Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Washington Friday Jan’y 2nd 1863.

Another most delightful day. The New Year commences very smilingly. May it be an indication of the future fortunes of our Country and may Peace through our whole land smile as brightly long before we see the last of 1863. It is reported tonight that a great Battle was fought yesterday in Tennessee betwen Rosecrantz & Joe Johnson, result not known. Genl B F Butler is serenaded tonight at “Willards.” He has just arrived from New Orleans, being relieved by Genl Banks. Genl McClellan is also here again before the courts of enquiry as a witness. It is rumored that He is to take Stantons place as Sec’y of War. Hope it is true. The Avenue seems to be more thronged than ever afternoons. Everybody is ‘out” these pleasant evenings either riding or walking and everything is seen from the Millionare to the beggar. The carriages of Foreign Ministers, of Cabinet Ministers are usualy seen in motion, and the Presidents carriage with its tall driver & footman one will frequently see standing in front of some Merchants door while Mrs L. sits in her seat and examines the rich goods which the obsequious Clerk brings out to her. I called at Mr Jordans this evening a few minutes and spent an hour or two with Chas & Sallie. “Puss” Woodward the youngest daughter was married last night unbeknown to her Father to a Mr A Lieb a clerk in the Land office, a foolish pair.

Friday, 2d.—Passed through very poor country. Crossed Black Warrior River, 2 P. M.

January 2d. Late last night, our second night out, pickets began firing. We were called out and soon had line formed. The supposed enemy proved to be Union scouts with orders for the Colonel to return to Baltimore. The enemy did not come into Maryland. The command was complimented for the way it turned out into line ready for duty. This morning, in line by the railroad waiting for the train. After a long wait in the cold the dirty train of box cars came along which we soon boarded. On to Baltimore. Arriving in the city, ordered to the west end, going into camp in Stuart’s woods. A surprise and disappointment as we expected to return to Camp Emory, our good quarters, in good warm barracks. Many disappointments come to soldiers.

January 2, 1863. [Chattanooga] —Another year has commenced, alas! with bloodshed. When will it cease? I ask that question with nothing but echo for my answer. The North is putting forth all its energies to try and subjugate us, and seems determined to do its worst. May the God of hosts be with us!

A battle was fought at Murfreesboro on the 31st ultimo. We have come out of it victorious. Thousands of the enemy have been slain and wounded. We have taken upward of four thousand prisoners, and spoils of all kinds; but I can scarcely rejoice, for our wounded are coming in by the hundreds, and we have to witness the same sad spectacle as ever on such occasions. The weather is very cold, and I shudder to think what our men have had to suffer on the battle-field.

Our hospital is filled with wounded. Mrs. W. and myself are not able to do any thing for them. Dr. Thornton is sick. Dr. Hopping fills his place. I am anxious about my brother.

January 2, 1863 — This morning we left camp at sunrise and started on a scout to Moorefield in Hardy County, West Virginia. We marched hard all day over a rather rough road and through a broken rolling country. We passed through Brock’s Gap, which is in the little North Mountain, twelve miles west of New Market. The gap is abrupt and so deep that the headwaters of the North Fork of the Shenandoah pass through it. The sloping sides of the gap are so regular that from a little distance it looks as if some giant woodman notched it with his ax for a gateway through the mountain. We passed Chimney Rock in Brock’s Gap Settlement. It is a large rock in the form of an enormous chimney, about sixty feet high, and stands isolated from the surrounding broken descent; it looks like dark limestone. It is situated about a mile from the gap in the mountain. Brock’s Gap Settlement is a small valley hemmed in by mountains. It is bounded on the west by the Shenandoah mountain. The greater portion of the little valley is in primeval forest, interspersed here and there with small farms. Most of the farms lie along the little streams that meander around the lofty foothills and wind all through the settlement searching for the Gap, where they form the Little Shenandoah and break the mountain fetters by gliding through the Gap into the open valley. The Brock’s Gap farmers seem to be a happy and contented people, and nearly all of them are born hunters. Judging from the number of deer horns I saw to-day nailed up on house or stable at nearly every little farm we passed, the farmer-hunters must be successful in the chase of the fleet-footed deer. However, some of the antlers I saw were bleached white by sun and storm, indicating that it has been many years since they went bounding over the mountain wilds.

