Friday, 6th—We struck our tents and at 7 a. m. started on our march. We marched through Corinth and went into camp again about a mile northwest of town, making camp number 9. The Eleventh Iowa went out on picket.
June 2012
June 6th.
We dined at Mrs. Brunot’s yesterday, and sitting on the gallery later, had the full benefit of a Yankee drill. They stopped in front of the house and went through some very curious manœuvres, and then marched out to their drill-ground beyond. In returning, the whole regiment drew up directly before us, and we were dreadfully quiet for five minutes, the most uncomfortable I have experienced for some time. For it was absurd to look at the sky, and I looked in vain for one man with downcast eyes whereon I might rest mine; but from the officers down to the last private, they were all looking at us. I believe I would have cried with embarrassment if the command had not been given at that moment. They drilled splendidly, and knew it, too, so went through it as though they had not been at it for an hour before. One conceited, red-headed lieutenant smiled at us in the most fascinating way; perhaps he smiled to think how fine he was, and what an impression he was making.
We got back to our solitary house before twilight, and were sitting on the balcony, when Mr. Biddle entered. He came to ask if the guard had been placed here last night. It seems to me it would have saved him such a long walk if he had asked Colonel McMillan. He sat down, though, and got talking in the moonlight, and people passing, some citizens, some officers, looked wonderingly at this unheard-of occurrence. I won’t be rude to any one in my own house, Yankee or Southern, say what they will. He talked a great deal, and was very entertaining; what tempted him, I cannot imagine. It was two hours before he thought of leaving. He was certainly very kind. He spoke of the scarcity of flour in town; said they had quantities at the Garrison, and asked permission to send us a barrel, which of course we refused. It showed a very good heart, though. He offered to take charge of any letters I would write; said he had heard General Williams speak of Harry; and when he at last left, I was still more pleased with him for this kindness to us. He says Captain Huger is dead. I am very, very much distressed. They are related, he says. He talked so reasonably of the war, that it was quite a novelty after reading the abusive newspapers of both sides. I like him, and was sorry I could not ask him to repeat his visit. We are unaccustomed to treat gentlemen that way; but it won’t do in the present state to act as we please. Mob governs.
Mother kept me awake all night to listen to the mice in the garret. Every time I would doze she would ask, “What’s that?” and insist that the mice were men. I had to get up and look for an imaginary host, so I am tired enough this morning.
Miriam has just got in with all the servants, our baggage is on the way, so we will be obliged to stay whether we will or no. I don’t care; it is all the same, starve or burn. Oh! I forgot. Mr. Biddle did not write that pass! It was his clerk. He speaks very grammatically, so far as I can judge!!
June 6 — Early this morning we left camp and passed through Harrisonburg, turning off of the Valley pike half a mile above town on the Port Republic road. We had not left town an hour before the Yankee cavalry entered it. A little while after we left the pike I saw a Yankee cavalryman at the south end of Harrisonburg, sitting on his horse in the middle of the street, gazing about, making observations in a daring manner, and unconcernedly too prominent for his own or his country’s welfare. A Brock’s Gap rifleman was near me, and I saw that he was deeply interested in the Yankee’s bold deportment and conspicuous display of adventurous intrepidity. The rifleman watched him a while, and then I saw him take aim at the Yankee. When he fired I saw the Yankee’s horse walk leisurely away, and from all appearances the cavalryman had received a clear pass to that silent land from whose mystery-veiled fields no soldier e’er returns. It was a first-class shot, as the distance was about six hundred yards.
We moved out about a mile on the Port Republic road and put our battery into position on a high and commanding elevation, from where we had a good view of the country around Harrisonburg. There were twelve pieces of artillery on the hill, and as a support for the batteries the First Maryland Infantry was on our right in the woods. The Yanks did not advance on our position, and after holding it two hours we moved back about four miles toward Cross Keys. We were then suddenly halted by heavy skirmish firing only a few hundred yards from us. We were ordered to wheel in battery immediately, on a hill where two of Jackson’s batteries, a Baltimore battery and Rice’s Virginia, were already in position. We were in position not more than half an hour before we were ordered to move to the front, where all our cavalry were. When we arrived within two miles of the Valley pike we went into position on a hill and in the edge of a woods, from where we saw the Yankee cavalry and infantry advancing and maneuvering through the fields south of Harrisonburg.
In the meantime General Ashby, with two regiments of infantry, the First Maryland and Fifty-Eighth Virginia, pushed through the woods on our right with the intention and object, I think, of checkmating the movement of a body of infantry that were thrown forward of their main army for the purpose of flanking and pressing our right.
It appears that Ashby’s object was to strike the body of infantry on the left flank and drive it back whence it came. It seems that the enemy contemplated Ashby’s movement, as they had already a line of infantry on their left posted along a fence hidden by a thicket at the edge of a woods, awaiting Ashby’s advance. The fence along which the enemy was posted was right in front of the field through which Ashby advanced. The field sloped gently to the east, which was a decided advantage to the enemy, as Ashby’s men had to approach their line over rising ground.
