Adams Family Civil War letters; US Minister to the UK and his sons.

Camp near Potomac Run, Va.
January 28, 1863

The fine weather seems fairly to be over and the wet season to have set in. In addition to the week of rain before, which played Burnside out, it rained steadily all last night and this morning set in from the N.E. with sleet and snow, and is at it now very lively. The results of this you may imagine, but I dare not. For myself it is of little consequence. My tent is logged up, I have a good fire-place, a pretty complete outfit and am as comfortable as I have any wish to be; but I feel for my men and dare not go and look at my horses. I know just how they look, as they huddle together at the picket-ropes and turn their shivering croups to this pelting northeaster. There they stand without shelter, fetlock deep in slush and mud, without a blanket among them, and there they must stand — poor beasts — and all I can do for them is to give them all the food I can, and that little enough. Of oats there is a sufficiency and the horses have twelve quarts a day; but hay is scant, and it is only by luck that we have a few bales just now when most we need them. I have them fed four times a day — at morning, noon, night and midnight — and if they have enough to eat, they do wonderfully well, but it comes hard on them to have to sustain hunger, as well as cold and wet. It is all over, however, with any horse that begins to fail, for after a few days he either dies at the rope, or else glanders set in and he is led out and shot. I lose in this way two or three horses a week. The men do better now, as they too have logged in their tents and built fireplaces, and, as a rule, they are well clad and shod; but, after all, it comes hard on them, this being wet and always sleeping on damp ground, and we have had five funerals this month, one from the fall of a horse and four from sickness, one of which was in my company — a boy, named Pierce, from the central part of the State.

I had two men desert the other day also, and under peculiar circumstances. They were two of our recruits and did not properly belong to my Company, but were assigned to it for duty. They had cost the Government some three hundred dollars each and were good for nothing, as by far too many of these “bounty-boys” are. They were sent out as part of a detail for picket duty from my Company, under Lieutenant Merrill. On the night of the 8th of January they were posted at an important point on the extreme front of our lines, and in the immediate vicinity of Hartwood Church. When the patrol came round they had disappeared. The case was reported and I supposed that they had grown cold and drowsy and been ingeniously spirited away by guerrillas — for such things are done. At the end of ten days however one of our men accidentally found their horses tied to a tree in the woods near their posts, all saddled, just as the men had left them, and on the saddles were hanging all the men’s arms, except their pistols. There the poor brutes had stood for ten days, without food or water, until one had died in the agonies of starvation, and the other, having gnawed up all the trees around him, was reduced to a walking skeleton. This last, however, is alive and now at my picket-rope. (P. S. He died of exposure the next morning after I wrote this.) Meanwhile the human brutes, this brace of $300 men, had, I find, quietly deserted their posts as videttes and walked off, enquiring their way to Warrenton and leaving their horses and arms, except pistols, as too likely to lead to their being caught — their design evidently being to get through our lines near Alexandria and so North. Meanwhile I am doing all in my power to catch them by notifying the authorities in Washington and at home. Should I succeed, their fate is not to be envied. They will be court martialed and probably shot. If not shot, they will suffer some terrible military punishment at the Tortugas….

Meanwhile peace reigns once more in our domestic affairs — a very lively storm has purified the air. Colonel Sargent went on in his career until one day he put Lieut. Col. Curtis under arrest and then the storm burst. I rode over and stated our case to General Buchanan and he advised me as to the proper course to pursue, and the next day Sargent found his head in a hornet’s nest. Curtis forwarded a complaint on his arrest to General Averell. Major Higginson as next in command forwarded a paper in behalf of his brother officers to General Hooker, through Colonel Sargent, setting forth the Colonel’s utter ignorance and glaring incompetence, and prepared a similar paper for Governor Andrew; and Dr. Holland was brought up to the point of preferring charges against him for unwarrantable interference with the sick. At first the Colonel showed signs of bulling ahead to his destruction, but General Averell sent for him, Curtis and Higginson, and the last two stated the regimental grievances to General Averell in Sargent’s presence, glossing nothing. Sargent asked: “On account of what vice am I incompetent to command this regiment?” To which Curtis answered: “On account of no vice, Sir; you are simply utterly incompetent,” and so on, and referred him as authority to the Company officers. Averell was very anxious that “an arrangement” should be effected, and requested them to consult together. Sargent came back to camp and sent for some of the officers — his peculiar favorites. They all came up to the mark and plainly informed him that he was not able to run the machine. He then sent for Curtis and Higginson and the three had a long discussion, the result of which was that Curtis was released, Higginson withdrew his papers and peace was restored….

