Thursday, 31st—The new uniforms for the Eleventh Iowa were received today by our quartermaster. We are the first to receive uniforms before leaving the State. This is the last of October—and we are still at old Camp McClellan, Davenport, Iowa.
October 2011
Thursday, October 31. — This morning about 2.30 o’clock I was waked up by the ship’s shaking, jarring, groaning, and screeching generally. I at first thought we had been struck by a heavy sea, but a second shock, following soon after the first, convinced me that I was wrong. At the second shock I called Saxton and asked him what the matter was, and we both jumped out of bed, I running into the saloon to see what had happened, and Saxton lighting the candle. The saloon was full of people, excited and running around, but still not noisy. I found out from the hospital steward that the ship was aground. All the while we were bumping heavily, causing the ship to groan and creak in every timber. I must confess that a dreadful shudder ran through me at the idea of being drowned, for so it seemed to me must be the fate of every one on board, as the night was dark and the sea rough. I thought, however, that it would do no good to be frightened, so I put on my trousers, shoes, and coat, then took my watch and ring from under my pillow, and finally took the cork life-preserver from under the bed, and fixed it so that I could slip it on at a minute’s notice, I then left it on my bed, and went up on deck to see how we were getting on. When I reached the deck, the bumping had ceased, and the ship had backed off safely. The pumps were sounded, and everything found snug and tight, much to my delight as well as that of others.
When we struck, the concussion was so severe as to throw several people out of their berths, and those on deck were thrown several feet. We sent up rockets as signals of distress, and as a warning to other vessels of the fleet. Pretty soon the Coatzacoalcos came along, and asked us if we wanted any assistance. We told her we were all right, and she then informed us that the Illinois had also grounded, but had got off without injury. She had been obliged to cut loose the ship which she was towing, which we also had to do, our ship barely grazing our starboard wheelhouse. We backed for some distance, and then steered due East. I went to bed at four and slept till six, when I got up and dressed myself. I saw our ship, the Ocean Express, on our port bow, and about ten o’clock we fastened our tow line to her.
In regard to the behavior of the passengers of the ship, I think it should be praised as a general thing. Most of them were calm and quiet, although some of them made fools of themselves. Captain Comstock says we had a very narrow escape indeed, one of the most wonderful on record. The wind luckily had subsided, and the sea was, compared with the evening before, quite calm. No one seemed to know what shoal we struck, although it afterwards turned out to be the Outer Hatteras Shoal. There must have been some gross negligence, to say the least, in our getting on the shoal, and from all I can learn, the Wabash was to blame, as she at ten last evening gave us the course to steer, which we followed strictly, and consequently ran aground. Hubbell and the second mate, Hallet, saw breakers ahead about three minutes before we struck and told the captain of it. He said it was impossible, and was just going forward when she struck. The captain says the waves were as high as the yards, and that the shoal must have been steep and precipitous on its sides as otherwise we should have struck amidships, and been “hogged.” Lieutenant Richardson, the officer of the day, behaved nobly. He told all the sentinels to do their duty, and stick the first man who came up, while he stood at the head of the stairs with a loaded pistol, and told them he would shoot the first man who tried to pass him. The captain was thus enabled to work the ship easily, which would have been impossible with all the soldiers on deck.
We saw the Illinois with one smoke-stack broken off by her ship running into her, but she has now repaired it. The fleet is either all scattered or else we are away from it, and the latter proves to be the case. I should think that more than two vessels must have struck the shoal. The war-steamer Bienville, blockading off Hatteras Inlet, chased us this morning to ask if we had seen the Wabash. The Bienville also said she went ashore last night on the same shoal. In the afternoon the Atlantic spoke us, steaming back to hurry up the rest of the fleet. She said the Wabash was ahead of us, much to our gratification as we were afraid that a great part of the fleet had been lost on the shoal. A soldier who died of brain fever was buried this evening, and services were held on deck.
October 31st.—No, no, Mr. Smith; it an’t of no use. At four a.m. we were invited, as usual, to rise, but Taylor and I reasoned from under our respective quilts, that it would be quite as good shooting if we got up at six, and I acted in accordance with that view. Breakfasted as the sun was shining above the tree-tops, and to my blind—found there was no shooting at all— got one shot only, and killed a splendid canvas-back— on returning to home, found nearly all the party on the move—140 ducks hanging round the house, the reward of our toils, and of these I received egregrious share. Drove back with Pennington, very sleepy, followed by Mr. Taylor and Lamy. I would have stayed longer if sport were better. Birds don’t fly when the wind is in certain points, but lie out in great “ricks,” as they are called, blackening the waters, drifting in the wind, or with wings covering their heads—poor defenceless things! The red-head waits alongside the canvas-back till he comes up from the depths with mouth or bill full of parsley and wild celery, when he makes at him and forces him to disgorge. At Baltimore at 1.30—dined—Lamy resolved to stay—bade good-bye to Swan and Morris. The man at first would not take my ducks and boots to register or check them—twenty-five cents did it. I arrived at Washington late, because of detention of train by enormous transport; labelled and sent out game to the houses till James’s fingers ached again. Nothing doing, except that General Scott has at last sent in resignation. McClellan is now indeed master of the situation. And so to bed, rather tired.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1861.
