David L Day–My diary of rambles with the 25th Mass

Jan. 9. As bright and lovely a morning as ever dawned on Chesapeake bay. The expedition sails today. The harbor is full of life, tugboats are running in all directions, vessels are getting themselves in their order in line, the anchors are all up and waiting the signal gun to start.

10 a. m. The signal gun announces that all is ready for the departure of the expedition. Slowly the flag-boat, containing Gen. Burnside and staff, moves off, followed by other boats as fast as they get ready to sail. Nothing particular occurred during the day’s sail. The bay is wide and we were so far from either shore that we could distinguish nothing of interest. We passed the mouth of the Potomac river a little before sunset, and shortly after dropped anchor for the night.

Aboard the New York.

Jan. 7. Here we are, packed like sardines in a box; three companies of us, K, C and B, in the after cabin. The officers and band occupy the saloon and state rooms on the upper deck, the other companies fill the cabin on the forward deck, the ladies’ saloon and gangway amidships. The horses are forward, and the baggage is piled up forward and on the guards. Altogether, we are settled in here pretty thick, but by keeping ourselves in good humor and by a little forbearance and accommodation, one to the other, we shall manage to get along and live together in peace, like Barnum’s happy family. This boat is a large, first-class steamer, built in the strongest manner and designed for a sea-going boat. She is commanded by Capt. Clark; the first mate is a Mr. Mulligan. Both have the appearance of gentlemen. The troops are embarking as rapidly as possible, and in a day or two more the expedition will be ready to sail.

Jan. 6. Reveille beat at 6 o’clock this morning, and all hands turned out in the midst of a driving snow storm, elated at the prospect of getting away. I cannot say I was very exuberant in spirit as there was work in it and things began to look like a reality. An hour or so sufficed to pick up our traps and load our camp equipage on the wagons, drink a cup of hot coffee and declare ourselves ready to march. The companies were formed in their company streets; the rolls called, and we marched out on the parade ground and formed the regimental line. Col. Upton said he should like to fire a few rounds as a parting salute to old Camp Hicks, and gave the order to load. The firing over, there came the order, “By companies right wheel! forward march!” and we turned our backs on our old home. Passing the camp of the 27th Massachusetts, we halted, and, wheeling into line, honored them with a salute of a few rounds, which was responded to with hearty cheers. We then marched to the Naval academy, where seven companies, with the field and staff, their horses, band and all the camp equipage, went aboard the steamer New York. Two companies, D and H, went aboard the gunboat Zouave, and company I aboard the schooner Skirmisher. All aboard, the New York steamed out into the harbor a short distance and anchored till further orders.

An Incident.

A little incident here occurred showing the good nature of Col. Upton. While waiting for the baggage to be got aboard, a small party of us thought we would go up to the academy grounds, and see the 4th Rhode Island boys who had just arrived. We had not been there fifteen minutes before we saw the boat leaving the wharf, and the way we put for it was a caution to travelers a little too late for the cars. We readied the wharf all out of breath, and the first man we saw was Col. Upton. He appeared a little cross at first, and then putting on one of his good-natured looks, asked us where we had been. We replied we had been up to see the Rhode Island boys. “Well,” he said, “yonder goes the boat, what are you going to do?” Some one suggested that under the circumstances we had better stand by the colonel and take our chances. “Ah!” he replied, “I will soon have you fellows where I shall know where to find you.” He then procured a boat and crew, told us to get aboard and put for the steamer. As we pushed away from the wharf, we left the colonel standing there, looking as good-natured and happy as though it was Sunday afternoon and he had just heard a good sermon.

Orders to Leave.

Jan. 5. Orders have been issued to break camp and go aboard the transports tomorrow morning. The boys are now breaking the frozen ground around the tent pins, packing their knapsacks and getting ready for a start. We have been here so long it seems almost like leaving home to break up and go out on untried scenes.

A Dull Day.

Jan. 1, 1862. The new year is ushered in with a light fall of snow and very cold weather. There is just snow enough to prevent drills or any sports the boys may have been anticipating. Altogether the day will be a dull one. The sutler, anticipating our removal, has not much to sell or steal. The sutler is regarded as the common enemy of the soldier, and when forced contributions are levied on him it is considered entirely legitimate and rather a good joke. The boys will have to content themselves with card playing and writing letters home. We have just got a new stove running in my tent, and Long Tom is detailed today to supply it with wood. I think we shall make a comfortable day of it, if Tom does his duty. Things certainly begin to look like leaving; the harbor is full of vessels, transports, gunboats and supply ships. Appearances indicate that somebody will hear it thunder somewhere along the southern coast before very long.

Rumors.

Dec. 28. The camp is full of rumors about our leaving, but I hardly think any one knows much about it as yet, although it is quite probable we shall leave before long. The expedition is all here and has been perfected in drill. Nothing that I can see prevents us from leaving at any time. When we break this camp we can count our happy time over, that we have seen our best days of soldiering. Campaign life in the held, as I understand it, is at the best a life of hardship, privation and danger, and the man who expects much else, will be grievously disappointed.

Christmas.

Dec. 26. Christmas went off very pleasantly and apparently to the satisfaction of all. Drills were suspended and all went in for a good time. The Irishmen had their Christmas box, the Germans their song and lager, while ball playing and other athletic sports used up the day, and music and dancing were the order of the evening. Santa Claus came with a Christmas dinner for a few, but more of us he passed by; however, I think the old gentleman has got a store for us somewhere on the way.

Our camp was visited by a number of ladies and gentlemen from the city, who were guests at headquarters, Chaplain James doing the polite, and entertaining them as best he could. No farther south than this, I was surprised to hear the chaplain tell of the ignorance of these people in regard to northern people and their institutions. One lady, noticing a box of letters in the chaplain’s tent, said she thought he must have a very large correspondence-to have so many letters. He told her those were soldiers’ letters going home to their friends. “Why,” she asked, “are there many of your soldiers who can write?” He informed her that there were not a half dozen men in the regiment but could read and write. He told her that free schools were an institution at the north. No man was so poor but he could educate his children, and the man who neglected their education was regarded as little better than the brutes. The lady appeared quite astonished and said she thought our free schools were only for the rich.

Dec. 24. Tomorrow will be Christmas, and the boys in all the camps are making great preparations for the coming event. The camps are being put in order and decorated with evergreens. Some of them are trimmed in good taste and look very neat and pretty. The boys are all looking forward to a good time; I hope they will not be disappointed. Santa Claus is expected here tonight with our Christmas dinners, but he may be delayed and not get here for a week to come.