Monday, 21st—We received orders to keep the camp clean—have to clean up every morning. The men must all keep their clothes brushed and their shoes polished.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Monday, October 21. — We again started this morning for Fortress Monroe, and as we proceeded had a calmer sea. When I got up this morning, I had my first taste of seasickness, owing to the closeness of my state-room. My chum refuses to have the window open, and the consequence is we have more foul air in the room than is pleasant for me. I was soon well, however, after getting on deck, although I carefully and secretly looked over the railing into the sea, and gave Davy Jones a scanty offering. It was amusing to see the soldiers sick and vomiting, especially after I was well. We arrived at the fort about 10 a.m., and anchored near the Atlantic. As nothing particularly interesting happened while we were here, I shall just jot down a few events interesting to myself only. I went ashore and walked all over the fortress, and all around the walls. There is a ditch all around the fort, and on some sides a water battery on the outside of it. There is one tier of guns in casemates, and one en barbette. On the sea side, outside of the walls, is the Floyd gun mounted, and the Union gun ready to mount, both of them remarkable only on account of their size. The fort is connected with the mainland by two sandy necks of land, between which is a large body of water which has access to the ocean by a channel running through one of these necks, and over which a new bridge has lately been built. This last-named neck is the one by which they go to Hampton and the mainland. The interior of the fort is quite pretty, trees growing there, and walks being laid out very much like a park. There are several houses here, and also a church. A man might make himself very comfortable here, in my opinion.
I walked over to the place where most of our troops are encamped, which lies between Hampton and the fort, and which is approached by the neck before referred to. I went to the camp of the 16th Massachusetts, and saw Waldo Merriam, the adjutant, and Bill Amory of Jamaica Plain. I had a very pleasant time, and was delighted to see old faces again. I saw a very good dress-parade, and returned to the fort again, passing through the camp of the Naval Brigade, Colonel Wardrop. I spent the night at the Hygeia Hotel, most of which is used as a hospital for our troops. Just as I had gone to sleep I was waked up by the most fearful succession of screams I ever heard in my life. It turned out to be a sick soldier in the hospital who was having his wounds dressed. The next morning I met Harry Fisher, captain’s clerk on board the Minnesota, and went with him on board of her. I was well paid, too, for a more beautiful and clean-looking ship I never saw. The decks looked clean enough to eat one’s meal off of, and the long line of guns on each side, all polished and in perfect order, seemed eager to bestow a few compliments on any rebel or enemy who might make his appearance. Hubbell went with me, and was also much pleased with the ship. I saw Captain Van Brunt[1] on board, looking as well as ever.
We waited here at Hampton Roads for a week, anxiously expecting orders to sail, and growing at times despondent and gloomy about the success of the expedition. Then, to make us still more gloomy, reports were flying about of the desertion of the commodore’s private secretary, with important papers, containing the secret naval signals, our place of destination, etc. To crown the whole, and plunge us still deeper into despair, we heard of the battle of Ball’s Bluff, and of the defeat of our forces. The news of Putnam’s death, of Holmes[2] being wounded, etc., made me feel the reality of the war, which is a hard thing to bring home to one’s self until one loses a friend, or meets with some such mishap. However, as the ships began to get up steam, and as various other little matters showed that we were going to start soon, our fears and despondent feelings began to give way to a more cheerful state of mind, and when we were actually under way every one felt buoyant and hopeful. While waiting here, one of the 7th Connecticut soldiers was drowned by jumping overboard for a plate which we had dropped. Major Pangborn, formerly editor of the Boston Bee, came on board. He is paymaster for our brigade.
MONDAY 21
This day has passed much as yesterday did as regards myself altho the Dr did not “call” and I took a short walk round two squares just before night much against my wifes wish who insists that I am sick and must not “go out.” I told her that I was “determined not to be sick.” News of some fighting up the River. My friend Judge McCook is up there “on his own hook.” He is “on hand” where there is fighting (rebels) to be done.
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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.
21st —Our camp here was made without consulting the the Surgeons. It was laid out without order, and the tents are so close together that teams cannot pass through to remove its rubbish, its offal, and its filth. My Colonel, too, has interfered much with my sanitary orders, particularly those in reference to ventilation. The result is the largest sick list we have had, I have succeeded, however, in getting consent to move the camp to other ground, high and dry, where I am now engaged in ditching the streets, and staking out the ground preparatory to a move, where I hope we shall be able to reduce the list of sick. I believe I omitted in the proper place the record of the first death in our regiment. It occurred on the 3d of this month. The poor fellow died of Nostalgia (home-sickness), raving to the last breath about wife and children. It seems strange that such an affection of the mind should kill strong, healthy men; but deaths from this cause are very frequent in the army; the sufferer, towards the last showing evidences of broken down nervous system, accompanied by most of the symptoms of typhoid fever.