Friday, the 30th

I think you may as well make up your mind to passing the remaining two years of your term abroad. The war is on its last legs and it would hardly pay for England to abandon her neutral policy now, simply to get into a quarrel and revive our dying spirit. We are playing her game better ourselves. Whatever Cabinets and correspondents may say to the contrary, I feel persuaded that unless we have rapid and brilliant successes in the southwest soon, and those leading to something, the fighting in Virginia is over. The New York Herald may say what it pleases, but the Army of the Potomac is at present fearfully demoralised. Even I can see that, small means of observation as I have. You can have no idea of the disgust felt here towards the Government. Unable to run the army themselves, they take away McClellan, and when that leads to terrible disaster, they cashier Fitz John Porter, one of the best general officers we have; and now relieve Burnside, one of our best corps commanders, ridiculously displaced by these very men; Sumner, the hardest fighter and best man to take or hold a position in the whole army, and Franklin, on the whole considered the ablest officer we have — all this that Hooker may be placed in command, a man who has not the confidence of the army and who in private character is well known to be — I need not say what. This army, now, does not know under whom it is fighting. Government has taken from it every single one of its old familiar battle names, save Hooker’s. I most earnestly hope it will now break up the army, else some day it will have it marching on Washington….

London, January 27, 1863

Spring has come again and the leaves are appearing for the third time and we are still here, nor does there seem any immediate probability of our moving. In fact we are now one of the known and acknowledged units of the London and English world, and though politics still place more or less barriers in our path, the majority of people receive us much as they would Englishmen, and seem to consider us as such. I have been much struck by the way in which they affect to distinguish here between us and “foreigners”; that is, persons who don’t speak English. The great difficulty is in the making acquaintances, for London acquaintances are nothing.

After a fortnight’s violent pulling, pushing, threatening, shaking, cursing and coaxing, almost entirely done through private channels, we have at least succeeded in screwing the Government up to what promises to be a respectable position. How steady it will be, I don’t know, nor how far they will declare themselves, do I know. But between our Government at home and our active and energetic allies here, we seem to have made progress. I went last night to a meeting of which I shall send you a report; a democratic and socialist meeting, most threatening and dangerous to the established state of things; and assuming a tone and proportions that are quite novel and alarming in this capital. And they met to notify Government that “they would not tolerate” interference against us. I can assure you this sort of movement is as alarming here as a slave insurrection would be in the South, and we have our hands on the springs that can raise or pacify such agitators, at least as regards our own affairs, they making common cause with us. I never quite appreciated the “moral influence” of American democracy, nor the cause that the privileged classes in Europe have to fear us, until I saw how directly it works. At this moment the American question is organizing a vast mass of the lower orders in direct contact with the wealthy. They go our whole platform and are full of the “rights of man.” The old revolutionary leaven is working steadily in England. You can find millions of people who look up to our institutions as their model and who talk with utter contempt of their own system of Government. Within three months this movement has taken a development that has placed all our enemies on the defensive; has driven Palmerston to sue for peace and Lord Russell to proclaim a limited sympathy. I will not undertake to say where it will stop, but were I an Englishman I should feel nervous. We have strength enough already to shake the very crown on the Queen’s head if we are compelled to employ it all. You are not to suppose that we are intriguing to create trouble. I do not believe that all the intrigue in the world could create one of these great demonstrations of sympathy. But where we have friends, there we shall have support, and those who help us will do it of their own free will. There are few of the thickly populated districts of England where we have not the germs of an organisation that may easily become democratic as it is already antislavery. With such a curb on the upper classes, I think they will do little more harm to us.

