Diary of a Young Officer–Josiah Marshall Favill (57th New York Infantry)

February 25th. A continual stream of officers and men going home and returning from leave. It seems to be a general resting time, when it is understood nothing will be done.

On the left of our brigade, and extending back to Hancock’s headquarters, is an immense open field over a hundred acres in extent. It is mostly sand and gravel and therefore always in good order. There is space enough to manœuver a corps, and here we drill as regiment, brigade, and division, and hold our reviews, which, as a rule, occur once in two weeks. In the northwestern part of it, near a small house, the batteries attached to the division are parked, and they, too, use it as a drill ground. Thomas’s battery Fourth artillery, Lieutenant Fields now commanding, and Perth’s and Arnold’s, all excellent commands, officered by a splendid lot of good fellows, who professionally have few equals in the army. The weather is remarkable. Almost like spring, so that all kinds of out door games can be played and horse races and little expeditions for pleasure are the order of the day.

February 18th. When my man met me yesterday with my gray, a horse I had always considered unequaled in appearance, both horse and man looked shabby, and as I looked them over, and the great number of muddy soldiers everywhere about, I am afraid I wished myself back again in New York. Why I should see through such jaundiced eyes, I scarcely know, for the army has been my home and delight for the past two years. I think I shall not apply for any more leaves of absence. I noticed yesterday what an immense accumulation of stores had been collected on the sheltered ground, where the trains stop. The spot is admirably adapted to the purpose, entirely out of sight, although so close to the river the abrupt hills afford the most complete protection. There are no visible roads now. The trains just cut across the country to the various camps the shortest way, resulting in the whole district becoming a quagmire. One must see this muddy country in winter to know how bad it really is.

Colonel Zook is going to leave us in the morning for a twenty days’ leave, and Frank is to remain in command of the brigade, keeping his own regimental quarters, however, and I am to run the brigade for him. I hope Colonel Zook will return on time. It makes so much difference when he is absent; we are always busy when he is in command.

La Valley of the Fifty-seventh, who for many months was acting brigade commissary, most unaccountably disappeared, and has been dropped from the muster rolls. This is a great surprise to us. A French Canadian, well educated, unusually bright, served in the regular army, and is a capital soldier and boon companion, we had always considered him the soul of honor, and would have trusted him with all we had. Lieutenant C. B. Curtiss, a scholar and man of attainments, has been promoted to be captain of his Company K, at one time the best company in the regiment, and perhaps so now. Captain L. L. Rose, A. C. Subsistence, has been assigned to the brigade permanently. He is a peculiar genius of first rate ability, and possessed of more than the usual amount of common sense, but has many weak points. He is about fifty years of age, a great gambler and I think an experienced one; is a lover of poetry, and can recite from memory from his favorite author, Burns, by the hour, and takes great pleasure in entertaining us. He keeps good horses, is a most accommodating and excellent commissary, and genial companion. Our quartermaster, Leffingwell, we see little of. He is a typical Yankee, unsociable and uninteresting, but a good quartermaster and seldom at headquarters, living almost wholly with his train. The assistant inspector general, Captain James D. Brady of the Sixty-third, is a brave, accomplished, and very bright officer. He is an Irishman, American born, and hails from Portsmouth, Va. He has recently been assigned to us.

SEVERAL days were allowed to elapse before anything more than routine guard and picket duty was ordered, as the officers surviving the battle were fully occupied in making out their reports and accounting for their lost men and material.

At brigade headquarters we were equally full of business, and Swartz, our head clerk, and his assistants were kept busy till late into the night every day.

