Frelinghuysen Wagner Autobiography
I was born on October 20, 1844, about one-half of a mile east of Bagenstos’s Hotel in Pleasant Valley, Penn Township, Berks County, Pa. The following is a copy of my Baptismal Record:
CERTIFICATE OF BIRTH AND BAPTISM.
Frelinghuysen a son of John Wagner and wife Magdalena daughter of Henry Fink, was born on the 20th day of October in the year of our Lord, 1844 in the township of Penn, in the county of Berks, in the State of Pennsylvania, in North America; and was baptized on the 21st day of December in the year of our Lord, 1844 by the Reverend Mennig. His Sponsors were George Dillman and wife Maria.
During the winter of 1851 I attended school for the first time in the old log school house called “Bagenstos’s School”, which was located where the modern brick house now stands, near the hotel by the same name.
The greater part of the winter of 1852 I spent on my father’s timber tract. My father made a small axe especially for me. He cut the heavy timber into cord wood and I cleaned the tops and cut them into pieces four feet long which we used in piling to level off the tops. This was a very cold and disagreeable winter with plenty of snow. After walking a mile or more to the job I stood chopping while the snow was pouring into my red topped boots. The coffee was frozen and the apple pie as hard as a rock. Until Spring my little feet were badly frostbitten which gave me trouble for years.
The country close to us was very thickly settled, hence the small farmers were greatly annoyed by their neighbors’ poultry trespassing on their crops. All kinds of means were invented to stop their depredations. One of our fields planted with corn extended almost against Jacob Haas’s barn. On a certain Sunday before father and mother started for Bernville to attend services father instructed Augustus, my oldest brother, to stay near the cornfield and keep Mr. Haas’s chickens from pulling the two inch high corn. He soon tired of the job and came home. He cut a quantity of sticks two inches long and one-eighth of an inch thick. He then took a threaded needle stuck it through a grain of corn, tied one end of the thread to the corn and the other end, cut about three inches long, to the middle of the stick. He made about 25 of the little instruments which he scattered along the fence of the corn field nearest Mr. Haas’s barn. He hid in a ditch. Soon the chickens came to eat the grain of corn but the stick slipped to the side of the bill. The chickens as a matter of inconvenience could not understand this. They tried to rid themselves of the obnoxious thing, stood on one foot and with the other attempted to scratch off the stick until they fell on their backs. My brother called it “playing the Jews’-harp”. When Mr. Haas, father and mother came together down the hill toward the barn they saw the commotion among the chickens, geese and gobblers in and around the barn yard. They were astonished to hear each one playing different tunes while the geese which could not get at the corn, were flopping their wings and blowing their horns without harps. The thrashing he received when father came home caused him to make all kinds of noises.
1853
In the old log school house I was seated on the side of the street. I bored a hole with my slate pencil through the plaster between the logs in order to peep out with one eye when a sleigh passed. I was often warned by the teacher to desist but I did not deem it dangerous since the teacher was my uncle and boarded with us so I continued. One afternoon the sleigh bells rung and my eye kept a sharp lookout for the sleigh to appear but the teacher reached me first by the neck, hauled me out on the floor and a complete thrashing followed. The teacher went to his desk while I ran in the opposite direction out of the door by a circuitous route, to avoid the blacksmith shop where my father worked. I reached home. I told my mother that I did not feel well. In the presence of the teacher at supper father was so inquisitive to know the reason why I came home before the close of school. Thereupon the teacher related to whole circumstance. I was not very hungry so I left the table. After supper my father repeated the arduous duties of the teacher upon me, which was anything but pleasant when he struck the sore places the teacher had made in the afternoon.
Wm Hummelberger
1854
In 1854 my father was building the house in which Mr. Devies lives (1908) the second house east from Bagenstos’ Hotel on the road leading from the above mentioned hotel to Centerville. The carpenters while framing the house remarked with side glances, in my presence, how big a boy would be if he could smoke. Finally they gave me a cigar and instructed me how to light the same. I proceeded to the blacksmith shop lit it and returned to the place where the carpenters were working. With the cigar between the first and second finger I was puffing away as well as any of the most experienced smokers. After I had smoked half the cigar I was awfully sick and in bed for two days. This was my first and last attempt to use tobacco in any form.
1855
I was hired servant to Wm Seaman in Center Township during Summer and during the Winter attended school at Bagenstos’s School at Penn Valley.
During Summer and Fall Mr. Seaman and I made weekly trips to Pottsville and vicinity to sell farm products. We usually started at two o’clock at night and every down hill in the road I slipped off the wagon to brake. The wild cats on the mountains coming so near the road with their hideous screams almost scared the life out of me. We reached Pottsville about nine o’clock in the morning, sold out and arrived at home about eight o’clock in the evening.
When Mr. Seaman, I and 3 or 4 employes were thrashing with the machine they were explaining to each other how sweet it would taste to lick an iron pump handle on a frosty morning. This was to entice me to try it, being considered by them too mean a trick to be guilty of recommending so they invented this nefarious scheme to accomplish their object. In ignorance of what the painful result would be I licked the pump handle next morning while washing myself. My tongue stuck so fast that I pulled with all my might until I tore the skin from my whole tongue. Had I waited a few moments until the heat of my tongue and breath had somewhat warmed the handle it would have released my tongue. I could eat nothing warm for two weeks. They frequently inquired why I did not eat but I was wise enough not to let go of the secret. I swore vengeance against any one who would induce one of my children to do a similar act.
1856
I was hired out to Daniel Wertman what is (in 1908) Frank Geiss’ farm. My daily occupation was spooling carpet rags, hunting eggs and whiskey bottles by direction of Mrs. Wertman for her to dash against the stone fence.
[Photograph of Daniel Wertman’s house.]1857
I was hired out to WIlliam Reber, where Daniel Reber lives (in 1908). My chief duties were general farm work, and firing off overloaded guns for the amusement of the farm hands, turpentining dogs, putting cultivators on high trees in isolated fields, assisting to distill apple jack at night, smashing window panes with chisels which eluded my grasp while turning at a lathe, hunting ground squirrels and destroying bumble bees’ nests on Sunday. During the winter my education was greatly increased by attending Snyder’s school for about two months out of a term of four months.
Mr. Reber ordered me to mow mullein in an orchard at the foot of Scull Hill. A fish dam was located in the south east corner toward which the orchard sloped. I noticed that the flies were quite numerous under the large mullein leaves, especially under one large stalk as tall as I was. I took one good, long, hard stroke and immediately as I struck it I noticed the bees (yellow jackets) flay into my face and stung me in the face and hands. I left the scythe hang behind the stalk, ran down the hill, they after me, into the dam and ducked but they hovered overhead where I went down. When I came up they were after me again. Finally they left and I was delighted to play the same trick on them.
[Photograph of Snyder’s School house]1858
I was the (small) servant during the summer to Amandon Bright on the old Jacob Bright farm adjoining Bright’s schoolhouse. My duties were general farm work and “snitzing” apples in the evening until 10 o’clock at night.
During the winter I worked in my father’s blacksmith shop and attended a few months of school at the meeting house school in Bern Township.