It seems that General Ashby was rather surprised to find the enemy in that particular locality, and it may have somewhat thwarted the original plan of his movement. However, as quick as he properly located the Yankee line he ordered up his infantry at a double-quick. When they arrived in the open field Ashby placed himself at the head of the Fifty-Eighth Virginia, with the First Maryland Regiment on his left. As they advanced across the field the Fifty-Eighth Virginia poured volley after volley into the thicket, that glowed with the shining musket barrels of the Pennsylvania Bucktails.
The fire of the Fifty-Eighth was promptly returned by the enemy all along the line behind the fence. For a while the musketry raged furiously, when the gallant Marylanders opened on the left with a well-directed and raking fire and advanced on the Yankee line.
The enemy fought stubbornly, and was difficult to dislodge from his position, but after the musketry roared for about an hour our men charged the line and drove the enemy into the woods, which ended the battle.
Ashby’s horse was shot from under him just before he ordered the charge. He then led the Fifty-Eighth on foot, and was in the thickest of the fight when he called on the Fifty-Eighth to charge, and as he was defiantly flourishing his saber at the Yankee line he was shot through the breast, and expired on the field immediately after. Thus fell the noble, brave, and gallant Ashby in the fore-front of battle, and the last command he gave was, “Virginians, Charge.”
When the infantry opened, which was done without many preliminary remarks in the way of skirmishing or sharpshooting, a body of Yankee cavalry debouched from a woods about a mile from our position. We opened on them with our rifled pieces, and as our percussion shell exploded in the midst of them it got too hot for the Yanks. They scattered and slunk back into the woods. Then we advanced and fired on their infantry until it was too dark to see where our shell anchored. We remained in battery for some time after we ceased firing, to see if the Yanks had anything else to try in the way of experimenting in the dark. Our position was in a low field which was thickly covered with rye nearly as high as our heads. A while after nightfall a line of Yankee sharpshooters fired in our direction, and I heard the bullets clipping through the rye like frightened grasshoppers. I have no idea what they were shooting at, as it was certainly too dark to see us in the rye, yet their bullets landed right in our neighborhood.
In the infantry fight where Ashby was killed there was no artillery engaged on either side. We were in position about half a mile to the left of the field where Ashby fell. The battle was fought late in the afternoon, and General Ashby was killed just before sunset, and the fighting ceased soon after he fell.
It was some time after dark when we left our last position, and as we were falling back a column of Ashby’s cavalry was slowly passing along a winding road through a dark woods, singing with rather feeling tones, with subdued voices,
….
“He sleeps his last sleep,
He has fought his last battle,
No sound can awake him to glory again.”
…
We had not heard then that our noble Ashby had fallen in the fray, but the ominous words of the song foretold that some brave spirit of the brigade had passed over the path of glory that leads to the grave, for the pathos of the voices engaged in singing evidently evinced that unbidden tears were stealing over cheeks of warriors who never wept in battle.
When it flashed over us that it was our beloved, generous, and brave leader, Ashby, who was sleeping his last sleep, the gloomy shadows of the night at once grew deeper, darker, and blacker, and the sable of grief hung like a slumbering pall over the whole command.
Ashby is gone. He has passed the picket line that is posted along the silent river, and the genius of science, the ingenuity of man, earth, and mortality combined cannot invent a countersign that will permit him to return. He is tenting to-night on the eternal camping-ground that lies beyond the mist that hangs over the River of Death, where no more harsh reveilles will disturb his peaceful rest nor sounding charge summon him to the deadly combat again.
To-day the South lost a true, courageous, and fearless champion of the cause when Ashby fell, and Virginia a worthy and noble son who fell with his face to the foe and his sword unsheathed, who poured out his blood in watchfully defending her homes and firesides against the encroachment of a hostile invader. And we as members of his command deeply feel the irreparable loss of an affable and generous leader and a brave and valiant commander. But his spirit still broods over us and its silent but cogent inspiration will always actuate us to avenge his death by valorous deeds in standing bravely and fearlessly in the fiery surge of battle’s deadly tide, sturdily fighting and daringly facing danger and even death for the home of the brave and the cause that our leader loved so well.
This afternoon by a little shrewd strategy and daring adventure General Ashby with a mere squad of men had captured Sir Percy Wyndham, an English officer, a real live Britisher, a colonel in the Yankee army, fighting for buncombe. A few hours afterwards, when Ashby passed us going to the front to lead the infantry, we wanted to cheer him for capturing a live Englishman from Great Britain. But Ashby surmised our intentions, and said, “Boys, don’t cheer me.” They were the last words I heard him speak. We are camped to-night about midway between Harrisonburg and Port Republic.
Flat Top Mountain, June 6, 1862. Friday. — Rained a great part of the night; a cold, foggy morning; but I feel vigorous and well. … I climbed to the top of the mountain to the right of the camp through the wet bushes and fog and feel the better for it. We have scarcely tents enough for the officers. The men build shelters of bark, rail pens, and the like. I call this “Woodchuck Camp.” Our new chaplain, Russell G. French, is gaining strength and will probably recover. There is a loose piece of bone still in his leg, but it does not seem to distress him a great deal. Five of Company C were either killed or have died of their wounds received in the recent fight at Camp Creek.