I shall only put down here the official report of Colonel Zook. The losses were heavy, but nothing like what was at first reported. They were all of veterans, and amongst them many of our very best officers. Lieutenant-Colonel Bull of the Sixty-sixth was killed while with the engineers on the 11th, at the same time Lieutenant-Colonel Chapman was wounded. He was a rough, energetic officer, always ready for a fight, and to be found in the foremost ranks, and was highly esteemed at our headquarters, and will be a notable loss to a good regiment. Major Throop, who took the Fifty-seventh into action, was seriously wounded, and is not expected to recover. My friend, a very agreeable officer of Spanish descent, Lieutenant Pou, was killed at the very front and his body not recovered. He was an intelligent, well educated young man and a good officer. The adjutant of the Fifty-second New York was killed. He was on the fence climbing over with me, when it was struck by a round shot and smashed all to pieces. He fell and never spoke. I was reported killed, too, because some one saw me sprawling down with the others, but I was only astonished and jarred a little, and had no trouble in keeping on with my two regiments. Of the wounded, they were very numerous, Alcoke of the Fifty-seventh, who lost an arm, being amongst them. The regiment, after Throop was wounded, was in command of Captain Britt, who makes the official report of the battle for that regiment. Colonel Zook, always very sparing of praise, says in his official report: “Seeing General French’s last regiment filing out past the railroad depot, I directed the Fifty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers and Twenty-seventh Connecticut Volunteers to pass out by the same route. The Sixty-sixth and Fifty-seventh New York, conducted by Lieutenant C. H. H. Broom, aide-de-camp, moved out through the next street to the eastward, and the Second Delaware and Fifty-second New York, conducted by Lieutenant J. M. Favill, aide-de-camp, marched by the street next that taken by Lieutenant Broom. All these commands filed to the right at the outskirts of the town and formed line of battle, with the Fifty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers resting on Hanover street and the Fifty-second on the railroad. The brigade then advanced rapidly over the crest of the hill nearest the enemy’s line under a very heavy fire of artillery from the heights, and musketry from a stone wall, sunken road, and numerous rifle pits, charging over the division of its former commander, General French, and taking a position that was not passed by any other line during the day, though some of Kimball’s men reached it. The regiments of the brigade fought in line, and were commanded as follows: The Fifty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers, Colonel John R. Brooke, Twenty-seventh Connecticut Volunteers, Colonel Richard A. Bostwick, Sixty-sixth New York, Captain Julius Wehle, killed, Fifty-seventh New York, Major N. G. Throop, wounded, Second Delaware, Colonel W. P. Bailey, slightly wounded, and Fifty-second New York, Colonel Paul Frank. To my staff I am under great obligations for valuable assistance, especially to Lieutenants Favill and Broom, for the handsome manner in which they aided in taking the brigade into action. The loss of the brigade was in the action of the thirteenth, seven commisioned officers killed and thirty-one wounded, fifty-two enlisted men killed and three hundred and ninety-five wounded and forty-two missing. Total five hundred and twenty-seven.”

General Sumner reviewed the brigade a week after the action and on finding the Sixty-sixth commanded by a second-lieutenant, asked the reason of it, and was told every superior officer was either killed or wounded, and that he was now the ranking officer. The general seemed lost in astonishment at first, and then said to the lieutenant: “If I had found myself when a second lieutenant in command of so fine a regiment, I should have considered my fortune made.”

A very serious problem is the filling up of the decimated regiments. They are now not much more than companies and by the requirement of the War Department, a complete stop is put to promotion and mustering. The aim of the Government would seem to be to encourage officers to keep their commands out of dangerous places, for their chances of promotion are lessened in exact proportion as they lose their men by fighting. It is all wrong, and some intelligent system of filling up regiments should be adopted. We have just had a new regiment assigned to us, one thousand strong, and not a single officer in it familiar with his duties. The material is of the best, and the officers are gentlemen, but not military men, and every one of them has been ordered to attend my drills for officers, and so I am become instructor of infantry tactics to quite a respectable school. We drill every morning, and the officers, being anxious to learn get along famously.