1859—Aug. 1861
I learned the blacksmith trade from my father at the Meeting House in Bloomsburg, Bern Township.
[Caption to missing photograph:My father’s home where I learned my trade and the school I attended in 1859 & 1860 and which I taught school after the war.]
The wood yard was half way between the blacksmith shop and the house. I was chopping wood to heat the tire to shrink on two sets of wagon wheels. Cyrus, my brother, was hauling the wood with the wheelbarrow to the shop. While he was loading I sat on one handle of the wheelbarrow; it upset and the wood all fell off. His screams called my father out of the shop and upon inquiry found that Cyrus blamed me for upsetting the wheelbarrow on purpose. Thereupon I received a complete whipping when I was 15 years old. My pleading innocence was of no avail. Cyrus was the baby pet and his veracity was never questioned.
From Nov. 1859 to Aug. 1861, my sleeping quarters were anything but pleasant. Emanuel Lindenmuth, a shop hand, two of my brothers and I were sleeping on the attic of the one story kitchen attached to the house. This attic was covered with shingles and so low that at its highest point Mr. Lindenmuth and my oldest brother could not walk upright without puncturing the heads by the shingle nails extending through the rods of the roof. The roof was so low and the building so narrow that the posts on one side of each bed was sawed off so that the beds could be pushed under to make more space between the beds. When our backs itched where we could not reach we sat on all fours and rubbed them against the rafters and shingle nails. The space between the beds was not sufficiently wide to admit two to dress at one time and in winter the snowdrifts frequently an inch thick on beds and floor. The expressions frequently uttered were not strictly in accordance with polite church etiquette. Such is life.
1860
Dec. While sledging for my brother Augustus in the blacksmith shop, he lost his temper and while trying to strike me with his hammer hit the end of my second last finger on my left hand and made a life cripple of the nail.
I attended the catachetical lectures by Rev. Isaac Mesic [?] at Bellernan’s Church in Center township and joint the Reformed Congregation in the spring of 1861.
In the fall of 1860 I remained out longer in the evening than my father wished, so he locked me out, his object was to kindly open the door and in a gentle and paternal way conduct me to bed. I was a little too shrewd and made two keys one to fit the lock if he withdrew the inside key and the other with a square point without a shunb [?] to fit a square hole in the end of the key if he left the key in the lock on the inside. Either way I was sure to enter.
Aug. 1861—Nov. 1865
I served in the Army.
Received my first outfit of clothing from State of Penna. amounting to $21.66.
What induced me to enter the Army
On Friday Aug. 17, 1861, Henry Snyder a son of Garad Snyder from near Centerville (now Garfield) Pa. came home from the three months service. Mr. Snyder and I were school mates while attending Snyder’s School in Penn Township in 1857. I taught in the same school building in 1877 while one of Mr. Snyder’s daughters was one of my pupils.
Mr. Snyder related his army experience which was very interesting and pleasing to me. On the following Sunday, Aug. 19, after we had attended Sunday School Messrs. Jared Dunkelbuger, Milton Ludwig, Paul Lengel and myself were sitting in my father’s kitchen and I recited Mr. Snyder’s experience as a soldier to them. They listened very patiently and seemed to take it all in. When I had finished I made the remark that if I had a few good boys to accompany me I would enlist for three years.
None of them expressed any desire to join me. We separated and after supper, about 6 o’clock in the evening, we came together again. They all had concluded to accompany me and we agreed to proceed to Harrisburg, Pa. on Tuesday morning, Aug. 21, and enlist. When the time arrived to start the two oldest men Messrs. Dunkelbuger and Lengel did not make their appearance. Mr. Ludwig and I started alone. On Monday I would not work in the shop, so my father asked me if I was in real earnest to go to war as he expressed it. I said I was and at the same time requested him to give me free and be for myself which he consented he would and stated that my mother considered the proposition very seriously.
My father gave me five dollars as a nucleus to being my future life. At 6 o’clock on Tuesday morning we started on foot for the Railroad station at Leesport, a distance of four miles. My father, mother, brothers and sister were all so distressed when the time came to separate that after they had given me their blessings and well wishes they all hid and could not be found to bid me good-bye.
When I came home after an absence of one and a half year she informed me that when I left she was sitting at the attic window watching me go over the hills as far as she could see me. On our way to Harrisburg we met a squad of men in uniform one of them a sergeant noticing our desire to become acquainted with his men inquired of us our destination and after a number of questions and answers we found that the sergeant was Patrick Quin of Co. K, 48 Pa. Vols. located at Harrisburg, Pa.
He kindly invited us to accompany them and enlist into his company which we did the very same day. We did not know a single person in the whole regiment.
The Forty-eighth Regiment Pennsylvania Veteran Volunteers was recruited in Schuylkill County, Pa. during the months of August and September, 1861. Company K, of which I was a member, was recruited at Cressona and Schuylkill Haven. I was enrolled on the 22d of August 1861.
Camp Curtin was organized in April, 1861, and a rendezvous where recruits could be uniformed, properly drilled and disciplined for active service. It was situated above the Asylum road, at that time nearly a mile beyond the limits, or built-up portions of the present city. The limits of the camp included all the land bounded by Watt’s lane on the north, and what is now known as Fifth street on the west, the Pennsylvania railroad on the east, Asylum road or Maclay street on the south. The illustration is an excellent likeness of the hospital building, to accommodate the sick and wounded sent from the front, or taken ill en route to and from their homes on furlough. The noble women of Harrisburg in taking care of the sick in the hospital indulged in their charitable and kindly duties with a willingness and fortitude never excelled, and seldom equaled. The last tent was removed from Camp Curtain [sic] in September in 1865. Like pilgrims to a sacred shrine the veterans come back for a farewell look at old scenes, but find so little to remind them of war days. The last land mark to disappear was the old pump, which is now a sacred relic in the museum of Post 58 G.A.R. of Harrisburg. Where the roll of the drums, the gruff call of the sentry and the hum of a populous camp sounded, peace rules, industry thrives and prosperity shares alike with all.
[Caption to something removed:]Taking the fresh fish degree
We remained in Camp Curtin, at Harrisburg until Sept. 24, when we left via the Northern Central Railway for Fortress Monroe, Va.
After a few days wallowing in the mud, some of the men became dissatisfied and commenced that unsoldierly act, deserting. The second night after our arrival the rain poured down in torrents, and were forced to leave our tents to avoid being submerged.
A member of the regiment had the upper part of his head knocked off while the train was passing under a bridge. He raised himself on his knees on top of a box car when his head struck the timbers of the bridge.
A comrade of our Company while sitting on the bumpers of a car had his foot crushed and was left at a Baltimore hospital.
A wreck ahead of our train delayed us ten hours. We reached Baltimore on the morning of the twenty-fifth, walked two miles to the wharf and embarked on the old steamer Georgia. We reached Fortress Monroe on the morning of the twenty-
sixth. We pitched our camp on the “Camp Hamilton” grounds under command of General Mansfield. The Company was mustered in the United States Service on Oct. 1, by Col. T. J. Cram, U.S.A.
Camp Hamilton was situated on Mill Creek a stream dividing Fort Monroe from Virginia.