The conduct of the affairs of that great republic which though wounded itself almost desperately, can yet threaten to tear down the rulers of the civilised world, by merely assuming her place at the head of the march of democracy, is something to look upon. I wonder whether we shall be forced to call upon the brothers of the great fraternity to come in all lands to the assistance and protection of its head. These are lively times, oh, Hannibal.

Potomac River, Va.
January 23, 1863

I do wish you took a little more healthy view of life. You say “whether my present course of life is profitable or not I am very sure yours is not.” Now, my dear fellow, speak for yourself. Your life may be unprofitable to you, and if it is, I shall have my own ideas as to why it is so; but I shall not believe it is until I see it from my own observation. As to me my present conviction is that my life is a good one for me to live, and I think your judgment will jump with mine when next we meet. I can’t tell how you feel about yourself, but I can how I feel about myself, and I assure you I have the instinct of growth since I entered the army. I feel within myself that I am more of a man and a better man than I ever was before, and I see in the behavior of those around me and in the faces of my friends, that I am a better fellow. I am nearer other men than I ever was before, and the contact makes me more human. I am on better terms with my brother men and they with me. You may say that my mind is lying fallow all this time. Perhaps, but after all the body has other functions than to carry round the head, and a few years’ quiet will hardly injure a mind warped, as I sometimes suspect mine was, in time past by the too constant and close inspection of print. I never should have suspected it in time past, but to my surprise I find this rough, hard life, a life to me good in itself. After being a regular, quiet respectable stay-at-home body in my youth, lo! at twenty-seven I have discovered that I never knew myself and that nature meant me for a Bohemian—a vagabond. I am growing and developing here daily, but in such strange directions. Let not my father try to tempt me back into my office and the routine of business, which now seems to sit like a terrible incubus on my past. No! he must make up his mind to that. I hope my late letters have paved the way to this conviction with him. If not, you may as well break it to him gently; but the truth is that going back to Boston and its old tread-mill is one of the aspects of the future from which my mind fairly revolts. With the war the occupation of this Othello’s gone, and I must hit on a new one. I don’t trouble myself much about the future, for I fear the war will not be over for years to come. Of course I don’t mean this war, in its present form: that we all see is fast drawing to a close; but indications all around point out to me a troubled future in which the army will play an important part for good or evil, and needs to be influenced accordingly. I shall cast my fate in with the army and the moment reorganization takes place on the return of peace and the disbandment of volunteers I shall do all I can to procure the highest grade in the new army for which I can entertain any hope. I now lament extremely my early education and life. I would I had been sent to boarding school and made to go into the world and mix with men more than my nature then inclined me to. I would I had been a venturous, restive, pugnacious little black-guard, causing my pa-r-i-ents much mental anxiety. In that case I should now be an officer not at all such as I am. But after all it is n’t too late to mend and enough active service may supply my deficiencies of education still. Meanwhile here I am, and here I am contented to remain. The furlough fever has broken out in our regiment, and the officers, right and left, are figuring up how they can get home for a time. Three only of us are untouched and declare that we would n’t go home if we could, and the three are Greely Curtis, Henry Higginson and myself. Our tents and the regimental lines have become our homes….

