Tuesday, 21st—Another all day rain and things were very still all along the lines until late in the afternoon when there was some brisk skirmishing. General Hooker made two charges on the rebel works yesterday; the first time he was repulsed, but the second time he carried them and took several hundred prisoners. General Osterhaus at the same time made a charge and took about two hundred prisoners. There is no news from Richmond.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Tuesday, June 21st.
No orders came relieving us, but at 3 A. M. we reported again to Col. Tidball, and at 5 o’clock the regiment was sent to the left of the line of investment and crossed the Norfolk and Petersburg R. R. After marching about six miles, and it being reported that the rebels were advancing on some point to our right, we were counter-marched some four miles and drawn up in line behind some earthworks with the artillery. When the excitement was over, we rolled up in our blankets and shelter tents and got what sleep we could. My mattress consisted of two parallel rails about six inches apart, with one end supported on the second rail of an old fence, alongside of a brass twelve-pounder and without even a stone for a pillow. It was rumored that the infantry of the Second Corps had gone out somewhere on a skirmish. I heard to-day that Privates Lyke and Smith, wounded on the 18th, died in hospital of their wounds.
Huntsville, Tuesday, June 21. Rained all day. Everybody is quiet but busy, preparing for the morrow, packing knapsacks, writing letters, etc. Upwards of one hundred fifty letters left the Battery to-day. Enoch Johnson died at 10 A. M. This young man leaves a wife and child to mourn his loss, whom but a few months ago he left in the prime of life to do service for his country. Alas! they will see his manly form no more in this world. His disease was congestive chills and typhoid fever. Was one of the detachment that late in the evening followed the corpse to the grave. Silently, without a word of prayer, we buried him in a rude coffin, and without a thought hardly, hastened back to camp to prepare for the morrow. It is now dark and I go to an early rest in my homelike bunk for the last time.
Headquarters 56th Mass. Vols., June 21, 1864.
Dear Father, — We moved out to the front last evening, relieving General Barlow’s division of the Second Corps. The idea is, I believe, to have the Second Corps moved to the left, to prevent a flank movement by the rebels.
There is one thing that I have noticed throughout this campaign. The newspapers have been giving a false and incorrect report of the state of the army and of our battles. They have claimed great victories, where we have been repulsed, and have not stated our losses correctly. It is perhaps necessary to have such reports go abroad in order to prevent our people from being discouraged, but I don’t like to see them.
The only time that Grant has got ahead of Lee, was in crossing the James River, and attacking Petersburg. He did out-manœuvre him there, most certainly, but did not follow up his advantage. The feeling here in the army is that we have been absolutely butchered, that our lives have been periled to no purpose, and wasted. In the Second Corps the feeling is so strong that the men say they will not charge any more works. The cause of the whole trouble, in my opinion, is owing to the carelessness of those high in command, such as corps commanders and higher officers still, who have time and again recklessly and wickedly placed us in slaughter-pens. I can tell you, Father, it is discouraging to see one’s men and officers cut down and butchered time and again, and all for nothing.
I don’t wish you to think from all this that I am croaking. I feel that we shall take Richmond in time, but hope that some consideration and some regard for life will be shown in doing so. We can’t afford to make many more such bloody attacks as we have been doing. The enemy will outnumber us if we do so. We shall have to settle down to a siege of Petersburg and take the place in that way. We have our lines so near the city that it will not be a difficult matter to burn and shell the whole concern out, if necessary.
I have 180 men left for duty in my regiment, and this is a fair-sized regiment.
We are quite fortunate in our position here. We are in woods, with the enemy’s line about 300 yards in our front. The woods screen us from them, so that we can walk around with comparative safety, but on our left the line is outside the woods, and woe betide any man who shows his head. The whistling of innumerable bullets around him warns him of the dangerous proximity of the enemy. The camp that we left yesterday was in the middle of a dusty field, where all the dead on both sides, killed during the charge of the 17th, were buried. The effluvia got to be unbearable finally, and we were all glad enough to change to any position, no matter where.
Can you do anything to help recruit this regiment? If you have a chance, I wish you would put some good men in it, as we need them very much.
My health has been remarkably good during the whole campaign. We have been remarkably fortunate in regard to weather, having had pleasant and dry weather almost all the time.
Tuesday, June 21. — Remained in the rifle-pits. Our regiment is in a better position than any other on the line. We are troubled very little by sharpshooters. Did not lose a man to-day.
June 21 — The enemy received reinforcements last night, and this morning we saw a transport laden with soldiers going up the river toward the White House.