On the ninth of Oct. the regimental sutler, Isaac Lippman started his store.
On the third of October we were flooded out and next day we moved our camp on higher ground.
Hampton, just across the Back River from our camp, had been destroyed by fire by order of Gen. Magruder. One large brick house upon the bank of the river, said to have been the residence of President Tyler, had not been burned, but there were visible evidences of vandalism in and around it.
On Sunday the thirteenth Rev. Samuel J. Holman, the regimental chaplain, held the first religious service.
The soldiers were as a class reverent. Men who took their lives in their hands, and who faced death in their ordinary work, were glad to have one who in any sense stood as God’s representative, pray in their behalf and invoke God’s blessing on them. Sick, wounded, or dying, soldiers welcomed the loving ministry of a chaplain. Soldiers were glad when words of prayer, and other timely services, were spoken above the grave of a dead comrade.
Every soldier was human, and because he was human he welcomed human sympathy. In buttoning up his soldier coat the soldier covers his heart from sight, and you cannot tell from outside appearances whether he has a heart or not. But now and then you get a glimpse of the soldier heart in a way to convince you that heart is human, and that the keeping it covered from sight is a ceaseless struggle between the outer and the inner man.
Here our time was spent in cutting wood and hinting [??] persimmons, grapes and crab-apples.
[Clipping: photo of men cutting wood.]On Sunday, the tenth of November the Forty-eighth was ordered to relieve the Twentieth Indiana at Hatteras Inlet N.C. On the eleventh we made ready and embarked upon the steamer “S. R. Spaulding” and on the twelfth we reached Hatteras Inlet and disembarked.
[Clipping: MAP OF THE DISMAL SWAMP AND NORTH CAROLINA COAST REGION.]At 8 o’clock on Tuesday morning, we dropped anchor off Fort Hatteras, and succeeded in getting a plank from an old wreck. Down this plank, which had an elevation of at least 45 degrees, our regiment landed–one man at a time. We marched for Fort Hatteras, about one-fourth of a mile up the beach. One-half the distance, the regiment halted to make preparations to wade an inlet separating us from the fort. Such a looking set of men–some without breeches, in their drawers, and many without either. We were a laughable, enjoyable sight and furnished much amusement to the men.
A terrible storm swept down on the coast submerging the camp of the twentieth Indiana Regiment, drowning a number of the boys, and leaving the rest in a most miserable plight. There were two large earthworks at Hatteras with ten mounted guns, on Fort Hatteras and seven guns on Fort Clark. These forts were constructed of large pieces of swamp sod, laid one above the other, and pinned fast by long wooden pegs with the two sod walls filled with sand. The conversation of the people of the island is made up of a peculiar dialect. “Right smart of sweet potatoes in the ground, but it is aggravatin’ to have the soldiers yank ’em out. Reckon you can’t stop it.” The dreadful habit of snuff-dipping by married and single ladies is most disgusting. A member of Co. G was buried in the wet sand and disinterred six months after and sent north was found partly petrified. The life of the Forty-eighth on Hatteras is so suggestive of scenes and incidents, that it is difficult to know just what reminiscences to relate, and what had best be left unrecorded. Much could be said of the Forty-eighth’s sojourn on the island, the comrades, adventures thereon the various dwellers, the Fulchers, the Austins, the Fosters, the Tolstons and the Whitbys.
A smart engagement took place at Hatteras Inlet on the 14th of Nov. between the Coast Survey steamer Corwin and the revel steamer Curlew, the latter vessel got the worst of it and retreated.
One of the most enjoyable events of the season was the receipt of a Hogshead of Sour Krout from the ladies of Pottsville, Pa. as a Christmas present, which was greatly appreciated by all nationalities composing the regiment.
Between the 1st and 20th of December the regiment was moved from Fort Clark to Camp Winfield, about four miles north of Fort Clark.
When the Forty-eighth Pa. Regt. once undertook to build a sod fort on the beach, the sand would drift in it at night as fast as the boys could shovel it out by day. A hat or knapsack, laid on the beach, would in half a day be completely covered, and turned in a little sand cone.
1st Brigade Second Division ninth Army Corps.
48 Pa. 2 Md. & 6 N.H. Regt.
The wells were constructed in the following fashion: a hole was dug sufficiently deep to supply water enough for the use of one company. An account of the cave-in of the sand when the required depth was reached the hole appeared like an immense funnel of about 10 feet in diameter on top and 2 feet at the bottom. A headless barrel wrapped in coffee sacks on the outside and bottom was placed in an upright position in the bottom of the well and sand tamped around it to the top. Barrels wrapped on the sides only were placed on top of each other until the top of the well was reached. The top of the well was closed by a movable top. The pump arrangement was similar to Woodworth’s Pump and the “Old Oaken bucket”.
The close proximity of the camp to the Atlantic Ocean on the one side and Pamlico Sound on the other caused the sand on the island to be saturated with salt so as to make the water in the wells very brackish.
[Duplicate paragraph]The Forty-eighth once undertook to build a sod fort on the beach, the sand would drift in at night as fast as the boys could shovel it out by day. A hat or a knapsack, laid upon the beach, would in half a day be completely covered, and turned into a little sand cone or pyramid. Some of these cone shaped drifts were as high as twenty feet.
The first camp should not have been located in a swamp with marshes all around–a spot where even the water was brackish, and could be found anywhere by dicking [??] a foot in the sand, was unfit for man or mule to drink.
Genl. Williams was a tyrant in every sense of the word, all the troops hated him and he cared little for the soldiers.
The soldiers would shoot at him as he rode through the bushes; and when he was in his barracks, they put the bullets into his bedposts. But he escaped being shot at Hatteras, to be killed by his own troops in battle at Port Hudson or at Baton Rouge. See Sixth Regt. N.H. Vols.
p. 26 &c.
p. 63 Money.
Hatteras
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Jan. 12, 1862. The steamer Pocahontas, carrying horses, hay, and grain, was blown on a sand bar, becoming a total wreck within twenty-four hours, with lading all lost save a few horses that swam ashore.
Boxes of “goodies” from dear old home began to arrive in abundance, including good old mint and blue-mountain tea, suitz [sweets?], nuts, white sugar, and other delicacies, with sometimes a little brandy tucked away in a baked turkey to keep the water from hurting you.
Thousands of beautiful sea shells, from the tiniest mussel to the largest conch, are covering the beach, seemingly never ending in variety, both as to size, color and shape. I shipped large boxes full of them home. Every family in the neighborhood had a supply of these curios.
A dead whale, partly decomposed, 36 ft. long, washed on shore during a terrific storm. A sword fish had killed him by cutting an immense gash in his abdomen. Some Islanders were engaged to remove the carcass by cutting it into pieces and throwing them into the Atlantic to be carried away by the tide.
Moving a cannon from Fort Clark to Camp Winfield
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On Jan. 1, 1862, our Company (Co. K) was detailed to move a field piece from Fort Clark to Camp Winfield, a distance of four miles. The Company was issued all the whiskey it could drink. We were hitched up like horses to draw the cannon through the soft sand. About one half of the Company were drunk and unable to assist the sober half. We reached camp about sundown where General Wool made a speech commending us on our bravery and courage in moving artillery and whisky, which was highly appreciated by the balanced half of the men.