The commands are being reorganized to a considerable extent, a new brigade is forming for Colonel John R. Brooke, who, however, has not received any additional rank. It takes away from us the colonel’s own regiment, the Fifty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers, the Second Delaware, Colonel Bailey, and Twenty-seventh Connecticut Volunteers. Colonel Bostwick gets the Sixty-fourth New York and Forty-fifth Pennsylvania Volunteers from elsewhere, making an excellent command, and will be known as the Fourth brigade. Our brigade, the old Third, has the original Fifty-second, Fifty-seventh and Sixty-sixth New York and the new One Hundred and Fortieth Pennsylvania Volunteers. A few days after the organization of the Fourth brigade, by direction of General Hancock, our brigade was relieved by it, and ordered to the rear into winter quarters. On Sunday morning last we marched out very regretfully over the telegraph road, a distance of perhaps a mile and a half turned off to the left and some distance to the north and east of the John Washington house (General Hancock’s headquarters.) Here we selected a position in line with the remainder of the division, and laid out a regular camp. Heavy details were made for chopping down trees, and the men built a series of little log huts on either side of their company streets, affording not only protection from the weather, but a great deal of solid comfort. The roofs were made of the men’s shelter tents, chimney and fire place of mud and wood, and ultimately doors and floors of cracker boxes. As we had abundance of firewood, the men enjoyed their little log houses immensely, four in each hut, and were soon reconciled to the change from the town. Our headquarters were built after the men had completed their own huts. There were four good split log foundations about three feet high, upon each of which a wall tent was set up, securely fastened to firmly fixed high rails on either side resting on posts with crotches well let into the ground. The chinks were filled with mud. Very good fireplaces also built of mud and sticks, and eventually regular little doors. When the bunks were put up, each holding two men, our swords and sashes hung on the sides, and a cheerful blaze in the little fireplace, there was nothing left to be desired in the way of solid comfort. Colonel Zook lived alone, Broom and I, Captains Brady and Rose; and Leffingwell, the quartermaster, by himself. There was also a similar arrangement for an office in which the two clerks lived. We had scarcely got into our new quarters, when General Hancock went home on a leave of absence and Zook, as the senior officer in the division, took command. Colonel Frank nominally assumed command of the brigade, but I really ran it, the colonel preferring to remain at his own headquarters, and coming over once a day to sign whatever documents we had ready for him. One of the curiosities of the late campaign is the ruffled state of affairs amongst the great moguls, the superior generals. On the 25th of January the commander of the army issued an order dismissing General Hooker from the service for insubordination, subject to the approval of the President, of course, and General Franklin from the command of his corps. Two days afterwards in General Order No. 20, War Department, Adjutant General’s office, dated January 25, 1863, the President of the United States directed,

1st. That Major General A. E. Burnside, at his own request, be relieved from the command of the army of the Potomac.

2d. That Major General E. V. Sumner, at his own request, be relieved from duty in the army of the Potomac.

3d. That Major General W. B. Franklin be relieved from duty in the army of the Potomac.

4th. That Major General Hooker be assigned to the command of the army of the Potomac.”

And so the officer, dismissed by Burnside, finds himself in command, and our late commander, let us hope, disappears for good from active service. General Sumner retires for old age and its infirmaties. He is a good man, an excellent soldier and good corps commander, and we shall miss him; he has practically brought us up from civil life to well trained, veteran soldiers, and is very proud of his work. In taking leave of us, he was most pathetic and complimentary, and I am sure he will take with him the respect of every man in the old division at least. All the changes are no doubt for the good of the service, and as we have almost all the work still before us, that is the important thing.

Since the battle of Frederickburg, leave of absence for the officers, and furloughs for the men, have been liberally granted. Almost half the surviving officers have been allowed leave, so that it became contagious and I found myself making application for a fifteen days’ leave, which was the maximum allowed. It was readily granted, and for the first time since 1861, I found myself in New York City again, amongst my friends, untrammeled by autocratic rules. What a luxury it was! I left camp on February 2d and was obliged to be back there on the 17th, so I had no time for hesitancy, and plunged directly into a round of gaieties. I called immediately upon H___, at the hotel on Fifth avenue, and found my status unimpaired, although no correspondence had passed between us. We visited the Russian warships then in port, and without any interruption, kept busy sight seeing, going to theaters, operas, etc., etc. The time seemed abominably short, and when the evening of the 16th arrived, and I had to take my leave for an unknown period and unknown vicissitudes, I was very desolate, but it was necessary to brace up, so I kept the faith and took my train, and rushed back to my home and duties with the grand old army in the field, carrying along a brand new uniform, new overcoat, boots, etc., and a very empty pocket book. I landed on the afternoon of the 17th in rear of the hills, just in front of Fredericksburg, where the train stopped, and the stores were all landed. Stepping on the ground I looked about me, hardly recognizing the country. All the trees for miles had been cut down for the use of the army, and it looked like a wilderness of stumps and mud. My man Green was on hand with the gray, and together we rode over the desolate country. It was cold and cheerless and I felt no enthusiasm in returning.

