The Diary of a Line Officer, Captain Augustus C. Brown, Co. H, 4th NY Heavy Artillery

Thursday, March 31st.

Still in camp near Brandy Station and still no intimation of what is to become of us. But two incidents worthy of note occurred to-day. The first was the spectacle presented by the Commander of Co. H, who might have been seen passing down the company street with a loaf of soft bread in one hand and a piece of raw salt pork in the other, dining as he went, and here I will honestly record the fact, though I know I am kicking against the pricks of public prejudice, that of all the sumptuous dinners which I have done or which have done me, I hold none in more pleasing remembrance than the one above spoken of, composed of army bread, raw pork and a good appetite. The other noticeable fact was the Dress Parade, the first since we left Washington, and which passed off very creditably considering all the circumstances.

Wednesday, March 30th.

The storm has abated somewhat, but everything looks damp and dismal. The men are employed drying out, and endeavoring to render themselves comfortable and more secure in case of future floods by ditching about their tents so as to carry off the water, while the officers gathered here and there in little groups, anxiously discuss the possibilities of the future.

Tuesday, March 29th.

It began to rain this morning by daylight and continued incessantly all day, converting the camp into a sea of mud and nearly drowning us out. In fact many of the officers and some of the men took refuge in the camp of some regular artillery stationed near us. Here I met several officers of Col. Tidball’s old regiment (2nd Regulars), and others, among whom was Capt. Manydier, and listened to some marvelous tales of former “fields and floods” related by a dashing young Lieutenant whose name I have forgotten, but whose deeds had eclipsed those of Napoleon at the Bridge of Arcola, or the participators in the “Charge of the Light Brigade.” Col. Tidball has reported to Gen. Hunt, chief of artillery of the Army of the Potomac, but no light is yet thrown on the question what is to be done with the regiment.

Monday, March 28th.

Weather cool but pleasant. On waking this morning I found myself decidedly stiff, sore and lame, and to add to my discomfort I discovered that the high-top boots I had worn the day before, which I procured at Harrisburg, Pa., just before the battle of Gettysburg, and of which I had hoped better things, abusing the confidence and feet reposed in them, had superinduced several large blisters and made sad inroads upon the flesh. Deeming it inadvisable to attempt another march upon the same footing, I determined to call for volunteers to furnish me a pair of army shoes, and in less than five minutes after the call had been made I was intrenched behind a pile of “Governments” large enough to stock a moderate sized Chatham St. “Emporium,” while the generous owner of each particular pair stood without the intrenchments extolling the peculiar excellencies of his individual property. This unprecedented liberality, however, was not, I grieve to say, due so much to the generous impulses which are said at times to actuate the unselfish heart, as it was to the unromantic fact that each member of the regiment had been supplied with an extra pair of shoes, and one day’s march had convinced him of the expediency of reducing his impedimenta to the minimum. Selecting a pair belonging to Artificer Benedict of my own company, and giving him credit therefor upon his clothing account, I consigned the offending boots to the tender mercies of the Quartermaster’s Department for transportation, and of course never expect to see them again. In the afternoon the regiment moved back nearly parallel with the railroad track about two miles, where it camped, each battalion by itself, our battalion, the Second, having been marched and counter-marched several times by Major Arthur, until the Colonel arrived on the field and in expressions more forcible than elegant, indicated to the Major the ground selected for each battalion. The rest of the day was spent in arranging company streets and erecting tents, and towards night we had completed our first regular camp.

Sunday, March 27th.

At 7 o’clock this morning, being relieved by the 3d Pennsylvania Artillery, a German regiment, the company was formed for the last time on the parade ground in front of the old barracks, and one hundred and eighty-two men answered to their names at roll call. Filing slowly out of the little fort which we had built and had garrisoned for nearly two years, we formed with Co.’s A and I, and marched to Fort Ethan Allen, where we found the other companies of the regiment just falling into line. After the usual delays we took up the line of march about nine o’clock for Alexandria, where we found a train of cars awaiting us, and arrived at Brandy Station about ten o’clock that night. Here we had our first experience with shelter tents, which we pitched near the depot, and in an incredibly short time, notwithstanding the state of the weather, which was decidedly cold and unpleasant, “sleep and oblivion reigned over all.”

Brandy Station, as we saw it, presented but few inducements for permanent residence. A few tents, sheds and dilapidated old buildings standing in the midst of a rolling prairie and immediately surrounded by acres of boxes, bags, bales, barrels and innumerable other army stores, comprised all the natural or architectural beauties of the place, but, being then the terminus of the railroad, the whole Army of the Potomac drew its supplies from this point. Should the track be relaid to Culpepper, however, in two days’ time no passing traveler would be able to locate the ancient site of Brandy Station.