The Song we used to Sing
Say rebels, will you meet us.
Say rebels, will you greet us.
Say rebels, will you beat us
On North Carolina shore?
In the name of God we’ll meet you.
With the sword of God we’ll greet you,
By the grace of God we’ll beat you!
On North Carolina shore!
Upon the eleventh of March, 1862, Colonel Nagle received an order from General Burnside to have the Forty-eighth leave Hatteras at once, to accompany the fleet upon its expedition against Newburn. At 6 o’clock on the morning of the twelfth the regiment was formed at Camp Winfield and took up its march to Hatteras Inlet.
We embarked on the steamboat “George Peabody”. When we reached the wharf the Peabody was discovered hard aground on the “swash”. We encamped on the shore
for the night. At 7 o’clock of the thirteenth the “Peabody” was found afloat and tugs, surf boats, and the schooner, “Henry W. Johnson” carried the regiment over the “swash”. Toward evening it commenced to rain and the fog was so thick that we anchored seventeen miles below Newburn in rear of the fleet. Early the next morning, the “Peabody” moved further up the river and joint the fleet. The roaring of the guns being the music to which the Forty-eighth landed. We were walking over the battlefield the morning after the fight. The carnage resembled the pictures representing battles, where men, horses, cannon, wagons, drums, and all the paraphernalia of war indiscriminately mingled in one mass. Horses lay dead upon every side, some hitched to the guns, half dragged out of their positions, showing an attempt to save them; wounded horses standing on three legs; here and there a rebel fast locked in the arms of death; clothing, provisions, tents and ammunition scattered around, trees barked and scratched by shot and shell, branches lopped off; some torn asunder, others cut completely off. We pitched our tents on the Trent River, opposite Newbern, and called the place “Camp Nagle”. Blacked shoes, white gloves, paper collars, light blue trousers regimental leg-ings were worn on evening dress parade.
Obstructions at Newberne, N.C.
The fortifications around Newburn were very ingenuously protected against a hasty attack by the enemy by felling trees away from the forts and sharpening the ends of the limbs to retard the advance of infantry and cavalry. An immense number of cheval-de-frise were placed and prevented from being removed by pots 6 feet high dug in the ground.
A Cheval-de-frise is a piece of timber or an iron barrel traversed with iron pointed spikes or spears of wood five or six feet long, used to defend a passage, stop a breach or impede the advance of cavalry sts [??] in war.
At Newberne we found board targets 6 ft. by 8 ft. that were worn through, “and in the center were patched or reinforced”, by having been used in practicing knife throwing. These knives were made from old files and the end intended to strike the target was heavier than the other, was arrow shaped, and very sharp. These practice exercises were intended to make experts in throwing knives at the enemy at close quarters.
The old Harper’s Ferry musket was exchanged for the English Enfield rifle. On the third of April the regiment encamped in a pleasant field on the outskirts of Newbern, between the Neuse and Trent Rivers.
On the twenty-third of April by a reorganization of the forces the First Brigade, Second Division consisted of the Forty-eighth Pennsylvania, Ninth New Jersey, Second Maryland and One Hundred and Third New York.
On the twenty-ninth of May the regiment left Fort Totten, recrossed the Trent River and encamped near the place it first occupied. Vigorous skirmish drills, with blank cartridge firing, and fancy “dress parades” were the order of the day.
On the third of June the regiment went on guard in Newbern. By a general order the word “Newbern” was inscribed on our regimental flags.
On the twentieth of June a grand review of the entire Ninth Corps took place. A sword was presented to General Burnside, the gift of the state of Rhode Island. The General made a speech to us. Colonel Sigfried stopped bathing except on Wednesdays and Saturdays between 9 a.m. and 4 p.m. for ten minutes only at one time.
June 30, 1862 Paid by Maj. N. Vedder.
Early on the morning of July 2, 1862, the regiment was astir with three days’ cooked rations in haversacks. We marched into town and on the lighter “Highland Light” were conveyed on board the “Cossack”.
On the third we reached Hatteras Inlet. The steamer “Alice Price” was welcomed with three rousing cheers when Colonel Nagle the commander of the little fleet was informed that General McClellan was in Richmond.
At 4:30 on the fourth we were ordered back to Newbern, and by eight the tents were all in their places. On the sixth we boarded the “Cossack” again, passed Hatteras Inlet.
We passed Cape Henry at nine o’clock on the morning of July 8, 1862 and reached Hampton Roads at 2 o’clock p.m., and arrived at our destination–
Newport News at 8 o’clock on the tenth. At this place the time was spent in brigade, regimental and company drills as well as guard duty. On the twenty-
fourth with one day cooked rations we made a trial march to Warwick Court House. The Court House was reached, after a match through mud and water, and a rest of three hours at Young’s Mills, by 6 o’clock in the evening. The grain shocks in a field were used for beds by the fagged-out soldiers. The return march commenced at 5 o’clock in the morning of the twenty-sixth and camp reached at Newport News, by 11:30 a.m. On Aug. 1, 1862 we were paid. On the second at 5 o’clock we embarked on our old friend the “Cossack”, and steamed down the James River to Fortress Monroe. At 8 o’clock the vessel dropped anchor for the night. At 1 o’clock in the morning on the third the “Cossack” headed for the Chesapeake Bay.
The passes required for visiting Fortress Monroe or other point of interest were prescribed by orders to be written on a quarter-sheet of foolscap paper, with an allowance of at least four lines for the assistant adjutant general’s signature, and what a wonderful signature; “Drake DeKay” written with a paint brush!
The only time I was punished and in the guard house was at this place [Newport News?]. An order was issued not to use the cartridge box on dresparade [sic]. A short time after the order was changed and directed to appear fully equipped, I had forgotten to put on the cartridge box for which Captain Filbert put me in the guardhouse over night.
At 4 o’clock Mattis Sheaffer, of Company D, in a momentary crazy fit shot himself and died in twenty-four hours.
On the morning of the fourth of Aug. 1862 the vessel anchored off Acquia Creek on the Potomac River. The “Cossack” having a schooner in tow on each side stuck in the mud and the regiment had to wade ashore. Falmouth on the Rappahannock River opposite Fredericksburg was reached and the camp pitched by 6:30 p.m.
On the ninth of August orders were received to send everything home not absolutely necessary and I sent a box home.
At 6 o’clock p.m. on the twelfth orders were received to join Pope’s army. The heavy rains made the roads dreadfully muddy and tramping very disagreeable. We marched until 3 o’clock in the morning and rested the remainder of the night. The march was resumed at 7 o’clock on the morning of the thirteenth and continued, with occasional halts, until 11 o’clock, when a rest of four hours was ordered. At 4 o’clock p.m. the regiment moved on and that night we bivouacked in a field. In the middle of the night a discharge of a gun by one of the Sixth New Hampshire men occasioned a call from the Brigade buglers and a rapid formation of the brigade into line. All thought the Johnnies were surely upon us. The bullet passed through the poor fellow’s hand.