I ‘ve all along told you, you ought to remain in London, and I say so still; for that is your post and, pleasant or unpleasant there you should remain. I have told you all along, however, that I did n’t like the tone of your letters. Your mind has become morbid and is in a bad way — for yourself — both for the mens sana and corpus sanum. A year of this life would be most advantageous. Your mind might rest and your body would harden. My advice to you is to wait until you can honorably leave your post and then make a bolt into the wilderness, go to sea before the mast, volunteer for a campaign in Italy, or do anything singularly foolish and exposing you to uncalled for hardship. You may think my advice absurd and never return to it again. I tell you I know you and I have tried the experiment on myself, and I here suggest what you most need, and what you will never be a man without. If you joined an expedition to the North pole you might not discover that terra incognita, but you would discover many facts about yourself which would amply repay you the trouble you had had. All a man’s life is not meant for books, or for travel in Europe. Turn round and give a year to something new, such as I have suggested, and if you are thought singular you will find yourself wise.

Tuesday, 26th

I suppose you in London think it strange that I do not oftener refer to the war in my letters and discuss movements. The truth is that you probably know far more of what is going on than I do, who rarely see papers, still more rarely go beyond the regimental lines and almost never meet any one possessed of any reliable information. As a rule, so far as my knowledge goes, the letters of correspondents of the press are very delusive. They get their information from newspaper generals and their staffs and rarely tell what they see. Now and then, very rarely, I see a plain, true, outspoken letter of an evident eye-witness. The small means of observation I have are enough, however, to convince me that the army of the Potomac is thoroughly demoralized. They will fight yet, but they fight for defeat, just as a brave, bad rider will face a fence, but yet rides for a fall. There is a great deal of croaking, no confidence, plenty of sickness, and desertion is the order of the day. This arises from various causes; partly from the defeat at Fredericksburg and the failure, but mostly from the change of commanders of late. You or others may wonder or agree, as you choose, but it is a fact that McClellan alone has the confidence of this army. They would rally and fight under him tomorrow and under him only. Burnside has lost, and Hooker never had their confidence.

Under these circumstances my mind recurs more and more to the plan of the war which I suggested to you in my last letters from Hilton Head, after the seven days’ fight. This army I now think should be broken up and the bulk of it at once transferred to the South West, where it could seize and hold against everything the territory west of the Mississippi. This would give us that river and its tributaries, including the States of Tennessee and Kentucky; it would circumscribe and ultimately destroy the Southern confederacy, and would settle forever the slavery question in the young South West. One measure alone would decide all this: let the army know that they are to have the territory they occupy and Congress pass liberal laws encouraging the army to settle where they have fought. I think that at least 100,000 fighting men would become coloni, would send for their families or marry and there settle; and this would at once insure to that immense country inhabitants, defenders and free labor. This would be now, as it was then, my plan of the war, and I would abandon at once the moral effect of the capture of Richmond in favor of the great material fact of an open Mississippi. That this will be the future plan of the war there are already indications, but I hardly hope that we shall throw our whole strength into it, as we should to insure success. I have given up philosophising and do not often, except in very muddy weather indulge in lamentation. I think indeed you in London will all bear witness that my letters, under tolerably adverse circumstances, have been reasonably cheerful, and I hope they will remain so, even if the days become blacker than these blackest days I ever saw. We all feel that we are right and that being right, there is for us good in this plan of Providence, if our philosophy could but find it out. Do you remember the first lines of the last chorus in Samson Agonistes? They begin, “Though we oft doubt,” and I have often tried to recall them lately, but cannot get them all. I hope to live to see the philosophy of this struggle, and see the day when the Lord “will to his faithful servant in his place, bear witness gloriously.” Meanwhile, if it is your place to wield the pen, to my no small astonishment I find the sword becoming my weapon and, each in his place, we are working off our shares of the coil. Let us try to do it in our several ways to the best of our ability and uncomplainingly receive whatever fate betides us.

