Monday, [January] 27, 1862. — Snow, sleet, finally rain. Rumors of “Secesh” cavalry and troops in various directions. Six hundred crossing Packs Ferry, threatening Raleigh. A like number of cavalry crossing to Princeton, ditto. Colonel Tompkins and a regiment above Camp Lookout, etc., etc. All probably with very slight foundation in fact. Two howitzers sent to Camp Hayes. Houses prepared to resist an attack by Major Comly. The major is plucky beyond question. All safe in that quarter.
Friday, January 27, 2012
27th. Rode over prairies and rough road to St. Joseph, Mo. Moved toward Weston.
January 27, 1862.
Yesterday I concluded, after writing this, to come to town and get comfortable quarters, as I felt much inclined to chill. I slept pretty well last night, and this morning am not suffering any pain. I hope to be well in the course of a few days. Should I get worse, I will write tomorrow.
(For several days he continued ill at Winchester, and this perhaps hastened the granting of the greatly desired furlough. His next letter shows that he remained at home until February 24, 1862, having been there perhaps twenty days. This was his first visit home since entering the service.)
The Curlew.
Jan. 27. Preparations are going on this morning to get the New York across the bar. We were transferred to the steam ferry-boat Curlew, and are now anchored in the sound. The New York is to be lightened of everything on board, and it is thought, with a full sea and some help, she may be able to cross. We are in the most disagreeable and uncomfortable quarters we have yet been in. Every change seems to bring some new hardship, and with a few more changes for the worse we shall be able to learn how great are our powers of endurance. We are packed in here as thick as bees with scarcely standing room, and the old craft is open at both ends admitting the cold winds and rains, besides being as wet and dirty as a stable. If it should rain hard enough to drive us in from the ends of the boat and from off the deck, a part of us would have to lie down in our bunks to give standing room for the rest. I should think the water casks were a cemetery for dead rats by the way the water tastes; condensed sea water is a luxury to it, and byway of encouragement we are told that we are to have some tomorrow. There are, however, a few casks of good water aboard, but we are not allowed any of it. I reckon the boys will manage to get some of it. If they don’t, it will be an exception to their general smartness. The officers and crew of the old hulk are cross and crabbed, and unless they alter their tactics, I fear they will get enough of us before we have been here many days.
January 27 — Remained at Charlestown awaiting orders.
Monday January 27th 1862
A pleasant day, a good air & cool. There has been no news afloat. I have been in the office all day as usual. Mrs Williams, Mrs VanMaster, D Griffiths & Ed Dick’n visited the Presidents with my wife, saw the President and the “White House.” This evening myself and Julia spent the evening in their (or with them) in Maj Williams Room. Mr W & VanMaster were also there and Mr Pomeroy, the Member from Cayuga. We got home about 10 o’clock. Wife was pretty well tired out tonight and could not go. The Boys have been at the Presidents today riding the Poney. Some of the “sympathizers” with the rebellion are in the habit of starting reports of terrible disasters to our [arms?]. Last evening it was reported at all the Hotels that our troops in Kentucky had be[en] totally defeated. It mad[e] some long faces for a while and some jubilent ones.
______
The three diary manuscript volumes, Washington during the Civil War: The Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft, 1861-1865, are available online at The Library of Congress.
Monday, 27th—The regimental surgeon came down from California to look over the convalescents in our company; he revaccinated all on whom the vaccine had not worked.
27th.—Expectation is still on the strain. How long it has been kept up! But no order to move, and I doubt whether we get any soon. Indeed, I think now that we should not move. ‘Tis too late. The roads are excessively bad, and for a long time we have been having an almost continuous storm of freezing rain and snow. An army could not lie out over night in this terrible weather, and be in condition next day to fight against those who had slept in good quarters and been well fed. The time has passed to move. But why are we not ordered to winter quarters? There seems to me to be great recklessness of the soldiers’ health and comfort in this army. There is wrong somewhere.
A sad case has just passed under my notice. Three days ago, as I was busily engaged in attending to hospital duties, I entrusted, necessarily, the light sickness of quarters to others. As I passed out just after morning call, I heard one of my nurses say to a man, “You look sick; why do you not come to hospital, where we can take care of you?”— “That is what I came for, but the doctor’ says I am not sick, and has returned me to duty.” I passed on, but notwithstanding that there is scarcely a day that some “shirk ” who is pretending to be sick to avoid duty, is not treated thus, that voice rang sadly in my ears. In ten minutes I returned, and inquired after the man. The drums had beaten to duty, and he was on parade. I followed to parade ground, found him endeavoring to do his duty, on a “double-quick.” I took him from the ranks, examined him, and sent him to hospital. Before they got him to bed he was delirious. He has just died. ‘Twas a case of typhoid fever, of which he had been sick for two days before I saw him. I ask of army Surgeons, Had you not better excuse ten “seeds” who are worthless, even when in rank, than sacrifice one good man like this, who believes he is not sick, because you tell him he is not?