The march resumed at 7 o’clock on the morning of the fourteenth. After marching four miles we reached Bealton Station on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad where we boarded a train and a ride of twelve miles brought the regiment to Culpeper Court House which was surrounded by a large army. The regiment marched about two miles toward the Rapidan River, encamped for the night. Many rebel prisoners were marched through the town as we reached the place. It rained all night and next morning was spent in drying ourselves at the fire and chasing after calves, sheep, pigs and the like. Corn and potatoes were plenty and we lived well.
It is rather comical to notice the rapidity with which neighboring rail fences are demolished when a halt is ordered. The men directly organize a rail brigade*a kind of rail-ery not at all relished by the unfortunate natives whose fences made such desirable fuel, being cut and dried for the purpose.
At 9 a.m. the sixteenth, after a march of six miles we went into camp about seven miles from Culpeper, on the banks of Cedar Creek. In all the regiment’s campaigns the fences never disappeared so rapidly as they did at this place. Each company had rails enough to run three fires. We lived well on the fresh meat found in the neighborhood. Sheep, hogs, calves, chickens, heifer &c were brought low. The camp was a slaughter pen and the number of butchers immense.
On August seventeenth the regimental band was mustered out of the service. The instruments had been bought by contributions while we were stationed on Hatteras.
Upon the eighteenth of August a special muster to determine the actual fighting strength of the army was made by order of President Lincoln. The regiment retired at “Tattoo” with three days’ cooked rations in haversacks, and at 11 o’clock p.m. were aroused, and we moved off silently and quickly toward Stevensburg.
[Clipping: drawing of a soldier in water]We forded two creeks during the night. We were ordered to load our muskets, put tin cups, canteens and all rattling objects in our haversacks and to move with as little noise as possible. Jackson’s and Longstreet’s entire army was only two miles away. We traveled rapidly, many dropping by the wayside, and after passing through Stevensburg, we halted at 10 o’clock on the morning of the nineteenth, after eleven hours of rapid marching.
[Clipping: drawing “DON’T STAB ME”]The march was resumed at 1 o’clock, at a rapid rate for five miles, after wading a very deep creek we reached Kelly’s Ford which we crossed waist deep, and camped on the north bank of the Rappahannock. We were all fagged out and it was the most sever march we experienced.
[Clipping: waist deep river crossing]Here everything indicated a brush with the enemy because the rebels were not far off. On the twentieth our company went on picket. We slept with our guns in our hands and everything looked squally. I saw Generals Pope and McDowell.
[Clipping: drawing “FEELING THE ENEMY.”]The twenty-first looked very threatening. At “reveille” on the twenty-second we moved off following the north bank of the Rappahannock. We had showers all day and the weather was intensely warm.
[Clipping: drawing “STRIKING SOME ROUGH WEATHER.”]The booming cannon in the distance indicated that trouble was brewing. We had a long rest at Rappahannock Station. Immediately in front of our regiment I saw General Pope, resting stretched at full length under a shade tree.
[Clipping: drawing of horse splattering mud on a soldier]At 4 o’clock in the afternoon, in the midst of drenching rain we moved up the river two miles and bivouacked. The drenching, down-pour rain thoroughly soaked us while lying asleep on the ground in a field.
[Clipping: drawing “IN THE MORNING.”]On the morning of the twenty-third, water logged we marched up the river five miles, and rested by 3 p.m.
[Clipping: drawing “TIRED OUT.”]While resting in a large field a terrible thunder storm with vivid lightning and with a heavy shower of rain came on.
[Clipping: drawing “STRUCK BY A CYCLONE.”]Not a hundred yards away the negro driver of our ammunition train was struck and killed.
[Clipping: drawing “EARNING THIRTEEN DOLLARS A MONTH.”][Clipping: drawing “SOLID SHOT.”]By 6 o’clock p.m. we started again and it took us until 9 o’clock p.m. before a swamp was crossed composed of mud and water from three to four feet deep. It was 12 o’clock at night before the bivouac was called. A muddier, wetter or more forlorn set of men never sank down to sleep.
[Clipping: drawing “HYDROPATHIC TREATMENT.”]On the twenty-fourth (Sunday) at 4 a.m. we commenced slowly to plod along, the route becoming more and more mountainous, and the roaring of artillery sounded nearer and nearer. While resting in a field three rebel shells came flying over our heads and we took shelter in a neighboring woods.
[Clipping: drawing of a soldier milking a cow]We spent the night a short distance beyond the White Sulphur Springs. An artillery duel had been going on all day and I saw many “reb” prisoners.
[Clipping: drawing “PRISONERS BEING ESCORTED TO THE REAR.”]At sunrise on the twenty-fifth we left the Springs and about noon we halted several hours at Warrenton. At 3 o’clock p.m. Warrenton Junction Railroad was reached from there we followed the line of the railroad until 9 o’clock.
[Clipping: drawing “STREET SCENE AT WARRENTON, VA.–THE WAGONS BELONG TO SIGEL’S CORPS.”]The roads were very muddy and it was so dark that we could see only about three feet ahead of us.
On the twenty-sixth we arrived at Warrenton Junction, where we remained all day. We all took a good wash in a small brook–the first bath since leaving Fredericksburg, fourteen days before.
[Clipping: drawing of bathing in a river]On the twenty-seventh at daylight we trudged toward Manassas Junction, where “Stonewall Jackson” had succeeded in destroying a train of Union supplies.
[Clipping: drawing of batte scene]Mr. Wenrich located at Manassas for 21 years states while digging a foundation for a new building in 1902 near where these cars were burned they found in a well barrels of flour, collars, hames [@@@?], muskets and other instruments of war.
We rested some time at Catlett’s Station, and went into camp at 5 p.m. near Haymarket. Generals Sickels, Phil Kearney, and other noted officers passed through our camp. We reached Manassas Junction by noon on the twenty-eighth where I baked a cake from the burning flour of the smouldering remains of burning cars.
[Clipping: drawing “COOKING THEIR OWN BREAD.”]Toward evening we moved off again, encamping for the night near the banks of Bull Run.
On the morning of August 29, 1862 we followed the Centreville road and by 1 o’clock reached a hill in full view of the coming battle field of Bull Run. At 3 o’clock p.m. we marched over a clover field down toward the dense woods out of which the enemy was to be driven. While marching through this field a black snake ran ahead of our company the sight of which caused one of our men to have a fit. This wood was skirted by a fence, which had scarcely been crossed when the fight began, the beginning was brisk, fiery and bloody. The air was lively with singing bullets and the roar of musketry was unceasing. We advanced firing for about quarter of a mile when ordered to cease firing and fix bayonets. We drove the enemy out of two ditches, one of them being an old railroad cut. At last the rebels made their appearance in the rear of us having slipped behind us and the fence.
[Clipping: drawing of soldiers in battle]Volleys of musketry being poured into us from front, left and rear, left but one course to pursue, a retreat by the right flank.
[Photograph of a drawing of a house]The old “Henry House”. It stood between the contending armies and was shelled for the purpose of expelling Confederate sharp shooters.
A shell exploding in the house killed Mrs. Judith Henry, who was confined to her bed by the infirmities of age (85 years old), and slightly wounded her servant girl. Her son and daughter escaped injury, except that the latter was rendered deaf by the cannonading.
