badly. Today I look all your letters from my knapsack and fed them to the flames. Several times I have come near losing my knapsack and all it contained. I have a bad toothache and am afraid of neuralgia.
General Sickles returned to the corps yesterday, and the men are giving him the credit for the long rest we are enjoying. Birney and Humphrey are not as careful of the men as Sickles. The wish is perhaps father to the thought, but the report is that Humphrey has been censured or disciplined in some way for that towpath scrape. We saw General Marston in Frederick and cheered him heartily. The sun is out and we have orders to pack for a march.