March 1st. Martinsburg, West Virginia. March brought a severe snow-storm. Out in it, on picket duty. The duty must be attended to no matter how severe it may be. This is a soldier’s life. War is cruel.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Huntsville, Tuesday, March 1. A dreary, rainy day. Huddled indoors all day. Whiled away the heavy moments as best we could with dominoes, etc. Mail arrived in afternoon with its usual supply of papers and letters, and the evening was quickly passed in reading from the papers aloud. 4th Minnesota returned from Whitesburg. Expected to start for home on furlough but instead received orders to go to Chattanooga. H. S. Keene returned from his furlough of thirty days in Wisconsin.
1st. Spent the day at home. Commenced the “Dutch Republic.” Much interested. In the evening Thede and I went to meeting. Prof. Peck. “If I am thy Father, where then is mine honor.”
Jacksonville, Fla.,
Tuesday, March 1, 1864.
Dear Father:—
On the 20th we fought our first battle at Olustee, or Ocean Pond, as some call it. They might as well call any other place in these pine woods some high sounding name, for this country is all alike. Since leaving Jacksonville I have not seen five hundred acres of cleared land in a journey of forty-five miles to the west. The country is covered with scattered pines, most of them blazed for turpentine. The ground between the trees is covered with a dense growth of coarse grass and palmetto shrubs. At intervals there are swamps, not deep, but broad and wet. Once in about ten miles is a small collection of dilapidated looking houses on the Florida railroad, and the people—the most abject, stupid, miserable objects.
I have ordered a copy of the Brookville Republican containing an account of the battle by Dr. Heichold, to be sent to you, because I have not time to write it myself. I have not yet seen it, but I presume it will be correct, as the doctor had better opportunities for learning the facts than I had.
I shall give you more particularly my own ideas of the performance of our own men. I want to be true and I cannot endorse all that has been said of them. First, I think no battle was ever more wretchedly fought. I was going to say planned, but there was no plan. No new regiment ever went into their first fight in more unfavorable circumstances. Second, no braver men ever faced an enemy. To have made these men fight well, I would have halted them out of range of the firing, formed my line, unslung knapsacks, got my cartridge boxes ready, and loaded. Then I would have moved it up to the support of a regiment already engaged. I would have had them lie down and let the balls and shells whistle over them till they got a little used to it. Then I would have moved them to the front, told them to get as close to the ground as they could and go in.
Just the other thing was done. We were double-quicked for half a mile, came under fire by the flank, formed line with empty pieces under fire, and, before the men had loaded, many of them were shot down. They behaved as any one acquainted with them would have expected. They were stunned, bewildered, and, as the balls came hissing past or crashing through heads, arms and legs, they curled to the ground like frightened sheep in a hailstorm. The officers finally got them to firing, and they recovered their senses somewhat. But here was the great difficulty—they did not know how to shoot with effect.
Our regiment has been drilled too much for dress parade and too little for the field. They can march well, but they cannot shoot rapidly or with effect. Some of them can, but the greater part cannot. Colonel Fribley had applied time and again for permission to practice his regiment in target firing, and been always refused. When we were flanked, flesh and blood could stand it no longer, and Colonel Fribley, without orders, gave the command to fall back slowly, firing as we went. He fell, shot through the heart, very soon after that. Where was our general and where was his force? Coming up in the rear, and as they arrived, they were put in, one regiment at a time, and whipped by detail.
It is no use for me to express my feelings in regard to the matter. If there is a second lieutenant in our regiment who couldn’t plan and execute a better battle, I would vote to dismiss him for incompetency.
The correspondent of the Tribune who was present said he dared not write a true history of the affair here, but he should do it in New York, and it would be published.
You may judge of the severity of the fight by this: Of fifty-five men in Company K who went into the fight but two came out untouched by balls. Of twenty-two officers engaged but two were untouched. I got a ball in my hat that made five holes and just drew blood on my head. Another took off the corner of my haversack.
