June 24th. Orders received from General Hooker to evacuate the Maryland Heights. All supplies and munitions that could be moved loaded on canal boats and taken to Washington by way of the Ohio & Chesapeake Canal. Great quantity of stores was left, salt beef, pork, beans, rice, coffee, and sugar. Some of it was gathered up by people from Harper’s Ferry. A guard was sent with the boats but most of the troops were ordered to join the Army of the Potomac on its march up through Maryland to meet the Confederates who seem to be pushing on up into Pennsylvania. Our detachment was sent on guard with the canal boats. We left on the last two boats. There were about thirty in all. The rebels, under the cavalry leader J. E. B. Stuart, captured the first fifteen boats. After helping themselves to the supplies the boats were burned up. We passed the boats that had been destroyed. It took us two days and one night to complete the trip, a distance of sixty miles. Left the boats at Georgetown, then marched through the town to Tenallytown, going into camp. At the time our brigade consisted of the 12th West Virginia, the 5th Maryland, and our detachment. These regiments having been with us at Winchester and had lost many members.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Though we are sick and worn, the general is determined we shall work while we remain. Early, Saturday the 20th, just before daylight, word came to us to march; whither, we knew not. We stole out quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the enemy; and marched to the general’s head-quarters, some three miles in our rear. It turned out that a train of one hundred and forty wagons was going into the country for forage. We were to be its escort; and, while we stood in line, two pieces of light artillery and a body of cavalry came up, who were to help us.
On any large map, a short distance from Port Hudson, to the north-east, you will see a little village called Jackson. It was near that village that we halted at noon. Here two well-travelled roads crossed each other, near which were situated the two plantations from which the forage was to be taken. The colonel rode out to see the barns, and to post his guards to prevent surprise. We stacked arms near the crossing of the roads, and went into the shade close by to eat our scanty dinner. We found we had come to a pleasant region. The land rolled up into fine swells, which had been cleared of forest in great part, giving place to wide-spreading corn-fields, where the corn was already tall, and with ears large and well filled out. The landscape had a rich, cultivated aspect; looking not unlike a farming region in New York in August.
The colonel soon made his dispositions. Half a mile to the left, half the train of wagons waited their turn to load up; their white tops in plain view across the intervening fields. To the right, about the same distance from us, the remainder of the train stood upon another farm. We had just begun to open our haversacks, when “crack, crack!” we began to hear a heavy volley of rifle-shots. The Philistines were upon us. In an instant came the summons, “Battalion!” and we flew to our pieces. Pickets came galloping in from the outposts. The story is, that two rebel regiments and a body of horse bivouacked the night before at the farm on the right, where the teams are loading. The artillerymen are at their pieces; and all over the field, to the skirts of the distant woods, squads of cavalry are seen on the gallop, — most of them Grierson’s famous men. Presently the wagons come back in the wildest confusion, pell-mell, helter-skelter. The mules are in full gallop, some with, some without drivers; over ditches and fences, crash through groves of young pines, over logs and stumps. Sometimes the body is jarred off the wheels; sometimes one mule has broken loose, leaving three behind, with the broken harness dragging about them. The negro-drivers yell, and brandish their whips. All is perfect uproar and panic.
The enemy appear in considerable numbers, swarming about the house and barns of a plantation. From a little knoll, close by our position, the artillery open a brisk fire of shell upon them, which does them great damage, and throws them into as much disorder as the wagons they have sought to seize. Two of our companies, thrown out as skirmishers, keep up a firing of rifles,—the colonel, meantime, on the knoll, close at hand to the battery, and the main body of the regiment, which is supporting it, is surrounded by cavalry-men and officers, who gallop up and away every instant. His face has as cool and pleasant a look as ever, — the calm and undisturbed spot in the midst of the panic. We stand leaning on our pieces, ready for any thing that may turn up.
Wouvermans, the old Dutch painter, used to take battles for his favorite subjects. I have looked over plates after his pictures; and this scene was precisely one of Wouvermans’ skirmishes, — the same confusion and panic, a similar landscape, a lovely summer’s day, and the encounter in the midst; infantry skirmishing, cavalry charging with drawn sabres, the snap of rifles from the distant woods, the rush of animals and fugitives to get out of danger. It was soon over. Some eight or ten fell on our side among the cavalry; and we have heard that a considerably larger number of the enemy were slain by the cannon. These were extremely well served, and probably saved us from being overpowered by a superior force.
The colonel judged it prudent to return at once. A few of the wagons had had time to load; some were broken, some had gone galloping on toward the Federal camp. The outposts were recalled, and we took up a backward line of march. We had proceeded five or six miles; when suddenly it was “halt” again, and word came back that the column was beset front and rear. Of the infantry, four men were detailed for a guard to each wagon; while the cavalry and cannon hastened forward to the front, from which we began to hear firing. It looked critical. Our term of service was within three weeks of its expiration, and we were all in danger of being taken prisoners. The imperturbable colonel rides along with cavalry and battery officers. “Can we not get a courier in for re-enforcements?” I hear one say. “We shall be enough for them, I guess, if we can only concentrate.” We all feel confidence, make sure of our guns, put on fresh caps, and leave the hammer at half-cock. Then we go forward, and that is the last of it.
In the evening at ten o’clock, after we are in the camp once more in a grove of trees, I hear the colonel give results. It seems the rebs did capture some sixty of our wagons in the last attack. Their drivers were frightened, and had not obeyed orders. Moreover, the cavalry were unmanageable; and mules and wagons fell an easy prey, when a smart body of rebs dashed out of an ambuscade, and swept like a whirlwind through our long, straggling line. They had nothing to match our cannon. If it had not been for them, we might all have been on the way to Richmond.