London, January 23, 1863

The Emancipation Proclamation has done more for us here than all our former victories and all our diplomacy. It is creating an almost convulsive reaction in our favor all over this country. The London Times furious and scolds like a drunken drab. Certain it is is, however, that public opinion is very deeply stirred here and finds expression in meetings, addresses to President Lincoln, deputations to us, standing committees to agitate the subject and to affect opinion, and all the other symptoms of a great popular movement peculiarly unpleasant to the upper classes here because it rests altogether on the spontaneous action of the laboring classes and has a pestilent squint at sympathy with republicanism. But the Times is on its last legs and has lost its temper. They say it always does lose its temper when it finds such a feeling too strong for it, and its next step will be to come round and try to guide it. We are much encouraged and in high spirits. If only you at home don’t have disasters, we will give such a checkmate to the foreign hopes of the rebels as they never yet have had….

London, January 23, 1863

Our customary midweek intelligence has not arrived, owing I suppose to the violence of the storms delaying the steamers, so that we are now fifteen days back. In the meantime the President’s proclamation is doing much for us on this side. That is put in contrast to the paper of Jefferson Davis, much to the advantage of the former. The middle classes generally see and comprehend the existence of a moral question apart from all political disquisitions. The effect is to bring out an expression in popular meetings which is doing something to neutralise the opposite tendency of the governing people. Mr. Seward has printed so largely from my Despatches of last year, that there is now no misunderstanding here of what I think on this matter. I fear that I have forfeited the favor of my aristocratic friends by performing my duty of disclosing their tendencies, but as I have had not unsimilar experiences heretofore at home, perhaps I take it with less uneasiness. There are always great exceptions to be made. And after all, the position of a foreign minister must necessarily be one to inspire caution in making intimacies. My acquaintance is already quite as extensive as I can keep up with. The profound quiet of the months which intervene during the absence of Parliament is almost at an end. On the 5th of February the respective forces in the political campaign will be marshalled, and the war of ins and outs will begin. Although they are nearly equal in numbers I do not find much expectation of an overthrow of the ministry. Lord Palmerston is very popular, and he means to hold on to power as long as he can. If the opposition throw him in the House, he will only appeal to the people, and the chances are that he may sustain himself. For though the special vacancies have been filled rather favorably to the opposition, it is singular that the successful candidates generally pledge themselves to support Lord Palmerston. Thus is shown the singular spectacle of a leader who mounts two parties at the same time and yet having the entire confidence of neither. Such a state of things will not survive his Lordship. And he is nearly eighty years old! So it is not unreasonable to presume that a change cannot be far distant. The question what might be the effect on American affairs is that which gives us an interest in the result. I trust that before it happens we may be so far on our way to a result at home as to save all risk of trouble….

Potomac Run, Va.
January 20, 1863

I see a great deal of Buchanan now and find him extremely pleasant and most unexpectedly kind and disposed to assist me. Did n’t we formerly consider Buchanan a little pompous? And were not we a little disposed to laugh at him? If we did a most surprising change has come over him, for he certainly is in his own quarters and in his intercourse with younger men by all odds the most genial and pleasant officer of rank I have ever met. You know he has been very badly used and bears it like a man. General Sumner alone of all the Army officers in this Department ranked him when the war began and now Lieutenants and Captains of his regiment are Brigadiers and Major Generals and he is still a Lieutenant Colonel commanding the 1st Brigade of Regulars. Yet he is universally respected as one of our best officers and most reliable men; as a soldier none stand higher and scarcely one would be trusted in a tight place as soon as he. He has been recommended for promotion over and over again and no man in the army doubts his loyalty. But Wilson does and he has not yet succeeded in working his way through the Military Committee of the Senate. Now he is coming up and will soon get what he most desires, the office of Inspector General. At any rate he is a good friend of mine, and I count his rise as in a good degree my own. I contrive to get over and see him very frequently and he advises me to leave this regiment and go into a staff….

London, January 9, 1863

I am deep in international law and political economy, dodging from the one to the other; and as I see nothing of the world and am much happier when I see nothing of it, I have no news to tell you. In point of fact I am better satisfied with my position now than ever before, and think I am of use.