[December 15th]

Early Monday evening the commanding general concluded to withdraw, and the troops were ordered to recross the river. During the day the ambulances were kept busy transfering the wounded from the town to Stafford and as soon as it became dark, the artillery parked in the streets, crossed over, followed immediately afterwards by the infantry. Long, dark lines filled every street, converging near the bridges, and with rapid strides the men stepped briskly out. Luckily for us, the night was pitch dark, the wind howling dismally through the streets, swinging the doors and shutters of the deserted houses upon their creaking hinges in a most depressing manner; but it prevented the enemy from observing our movements, and so was especially welcome. Out in front, just under the guns of Marye’s hill, lay our Fifty-second regiment Colonel Frank in command, keeping up a bold front, occasionally exchanging shots with the rebs. Under cover of this line, all the troops in rear had been withdrawn, and they were now alone upon the field. By midnight most of the troops had crossed over and Zook with a crowd of officers sat on horseback near the head of the bridge, keeping a watchful eye in rear as well as on the bridge. Our brigade brought up the rear, and was just about to cross when Mitchell came along and directed that an attempt be made to withdraw the Fifty-second from the front. It seemed altogether likely the enemy would discover our movements sooner or later and whenever they did so the regiment was doomed to capture. The colonel directed me to undertake the task of withdrawing the regiment; that meant to ride alone through a deserted town, to scramble over a field of battle covered with hundreds of dead men and strewn with muskets and encumbrances, in a night so dark that nothing could be seen, was surely an unpleasant duty, but saying good bye. Without even an orderly I turned and galloped through the street towards the railroad track. Most of the houses, although completely deserted, were still lighted by candles left by our men, and all the doors stood open, creaking and groaning in the midnight darkness. I soon reached the railroad, and following it, went into the depot, from near which we originally made our exit to the attack. Here I dismounted, groped about for several minutes for something to fasten my horse to, stumbling over a big pile of dead men, and at last found the fastening of a window shutter, the very thing I wanted. Billy did not like the idea of being left alone in so lonesome a spot, and whinnied and stamped provokingly; groping my way by the big doors, I passed out towards the battlefield; near a small house close to the brick kiln, where a dog rushed out barking furiously, I stopped for a moment till all was still, then hurried along again, groping my way over the prostrate forms of dead men, sometimes on a run, at others, creeping and picking my way as best I could, amongst the numberless muskets with fixed bayonets, etc., that covered the ground. Many times I was obliged to lie flat down and peer ahead, to get my bearings, at others to avoid the musket balls, as every little while the rebel lines opened fire, and in fact a scattering fusilade was kept up all the time. After many efforts, changing direction first to the right, then to the left, I stumbled on the line of living men lying flat down, hardly distinguishable from the dead without stooping, and was never so delighted in my life before. The men were equally glad to see me, or more accurately, hear my voice, for the darkness was so intense that no man’s face could be seen; the men were full of anxiety, fearing we might abandon them, and quickly passed the news of my arrival along the line. I moved cautiously towards the center, where no man spoke above a whisper, and soon ran into Colonel Frank, who hugged me, squeezed my hand, and was beside himself for joy. He presented his canteen, familiarly known to all his friends, and after taking a good drink, we arranged the plan of withdrawal, which was to muffle canteen cups and dishes with the blankets, face to the left, and march straight for the railway cut, which we knew was not far distant. Everything was to be done quietly, the men following their file leaders without word of command. These arrangements being concluded, the officers and men were notified, and in a few minutes all was ready for the movement. Two or three shots were fired in different parts of the line, to let the rebels know we were still there then quickly the line stood up faced to the left, and at a tremenduous speed, stepped out and reached the cut without attracting the enemy’s attention. Once on the railroad, we soon reached the depot, where I found my horse. I was quickly on his back, and at the head of the column moved through the silent streets to the bridge, where the engineers were eagerly awaiting our arrival. Without loss of time, the regiment moved across. As the last man stepped on board the bridge, I bade the engineer officer in charge good bye, and followed the regiment, the bridge itself disappearing like magic, and before I reached the Stafford side half of it was taken up and all access to the other side barred. I put spurs to my horse, and rode directly to headquarters, where all but Green, my man, were fast asleep. He took my horse, and in a few moments I too was “in the shadow of the earth,—sleep, nature’s soft nurse, the mantle that covers thought, the food that appeases hunger; the balance and weight that equal the shepherd with the King, and the simple with the wise.”

[December 14th.]

At daylight next morning, (Saturday) [actually Sunday] all were on the alert, but received no orders, and the enemy made no attack; throughout the day and another night the situation remained unchanged. The field was covered with dead, still unburied, and many of our men in front, still lying on their bellies, keeping up a scattering fire.

