Wednesday, May 4th.
Orders to march were received at two o’clock this morning, and joining the Artillery Brigade, already in line, we moved off via Stevensburg to the Germania Ford, on the Rapidan River, which we reached about so o’clock A. M. Here the river, which in any reputable northern locality would be called simply a creek, cuts its way between two ranges of hills with the bank on the southerly side quite abrupt, and is spanned by a pontoon bridge, the first thing of the kind I have ever seen. Crossing the bridge and winding up the steep bank, we halted just within a line of breastworks constructed to command the approaches to the ford, but which were abandoned by the enemy last night on the appearance of our advancing cavalry. The earthworks were skilfully and substantially built, while little redoubts for artillery crowned several commanding points, and it is a subject of general surprise that the enemy evacuated so strong a defensive position without any serious attempt to hold it. A few shells and a stray minie ball now and then greeted us, invited perhaps by our own artillery, a battery of which, drawn up near the road by which we descended to the bridge, sent a half dozen shells towards the heights on the opposite side of the river. One of the minies went through my overcoat which Lynch just behind me was carrying nicely rolled up on his shoulder, and as he unrolled the garment that night and showed me the numerous holes made by the missile as it went through the folds, he remarked with a chuckle, “Its a good thing you weren’t in it that time, Captain.” After crossing the bridge we passed an old tobacco drying shed, and some of my men helped themselves to a few specimens of genuine “Virginia Leaf,” and that evening presented me a handful of very well rolled but rather green “home made” cigars.
The day was warm and pleasant, and the men, with characteristic recklessness, threw away one article after another, until many were reduced to pants, shirt, hat and musket, and the line of march from Culpepper to the river was literally covered with coats, blankets and knapsacks, a rich field for foraging, whether by the rebels or by cavalry. Nor can I blame the poor fellows under the circumstances, for a long march is about as convincing an argument as I know of that
“Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
I myself debated for some time which I would part with —my overcoat or my blanket—and finally actually threw the blanket away.
By a singular coincidence I met Col. Bates and Capt. Watkins, of the Culpepper Examining Board, about 9 o’clock this morning near the Rapidan, each with his regiment, and as we had adjourned yesterday to meet at that hour to-day, we halted under a tree and amid considerable laughter adjourned the Board sine die. Lieut. Shelton, of the First N. Y. Artillery, passed me with his battery on the march to-day, having just got his promotion from a sergeantcy and therefore feeling in excellent spirits.
At about five o’clock we reached our destination for the day, after a march estimated at twenty-three miles, and camped in a field near the old Wilderness Tavern and some four miles from Mine Run