At this moment public affairs are becalmed, but Parliament is soon to meet and then we shall all be put on the gridiron again. Luckily one’s skin gets callous in time. We are pretty strong, however, and very active; that is, our party here is; and I hope we can check any hostile plots on this side. Of course we expect to come in personally for a good share of abuse and social annoyance, but I suppose we can stand that. Some day et haec meminisse juvabit. I’ll make you laugh with our little passages at arms. As a general thing, however, we are simply avoided. By the way, if you can get Fred Seward to send you down the volume of Diplomatic Documents just published, I think it will amuse you. It has made a great sensation here, and our opponents have paraded it about as though it were a collection of choice blasphemy, or a compilation of bawdy stories. You would think that the unpardonable sin was in that volume. Unfortunately it is seriously open to ridicule, but apart from that there is really nothing to cry out at and much to praise and admire. I congratulate you on your Captaincy, if it is a cause of congratulation. You know I look on the service merely as a necessary duty, and my highest ambition would be reached by seeing you honorably and safely out of it. When that event arrives, I will resign you my place and retire to private life….

Camp of 1st Mass. Cav’y
Potomac Run, Va., January 8, 1863

It was clear that we were not going to the bridge, as Chamberlain of our regiment had charge of that party. I had the rear of the column and a ripping head-ache, otherwise I should have enjoyed the thing immensely, for it was a clear, cold, moonlight night and we went floundering through the marshes at a tremendous gait. All I could see was dissolving views of the rear of the column as we pelted through woods and across broad white marshes, intersected by creeks which we had to ford. Presently Ben [Crowninshield] came down the column and informed me that we were going up the railroad to destroy some smaller bridges and, if it took us long, we were to let the column go and find our own way home. Of course we lost the way and after riding up the road two miles and finding no bridge, we rode down two miles and a half, cutting down the telegraph poles as we went along, and then there was a halt and I heard the sound of the axes. “Ah,” thought I, “here is the bridge,” and my head-ache felt better.

So I rode up and looked at a miserable little culvert, about three yards long, on which some twenty destroyers were at work. This was, then, the greatest humbug of all. We had come with artillery and cavalry and infantry, through rain and snow and ice, without shelter or forage, all the way up here to cut up a miserable little culvert which ten men could rebuild in five hours. It would have been very amusing had I felt well. There we were a hundred of us, some eighty in line and ready to fire into any unsuspecting train which might come along, and the other twenty, without direction, or system or tools, tugging away at a remarkably well-built railroad which resisted their utmost efforts. Ye Gods! how the mismanagement did stick out!! Our tools were six axes and the ground was hard frozen. Every one directed and every one worked on his own hook. My second Lieutenant, a son of Judge Parsons, was ordered to do the work and he bellowed and swore, and the men laughed and minded him or not as they chose. White, quite nervous and anxious to get through, complained that too many orders were given and did nothing to remedy it. Ben Crowninshield, very anxious to get the job done while yet there was time, seeing that the men had worked an hour without getting up a single rail, encouraged them by dancing round in high excitement, exhorting them somewhat generally to “do something to turn the whole thing over at once, somehow,” and I sat on my horse in amused despair.

At length with immense effort we got up one rail and threw it into the creek, and White at once declared the bridge used up and we started back along the railroad. It was eleven o’clock now and the last half hour we had heard a spattering fire of carbines and musquetry towards the river, indicating that Chamberlain was at work, but no artillery, which seemed to indicate that it was n’t much of a job after all. As for us we went rapidly along the track and the first thing we knew we came to a bridge, as was a bridge. It was clear at once we had been at work on the wrong bridge hitherto, so we went to work again. It was the same old story, only a little better, for this time we made cleaner work, pulling up the track, cutting through the uprights and main beams and finally setting the middle pier on fire; having done which we mounted and went off better pleased.