Oct. 21st.—A little incident to-day. A reconnoitering party went out this morning towards Vienna and Flint Hill. At noon, a courier came in with a report that they were fighting. I was ordered to take an ambulance and join my regiment ” in the direction of Vienna” immediately. On starting, I met with Surgeon Thompson, of the 43d N. York Vols., told him I was going in search of an adventure, and invited him to go with me. He accepted. We reached our outer lines “in the direction of Vienna,” but had not found my regiment. To Surgeon T.’s question, “What now!” I replied that my orders were to “go till I found my regiment.” ”But are you going to cross the lines into the enemy’s country?” “My orders are unconditional; will you go with me further?” “Certainly,” said the Doctor. Shortly after leaving head-quarters, we met the 1st Regt. Regular Cavalry, who told us they had left one man badly wounded between Flint Hill and Vienna. This man we determined to rescue, if possible. We found him in a house in Vienna. I had now obeyed my order, though I had not found my regiment, and I determined to take this man back with me, though the enemy were all around us. One ball had passed between his ear and skull, a second had passed through the leg, a third had entered the back, just below the shoulder blade, but had made no exit. He was suffering severely from pain and difficult respiration. He could not ride in an ambulance, so Doctor T. volunteered to return to our lines for litter-bearers and an escort, whilst I should remain with our newly made friend. I confess that as I caught the last glimpse of the Doctor’s fine black horse dashing over the hill, there was at the ends of my fingers and toes a sensation very much akin to the “oozing out of courage.” I was alone in the enemy’s country. But there was no other way now, so I dressed the wounds, and waited his return, with what patience I could. He soon returned. We started the man in the direction of our lines, under an escort of eight men. We mounted our horses, and paying but little attention, got some mile ahead of our escort, when suddenly, eight horsemen, well mounted and armed, came bearing down on us, evidently intending to surround us. They were about a quarter of a mile off when first discovered. “We are in for a trip to Richmond,” said Doctor T. “Is it not safer,” replied I, “to fight than to be taken prisoners by these fellows?” “I’m in,” said the Doctor. We drew our revolvers and waited, one of us, I am certain, in considerable trepidation. By this time they were in hailing distance. We called them to halt, when, to our mutual disgust, we found that we were friends—they were cheated of the capture of two “very fine looking rebel officers,” and we of a short road to “that borne whence no traveller returns.” A little after dark we reached camp with our man. In civil life, it will hardly be credited that the commanding officer of this regiment, when he found his man so badly wounded, ordered him to be taken from his horse and left, whilst the horse was to be taken away; yet the man states that such is the fact, and that he saved himself from such a fate by drawing his revolver and threatening to shoot the first man who should approach him for that purpose. After the regiment left him, he managed to sit on his horse till he reached Vienna, about three miles from where he was shot.
Since last date, we have had an opportunity of learning something of the military qualities of our brigade officers. We have not been before on ground where we could have our brigade drills; but here we have them.
General Smith, who commands the Division, is a stout, short man, rather under size, from Vermont, I think. He is taciturn, but exceedingly courteous and gentlemanly, and firm and decided. Of his mental calibre, we have not yet had an opportunity to judge. It is a strange paradox of human nature, that whilst we acknowledge that a vast majority of our mentally big men are quiet and reserved, yet when we meet a stranger, if he says little, we fall at once into the opinion that he knows little. How this is with General Smith, I do not know. I am much disposed to construe his quiet and courteous manner favorably; but I confess that whispers from the grove have rather prejudiced me against him.
Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock is the very antipode of General Smith. He is fully as long as his name, with title perfixed, and as for quiet and courtesy—Oh, fie! I saw him come on to the field one morning this week, to brigade drill. He was perfectly sober. He is one of those paradoxes who believe that one man, at least, is to be known by his much talking. He became excited, or wished to appear so, at some little mistake in the manœuvering of his Brigade, and the volleys of oaths that rolled and thundered down the line, startled the men with suspicion that they were under command of some Quarter Master lately made General, who mistook the men for mules, and their officers for drivers. He must be a facetious chap, that General, to wish to excite such suspicions. I think he hails from Pennsylvania, but nobody seems to know much about him, except from his statement that he has “been seventeen years in the service, and knows all about it.” Wherever he has been, he has certainly acquired a perfect intimacy with the whole gamut of profanity.
October 21st, 1861.