Colonel Fribley was shot through the heart. Major Burritt, gallant fellow, had both legs broken. Captain Wagner fell pierced with three balls, but got off, and I hear is in a fair way to recovery.
March 2nd. I had to stop here and fall in the company for a review by General Gilmore, and just after that the alarm was sounded and we all removed inside the trenches.
Last night I was out all night in the rain in command of a detachment cutting and carrying trees for abattis work, and I feel owly to-day.
This afternoon we have inspection and I must close to prepare for it.
Jacksonville, Fla.,
Monday, Feb. 29, 1864.
Dear Sister L.:—
You will probably see accounts of the battle of Olustee, or Ocean Pond, in the papers. I have ordered a copy of the Brookville Republican, containing a letter from Dr. Heichold, descriptive of the battle, sent to you, but I will give you some of my own ideas about it, too; you always express a preference for them, you know.
Well, the morning of Saturday, the 20th, found us at Barber’s Ford on the St. Mary’s river ready to march and loaded down with ten days’ rations. Our force consisted of the One hundred-fifteenth, Forty-seventh and Forty-eighth New York Regiments, Seventh New Hampshire and Seventh Connecticut (repeating rifles), Fifty-fourth Massachusetts (colored) of Fort Wagner memory, the First North Carolina Colored and the Eighth, twenty pieces of artillery, one battalion cavalry and the Fortieth Massachusetts (mounted infantry).
We started marching in three columns, artillery in the road, flanked by the infantry on either side. After marching twelve miles we halted near a few desolate houses called Sanders and while resting heard a few musket shots in advance. We supposed our cavalry had met a few of the enemy’s pickets. Their force was supposed to be at Lake City, twelve miles distant, so we moved on up the railroad. The skirmishing increased as we marched, but we paid little attention to it. Pretty soon the boom of a gun startled us a little, but not much, as we knew our flying artillery was ahead, but they boomed again and again and it began to look like a brush. An aide came dashing through the woods to us and the order was—”double quick, march!” We turned into the woods and ran in the direction of the firing for half a mile, when the head of the column reached our batteries. The presiding genius, General Seymour, said: “Put your regiment in, Colonel Fribley,” and left.
Military men say it takes veteran troops to maneuver under fire, but our regiment with knapsacks on and unloaded pieces, after a run of half a mile, formed a line under the most destructive fire I ever knew. We were not more than two hundred yards from the enemy, concealed in pits and behind trees, and what did the regiment do? At first they were stunned, bewildered, and knew not what to do. They curled to the ground, and as men fell around them they seemed terribly scared, but gradually they recovered their senses and commenced firing. And here was the great trouble—they could not use their arms to advantage. We have had very little practice in firing, and, though they could stand and be killed, they could not kill a concealed enemy fast enough to satisfy my feelings.
After seeing his men murdered as long as flesh and blood could endure it, Colonel Fribley ordered the regiment to fall back-slowly, firing as they went. As the men fell back they gathered in groups like frightened sheep, and it was almost impossible to keep them from doing so. Into these groups the rebels poured the deadliest fire, almost every bullet hitting some one. Color bearer after color bearer was shot down and the colors seized by another. Behind us was a battery that was wretchedly managed. They had but little ammunition, but after firing that, they made no effort to get away with their pieces, but busied themselves in trying to keep us in front of them. Lieutenant Lewis seized the colors and planted them by a gun and tried to rally his men round them, but forgetting them for the moment, they were left there, and the battery was captured and our colors with it.
Colonel Fribley was killed soon after his order to fall back, and Major Burritt had both legs broken. We were without a commander, and every officer was doing his best to do something, he knew not what exactly. There was no leader. Seymour might better have been in his grave than there. Many will blame Lieutenant Lewis that the colors were lost. I do not think he can be blamed. Brave to rashness, he cannot be accused of cowardice, but man cannot think of too many things.