Later a Union soldier was killed in the hall and fell almost at Miss Henry’s feet.
[Clipping: drawing of soldiers carrying wounded]After our retreat to the woods I was told by Sergt. Quinn that my comrade Mr. Milton Ludwig was lying in the woods some distance from us and described the course to take to find him. I proceeded to the place where according to Sergt. Quinn’s description I could locate him. I scoured the woods for a long time but could not find any traces of his whereabouts. Finally I started to return to camp and as I did so I found him lying against a tree asleep being exhausted from loss of blood. His abdomen was all bloody. I woke him up gave him water and something to eat. We tried to walk to the hospital but he could not walk. I secured an Ambulance and had him taken to the hospital. I saw him on Monday at Centerville and not any more until he returned to the company at Pleasant Valley near Harper’s Ferry.
The regiment lost 152 in killed, wounded, and missing. We lost our Captain and his brother and my tent mate Comrade Milton Ludwig was wounded. The Forty-eighth was the last to leave the bloody battlefield, and covered the retreat of the entire army to Centerville at which place we arrived at 4 o’clock in the morning of the thirty-first of August. This was Sunday and by a heavy rain we were soaked to the skin.
[Clipping: drawing of soldiers running]Here I saw my tent mate (Milton Ludwig) for the last time until after the battle of Antietam. We hoped to rest during the day but back over a portion of the last night’s road trudged the regiment, in support of a battery posted on the Bull Run Road. By evening the Forty-eighth returned to Centreville and had a good night’s rest.
[Clipping: drawing of trudging troops]The men of the regiment were up the apple trees of some poor unfortunate’s orchard filling their pockets, haversacks, mouths and shirts with apples when a shower of rebel bullets brought these chaps scampering out of the apple trees to their places in line of battle.
The Forty-eighth, exposed to the rebel fire, held the position assigned it until long after dark. The battle of Chantilly was fought during a terrible rain storm with terrific thunder and lightning.
The regiment left the scene of the Chantilly fight at 3 o’clock a.m., of September 2, 1862.
[Clipping: drawing of battle scene with cannons][Clipping: article about Pope][Clipping: article “The Wounded.”][Clipping: drawing “IF WE – ONLY GIT – OUT O’ THIS –“]The rain had rendered the roads almost impassable–the mud was ankle deep. By sunrise we reached Fairfax and at 6 o’clock we came to Alexandria.
[Clipping: drawing “DIVISION TO THE FRONT.”]Here we received an old mail which had been following us since we left Fredericksburg. By 9 p.m. we resumed the line of march through Alexandria toward Washington.
[Clipping: map “THE FORTS SURROUNDING WASHINGTON.”][Clipping: drawing “LONG BRIDGE, OVER WHICH THE SOLDIERS RETURNED AFTER THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN.”]We reached the Long Bridge by 2 o’clock a.m. crossed it, marched through the Washington city and bivouacked in a grove on the east side of Seventh street, at its northern limit south of Scheutzen Park, Georgia ave. (7th street extended) and Irving st. The excessive marching, exposure to all kinds of weather, the two battles of Bull Run and Chantilly left the regiment in a pretty well used up condition. On the morning of the fifth, we crossed Seventh street Georgia ave., and went into camp without tents, knapsacks, or other baggage having lost everything we had out at the battle of Bull Run. New clothing, blankets, knapsacks, etc. were issued to us.
[Clipping: drawing of a soldier looking at his toes]
9th N.H. Regt. p. 21.
The famous Long Bridge, spanning the Potomac, was a wooden structure, the framework resting chiefly on piling, with a few stone piers. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers crossed and recrossed it. Many thousands of the brave men who crossed it, with their faces southward, did not return. Through the four years of war wagons trailed over it, laden with supplies of food, clothing, and ammunition for the army. Hundreds of ambulances bore across it their burdens of wounded and suffering soldiers. The bridge was the connecting link between Washington and the brave, patient, and long-suffering Army of the Potomac.
[Clipping: drawing “STUCK IN THE MUD.”][Clipping: drawing “SIBLEY TENT.”][Clipping: drawing “SHELTER TENT.”]Shelter tents were issued to the command for the first time.
[Clipping: drawing “SCENE IN WASHINGTON–SOLDIERS LEAVING FOR THE MARYLAND CAMPAIGN.”][Clipping: drawing “LINCOLN VISITING A CAMP NEAR WASHINGTON.”]At 4 o’clock a.m. on the ninth we marched about fifteen miles and encamped in a field near Brookville. On the eleventh at 3 o’clock a.m. we left camp at daylight, marched northwest, passed the little town of Unity where its whole-
souled Union men supplied us with plenty of splendid apples. We encamped for the night about two miles north of Damascus. At 7 o’clock we resumed the march and crossed the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad near New Market, and rested for two hours. The citizens told us that the rebels had occupied the place the evening before. We left this place at 2 p.m. passed through Kemptown and camped near a large stone bridge on the west side of the Monocacy in sight of Frederick City.
At Frederick, Md.
—————–
The rebels are wretchedly clad, and generally destitute of shoes. The cavalry men are mostly barefooted, and the feet of the infantry are bound up in rags and pieces of rawhide. Their uniforms are in tatters, and many are without hats or caps. They have very few tents. The men mostly, when encamped, sleep on the bare ground.
On Sunday morning, September 7, 1862 at 11 o’clock a.m. a dusty, dirty march of some ten miles brought us to Leesboro.
On September 8, we were mustered for pay, and the number of wagons to the regiment was reduced to four.
The Johnnies had attempted to blow up this bridge, but failed. We started at 3:30 p.m. on the thirteenth and tramped through Frederick. The march was past Barbara Fritchie’s on Main street. A march of eight miles by the pike brought us by 9:30 p.m. to Middletown.
On Sunday morning September 14, we crossed a creek, turned off the road into a corn field where the bullets began to fly at us.
Shelter tents came and so did marching orders. A shelter or dog tent is like a bargain–it takes two to make it. Each man is provided with an oblong piece of thick, unbleached muslin six feet long and four feet wide, bordered all round with buttons and button-holes alternately matching with his comrade’s piece. Take two crotched stakes, each about four feet long and drive them in the ground about 6 feet apart.
Place a slender stick seven feet long in the crotches. Button your piece of cloth with your tent mates and hang it over the top of the cross piece and fasten the four corners with stakes in the ground. This completes your home. You both crawl in on all fours like a dog–hence dog tents.
[Clipping: drawing “AT THE END OF THREE MONTHS.”]Invasion of Maryland
The long summer days of 1862 were hot, hostility-laden and memorable to all living the United States at that time.
The Union soldiers had been thoroughly saturated with the idea that the people of Maryland would welcome us and free it from the accursed rebel invasion.
The trade of a soldier is a traffic in human hate and friendship, and to be ever ready to fight or to love, as the occasion may demand. Thus equipped, in mind we left our last camp on the outskirts of Washington, where we had been wined and dined without stint as favorite sons. On our march through Maryland every home was wide open to us, and we were compelled to enter by all the powers of patriotic persuasion. We ate a meal at one house, and got hungry by the time we reached the next, into which we were compelled to go and eat again. I had thus been “compelled” to eat five breakfasts in one morning. We were sadly in need of the grub, and the memory of this hospitality is dearer to our memory than of any battle.
