August 30 — This was a beautiful, bright, pleasant day. I was at preaching at Moorman’s battery camp. Text, “If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them.”—John xiii. 17.
August 2013
30th. Reveille at 2:45. Moved out at 4. Made the best march for several days. Advance of Brigade. Came up with teams and had a slow time getting by. Gave way for Burnside, Carter and Shackleford. Reached Montgomery at 3 P. M. Occupied the ground of Rebels. Drew rations and forage. Infantry came up by Somerset. Big army. Enemy reported at Kingston—Forrest. Great report.
Sunday, August 30.—During afternoon service the old man and his son who deserted were brought back; I do not think I ever saw a sadder sight; they will be sent to the army for trial.
Beverly Ford, Va.,
Aug. 30, 1863.
Dear Sister L.:—
We may remain here a month yet, and we may not stay twenty-four hours. I see no present indications of a move, unless the fact that the boys begin to feel like wild colts is a sign.
The grub beats all I ever saw in the army, and last week to cap the climax they gave us beets and pickled cabbage. The latter was splendid, put up in mustard.
The late news from the south has put everybody in the best humor and camp life now is tolerable.
The last few nights have been almost cold enough for frost. The days, too, have been cool, but we shall get more hot weather soon, I suppose.
How is it that you did not notice Uncle Legrand’s name in the list of drafts? It was in Alf’s paper.
That diary I mean to send as soon as I get another. I expect it every night now. It won’t be anything great as a literary curiosity, but the most I value it for is its account of the dates of our movements. You’ll find out all about my correspondence now. Don’t let it get destroyed.
I’m very much obliged for your offer to send me berries. If you do send any, dried ones would be the best. They would last better. The “perfumery” was all right, but happily I have no present use for it. E. sent me some, too, some time ago.
The great event of last week was the execution of five deserters from our division, which took place yesterday afternoon.[1] So much better descriptions will be given in the papers, that unless you want me to I won’t try it, but will send you a paper, and if I can, an illustrated paper with a sketch in it. I saw Frank Leslie’s and Harper’s men both sketching it. If you see anything in the account about the “bugler,” that’s me. General Griffin sent for me to bugle.
[1] Note. —They were George Kuhn, John Felane, Charles Walter, George Reinese and Emile Lai.
Crab Orchard, Ky., August 30th, 1863.
We arrived at 10 a. m., making ten miles from Lancaster this morning. Crab Orchard is a lovely town of about one thousand inhabitants. We are encamped about one mile south of the village, in a lovely spot, shut in on all sides by high hills and forests. To the south, far in the distance, the Cumberland Mountains raise their blue peaks as landmarks to guide us on our course when next we move. From what I see and hear of the surrounding country, the boys will have to depend on their rations for food.
Soldiers are strange beings. No sooner were our knapsacks unslung than every man of us went to work as though his very life depended on present exertions. We staked out streets, gathered stakes and poles with which to erect our tents, and now, at 3 p. m., behold! a city has arisen, like a mushroom, from the ground. Everything is done as though it were to be permanent, when no man knows how long we may remain or how soon we may move on.
Part of our route from Camp Parks lay through a country made historic by the chivalric deeds of Daniel Boone. We passed his old log fort, and the high bluff from which he hurled an Indian and dashed him in pieces on the rocks below. At the foot of the bluff is the cave in which he secreted himself when hard pressed by savages. His name is chiseled in the rock above the entrance. The place is now being strongly fortified.
We had a lively skirmish in Company G this morning. About a week ago the Brigade Surgeon ordered quinine and whiskey to be issued to every man in the brigade, twice daily. During our march the quinine had been omitted, but whiskey was dealt out freely.
Solon Crandall—the boy who picked the peaches while under fire at South Mountain—is naturally pugnacious, and whiskey makes him more so. This morning, while under the influence of his “ration,” he undertook the difficult task of “running” Company G. Captain Tyler, hearing the “racket,” emerged from his tent and inquired the cause. At this Solon, being a firm believer in “non-intervention,” waxed wroth. In reply he told the Captain, “It’s none of your business. Understand, I am running this company, and if you don’t go back to your tent and mind your own business, I’ll have you arrested and sent to the ‘bull pen.'” At this the Captain “closed” with his rival in a rough-and-tumble fight, in which the Captain, supported by a Sergeant, gained the day.