My dear Mother:
We are sailing rapidly down the Chesapeake, still in doubt as to our ultimate destination, but expecting soon to reach Fortress Monroe ,where possibly there may be a chance of mailing a letter. We feel as though we were leaving the scene of old triumphs, and old disasters — of the latter we are mindful of many; so it was delicate sarcasm upon the part of our Bandmaster which induced him to strike up “Carry me back to old Virginny!” as we were crossing the Chain Bridge (which spans the Potomac), leaving the “sacred soil” behind us. And now we are embarked on the “Vanderbilt,” bound, this much we know, for “Dixie.” I am hoping to exchange salutations with some of my old friends in Charleston. What fun it would be to be playing the magnanimous to a captive Prince Hugo, or Whalley despising Yankees much, or any other of the royal youth who live in the Kingdom of South Carolina. It may be we are to visit Mobile. If so, tell Hunt I will try and collect his rents with interest. But why speculate?
Let us pray for laurels and victory! Much is expected of the 79th Regiment, I find. “My Highlanders!” as Gen. Stevens calls them. “They are equal to Regulars,” the General is reported to have said to Gen. Sherman1 commanding our expedition. “Send for them!” says Sherman. They are sent for, and arrive on shipboard in a horrible state of intoxication, with bloody faces and soiled clothes. The Chaplain of the 8th Michigan Regiment is horrified. He preaches to his men, and says: “I wish to make no invidious comparisons, but after what I’ve seen of late, I’m proud of you for your excellent conduct!” Well, we must hope that “My Highlanders” will silence invidious comparison when facing the foe. You tell me Ellis thinks I ought to boast of my Graham blood, and gently urge the same yourself, but the fact is, nothing has caused more amusement than Ellis’ own pretensions to his descent from the King of the Hebrides. Indeed, on one occasion, up at Sunbury — a country town of Pennsylvania — when he was introduced on a public occasion to the worthy citizens of the place as a lineal descendant of Donald, King of the Hebrides, a man in the audience forgot himself so far as to call out, “Damn Donald, King of the Hebrides!” which was highly improper, and wholly irrelevant, yet very entertaining to those who heard it. I am awaiting an official announcement of the birth of Walter’s boy, and mean to write congratulations as soon as I can find time. Hall will soon be married, he tells me. All my friends are getting settled, but I am a Nomad, fit, I fancy, for my present mode of life, which I find healthy and by no means disagreeable. Indeed, were my brother officers of a more agreeable character, I would take to soldiering with a relish, and with a reasonable amount of success might cry, “Vive la guerre!” However all dreams of the future terminate in dreams of peace, of home, and honorable repose in advancing years, all of which, dear mother, may we enjoy together, loving our country better for having proved that it was so dear that we were willing even to give up our life for its preservation.
Well, the blessings of peace be upon all at home. Kiss the little ones for me. Give love to all and
Believe me,
Affec’y.,
Will.
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1 Thomas W. Sherman.
OCTOBER 21ST.—The enemy’s papers represent that we have some 80,000 men in Kentucky, and this lulls us from vigilance and effort in Virginia. The Secretary of War knows very well that we have not 30,000 there, and that we are not likely to have more. We supposed Kentucky would rise. The enemy knows this fact as well as we do; nevertheless, it has been his practice from the beginning to exaggerate our numbers. It lulls us into fancied security.
October 21.—Twenty-one hundred men of the Fifteenth and Twentieth Massachusetts, the First California, and the Tammany regiments; the First U. S. Artillery, and Rhode Island battery, with five pieces of artillery, crossed the Potomac at Harrison’s Island or Ball’s Bluff, under command of Colonel E. D. Baker, to support reconnoissances above and below, under the general direction of Brig.-Gen. Stone. At about four p. M., they were suddenly attacked by a body of five thousand rebels under the Confederate General Evans. Unable through the disparity of numbers to hold their position, they were driven back to the river, and there, as no adequate means to pass the stream had been made, they were driven into it, or slaughtered on the bank. National loss: Killed, one hundred and fifty; wounded, one hundred and fifty; prisoners, five hundred.—(Docs. 35, 99.)
—The gunboat Conestoga having made a reconnoissance up the Tennessee River as far as the State line, returned to Cairo, Ill., this evening with two barges of flour that were seized on the way to the rebels.—N. Y. World, Oct. 22.
—The land forces destined to cooperate with the naval expedition against Port Royal sailed from Annapolis.—N. Y. Times, Oct. 24.
—A private letter published in the Boston Transcript, shows that Mr. Albert Pilsbury, for eight years American Consul at Halifax, is now acting as agent for the Confederates, purchasing vessels which he loads with assorted cargoes of warlike munitions, and then despatches to try and run the blockade. One of his ventures, the Argyle, sailed from Halifax a few days since, with a cargo valued at one hundred thousand dollars, and another is about ready to leave, with one hundred barrels of powder, packed in codfish drnms.