The natural scenery throughout the settlement is strikingly grand, with its wooded, undulating ridges and steep broken hills, limpid mountain streams rushing laughingly over mossy rocks and pebbly beds, with here and there a glassy pool that mirrors in its crystal bosom the towering, piled-up, and almost overhanging bluffs and slopes that are adorned in the habiliments of nature’s richest garb of pristine glory as it came from the loom of the Great Weaver. As yet untouched by the desecrating hand of the woodman, it is the peaceful haunts of deer and grouse and the happy hunting grounds of the Brock’s Gap rifles. We crossed the big Shenandoah mountain after night. The moon hung in a cold, white, wintry sky and cast a pale light over the mountain side that dimly revealed the dark, deep ravines and the towering slopes that crowd around the narrow winding road.

It was near the hour of midnight when we reached the top of the mountain. It was freezingly cold, and the glittering hoar-frost on the mountain shrubbery glowed in the pale moonlight like crystals of silver.

Little after midnight we struck the South Fork about fourteen miles from Moorefield. South Fork is a rapid little stream winding through mountains and sweeping around hills in its whole course, and is full of bad, rough fords. It empties into the South Branch of the Potomac, near Moorefield. We moved down the Fork about two miles and halted two hours, from about one o’clock until three, and tried to eat a little midnight lunch. Our bread was frozen as hard as a bone and we had to thaw it by the fire to render it feasible for mastication.

Friday, Jan. 2, 1863. We did march in about thirty minutes after I wrote that last line, and I have not had a minute’s time to write since. We went off on a reconnoissance, or “reek-o-nuisance,” as the boys call it. We went about fifteen or twenty miles up the river to Richard’s Ford and came back yesterday. We had a tough march—such a march always is, for we don’t wait for trains, and when we got into camp we were all tired, I assure you.

You were asking me if my present position entitled me to more privileges than a private—the privates seem to think it does. It entitles me to have my knapsack carried on a march, and—to go without my blankets if the trains don’t come up. It entitles me to a horse if I want it, but I don’t want it, so I am dubbed “dam phool” by said privates. But all in all, I guess I’d rather be chief bugler than private.

I saw Alf a few days ago. He was looking well, and this morning I had a good long chat with Mrs. A. She arrived last night. It was the first time I had spoken to a civilized woman in six months, and you may imagine my “phelinks.”

Potomac Run, Va.
January 2, 1863

During the day [29th] two details of one hundred men each were ordered from our regiment, to join other details from other regiments in the brigade at eight o’clock the next morning. One of these details was to consist of picked men and horses, carefully armed, with three days’ rations and twenty pounds of forage, and of these Colonel Curtis had command and Channing Clapp went with him as Major. I had command of the other detail, which was provided with ten pounds of forage and three days’ rations. Both details got off at eight o’clock the morning of the 30th, Colonel Curtis reporting to General Averell in person and I to Major White of the 3d Pennsylvania. Evidently something was on foot. General Averell’s force could not have been less than a couple of thousand picked men and horses under chosen officers and it was evident that work was cut out for them. Our force was about 325, far inferior men and horses, and I imagined we were merely to act as a reserve or to support a battery. It took us a long time to get off and it was while waiting in the saddle, on a chilly, cloudy December morning, that I received all your letters of November 21st, informing me of Sallie Hampton’s death among other facts.

About ten o’clock we began to move, our detachment following General Averell’s and taking the road towards our advanced pickets at the Hartwood Church. We got there at about noon and after a few minutes’ rest Major White received his orders. We again mounted, passed Averell’s force and took the westerly road. Here Major White sent me back word that he wished to see me, and I went forward and joined him and he proceeded to develop to me the plan of our scout, as it appeared I was next in command to himself. We were to march with the utmost despatch and caution to Warrenton Junction, there rest and feed, and start at the proper time to arrive at Warrenton at daylight, “where,” the orders went on, “you will find two companies of rebel cavalry. You will capture these and return at once, reporting in person to Major General Hooker.” White winked at me and I winked at White, and immediately I went to the rear, changed my mare for my heavy old working brute, and sent her, my servant and all my possessions back within the picket and then rejoined White and we went on our way rejoicing in the cold, heavy, rainy December afternoon. For once I really believed we were going to do something and my spirits rose accordingly.