Some things in this story look strange. Officers should know exactly what to do, you may say. Certainly, but it is a damper on that duty when there is a certainty on the mind that the commander does not know. When, with eight or ten regiments ready, you see only two or three fighting, and feel you are getting whipped from your general’s incompetency, it is hard to be soldierly.
I saw from the commencement of our retreat that the day was lost, but I confess to you that I was in doubt whether I ought to stay and see my men shot down or take them to the rear. Soldierly feelings triumphed, but at what a cost!
Captain Dickey was shot early in the fight and the command of the company devolved on me. He was not seriously wounded, a ball through the face.
Captain Wagner was standing by me when he fell, pierced by three balls. I seized him and dragged him back a few rods and two of his men then took him to the rear. I carried his sword through the fight. Several times I was on the point of throwing it away, thinking he must be dead, but I saved it and had the pleasure of giving it to him and hearing that he is likely to recover.
Of twenty-two officers that went into the fight, but two escaped without marks. Such accurate firing I never saw before. I was under the impression all the time that an inferior force was whipping us, but the deadly aim of their rifles told the story.
Well, you are wanting to know how I came off, no doubt. With my usual narrow escapes, but escapes. My hat has five bullet holes in it. Don’t start very much at that—they were all made by one bullet. You know the dent in the top of it. Well, the ball went through the rim first and then through the top in this way. My hat was cocked up on one side so that it went through in that way and just drew the blood on my scalp. Of course a quarter of an inch lower would have broken my skull, but it was too high. Another ball cut away a corner of my haversack and one struck my scabbard. The only wonder is I was not killed, and the wonder grows with each succeeding fight, and this is the fifteenth or sixteenth, Yorktown, Hanover, Gaines’ Mill, Charles City, Malvern, Bull Run, Antietam, Shepherdstown Ford, Fredericksburg, Richards Ford, Chancellorsville, Loudon Valley, Gettysburg, Manassas Gap, Rappahannock Station and Olustee, to say nothing of the shelling at Harrison’s Landing or the skirmish at Ely’s Ford. Had any one told me when I enlisted that I should have to pass through so many I am afraid it would have daunted me. How many more?
Company K went into the fight with fifty-five enlisted men and two officers. It came out with twenty-three men and one officer. Of these but two men were not marked. That speaks volumes for the bravery of negroes. Several of these twenty-three were quite badly cut, but they are present with the company. Ten were killed and four reported missing, though there is little doubt they are killed, too.[1]
A flag of truce from the enemy brought the news that prisoners, black and white, were treated alike. I hope it is so, for I have sworn never to take a prisoner if my men left there were murdered.
This is the first letter I have written since the fight, and it is to you, my best beloved sister. It is written in haste, in a press of business, but you will excuse mistakes and my inattention to the matter of your own letter. You may pray for me —I need that, and do write to me as often as you find time.
[1] Note.—The regiment went into the battle with five hundred and fifty-four officers and enlisted men. Of these, three hundred and nineteen were killed or disabled by serious wounds. Many others were slightly wounded, but remained on duty.
March 1 — The raiders have all retreated toward the Rappahannock, and about the only thing that they accomplished for the benefit of the United States is that they burnt our winter quarters, with such a stupendous loss to the sunny South that I think the Southern Confederacy is ruined and that it might as well take down its shingle at once and retire from business.
We came back to our old camp to-day and found nothing but desolation and ashes where our winter quarters stood yesterday morning. Personally I lost nothing but the best Confederate jacket that I have had since I have been in service. The marauders took it out of my knapsack and burnt it; I found the buttons to-day in a little pile of ashes near my lonely house, which is one of the few that escaped the fiery ordeal of yesterday’s conflagration.
I suppose that the devout Yankee who burnt my Sunday jacket thought that he was immolating a precious and costly sacrifice on the altar of his country, and that it would prove to be an acceptable offering to Uncle Sam’s God, which of late years seems to be a demon of destruction.