[December 13th] Early this morning, the Thirteenth, our division, marched up the cut and filed off into the principal street to the right. Here we stacked arms and the men were dismissed. They immediately made a dash for the houses, and ransacked them from cellar to garret. Very soon the streets were filled with a motley crowd of men, some of them dressed in women’s clothes, others with tall silk hats, curiously conspicuous where nothing but caps are worn; many brought out sofas, chairs, etc., which were planted in the middle of the street, and the men proceeded to take their ease. Some carried pictures; one man had a fine stuffed alligator, and most of them had something. It was curious to observe these men upon the eve of a tremendous battle rid themselves of all anxiety by plunging into this boistrous sport. No attempt was made by the officers to interfere, and thus their minds were distracted, until summoned to fall in to storm the heights.

About 12 o’clock French’s division began filing out toward the rear of the town, to the assault which they were to lead. Our division formed next in order, massed on the side streets, about the railroad, waiting for French to advance.

About two o’clock French succeeded in deploying his lines, and our column immediately debouched on the plain in his rear, by way of the railroad depot. As the head of the column appeared in the open, the rebel batteries opened fire and pandemonium at once broke loose. The whizzing, bursting shells made one’s hair stand on end; our guns added to the confusion as they fired over our heads, and the two flights of shot and shell in opposite directions, made a noise above the roar of Niagara. We marched rapidly forward, passing a huge pile of bricks, which the round shot was scattering in every direction, then came a mill race, and on the other side of it a high board fence; clearing these obstacles in the face of a terrible fire, with considerable loss and obliquing somewhat to the right at first, then in full line of battle, we marched directly forward, in front of Marye’s house the strongest point of the enemys’ works. It seemed a terrible long distance, as with bated breath and heads bowed down, we hurried forward, the rebel guns plowing great furrows in our ranks at every step; all we could do was to close up the gaps and press forward. When within some three hundred yards of the rebel works, the men burst into a cheer and charged for the heights. Immediately the hill in front was hid from view by a continuous sheet of flame from base to summit. The rebel infantry poured in a murderous fire while their guns from every available point fired shot and shell and cannister. The losses were so tremendous that before we knew it our momentum was gone, and the charge a failure. Within one hundred yards of the base of the hill we dropped down, and then flat on our bellies, opened fire while line after line of fresh troops, like ocean waves, followed each other in rapid succession, but none of them succeeded in reaching the enemy’s works. A few passed over our line, but the bulk of them dropped down before they reached us. Looking over the field in rear, from where I lay, the plain seemed swarming with men, but it was easy to see that the attack was a failure, and that nothing that could henceforth be done would amount to anything. Our losses were heavy, while those of the enemy, sheltered behind superb works, were almost nothing, and no effort of ours short of carrying the works at the point of the bayonet could possibly avail anything. This being out of the question, the point was how we were to get away from our exposed position. Luckily for us the moving lines in rear attracted the most attention, drawing the bulk of the enemy’s fire, and it was impossible not to watch the advance of these troops and forget one’s own predicament. I wondered while I lay there how it all came about that these thousands of men in broad daylight were trying their best to kill each other. Just then there was no romance, no glorious pomp, nothing but disgust for the genius who planned so frightful a slaughter. Towards evening the attempt came to a halt, the firing ceased, and many of the troops withdrew. By this time the plain was covered with thousands of dead and wounded men, besides scores of lines of troops, lying on their bellies, utterly useless, but exposed to more or less continuous fire. We fully expected the enemy to leave his works and charge us where we lay, but very strangely they not only did not do this, but stopped their artillery fire, and by dusk it became almost quiet. Many of the columns were withdrawn, and the wounded were quickly gathered up. Zook was very wretched, quite sick and thoroughly disgusted. Broom participated in his first fight and thought he had had enough for a life time. Brooke was as usual up in front on the right looking after his men, one of the most unconcerned men in the crowd. During the evening all of our brigade save the Fifty-second was withdrawn into the town, and Colonel Zook took up his quarters in a house near the upper pontoon bridge, where we spent the night.

December 12th. We lay on the Phillips farm until about 8 A. M., then crossed over the pontoon bridge at the Lacy house and marched to the lower part of the town, directly opposite the old ferry dock, our left resting on the steamboat wharf; here we stacked arms, and the men keeping reasonably near to their pieces, were allowed to move about as they pleased. Brigade headquarters were established on the piazza of an old ramshackle house, at the corner of a deep cut, leading up to the town, and here we lay and watched the bursting of the rebel shells, which occasionally exploded over our heads, and the moving columns of the army as they kept continuously crossing over; we all felt shaky about coming events and there was very little hilarity. Our new regiment, the Twenty-seventh Connecticut, had its equanimity sadly disturbed by a shell bursting in its ranks killing several of its men, which almost paralyzed them. The strangest thing is that the enemy does not shell the place thoroughly, now that it is packed full of men; we expected them to do so every minute, but were luckily disappointed.