Tired to death, almost worn out to start with, covered with a paste of perspiration and dust, it was hard to be waked up at midnight, just after we had fallen asleep, and be marched right back again into the trenches and rifle-pits, to press on the siege.
24th. A rainy, unpleasant day, such as they say Englishmen commit suicide in. Melancholy. Kept pretty close to the tent. Read Independent of May 28th, and some in “Barnaby Rudge.” In the evening wrote part of a letter to Fannie. Am about free of diarrhœa. Feel encouraged.
24th June (Wednesday).—Lawley being in weak health, we determined to spend another day with our kind friends in Winchester. I took the horses out again for six hours to graze, and made acquaintance with two Irishmen, who gave me some cut grass and salt for the horses. One of these men had served and had been wounded in the Southern army. I remarked to him that he must have killed lots of his own countrymen; to which he replied, “Oh yes, but faix they must all take it as it comes.” I have always observed that Southern Irishmen make excellent “Rebs,” and have no sort of scruple in killing as many of their Northern brethren as they possibly can.
I saw to-day many new Yankee graves, which the deaths among the captives are constantly increasing. Wooden head-posts are put at each grave, on which is written, “An Unknown Soldier, U.S.A. Died of wounds received upon the field of battle, June 21, 22, or 23, 1863.”
A sentry stopped me to-day as I was going out of town, and when I showed him my pass from General Chilton, he replied with great firmness, but with perfect courtesy, “I’m extremely sorry, sir; but if you were the Secretary of War, or Jeff Davis himself, you couldn’t pass without a passport from the Provost-Marshal.”
Wednesday, 24th—I was on picket today, each man going out every other day, and the orders are very strict, no one being allowed to go through the lines unless he can show a pass signed by General Grant. Our men are digging tunnels under the rebel forts and laying powder to blow them up. When a fort is blown up our forces are to make a charge at that point and capture the rebels. The report is that the rebels are planning to cut their way out through our lines. News came that Port Hudson has been taken, together with a great many prisoners.
Before Vicksburg, Wednesday, June 24. Cloudy and indications of rain. Heavy firing on the left was heard last night. Cannoneers called to their posts and equipments on. The rebels charged with two brigades on a rifle pit, in which the 12th Wisconsin was stationed. They allowed them to approach within a few rods of the pit, then poured in deadly volleys; with the third [volley] they broke for their works, the 12th after them, going [up] the heights. If they had had any support they might have entered. David Evans’s horse wounded.
June 24 — We are still at Snickersville. A squad of about forty dashing Yankees drove in our pickets today, five miles from Snickersville. It seems that driving in a few outer pickets satisfied the Yanks, as they retired again immediately after the performance of that great feat.
June 24, Wednesday. Admiral Foote still lingers, but there is no hope of his recovery. Dahlgren took leave this morning for the South Atlantic Squadron. I admonished him that his detachment from the Bureau was only temporary and for a special purpose, and wished him a prosperous and successful time.
No definite or satisfactory information in regard to military movements. If it were clear that the Secretary of War and General-in-Chief knew and were directing military movements intelligently, it would be a relief ; but they communicate nothing and really appear to have little or nothing to communicate. What at any time surprises us, surprises them. There is no cordiality between them and Hooker, not an identity of views and action, such as should exist between the general in command in the field and the Headquarters and Department, separated only a few miles. The consequence is an unhappy and painful anxiety and uncertainty, the more distressing to those of us who should know and are measurably responsible, because we ought to be acquainted with the facts. Were we not in that position, we should be more at ease.
None of our vessels have succeeded in capturing the Rebel pirate Tacony, which has committed great ravages along the coast, although I have sent out over twenty vessels in search. Had she been promptly taken, I should have been blamed for such a needless and expensive waste of strength; now I shall be censured for not doing more.
June 24—Left here this morning, got to Chambersburg at 12 M. Went three miles on the north side of town on picket—14 miles to-day. We passed through Marion, a small village. Chambersburg is a very fine place, 10,000 inhabitants, but nary a smile greeted us as we marched through town. There are a plenty of men here—a pity they are not rebels, and in our ranks. This city is in Franklin County, Cumberland Valley. We were woke up in the middle of the night and marched off; waded a river which was so cold that it woke us up. Passed through Greenville to-day at dawn. This town has, I should judge, about 5,000 inhabitants. Nine miles to-day.
JUNE 24TH.— Awaiting orders to march is as tiresome as waiting at a station for a train. We were ready for marching orders again this morning, but failed to get them.
The weather is hot. Some of the rebel prisoners have said we could not stand this heat, but I guess the Yanks can stand it if they can, and if it should actually get too hot, we will just cool their country off. The nights are pleasant enough and we are thankful for the comfort of the sleep which they allow us. We have a chance out here to forage a little, and though but little, any change from army rations becomes agreeable.
It is amazing what progress soldiers make in foraging. They began committing such depredations as to cause an order on the subject to be issued, and on the eighth of May last the commanding General required a general order, prohibiting foraging, to be read throughout the army five times a day. Not long after that, two soldiers of the 13th corps were arrested and brought before General A. J. Smith, at his headquarters in a fine grove of stately poplars, where the General was informed by the guard that the men had been caught in the act of stealing chickens. The gallant General appeared to be revolving the heinousness of the charge as he looked aloft among the poplars, and presently the guard inquired what should be done with the men, when the General, after another glance upward, turning to the guard, replied, “O, damn ‘em, let ‘em go. There ain’t any tree here high enough to hang ‘em on.”