Clouds of dust raised by vehicles, horses and men hovered over the road, and the heat caused great streams of sweat to run down our faces, upon which the thick dust settled and stuck. This we were forced to wipe away with the sleeves of our jackets, (as soldiers do not carry handkerchiefs) is that they were heavy laden with moisture, dirt and grease. The liquid which oozed from the pores of the skin of our bodies ran down in riverlets unto our feet, so that our clothes were saturated with the ugly smelling perfume.
Dirty, lousy, ragged as we were, we proudly marched along with heads erect and banners unfurled in the friendly air. Our hearts were stout and we cared not for the curiosity of the farmers or others whom we passed.
Orders from our Generals to respect rail fences, cornfields, orchards, hens, etc. were a useless waste of thought and paper, simply because orders from our stomachs beat orders from our officers all to swash.
We had enough sense of propriety to avoid offending noncombatants needlessly, but grub lying out of doors, we would have, not matter who said no.
[Clipping: drawing of soldiers gathering food]We enlisted under Uncle Sam’s banner we gave him all of our time, all of our life, all of our body, all of our soul, and all of our sacred honor; and consequently could have none left for our own use.
Never in all history was a great army stripped to actual fighting weight as was this army. When it started out everything superfluous had been discarded under rigid orders, cutting down the trains to a wagon for each regiment. A mule carried all the cooking utensils for a company, entrusted to a negro. Each enlisted man carried the half of a tent with a rubber or woolen blanket, while his partner carried the other half, and the men were thus sheltered in a storm. His haversack contained his rations, usually for three days at a time, and on his belt was a small tin with a handle in which he boiled his coffee. The half canteen was most multiplex and useful. In it he fried meat, made a ragout of hardtack, salt pork and anything else that he could find or steal. It served as a wash bowl for him in the morning when he was not near a brook, he browned his coffee in it when it was issued to him in the green berry, and with it he scooped out shallow rifle pits under the very fire of the enemy. The half canteen was always with him and always ready for some sort of service.
[Clipping: drawing “THE DIVERSE USES OF THE GOOD OLD CANTEEN.”]The boys were masters in the business of foraging, and generally had all they could eat. In spite of the fact that it was forbidden there was considerable to be picked up by industrious and skilful foragers in the wide sweep over which the army moved, and the men seemed to be able to scent chickens or turkeys for miles. The story that any regiment could capture a drove of pigs, kill, skin and pack them in their haversacks without breaking step is aid to be somewhat exaggerated. Col. Nagle said that he started out from Washington with nothing, managed to accumulate, by the time he reached Antietam, a tin plate, four tin cups without handles, three oyster cans, two sardine boxes which served for plates, and a coffee pot, and his staff boasted of being more luxuriously fitted out that any of the others around them.
We reached Camp about 10 o’clock at night, with orders to move at 2 o’clock the following morning. My tent-mate was an expert forager having wearied himself with chewing “hard tack” and “salt horse”. He “ran the guard”, and returned shortly after struggling with the eight of miscellaneous plunder: a crock of butter, some apple butter, lard, a skillet and a live hen. It was a marvel how he managed to carry so much. That night we had several immense flapjacks, the whole size of the pan; then, tethered the hen to one of the tent pegs and went to sleep, to be aroused an hour later by hearing our two-legged prize cackling and fluttering off in the darkness.
[Clipping: drawing of a soldier with a dead chicken]Before we left the spot, some of the country people living thereabout, who had been scared away by the firing, ventured back, making big eyes at all they saw, and asking most ridiculous questions. One was, whether we were from Mexico!
Those belated echoes, it seemed, were still sounding in the woods of Maryland.
The knapsacks were unslung and packed behind a fence, then it was growing lively in front. We pushed forward until we reached a knoll near Fox’s Pass.
[Clipping: drawing “WISE’S FIELD AT FOX’S GAP, AS SEEN FROM THE PASTURE NORTH OF THE ROAD.”][Clipping: drawing of soldiers sleeping by a fence]General Reno was killed near where our regiment was engaged. We exhausted sixty rounds of ammunition per man. The regiment was relieved to secure a fresh supply of ammunition. A first class night’s sleep was had in a corn field. The Forty-eighth moved off at noon, of the fifteenth and halted at 6 o’clock in the evening for the night.
On the sixteenth at 3 p.m. we moved forward about a mile, and took position in a cornfield, lying still, all day with the rebel artillery shelling us all day from the bluffs bordering on Antietam Creek.
Genl. Reno was killed at 7 p.m. in Wise’s field where the fight at 9 o’clock in the morning.
[Clipping: drawing “GEN. JESSE L. RENO.”]
[Clipping: map “THE BATTLE OF SOUTH MOUNTAIN.”]I shall never forget the bright and confident face and the alert and hearty manner of that most accomplished and loyal soldier, General J. L. Reno. From first to last in this campaign he was always cheerful and ready; anxious to anticipate if possible, and prompt to execute with all his might, the orders he received. He was short in stature and upright in person, and with a face and manner so bright and engaging at all times, but most especially noticeable in the fury of battle, that it was both a pleasure and a comfort to see him. In his death, the Government lost one of its best and most promising officers.
[[clipping: map “MAP OF THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM”]
On the morning of the seventeenth of September 1862 the Forty-eighth, formed the first line of battle immediately in front of the stone bridge, which was 150 feet long, 12 feet wide, containing three arches. After receiving the command the forty-eigth rushed down the hillside, over the bridge, up the steep declivity to the top of the bluffs, from which the enemy were fleeing at a rapid rate. The rebel artillery made it most woefully hot for us. The fighting of the eighteenth was nothing more than picket-firingboth sides seemed to be exhausted. At 5 p.m. the bridge across the autumn [?] was recrossed by the regiment and encamped in a field where straw was plenty and had a good night’s rest. The regiment lost68 killed, 51 wounded and 1 missing.
At 10:30 a.m. of the nineteenth the regiment with two days’ rations in haversacks moved across the bridge, and rested upon the Sharpsburg road, just on the edge of the town.
The regiment marches in a southwestwardly direction and went into camp near the Antietam Iron Works. On the twenty-sixth of September we marched three miles and went into camp in a large field. The fields of the whole neighborhood were occupied by troops. The entire army was reviewed by President Lincoln, Generals McClellan and Burnside. Lincoln was dressed in a suit of black, with a heavy band of crape on his high black hat.
Tuesday, October 7, at 6:30 a.m. the regiment started for Pleasant Valley.
[clipping: drawing “NOT ‘LESS YE SAY ‘BUNKER HILL.’”]The Braying Mule
Bivouacking in a field, we were crowded together on the frozen ground, mules and wagons, officers and men. As we were trying to sleep, every once in a while a mule would give one of those nerve-straining brays that shook the ground and curdled the blook, and seemed absolutely unbearable. After this had gone on for a while, one of the men was heard calling to his fellow, as if a pleasnt thought had just struck him, as another of those unearthly brays quivered along the ground: “Steve, Steve, I’m going to carry one of those canaries home with me.” This sally was a relief to all of us; and some were asleep before we were fairly through laughing over the ludicrous comparison.