I have the most comfortable quarters now I have ever had. Our tent is composed of five pieces of canvas, each piece the size of our small tents—two for the top, or roof, the eaves three feet from the ground. The sides and ends are made to open one at a time or all at once, according to the weather. Three of us tent together, and we have plenty of room. We have bunks made of boards, raised two feet from the ground. This, with plenty of straw, makes a voluptuous bed. I received a letter from home last evening, dated August 13th. Oh, these vexatious postal delays; they are the bane of my life. I wonder if postmasters are human beings, with live hearts inside their jackets, beating in sympathetic unison with other hearts. I wonder did they ever watch and wait, day after day, until hope was well-nigh dead, conscious that love had sped its message and was anxiously awaiting a return. A letter from home! What thrilling emotions of pleasure; what unfathomable depths of joy it brings the recipient. It is not altogether the words, be they many or few, but the remembrances they call forth; the recognition of the well’ known handwriting; old associations and past scenes are brought forth from the storehouse of the memory and held up to view. The joy of meeting—the agony of parting—all are lived over again.
We are having brigade inspection today, which is suggestive of a move, but our artillery has not turned up yet, and we will not take the field without it.
The health of our men has improved wonderfully since we reached Kentucky. A more rugged, hearty set of men I never saw than the few who are left. But, as I look around upon the noble fellows, now drawn up in line for inspection, a feeling of sadness steals over me. One short year ago nine hundred ninety-eight as brave, true men as ever shouldered gun marched forth to battle in their country’s cause. Of all that noble band, only two hundred in line today. Where are the absent ones? Some, it is true, are home on furlough, but not all. They have left a bloody track from South Mountain’s gory height through Antietam, Fredericksburg and Vicksburg to Jackson, Mississippi.
Oh, how I miss familiar faces!
Vicksburg, Sunday, Aug. 30. Calm and quiet day. Spent the day in writing home and perusing Covenants received from home. D. J. D. quite sick. Slept with him during the night. Administered medicine.
Sunday, 30th—We left Oak Ridge and covering but ten miles went into bivouac on the banks of Heff river. Some of the men on account of the bad water and climate are suffering with the chills and fever. The boys were raiding all the sweet potato patches they found along the way, today.
Sunday, 30th.—Went home, eleven miles away. Next day went squirrel-hunting. Returned to camp, P. M.
Camp White, August 30, 1863.
Dearest: —. . . These cold nights and autumn storms remind us of winter quarters. If we remain in this region I mean to have you with me if possible all winter, and I feel like beginning winter in good season. Already men are putting chimneys in their tents: A few weeks will probably settle the question as to where we shall spend the cold weather, and I shall send for you at the earliest possible moment.
My little sorrel in a savage fit bit Carrington very severely yesterday. In one snap he cut ten large gashes, several of them to the bone, in the muscular part of the right arm between the shoulder and elbow. The bone is not broken, but he will be disabled for a month. He shook him as a rat is shaken by a terrier dog. Charley Smith and two others were looking on, and jumped in, or it is possible he would have been killed. As soon as he was taken out of his stall the sorrel was as good-natured as usual.
I see it stated that very few are to be drafted in Ohio on this call. I am glad if it is really not necessary, although it would be pleasant to see our ranks full again. If we are not filled up we shall of course be mustered out of service at the end of our three years. — My love to all. Good-bye.
Affectionately, ever your
R.
Mrs. Hayes.
August 30.—Lieut.-Colonel Clark, with the Ninth Kansas cavalry, returned to Kansas City, from the pursuit of Quantrell, through Jackson, Cass, and Johnson Counties, Missouri, having killed, during his expedition, forty of the perpetrators of the Lawrence massacre.