—The Ellsworth regiment, numbering one thousand and sixty muskets, left Albany, N. Y., for Washington. There was a perfect ovation at the departure of this regiment. Prior to their departure a handsome regimental banner was presented to the troops, with appropriate ceremonies, by the wife of Erastus Corning.—N. Y. Herald, Oct. 22.
—A Large body of rebels, under Jeff. Thompson and Lowe, were defeated at Fredericktown, Missouri, by Illinois, Wisconsin, and Indiana troops, about two thousand in number, under Colonel Carlin, Colonel Ross, Colonel Baker, Major Plummer, and Major Scofield. The engagement lasted two hours, when the rebels fled from the field in disorder, and took to the woods. Major Gavitt and Captain Hingham were killed in making a charge. Colonel Lowe, the rebel leader, was killed and four heavy guns were captured. The rebels were pursued for Twenty-two miles, when the chase was given over. Two hundred rebels were left in the field. Union loss, six killed and forty wounded.—(Doc. 100.)
—Capt. J. H. Barnes, with one hundred and fifty men of the Third Mass, regiment, while out from Newport News, Va., to get wood for the fort bakery, was attacked by a body of rebels, whom he drove off without loss.—N. Y. Herald, Oct. 24.
—Major Mix, of the Van Alen Cavalry, with thirty-one men, made a reconnoissance from Edwards’ Ferry, in Virginia, along the Leesburg road, beyond Goose Creek, drove in a vidette of the enemy’s, received the fire of a platoon of the rebels’ infantry, and returned without other loss than that of two horses.— (Doc. 101.)
—The Charleston Mercury, of this date, says: Our privateers are far from idle, although we hear less than formerly of their doings in the Kew York papers. Among their latest exploits is the capture of the brig Granada, of Portland, Me., (Pettingill, master,) from Neuvitas, Cuba, for New York, with a cargo of sugar, molasses, mahogany, and honey. We also hear it whispered that there has been an important (and not involuntary) accession to our stock of sugar, molasses, coffee, &c.
—General Zollicoffer, with six thousand infantry, sixteen hundred horse, and one battery of artillery, was repulsed by the Union forces under General Schoepf at Camp Wild Cat, Laurel County, Ky. For some days previous, the position had been held only by Colonel Garrard’s Kentucky regiment; but when it was knows that Zollicoffer would attack it, the Thirty-third Indiana and Seventeenth Ohio regiments, and Captain Stannard’s Ohio battery, were harried forward, and participated in the fight. Two separate, resolute, and unsuccessful attempts were made by the rebels to carry a bill occupied by the Federal force, when they withdrew. Their loss was unknown. National loss was four killed, and twenty-one wounded. (Doc. 102.)
Camp Tompkins, October 21, 1861.
Monday morning before breakfast.
Dearest : — Dr. Clendenin goes home this morning and I got up early to let you know how much I love you. Isn’t this a proof of affection? I dreamed about you last night so pleasantly.
The doctor will give you the news. I see Colonel Tom Ford has been telling big yarns about soldiers suffering. They may be true — I fear they are — and it is right to do something; but it is not true that the fault lies with the Government alone. Colonel Ammen’s Twenty-fourth has been on the mountains much more than the G. G — s [Guthrie Greys], for they have been in town most of the time; but nobody growls about them. The Twenty-fourth is looked after by its officers. The truth is, the suffering is great in all armies in the field in bad weather. It can’t be prevented. It is also true that much is suffered from neglect, but the neglect is in no one place. [The] Government is in part blamable, but the chief [blame] is on the armies themselves from generals down to privates.
It is certainly true that a considerable part of the sick men now in Cincinnati would be well and with their regiments, if they had obeyed orders about eating green chestnuts, green apples, and green corn. Now, all the men ought to be helped and cared for, but in doing so, it is foolish and wicked to assail and abuse, as the authors of the suffering, any one particular set of men. It is a calamity to be deplored and can be remedied by well directed labor, not by indiscriminate abuse.
I am filled with indignation to see that Colonel Ewing is accused of brutality to his men. All false. He is kind to a fault. All good soldiers love him; and yet he is published by some lying scoundrel as a monster.
I’ll write no more on this subject. There will be far more suffering this winter than we have yet heard of. Try to relieve it, but don’t assume that any one set of men are to be blamed for it. A great share of it can’t be helped. Twenty-five per cent of all men who enlist can’t stand the hardships and exposures of the field if suddenly transferred to it from their homes, and suffering is inevitable. Love to all.
Affectionately,
R. B. Hayes.
Mrs. Hayes.