Through the whole thing I must confess I felt like a fool. It was a small job and badly done; slight resistance would have turned us back and I have n’t as yet gotten over an old prejudice against going round destroying property which no one tries to protect. Anyhow it was done and the fire of the burning bridge threw a bright light across the marsh as we rode away. We rejoined the main body and waited for Chamberlain, who had been at work on the main bridge and had, after some slight resistance, resulting in nothing, destroyed about one hundred and twenty feet of it. The whole party was in by three o’clock, and we at once started back and, as I rode along in the clear, cold moonlight, I very soon made up my mind as to the whole affair.

I don’t know, but I imagine a newspaper success — “dashing raid” and all that — will be manufactured out of this. If it is I can only say it is a clap-trap and a humbug and was intended as such. It is, I fear, pure Joe Hookerism and wire pulling. The bridge was of no real value to the rebels or to us and was not protected. Even if it had been, Ned Flint, who is an engineer, said he would contract to repair with forty men all the damage done in four days. Anyhow, value or no value, two hundred cavalry could have done it twice as surely and effectually and in just half the time, and so Chamberlain had previously reported. But no! that would n’t answer for political effect, and so the sledge is brought out to crush the fly, and infantry, artillery and cavalry are paraded out in the depth of winter to burn a bridge which no one used or means to use, and I expect to see an immense pow-wow over it. If there is, rest assured it’s all a humbug. The thing amounted to nothing, was very badly done after no end of blunders and mismanagement, and was and is intended solely for political effect and has about as much bearing on the ends of the war as would the burning of Neponset Bridge or our barn at Quincy….

At last, at half past one, we marched into camp and were dismissed. This was Saturday afternoon. I had been on continuous duty for thirty-four hours and in the saddle twenty-eight; my horse had not eaten for thirty hours. I had last washed my face and hands on Wednesday morning, and in this week, the first in January and by far the most severe of the winter, I had passed two nights in my tent and five in bivouac. I got something to eat and washed my face and hands and then went out to see that the horses were cared for, but that night my blankets felt like a bed of down and I slept like an infant.

I have been specific about this trip as I regard it as finishing my education. I had tried most kinds before, dry and wet, hot and cold. We have steadily been at it for months and I have thought that terrible discomfort was yet to come. This combined cold and wet and hunger and sleeplessness and fatigue and all that men regard as hard to bear. We had slept in melting snow and rain, had passed days in the saddle with soaking feet and freezing clothes, had waited hours in a pelting rain, and yet I had enjoyed it all, and not for an instant had wished myself away. I do not now believe in outdoor hardships. None of us are sick, we have no colds and no diseases, we are all far better than we were at home, and yet there is but one greater hardship than we have felt. A long continued, disastrous winter retreat would be worse and in the line of exposure this alone I now fear….

Potomac Run, Va.
January 2, 1863

During the day [29th] two details of one hundred men each were ordered from our regiment, to join other details from other regiments in the brigade at eight o’clock the next morning. One of these details was to consist of picked men and horses, carefully armed, with three days’ rations and twenty pounds of forage, and of these Colonel Curtis had command and Channing Clapp went with him as Major. I had command of the other detail, which was provided with ten pounds of forage and three days’ rations. Both details got off at eight o’clock the morning of the 30th, Colonel Curtis reporting to General Averell in person and I to Major White of the 3d Pennsylvania. Evidently something was on foot. General Averell’s force could not have been less than a couple of thousand picked men and horses under chosen officers and it was evident that work was cut out for them. Our force was about 325, far inferior men and horses, and I imagined we were merely to act as a reserve or to support a battery. It took us a long time to get off and it was while waiting in the saddle, on a chilly, cloudy December morning, that I received all your letters of November 21st, informing me of Sallie Hampton’s death among other facts.