March 1, Tuesday. Very little of importance to-day at the Cabinet. Neither Chase nor Blair was present. Gen. F. Blair made, I am told, a severe speech against Chase, in the House on Saturday. It is unfortunate that these assaults should be made on political friends, or those who should be friends. I shall be sorry if, under the existing circumstances, Chase should be a candidate for President. If he asks my opinion I shall advise him not to enter the field; but I do not expect that he will ask my advice, he probably knows my opinions. Some of his training measures do not strike me favorably, but I am sorry General Blair should assail them with such acrimony. There is, however, a feeling of partisanship in St. Louis and Missouri that is unsparing. Chase has, I have thought unnecessarily and unwisely, identified himself with the radical element there, the enemies of Blair.
Old Mr. Blair called on me on Sunday evening to look to the interests of Acting Rear-Admiral Lee, his son-in-law, who is uneasy lest he shall not obtain promotion. I told Mr. B. that L. could not have the vote of thanks with the President’s recommendation without some marked event to justify it. That the higher appointments must be kept open to induce and stimulate our heroes. That Lee was doing his duty well, and, should there be no others to have earned the great distinction when the war is over, he would be among those who would compete for the prize.
Judge Edmunds and Senator Lane called on me on Monday morning for funds. Showed me two papers, one with Seward’s name for $500. On another was Blair’s (Postmaster-General) and Secretary Usher, each for $500, with some other names for like amount. Told them I disapproved of these levies on men in office, but would take the subject into consideration; I was not, however, prepared to act. Something should, perhaps, be contributed by men when great principles are involved, but these large individual subscriptions are not in all respects right or proper. Much of the money is wasted or absorbed by the electioneers. I shall soon be called upon by Connecticut men to contribute to their election, and I cannot afford to comply with all the demands that are made for party, nor do I like the hands in all cases which the money is to pass into
March 1—Raining hard. Left camp at 9 this morning, halted at dark nine miles from Madison Court House. Snowing tonight. We had a hard road to travel, and when we got to our destination the enemy had gone.
Tuesday, 1st—We left Canton at 8 o’clock this morning, our brigade taking up the rear. There was some skirmishing with the rebels’ cavalry, which began early in the morning before we got started. Bullets commenced to fly and the guards formed a line to protect the headquarters’ baggage. Finally, however, the rear guard opened a light battery on the rebels, who soon dropped back out of danger. The army, on account of an all day rain which made the roads very muddy, covered only eight miles, and went into bivouac, our rear not getting in, however, till 4 o’clock in the morning.
March 1st, 1864.—This is the first entry for more than two weeks but we have been so busy and now I am going to write something that sounds heartless. Goodwood is to open its doors to society. The first time Aunt Sue and Uncle Arvah have entertained since dear little Mary Eliza’s death.
This party is given in honor of General T. R. R. Cobb and his staff. He is now in command of The Division of South Carolina, Georgia and Florida and he is an old friend of the family as well. I felt at first as if I could not possibly enjoy a frolic of any kind but Aunt Sue is so dear and if she wants us we must go. Again the question of dress comes up. To realize just how much of vanity and love of dress one possesses it is needful to be obliged to plan and contrive as we war girls have to do. The big trunk yielded up its treasure and a dress of crepe lisse, very much tumbled came to light. It has a lining of satin and a sash of the same. Lulu is a wonder at pressing and making over and my part is suggesting and trying on. Let me tell you a secret, little Diary; “I have my second grown-up beau.” I think I like the boys best, in fact, I know I like the boys best. That is because all my life I have had boy play-mates and now that these boys look like men and are in the army, they still seem like comrades to me. They like me too; whenever one gets foolish and says silly things to me I laugh at him, and so, I do not lose my friends as I should if they were allowed to deteriorate into lovers.