6th. Eight companies of the Second Ohio, Majors Miner and Burnett, four Ninth Wisconsin Infantry, three Tenth Infantry Kansas, one Sixth Kansas Cavalry were on the march at 8 A. M. Major P. was going independently. He had refused me several times, but after all the troops were gone, he consented. Left in a hurry with little provisions. Crossed Spring River and the Neosho. After marching fast 35 miles, came upon the camps of Standwaite and Coffee. Major P. conversed with pickets. Shelled the position of Standwaite, but probably too late, having escaped with Coffee south to Col. Rains. The shelling was splendid. The shells would bound from tree to tree and burst with a thundering noise. First Battalion took position between the two camps, if possible to prevent a junction of forces. Also went out as skirmishers. Third Battalion deployed along the woods to prevent escape and watch the movements of the enemy. The Battery took a position on the hill favorable for shelling the enemy. Was supported by the Kansas Infantry. Ninth Wisconsin deployed as skirmishers and entered the woods. Scouts went near Coffee’s camp and represented them leaving. “General” (Col. Doubleday) immediately marched to the south of the camp and ceased operations for the night. It was now 1 o’clock A. M. Bivouacked with few blankets in the open air. Slept soundly till 3 A. M. 1 enjoyed all the doings very much, acted as carrier for the “General.” Accompanied Major Purington. Saw large herds of horses and cattle. Took many prisoners. Some Coffee’s men and some not.
6th.—Yesterday I resumed my duties in hospital actively. On examining the Steward’s Department, I found almost nothing to feed the starving five hundred men on my hands —absolutely nothing suitable to feed them on; that for days there had not been a cooking utensil belonging to the hospital, for these five hundred sick, larger than a soldiers tin cup. To-day, I have set myself actively at work. I have called on Quartermasters, Commissary, Medical Directors, and Generals, for the proper authority to procure the necessary supplies; the promises are profuse, but the interminable “red tape” must be followed out, even though the men starve. Plenty of supplies in sight belonging to the government, and soldiers dying of starvation! I have not half nurses enough to care for the sick and dying. To-day I asked for a detail of half a dozen men, as cooks and nurses. “They could not be spared from the lines.” I immediately went to the top of the hospital, from which I counted over fifty muskets in the hands of our able bodied soldiers, guarding the vegetables, the fruits, the flour, the pork, the beef of rebels, (now in line of battle, in sight of where I stood) whilst our poor men were dying for the want of these very things. I came down and asked for a detail from these guards who were not “in the lines” to assist in nursing the sick and burying the dead. I could not have them! Verily, the unfortunate sick of an army must be interlopers; they can have no business there. I close this writing, and retire with loathing and disgust of what I must see here; but not till after I have written a letter to the Medical Director, setting forth the occurrences of this day in language as strong as I am master of, and asking to be either sustained in my efforts here, or returned to my regiment.
Thursday, June 6th.—Henry Smith and I concluded to wash our clothes to-day. Washed in creek without hot water or soap. Did not get them very clean, and blistered our hands in the bargain. When we got back to camps found tents all struck, and everything ready to move. Had to put our clothes in knapsack wet. Started an hour before sundown, without having time to cook rations; marched until 9 P. M.; halted and rested until 3 A. M.
(Note: picture is of an unidentified Confederate soldier.)
Camp Oliver.
June 6. We are now in a neatly arranged camp on somewhat elevated ground at the west side of the city, and about a quarter of a mile to the rear of Fort Totten, a large field fortification mounting twenty heavy guns. A back street runs along the left flank, on which is situated the guard quarters, and a line of sentinels extends along it. This camp is named Camp Oliver, in honor of Gen. Oliver of Salem, Mass., formerly adjutant general of that state. We can now brush ourselves up and settle down to the dull routine of camp life—Drills, parades, reviews, inspections, guard duty, fatigue duty and all manner of things which come under the head of a well ordered camp. Our two companies left at Red house are drawn in about five miles, and are now at the Jackson place on the Trent road. That brings them within easy distance. They can be easily reinforced in case of attack or make their own way back to camp. The Red house is again in the enemy’s country, but Mr. Bogey is not there; he thought he had rather live under the old flag and take his chances, and so moved with us into town.
Title: Richmond, Va., vicinity. Engineers building corduroy road.
June 1862
Photographer: David B. Woodbury
- Photograph from the main eastern theater of war, the Peninsular Campaign
- Civil War photographs, 1861-1865 / compiled by Hirst D. Milhollen and Donald H. Mugridge, Washington, D.C.
- Title from Milhollen and Mugridge.Civil War glass negative collection. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA
Record page for this image: http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/cwp2003000066/PP/
I cropped this image to frame the road crew tighter than the original, while still showing the wagons behind them.
June 6th. The regiment moved forward to-day, over the large field we bivouacked on the night before the battle, and went into position on the very spot where the Texas rangers started their fires, which astonished us so much the night of our arrival. Have not removed our clothes, or accoutrements since the thirtieth day of May; the men sleep fully equipped, with arms by their side, ready for instant action; twice last night we turned out, and stood under arms for over an hour; picket firing heavy, with an occasional fort joining in the racket.