Beaufort, S. C. Jan. 26th, 1862.
My dear Mother:
Another Sunday has come around, time slips quietly by — still nothing striking has taken place. We are all impatiently awaiting the advent of some steamer, bringing us news from the Burnside Expedition. Is our country really so prolific in great Commanders? Is there a Napoleon for each one of the dozen armies that compose the anaconda fold? Ay, ay, it would be a sad disappointment if the fold should happen to snap somewhere! Things look like action down here, and that not long hence. We have been gathering our troops gradually on the islands about the mouth of the Savannah river. Thither have gone our Connecticut friends, and yesterday three more steamers, loaded, took the remainder of Gen. Wright’s Brigade with them. We are left here quite unnoticed on Port Royal Island, in seeming safety, though there are many troops around us. An army, boasting much, awaits us on the mainland, but an army having still a wholesome dread of Yankees. I made them a sort of visit the other night (25th), passing up Hospa Creek in a light canoe, hidden by the darkness and the long grass of the marshes. A negro guide paddled so lightly that, as we glided along, one might have heard the dropping of a pin. It was fine sport and as we passed close by the enemy’s pickets we would place our thumbs to our noses, and gracefully wave our fingers toward the unsuspecting souls. This was by no means vulgarly intended, but as we could not speak, we thus symbolically expressed the thoughts that rose in our bosoms. We pushed on until coming to a point where a stream like a mere thread lay before us. Here we paused, for this was a stream we wished to examine. At the mouth of the stream stood the sentries of the enemy. We could hear their voices talking. We lay under the river grass, watching. Soon a boat pushed across the little stream to the opposite shore. We shoved our canoe far into the marsh, and lay there concealed. Then all was still and we thought it time to return, so back we went, and returned home unnoticed and in safety. Such little excursions give a zest to the dulnessof camp. I have not yet been able to give Miss Mintzing’s letter to any one who could send it to her friends, yet I hope such an opportunity will speedily come. What is Tom Reynolds now doing?
The paymaster has not visited us this long time, and I have but fifty cents in my pocket. However, when one has nothing to spend, he feels quite as happy down here, as money can buy but few luxuries in camp. We don’t starve though. Secession cows give us milk, speculators bring us butter, and the negroes sell us chickens.
Jan. 27th. We find all sorts of communication with home fairly cut off. Gen. Sherman has been long planning some expedition against Fort Pulaski. At length it has started from Hilton Head, and Gen. Sherman, with his characteristic caution, has closed all communication, fearful that otherwise, through letter or in some other manner his plans might be revealed. I trust when the embargo is raised, the same steamer that carries this to you, will bear accounts of some new success from our expedition.
I am sorry Uncle Phelps is disappointed that he did not have the pleasure of reading my name in print. Why, I read the other day (in the Herald), how I commanded an enterprise at which I was not even present. So much for newspaper glory! After Bull Run, numbers who never left New-York, had themselves puffed for gallant conduct by a mercenary press. Pooh! Mother, your reputation outside the circle of those who can see, is not worth the words that picture it. I have to laugh when I think of Brig.-Gen. _____ of the Irish Brigade, and the affrighted Captain beating a quick retreat from Bull Run, swearing that the South had fought well and deserved its independence — that it was useless to resist a free people, and the sooner we recognize the South the better.
Since then _____ _____has become a great hero, by the mighty powers of quackery.
Well, dear Mother, Good-bye.
Yours affectionately,
W. T. Lusk.
JANUARY 27TH.—The Secretary of War has issued such a peremptory order to Gen. Wise, that the latter has no alternative but to attempt the defense of Roanoke Island with 3000 men against 15,000 and a fleet of gun-boats. The general is quite sick, but he will fight. His son, Capt. O. Jennings Wise, who has been under fire many times already, commands a company on the island. He will deserve promotion. The government seems to have proscribed the great men of the past and their families, as if this government was the property of the few men who happen to wield power at the present moment. Arrogance and presumption in the South must, sooner or later, have a fall. The great men who were the leaders of this revolution may be ignored, but they cannot be kept down by the smaller fry who aspire to wield the destinies of a great and patriotic people. Smith and Lovell, New York politicians and Street Commissioners, have been made major-generals, while Wise and Breckinridge are brigadiers.