The arrangement of troops to-night is as follows: Franklin on the left, our corps next on the right, then the Ninth and Sixth, and on the extreme right the First. It became foggy again about sunset, when we posted a very heavy picket line entirely around the town, just on the outskirts, with strong reserves, and made every preparation for a night attack. All the troops across lay in the streets, getting such rest as they could. We spent the night on the piazza of the old house, and were anything but comfortable.

The heights, in rear of the town, are bristling with guns and rifle pits, and entrenchments cover the entire face of the whole range. Why we should be compelled to charge at the very strongest point in the enemy’s position is an enigma that no one can solve; one thing alone is certain, that by tomorrow at this time many of our old comrades will have fought their last fight, whatever may be the result.

[December 11th]

At two o’clock the morning of the 11th, we fell in, marched on the river road to the Lacy house, in the rear of which we halted, stacked arms, and lay down. The reserve artillery of the army occupied most of the immense level field, and every available point commanding the town and batteries on the enemy’s side was occupied by our big siege pieces, together with scores of field guns; the river bank was lined with skirmishers, and everywhere troops were massed in solid columns, awaiting events. There was a heavy fog over the river, which seemed at first to be greatly in our favor, but as soon as the men began to lay the bridge and ply their axes and hammers, the enemy opened a sharp musketry fire, aiming in the direction of the sound. Our men returned the fire, but with little effect, as they could see nothing, and simply fired at random. In less than two hours we lost eight officers killed, Lieutenant-Colonel Bull, commanding the Sixth-sixth, being among the number, and over sixty officers and men wounded, including Lieutenant-Colonel Chapman of the Fifty-seventh. In consequence of these severe losses, the engineers were called off, and operations suspended till the fog cleared. In the mean time nearly one hundred guns opened fire simultaneously upon the town, commencing about seven o’clock, to which the enemy made no reply. It was a magnificent sight to see the bombardment of the sleepy old town, and we expected to see it quickly reduced to ashes, but the effect was ridiculously out of proportion to the noise and weight of metal thrown into the place, and we were all greatly disappointed. The engineers went to work as soon as the fog lifted, when the enemy were seen in force behind rifle pits, running along the river bank; our men not being able to dislodge them, and the artillery fire having no effect a detachment from Howard’s brigade paddled across the river in some of the pontoon boats, landed, and soon cleared the banks, holding their position until the bridge was completed, which did not take very long; then a brigade from the Second division marched rapidly across, with orders to occupy the town. As the brigade advanced on the other side, to the surprise of everybody, they were attacked by a force of infantry which must have remained hidden away throughout the whole bombardment. The attack was so desperate that in less than ten minutes, over a hundred of our men were killed and many more wounded, but the column pushed on, joined by the remainder of the division to which they belonged, and soon drove the rebels out of the place.

At the lower bridges Franklin met with no opposition, and crossed without difficulty, so that by night time a very large force had established itself under the very noses of the rebel army. Broom and I rode over before dark to see the effect of the bombardment, and were immensely surprised at the little damage done by so many guns, some of them at cannister range only.

December 10, 1862. All doubts as to a movement were set at rest by the receipt this morning, of orders to prepare three days’ cooked rations, and issue ninety rounds of ammunition. The troops are notified to leave their camp equipage and extra clothing behind, and hold themselves in readiness to move at a moment’s notice. As soon as the instructions were given to the regimental commanders, Colonel Zook and I rode over to Hancock’s headquarters to find out more about the matter. Mitchell tells us Burnside has definitely settled upon the plan of a general attack in front, and that arrangements are going on to enable the troops to cross at daybreak tomorrow morning. Two pontoon bridges are to be thrown across the river a little north of the Lacy house, and two more below the railroad bridge, and we are to furnish the infantry to protect the engineers at the two upper bridges; the colonel selected the Fifty-seventh under Chapman, and Sixty-sixth, Lieutenant-Colonel Bull, and all preparations were made for carrying out the instructions we received; spent the rest of the evening chatting together of the task before us, but in view of our early movement in the morning, soon turned in and went to sleep.