Headquarters Porter’s Division, 3d Army Corps,
Camp Winfield Scott, April 25.
Dear Father, — Last night about ten o’clock we received a dispatch from the headquarters of the corps, telling us to change the countersign, and the position of our guards and pickets, as a high officer had deserted to the enemy. The changes were made, and every preparation made for meeting an attack from the rebels, but none occurred. The officer, I hear, was Colonel _______, and it is not known whether he was captured or whether he deserted.
I had a letter from you last night in which you asked me what I did every day. My duties for the last week or two have been very light, consisting in getting out the countersign, which, together with day and night signals, is written on pieces of paper, sealed, and sent out to the different commanders in the division. I have also been to ride with the general to the different batteries, and also have gone every other day to General Heintzelman’s for any dispatches which might be there. General H.’s head-quarters are about a mile from here near the saw-mill. Grant Johnson from Boston is on General H.’s staff. This saw-mill is on the Yorktown road, about a mile and three quarters from their batteries, and was left uninjured by the rebels when they retreated. They had used it for sawing wood to make barracks, and timber to mount their cannon on. I can’t imagine why they left it whole, unless it was that we came upon them unawares. Indeed, one of their men said that they did not expect us for a week, and when we advanced thought that we only meant to make a reconnoissance, as we did once before when we advanced to Big Bethel from Hampton.
I have to take messages to the different brigade or regimental commanders when an attack is anticipated or when the message is too important to be trusted to an orderly. Then when any order has to be got out in a hurry I have to help write it. When General Porter goes out nowadays he usually goes with McClellan, and as he has to pass an exposed place he never takes more than one aide, and then the senior one, Monteith. I went with him and General McClellan the other day to the batteries. I get up in the morning at 6.30 and have my breakfast at 7.30. We all mess together, and my seat is on the general’s right. He is always kind and pleasant to me and I like him very much. At 4 o’clock we dine, thus having only two meals a day, and that is plenty. We live better than any one yet that I have seen in camp, and at a cheaper rate. We have oysters in plenty, and cooked in every style. They are very good-sized ones, but hardly have the flavor of a New York or Boston oyster. They are transplanted from here in great quantities to New York and Philadelphia.
I have plenty of spare time on my hands, which I spend in reading, when I can get hold of anything to read. Books are rather scarce out here now. Whenever you get an opportunity to send me any books, they will be very welcome. I go to bed by nine o’clock, and always get a good night’s sleep. Whenever the fight begins, there will be plenty of work to be done, and no time to read. My opinion is that we shall not open fire on them until they open on us. We shall dig our trenches, and make the parallels until we are troubled by them, and then our batteries will open on them. The nearer we get to them the better it is for us, and so it would be folly to provoke their fire by opening on them, when by keeping still our men can get nearer to their works. I think our men began to work on the trenches last night. The whole affair will be conducted on scientific principles applied by skilful engineers, and with a man at the head whose forte is in this kind of warfare, namely General McClellan. My idea is that he will take the place with the least possible sacrifice of life, and in order to do this, he must have sufficient time to carry out all his plans thoroughly, and employ the men in trenches, etc., until we get within a reasonable distance to storm their works, if such a course be necessary to drive them out. The enemy have made a fatal mistake in not cutting down the woods to a greater distance from their works. They have just left a belt of woods, which forms a splendid line for us to build batteries and form a base for our operations, and which also affords a shelter to our encampments. The last few days have been unusually quiet, very few skirmishes taking place. We have one battery on our extreme right, on a promontory in the York River, close to a Colonel Flarinlecoult’s house, which mounts 6 guns, 5 100-pounder Parrott guns, and one 200-pound gun. This Colonel F. is in the rebel army.
I have just heard that Frank Bartlett[1] of the Massachusetts loth, acting lieutenant colonel, has had his leg amputated. He was shot through the knee by a musket ball while on picket.
In regard to my drinking, which you seem to feel some anxiety about, I wish to say that I have not touched a drop of anything but water and coffee since leaving home. I only want the brandy for a medicine in case I should need it. In regard to giving my friends liquor, I have not a friend here whom I care enough about to give him liquor, and have not bought any since I have been here. All my friends are in regiments away from this division. I have formed no intimate friendships out here, although I am on very friendly terms with all my brother officers. They, however, have no interests in common with me, except, of course, the ordinary civilities of everyday life. There is one fellow whom I may except. He is a signal officer named Johnson, a graduate of Yale in ’60, and is a first-rate fellow. He was on our staff, but has recently been promoted to General Heintzelman’s staff. I don’t care about forming any intimate friendships with any one I meet, and I have enough now. Of course I am careful to be polite to every one, and on good terms with my companions. Tom Sherwin I see quite often, and wish, of course, to except him from the general class of officers I meet with. Griswold, too, I like very much. He is lieutenant colonel of the 22d Mass. Then I know the lieutenant colonel of the 83d Penn., Strong Vincent, a graduate of Harvard in ’59, and a very nice fellow. I am in the same tent with McQuade, one of the aides, and a very pleasant person, and one easy to get along with. I don’t wish you to think from what I have been writing that I am squeamish, and overnice in my friendships.
I try to be friendly with every one, but reserve my intimate acquaintance for those whom I know well and especially esteem. Of course it won’t do to set one’s self up as being particularly good or too refined to associate with every one, in this world. We have to take people as we find them, and adapt ourselves to the circumstances in which we are placed. This I do, as far as is in my power. I get on very well, and am very happy, and like my life very much.
Our gunboats fire at long range, and so far with little success, as their fuses have not been long enough. When the fight begins they will approach much nearer and will then do some damage. I imagine that one of our iron gunboats will run by the water batteries here at the proper time, and will give them a good dressing in their rear.
I am astonished to find the season so backward here. I imagined that it was some six weeks ahead of our season, but find that I am mistaken. We have had two or three hot days, but most of the time we have been here a fire has been almost a necessity. The leaves have just burst through their buds. I imagine the change is more sudden up North from winter to spring, while here it is more gradual. For instance, we have had no snow since the first of March, while you have had plenty of it, yet I don’t think we are more than a week, or possibly two weeks ahead of you as regards the season. . . .
I heard from pretty good authority that the Secretary of War handed in his resignation to the President because the President ordered Franklin’s division to reinforce McClellan, contrary to Stanton’s wish. I only hope that it will be accepted and that these men who are trying to advance McDowell by the ruin of McClellan will be made to answer for it.
My horse is in good condition and spirits. He likes to jump around some, when he has not been used much, but I soon take that out of him. If I ever get him home safely, he will make a fine carriage horse. He is turning bay color now as he sheds his old coat. . . .
I hope if you come as far as Washington you will please try to come on here, or I hope to Richmond.
[1] William Francis Bartlett, Harvard 1862, afterwards major general.