About ten o’clock we began to move, our detachment following General Averell’s and taking the road towards our advanced pickets at the Hartwood Church. We got there at about noon and after a few minutes’ rest Major White received his orders. We again mounted, passed Averell’s force and took the westerly road. Here Major White sent me back word that he wished to see me, and I went forward and joined him and he proceeded to develop to me the plan of our scout, as it appeared I was next in command to himself. We were to march with the utmost despatch and caution to Warrenton Junction, there rest and feed, and start at the proper time to arrive at Warrenton at daylight, “where,” the orders went on, “you will find two companies of rebel cavalry. You will capture these and return at once, reporting in person to Major General Hooker.” White winked at me and I winked at White, and immediately I went to the rear, changed my mare for my heavy old working brute, and sent her, my servant and all my possessions back within the picket and then rejoined White and we went on our way rejoicing in the cold, heavy, rainy December afternoon. For once I really believed we were going to do something and my spirits rose accordingly.

We pushed briskly along, stopping only once for a few moments until nine o’clock, when we found ourselves close to Warrenton Junction and then turned into the woods to wait, for the next six hours. It had been raining, but not heavily, and now the air was very heavy and cold — damp. It was a sort of cold drizzle. Of course fires were not safe, so we fed our horses and then, after sharing Major White’s supper, I smoked for a while and then lay down at the foot of a tree and slept as uncomfortably as I care to, waking up chilled through and very disconsolate. At three o’clock we again got on the road and pushed on well enough, except that our guides once or twice lost the road, until we came to the Junction. There, the moon having gone down, it suddenly became intensely dark, our guides lost the road, we got wandering through the woods and morasses, and, for a time, things looked black enough. I never saw such darkness. I could not see a man and horse three feet before me, but blindly followed the jingling of the column, relying on my horse not to fall and to keep the road. We lost our advance guard, a message came up that the rear squadron had not been seen for a long time, and we lost our rear-guard and did n’t find it until next day. We had finally to retrace our steps to the Junction and there, at least, we found our missing squadron, got back our advance guard and re-discovered the road and then pressed on once more.

Then came one of those disgusting night marches; cold and disgusted, one’s only desire is to be in bed; so sleepy that to keep one’s eyes open is impossible. You sleep and doze in wretched discomfort while your horse presses on. Good Lord! how for two hours I did wish myself comfortably back under arrest. Day broke at last and I woke up. We were late and pressing on fast, but it was eight o’clock before we entered Warrenton. White was to drive in the pickets and charge through the town with one squadron and I was to follow in the rear and support him with mine, while the third was to be left as reserve. As we approached the town I began to smell a rat. In vain I listened for the first shots telling that we were on their pickets. It did n’t come, and I began to feel that we were sold. Still it had to be done. On a bright, cool morning in December, feeling like a fool, I charged through the quiet town of Warrenton at the head of my squadron, with their carbines advanced, making a devil of a racket, barked at by curs and astonishing and delighting peaceful citizens. They flocked out and looked at us, not exactly with admiration, but much as if it had been the great American Circus or Van Amburg’s Menagerie, or any other show got up for their edification. They were very civil and certainly exhibited no signs of distrust or fear, and we justified their confidence; for, as soon as we had rushed through the town and sent our men up all manner of streets, satisfying ourselves that there was no organized body of rebels in that town, we turned round and left the town according to our orders on our way home. We felt, as I have said, like fools.

I have told you what was, now for what might have been. As we marched away we heard bells ringing and wondered what it was. It was a little signal. Two hours after we left, Stuart entered the town on his way back from Dumfries and was there joined by Lee and a few hours after he left Averell entered it in pursuit and thus Warrenton saw plenty of cavalry that day. On the one hand we just missed defeat and captivity, death or flight, and on the other, brilliant success. Had Stuart been there when we arrived we would savagely have assaulted his whole force, under the impression that they were the two companies we were after and now, the probabilities are, I should not have been writing this letter. Had Averell gone with us, instead of taking the road he did, Stuart would have been caught.