We pushed briskly along, stopping only once for a few moments until nine o’clock, when we found ourselves close to Warrenton Junction and then turned into the woods to wait, for the next six hours. It had been raining, but not heavily, and now the air was very heavy and cold — damp. It was a sort of cold drizzle. Of course fires were not safe, so we fed our horses and then, after sharing Major White’s supper, I smoked for a while and then lay down at the foot of a tree and slept as uncomfortably as I care to, waking up chilled through and very disconsolate. At three o’clock we again got on the road and pushed on well enough, except that our guides once or twice lost the road, until we came to the Junction. There, the moon having gone down, it suddenly became intensely dark, our guides lost the road, we got wandering through the woods and morasses, and, for a time, things looked black enough. I never saw such darkness. I could not see a man and horse three feet before me, but blindly followed the jingling of the column, relying on my horse not to fall and to keep the road. We lost our advance guard, a message came up that the rear squadron had not been seen for a long time, and we lost our rear-guard and did n’t find it until next day. We had finally to retrace our steps to the Junction and there, at least, we found our missing squadron, got back our advance guard and re-discovered the road and then pressed on once more.

Then came one of those disgusting night marches; cold and disgusted, one’s only desire is to be in bed; so sleepy that to keep one’s eyes open is impossible. You sleep and doze in wretched discomfort while your horse presses on. Good Lord! how for two hours I did wish myself comfortably back under arrest. Day broke at last and I woke up. We were late and pressing on fast, but it was eight o’clock before we entered Warrenton. White was to drive in the pickets and charge through the town with one squadron and I was to follow in the rear and support him with mine, while the third was to be left as reserve. As we approached the town I began to smell a rat. In vain I listened for the first shots telling that we were on their pickets. It did n’t come, and I began to feel that we were sold. Still it had to be done. On a bright, cool morning in December, feeling like a fool, I charged through the quiet town of Warrenton at the head of my squadron, with their carbines advanced, making a devil of a racket, barked at by curs and astonishing and delighting peaceful citizens. They flocked out and looked at us, not exactly with admiration, but much as if it had been the great American Circus or Van Amburg’s Menagerie, or any other show got up for their edification. They were very civil and certainly exhibited no signs of distrust or fear, and we justified their confidence; for, as soon as we had rushed through the town and sent our men up all manner of streets, satisfying ourselves that there was no organized body of rebels in that town, we turned round and left the town according to our orders on our way home. We felt, as I have said, like fools.

I have told you what was, now for what might have been. As we marched away we heard bells ringing and wondered what it was. It was a little signal. Two hours after we left, Stuart entered the town on his way back from Dumfries and was there joined by Lee and a few hours after he left Averell entered it in pursuit and thus Warrenton saw plenty of cavalry that day. On the one hand we just missed defeat and captivity, death or flight, and on the other, brilliant success. Had Stuart been there when we arrived we would savagely have assaulted his whole force, under the impression that they were the two companies we were after and now, the probabilities are, I should not have been writing this letter. Had Averell gone with us, instead of taking the road he did, Stuart would have been caught.

2nd. Friday. Issued bread and beef. Read some. In the afternoon rode to town. Went up into the Senate and heard the big-bugs spout. Went to Quartermaster and selected some pants. Crabbed fellows.

Friday, 2nd—Transferred to the right wing. Saw the fight this eve. Breckinridge had to fall back. Raining all the time.

Friday, 2d—We are now on less than half rations and the outlook for anything better in the next few days is not good, although a train was expected to come through from Memphis today.1 The railroad east and west from us has been torn up; the rebel cavalry seem to be able to destroy it as fast as we can repair it.


1 The train the day before did not have provisions.—A. G. D.