Burnside Bridge
A man of our company being terribly frightened by what he supposed was a mortal wound. A Minié ball passed between his knees, just cutting the skin on the inside of one of them, and going through the bottom of his canteen. The water poured down his legs, and having been warmed by the sun, he imagined it was blood. He was greatly relieved when he learned the truth.
[clipping: drawing “AN ARMY WRITING-DESK.”]I wrote letters home from this place and so did my father who was in the 128 Regt. without mentioning each other. They informed me of this fact from home but on the morning of the 27th while making ready to move I received the letter. For 19 days Father and I were camped within 1 mile of each other without meeting.
My tent mate Mr. Ludwig joined the company at this place, having returned from Filbert street Hospital Phila Pa.
The march was over South Mountain and by 1:30 p.m. Pleasant Valley was reached, and camp was pitched two miles from Sandy Hook. From the seventh to the twenty-sixth of October, drills, inspections, etc. were the regular daily routine of duties.
[clipping: drawing “ “RIGHT SHOULDER SHIFT—ARMS!” “] [clipping: drawing of soldiers lined up]Tents were struck early in the morning of October 27, and the regiment by 1:30 p.m. marched to Weaverton and Knoxville, and through a culvert under the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, proceeded down on the towpath of the same to Berlin where we crossed the Potomac on a pontoon bridge, and reached Lovettsville by 7 o’clock in the evening.
[clipping: drawing “PONTOONS ON WAGONS READY TO MOVE.”] [clipping: drawing of soldiers traversing a bridge]A general suddenly came to a halt as he discovered a soldier up a ’simmon tree.
“What are you doing so far in the rear?” cried the general. “I’m eating ’simmons,” said the soldier. “Why, they’re not ripe!” exclaimed the general, with some sarcasm. “I know it,” returned the soldier, “I want ’em green.” “But why do you eat green ’simmons?” persisted the surprised commander. “To draw my stomach up to fit my rations, as I lost my gathering-strings yesterday I need something to close in on my scanty fare.”
That night was very cold, the ground was white with frost and the water in the canteens was frozen.
The march was resumed at 3 o’clock on [[? In ?]] the afternoon of the twenty-ninth we covered about seven miles and camped.
At 9 a.m. the thirtieth after traveling about 6 miles we pitched tents in a field adjoining a hill. The muster rolls were prepared.
[clipping: drawing of a solider with a rifle]The thirty-first was spent in a camp. The regiment was mustered for four months’ pay and had a brigade dress parade and drill.
[[End of page 21 of typed transcription of 1979]] [[Beginning of page 22 of typed transcription of 1979]]On Sunday morning November 2, at 10 o’clock we passed through Purcellville, twelve miles from our starting point. The regiment started off at 2 o’clock in the afternoon of the third of November—passed through Bloomfield, where a skirmish took place the preceding day. At twelve o’clock this night
[clipping: drawing of two soldiers under a blanket] [clipping: drawing “FROZEN IN THE MUD.”]we were aroused and ordered to load as the pickets had been fired on. A march of five miles on the fourth brought us to Upperville. On the fifth we started off by 7 a.m.
[clipping: drawing “DON’T CARE A CONTINENTAL.”]The weather was cold, cloudy and intensely disagreeable. Piedmont was reached by 12 o’clock noon. On the Manassas Gap Railroad the regiment encamped in a field near the railroad. Generals McClellan and Burnside rode by the camp during the afternoon.
Distant cannonading was heard all day. On the sixth the regiment was off by 8 a.m. The march was entirely too fast and disagreeable in the extreme. An ammunition wagon exploded near the camp. At 7 p.m. we encamped at the Summit.
[clipping: drawing “WE AWOKE NEXT MORNING WITH A BLANKET OF SNOW COVERING US.”]During the seventh of November, a heavy snow storm set in, lasting all day, and completely covering the groun At 4 p.m. the regiment started. Trudging along in wretchedly cold weather, with wind blowing, and snow falling rapidly. While at rest at Orleans, General Burnside passed by—the soldiers cheering lustily, and as he uncovered the snow flakes beating down on his bald head.
The command trotted on in the darkness until a long halt was ordered on top of a bleak, barren hill, when it was announced that the wrong road had been taken and we were four miles out of the way. The men cold and cross tramped back and on reaching the right road a bivouac was ordered.
[clipping: drawing “SUPPER UNDER DIFFICULTIES.”]The march was resumed at 9 o’clock a.m. on the eighth of November. When the Rappahannock River was reached at Waterloo, where a camp pitched in a fine woods.
On Sunday, the ninth of November, 1862, General Burnside assumed command of the Army of the Potomac. After religious services by Chaplain Holman orders came to move across the Rappahannock at Glen Mills, when the turnpike was reached. We passed through Cockeysville and encamped near Amissville.
[clipping: drawing “ “AM I A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS?” “]On the morning of the tenth the booming of cannon betokened a fight. We turned back over the turnpike, the wagons and ambulances hurrying to the rear. “Looks like a skedaddle,” say the boys. We deployed as skirmishers during the whole day. The cavalry in front of us was busy popping away, and the artillery was engaged all day. At sunset the Forty-eighth was recalled, and encamped near the previous night’s camping ground.
The eleventh was spent in camp. At 4 a.m. of the twelfth the command marched back over the Warrenton turnpike, through Amissville, re-crossing the Rappahannock at Glen Mills, and rested from noon to 3 p.m. when the march was resumed down the pike to Warrenton, White Sulphur Springs, where it encamped.
Remained quietly in camp all day of the thirteenth and fourteenth.
On the fifteenth, at 6 a.m. the regiment was off again. The baggage train was shelled by the enemy. Two or three wagons were damaged, and a few men wounded.
[clipping: drawing of wounded soldiers in woods]The regiment encamped for the night at Fyattsville. On the sixteenth¬—Sunday—the regiment got off early, and after a severe and rapid march of ten miles in a northeasterly direction, encamped on the Orange & Alexandria Railway, midway between Warrenton Junction and Beal Station.
[clipping: drawing “PLAYED OUT.”] [clipping: drawing “WAGON TRAINS.”]Here we were supplied with an abundance of provisions. At 1 o’clock p.m. of the seventeenth the Forty-eighth moved in a southeasterly direction towards Fredericksburgh. After a march of ten miles the regiment bivouacked.
We left camp at 6 a.m. on the eighteenth in a disagreeable, drizzly rain, and marched twelve miles and encamped for the night.
[clipping: drawing “WE MARCHED IN ALL KINDS OF ROADS AND WEATHER.”]The rain continued on the nineteenth. We left camp at 6:30 a.m. After a march of eight miles we reached the Rappahannock River which we followed passing through Falmouth and encamped back of the Lacy House directly opposite Fredericksburg.
[clipping: drawing “THE LACY HOUSE—SUMNER’S HEADQUARTERS.”]Durell’s Battery was posted in front of the regiment.
The regiment remaining in this camp until the twenty-ninth of November, resuming drills and dress parades, and supporting Durell’s Battery.