Fort Marcy, Va., Saturday, March 26th, 1864.

I was suddenly awakened at 5 o’clock this morning by Capt. McKeel of Company A, who rushed frantically into my quarters with the intelligence that the regiment had received “marching orders,” and was immediately to join the Army of the Potomac. McKeel appeared to be in great glee; declared that he had long been “spoiling for a fight”; that now the grand object of his military existence was to be attained, and that it would never be recorded of him that he had fought three years for his country without seeing an enemy or firing a gun. Much more of a similar heroic strain was indulged in by the valiant Jim in the exuberance of his spirits which I do not recall, owing probably to the fact that I did not myself receive the news as enthusiastically as was, perhaps, becoming in an officer so far away from the front. Indeed I may frankly say that just at that moment no order could have been more unexpected or undesirable to myself, for, forgetful of the proverbial mutability of human affairs, and particularly of military affairs, I had just completed for the officers of my company a residence within the fort, where I had fondly hoped to spend the remainder of my military life in comfort and security. The house itself was a model of architectural beauty considering the purposes for which it was erected, The main building, intended for the company commander, stood facing the company quarters just across the covered way leading up from the sally-porte. On either hand, adjoining and at right angles with this, the ends extending four or five feet to the front, stood the buildings designed for the Lieutenants, while connecting these ends and spanning the front of the Captain’s quarters, was a delightful little veranda, from which the doors to the three buildings opened to the right, left and centre. Thus constructed, the cottage was painted a light drab color, with dark cornices and trimmings, while the white window frames and veranda posts and railings, and three tiny red chimneys surmounting the black, steep roofs, improved the general effect, and rendered the whole structure one of the prettiest little edifices for officers’ quarters that it has been my good fortune to see. The interior, too, was no less neat and appropriate. Each apartment, separate and distinct from the others, was divided into two rooms, the floors of which were laid with narrow matched pine highly polished, and the walls and ceilings were done in the best style of hard finish plaster. In short the officers’ quarters of Fort Marcy were universally acknowledged to be the most attractive of anything of the kind in the “Defenses of Washington.”

It will, therefore, hardly be wondered at, that the order to march was welcomed by the Commander of Company H., Fourth N. Y. Heavy Artillery, about as joyfully as a mortar shell is received in a comfortable “Gopher-hole,” and that he looked upon the movement as an arbitrary exercise of a little brief authority on the part of the Government, and an unwarranted invasion of personal and proprietary rights. Receiving the intelligence, however, with a dont-care-a-darn-itive composure, I ventured to express my doubt of the veracity of the gallant McKeel, as if the news were too good to be true, and in fact I had strong grounds for hoping that I might be the victim of an innocent joke, inasmuch as Jim, being “Officer of the Day,” and so supposed to be up and awake all night, might reasonably be suspected of being on a reconnaisance for refreshments at that early hour, particularly as he knew the fact that a dozen of the “critter” was at that moment concealed beneath my bed, intended to do duty at a “house warming” appointed for the ensuing evening, in accordance with the ancient and time honored custom in all well regulated military organizations. But, alas, the fatal order, duly recorded in the Post-Order Book, soon exploded this theory and put to flight the last remaining hope, and casting one long, lingering look upon a pillow and a pair of snowy sheets just received from home, I arose and made a hasty but melancholy toilet. McKeel in the meantime entertained me with the enchanting strains of “Who would not be a Soldier,” and other inspiring and patriotic airs, until I “spiked his piece” with one of the bottles referred to, and with which I begged him to celebrate the auspicious occasion, and placing the other eleven bottles in line upon the window sill, I made my first “charge upon the enemy” by deliberately knocking off their heads and pitching their lifeless remains over the parapet, a proceeding, by the way, which Jim characterized as “a reckless waste of the blessings of Providence.”

Summoning Sergeant Theben, I directed that the company pack up and send off all superfluous baggage and effects, and be ready to march at daylight the next morning, and having packed my own knapsack, I sauntered over to Capt. McKeel’s quarters where most of the officers of the post were already assembled. Here there seemed to be a great diversity of opinion as to the true intent and meaning of the movement, each officer having his individual theory, but all expressing a decided apprehension that it meant Infantry instead of Artillery field service. A deputation to Headquarters at Fort Ethan Allen gained but little information, except that it was rumored there that we were to report to the Chief of Artillery of The Army of the Potomac; that Col. Tidball, our Colonel, was to take command of the Artillery Brigade of the Second Corps, and that the regiment was to have a Siege Train. This, though very unsatisfactory, was at least plausible, and with hopes for the best we spent the day in writing letters, packing up, sending off the sick to Washington, issuing rations and shelter tents and generally preparing to move.