Fine weather again today. Was at the Pat office today but did not call upon the Sec’y. Have been at home most of the day. Chas is at our house sick. Sallie is with him and takes care of him. He has a bad cold upon his lungs and is threatened with pneumonia. My own health is quite restored. H N Jr coughs some yet and is generaly disposed to be rather delicate. There is no news that I heare of.
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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.
We Leave Worcester.
Oct. 31. It seems that at last we have been ordered from these cold-, frosty climes, to a warmer and more genial one—the Sunny South. After partaking of a collation furnished by the ladies at the hall, at 3 p. m. we broke camp, and taking all our worldly effects upon our backs, preceded by our band, marched through Highland and Main streets to the common, where we took cars for New York. At the common we were met by a large concourse of citizens, friends and relatives of the regiment, who took us by the hand, giving us words of encouragement and a hearty God bless you.
Here were leave takings that required some nerve to suppress the rising tear. Probably some of us have seen our friends, for the last time on earth, and bade them the last good-bye. But we will go forward to duty, trusting in God, and hoping for the best.
OCTOBER 31ST.—Mr. Benjamin, it is understood, will be a candidate for a seat in the C. S. Senate. And I have learned from several members of the Louisiana legislature that he will be defeated. They charge him with hob-nobbing too much with Northern friends; and say that he still retains membership in several clubs in New York and Boston.
October 31.—A skirmish occurred at Morgantown on Green River, Ky., between a Union force under Colonel McHenry and a party of rebels belonging to Buckner’s camp, in which the latter were driven across the river with some loss.—The camp occupied by the Indiana regiments, on the farm of Jesse D. Bright at Jeffersonville, is called Camp Jo Wright, in homer of ex-Governor Wright—Cincinnati Gazette, Nov. 8.
—The Twenty-fifth regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers left Camp Lincoln, at Worcester, for the seat of war. The regiment is commanded by Colonel Edwin Upton, of Fitchburg, and numbers one thousand and thirty men, well equipped, and armed with the Enfield rifle.—All the rebel prisoners in Fort Lafayette, New York harbor, were removed to Fort Warren, near Boston.
October 31. Tompkins Farm. — Smoky, foggy, and Indian-summery in the morning; clear, warm, and beautiful in the afternoon. I rode up to the regiment at Camp Ewing, gave some directions as to making out the new muster-rolls. Saw several of the officers sick with the camp fever.
Poor “Bony” Seaman, it is said, will die. What a goodhearted boy he was! His red glowing face, readiness to oblige, to work — poor fellow! He was working his way up. Starting as private, then commissary sergeant, then sergeant-major, and already recommended and perhaps appointed second-lieutenant. I shall never forget his looks at the battle of Carnifax. We were drawn up in line of battle waiting for orders to go down into the woods to the attack. The First Brigade had already gone in and the firing of cannon and musketry was fast and furious. “Bony” rode ahead to see, and after an absence of twenty minutes came galloping back, his face radiant with joyous excitement and his eyes sparkling. He rode up to Colonel Scammon and myself calling out: “I’ve been under fire, the bullets were whistling all about me, and I wasn’t scared at all!” He looked like my Birtie when he is very happy and reminded me of him. His dress was peculiar too — a warm-us and a felt grey hat like mine. Good boy, noble, true, must he die?
Captain Drake and Captain McIlrath had a quarrel last night. Captain Drake had been drinking (not enough to hurt). Captain McIlrath, putting his face close to Captain Drake’s mouth to smell his breath, said: “Where did you get your whiskey?” And so it went, the plucky Captain Drake striking the giant McIlrath, but no fight followed. McIlrath as captain of company A was first in line of promotion for major and Captain Drake had been just recommended for the place. This fact had nothing to do with it, merely a coincidence.
Returned to camp in the evening; rode part way with Colonel McCook, open and minatory against Rosecrans. At eight P. M. a dispatch from Adjutant-General Buckingham announced my promotion to lieutenant-colonel vice Matthews, and J. M. Courtly [Comly] as major. The latter is I fear an error. He is a stranger to the regiment. It will make a fuss, and perhaps ought to. Captain Drake is a brave, generous old fellow, excitable and furious, but when the heat is off sound to the core, with the instincts of a gentleman strong in him.
Wednesday, 30th—Nothing of importance. We now have a quartermaster for our regiment, Richard Cadle of Muscatine. All think that he is a good man for the place, and will see that every man is cared for. We draw rations every five days.
Wednesday, October 30. — The day was beautiful and pleasant. The air was soft and balmy, as we had just struck the Gulf Stream, and the temperature of the water was 74 degrees. We had to go as slowly as possible, as we did yesterday, in order to keep with the rest of the fleet. The fleet kept nearer each other, and in better order than yesterday. According to the pilot we were off Cape Hatteras at 2 p.m. We found out however, as events showed, that we did not take sufficient account of our slow rate of speed, and of the Gulf Stream. Nothing of any particular interest occurred during the day. I saw nothing of the ferry-boats. It was so rough that some of them must have gone in nearer to the shore.