About two hours after sunrise this morning the Yankees commenced to advance on us; at first we did not show fight, but fell back about two miles in order to get out of reach and range of the thunderbolts from the gunboats on the river. Right at St. Peter’s Church, which is about three miles from the Pamunkey, we put our guns in battery and waited for the blue wave that was coming to overwhelm us and wipe us out. We did not have to wait long before we saw the enemy’s line advancing in fine military order, and as soon as they arrived in range of our guns we opened fire on their line; our fire proved to be a great incentive in stirring up a lively and business-like scene along the enemy’s front. Yet the blue wave dashed on and the line advanced bravely in the face of our fire. After we fired about twenty rounds we were forced to yield and retire, as the enemy’s sharpshooters were creeping up on us and rendering it too unhealthful for us to hold our position any longer. From the appearance of the blue specks, bunches, and lines in our front, the enemy far outnumbered our force, yet our cavalry fought boldly and kept the enemy well in check, with a lively skirmish fire, until near middle of the day; then the enemy gave up the pursuit and we retired leisurely toward the Chickahominy. Late this evening we forded the Chickahominy at Bottom’s Bridge, about seven miles northeast of Richmond.
We are camped this evening on the Chickahominy, near Bottom’s Bridge. The country around here is all devastated and shows the ruinous effects of actual war. There are still a great many old earthworks all over the fields that were constructed when General McClellan advanced up the Peninsula in the summer of 1862.
St. Peter’s Church, down in New Kent County where we had our guns in position and fired from this morning, is about three miles southwest of the White House. It is a very old church, that stood there long before General Washington was married. The church is not used now for services, and from its general appearance it has been turned over to the tender care of the United States soldiers, and they have used it for quarters. The pulpit is almost demolished, some of the pews are broken in pieces, the chancel is all shattered, and the white plastered walls are shamefully defaced and look as if some one has been giving lessons on them in charcoal drawing.
The church is built of brick, in very old style, with low side walls, and at one end a kind of belfry, built tower-like from the ground, that terminates in a cupola with a spire that bears the representation of a large key. It is an Episcopal church, and it is said that Colonel George Washington attended services in it on his wooing visits to the White House. To-day as I stood within the hallowed old walls, that now bear the autographs of a hundred Union patriots and the name and number of their regiments, and as I lingered in front of the old pulpit, my memory was playing with deep meditation on the scenes of a hundred years ago. Where are the worshipers whose footsteps pressed the sacred threshold then, and who gathered around the old chancel? All, all — even the most youthful then — have long ago drifted down the river of time, beyond the shadowy line of death, into the boundless ocean of eternity that rolls in the realm of the unknowable. Just as I, in my fanciful and imaginative reverie, was vaguely gazing at the manly form and noble features of Colonel Washington, who sat in yonder pew in a tranquil and unassuming demeanor, with eyes and attention riveted on the rector, and deeply absorbed in the pulpit theme, I heard someone outside of the church remark: “The Yankees are in sight; get ready for action,” and in less than ten minutes my gun was booming within ten feet of the bell tower at old St. Peter’s Church in New Kent County. As I passed out the old church door and looked in the direction of the Pamunkey I saw a line of Yankee sharpshooters advancing through the fields — a living reality that suddenly recalled my thoughts from roaming and musing in the misty depths of long buried years.
June 21st. After an all night’s march, we reach the town of Salem, Roanoke county, Virginia, located near the mountains. The scenery good. After we came to a halt by the roadside, tired — worn out— hungry, leaning up against a rail fence, I soon fell asleep. Later I was awakened by the cavalry, then had to find my company. By the buildings I should judge that this is a college town. Our regiment detailed as rear guard. Colonel Ely again in command, the wound in the neck having improved. Ordered, with a battery, to march back about one mile, pushing the enemy back and holding them in check while the army wagons and artillery passed through the gap near Salem, Blue Ridge Mountains. While we are holding the enemy in check our Colonel acts as though he was nervous. If the enemy is strong enough, we may get cut off and perhaps captured before our turn comes to march through the gap, we are so far in the rear with the battery. Late in the day orders came for us to march on through the gap into the mountains where we were surprised to see some of the wagons and a battery badly damaged. A portion of the train was not guarded when a dash was made by guerillas who were in ambush in the woods. A detachment of our cavalry was soon on the ground with the Spencer carbine, routed and captured a number of the guerillas. Reported we are headed for a place called New Castle. After a short rest we received a small piece of fresh meat. Pushing along, expecting to stop for the night. Hungry and thirsty. Very little water to be found in these mountains. Footsore and very tired. Wonderful what men can endure. It is either push ahead or be left and made a prisoner.
June 21st. Started on the road about 9 A.M. to cut the Weldon and Richmond Railroad. Arrived about noon; moved towards the Rebs and fortified. Remained all night.
21st. Tuesday. Wrote home and to George’s people in Tenn. Saw Gen. Kautz. He came over to pay us a visit. It seemed good to shake his hand and talk with him once more. Hope that we can be transferred to his command. He encouraged us. Preparations for a big move tomorrow by the cavalry. May success attend us. Kautz thinks that Richmond is a certain capture. Very hot day. Maj. N. goes to hospital, best man in our Regt., brave, upright, modest, dignified and sound in principles and morals. Would the same could be said of more of our officers.
June 21, Tuesday. The President being absent, there was no Cabinet-meeting to-day. Massachusetts Representatives are sensitive and sore concerning the arrest of the Smiths. I wrote Mr. Wilson not to be severe and to take bail.
