August 18th. Monday. Regiment mustered into the United States service, William G. Ely, Colonel, having been promoted from Lieutenant-Colonel of the 6th Connecticut Regiment. A resident of Norwich. The remaining days in camp brought many visitors and peddlers. Those were sad and very exciting days while we were preparing for the life of a soldier. The weather hot and dry in camp.

Monday, 18th–We are having some very hot weather. Since coming to Bolivar, each man is permitted to cook his rations in his own way, and so every man has a frying pan of some sort, and a tin peach can in which to boil his coffee. One man in our company, “Long John,” as the boys have nicknamed him, is a great coffee drinker. He carries a two-quart peach can strapped to his haversack, and every day buys up one or two rations of coffee from the boys who do not use much.

18th. Monday. After the moon rose, so that the teams could pick their way, we started on. Moved back on the same road we went up. Col. Cloud and Warren’s forces took another route and went faster than we. Passed through “Index” and “Rose Hill” and stopped after passing the big mill. Awful place for baggage to cross. Got a little supper. Hard bread and coffee, then moved on– the dismounted men and infantry on foot. The report came in that Cloud met the enemy at Johnstown–so Blunt hastened. Mules and horses tired out. As we marched boys would fall asleep, walk on and frequently tumble down. Major Burnett said he rode the whole length of train and every mule driver but two were asleep–most in their wagons. Train moved on well.

Monday, 18th.—Took position in line of battle this A. M. Pickets skirmishing a little. Reported that General Ledbetter is on the other side of the mountain, and the Yanks are hemmed in.

(Note: picture is of an unidentified Confederate soldier.)

AUGUST 18th.—From Texas, West Louisiana, and Arkansas, we shall soon have tidings. The clans are gathering, and 20,000 more, half mounted on hardy horses, will soon be marching for the prairie country of the enemy. Glorious Lee! and glorious Jackson! They are destined to roll the dark clouds away from the horizon.

18th.–Left camp this morning at 6 o’clock, on the Williamsburg road, and at 12 to 1, passed in retreat over the scenes of our first hard fight, where my regiment, by its firm and unyielding bravery, won the promise that it “should have Williamsburg inscribed on its banner;” a promise richly merited but never fulfilled.

When passing through Williamsburg I, in company with Surgeon Frank H. Hamilton, stepped aside to take a stroll through the halls and rooms of old William and Mary, the oldest college, I believe, except Yale, on this continent. There still stood the students’ desks and seats, at which Virgil and Ovid and Horace had kindled whatever spark they possessed of poetic fire, and Livy had evoked many a curse at his dry detail. There were the black-boards on which the mysteries of Euclid were solved into the unwavering language of distance and of measure, and there was the old chapel, with the benches still in situ, from which for more than a century, hopeful youths had sat and listened to prayers for their usefulness and prosperity, whilst they laid plans of mischief against the supplicators for their good. But the places of the Professors were now filled with the inevitable Commissary and his aids, with their barrels and their boxes, whilst the benches of the students were crowded with clamors for their bacon, beef and beans. I mused for awhile over thoughts of the learned men who had passed forever from these ancient halls, and of the influences they have left behind them.

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“Their heads may sodden in the sun,
Their limbs be strung to city gates and walls;
But still their spirits walk Abroad.”

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They certainly do not walk here. The sight would be too painful for sensitive and sensible spirits to bear. But these thoughts were dissipated as I looked again on the places where for the first time any number of our regiment had met death on the battle field, and on which it won laurels which shall be green forever!

At 2 o’clock we encamped on the east bank of King’s Creek, a small stream about three miles from Williamsburg, on the banks of which repose the bodies of thousands of the Federal army–of those brave men, who, flushed with hope and patriotic enthusiasm, rushed boldly to the contest, and were permitted to be swept away by hundreds, unsupported by commanders, who, with their hosts unengaged, stood calmly watching the slaughter.

August 17th. Sunday in camp. Most of the members of the regiment were allowed to leave camp and visit homes and the city. It would be our last Sunday in the state. I was detailed for guard duty and could not leave camp. Many visitors in camp during the day. I was on duty two hours and off four during the day and night.

August 17th.

Another Sunday. Strange that the time, which should seem so endless, flies so rapidly! Miriam complains that Sunday comes every day; but though that seems a little too much, I insist that it comes twice a week. Let time fly, though; for each day brings us so much nearer our destiny, which I long to know.

Thursday, we heard from a lady just from town that our house was standing the day before, which somewhat consoled us for the loss of our silver and clothing; but yesterday came the tidings of new afflictions. I declare we have acted out the first chapter of Job, all except that verse about the death of his sons and daughters. God shield us from that! I do not mind the rest. “While he was yet speaking, another came in and said, ‘Thy brethren and kinsmen gathered together to wrest thine abode from the hand of the Philistines which pressed sore upon thee; when lo! the Philistines sallied forth with fire and sword, and laid thine habitation waste and desolate, and I only am escaped to tell thee.’” Yes! the Yankees, fearing the Confederates might slip in unseen, resolved to have full view of their movements, so put the torch to all eastward, from Colonel Matta’s to the Advocate. That would lay open a fine tract of country, alone; but unfortunately, it is said that once started, it was not so easy to control the flames, which spread considerably beyond their appointed limits. Some say it went as far as Florida Street; if so, we are lost, as that is a half-square below us. For several days the fire has been burning, but very little can be learned of the particulars. I am sorry for Colonel Matta. Such a fine brown stone front, the finest in town. Poor Minna! poverty will hardly agree with her. As for our home, I hope against hope. I will not believe it is burnt, until somebody declares having been present on that occasion. Yet so many frame houses on that square must have readily caught fire from the sparks.

Wicked as it may seem, I would rather have all I own burned, than in the possession of the negroes. Fancy my magenta organdie on a dark beauty! Bah! I think the sight would enrage me! Miss Jones’s trials are enough to drive her crazy. She had the pleasure of having four officers in her house, men who sported epaulets and red sashes, accompanied by a negro woman, at whose disposal all articles were placed. The worthy companion of these “gentlemen” walked around selecting things with the most natural airs and graces. “This,” she would say, “we must have. And some of these books, you know; and all the preserves, and these chairs and tables, and all the clothes, of course; and yes! the rest of these things.” So she would go on, the “gentlemen” assuring her she had only to choose what she wanted, and that they would have them removed immediately. Madame thought they really must have the wine, and those handsome cut-glass goblets. [continue reading…]

Sunday, 17th–Nothing of importance. We had company inspection early this morning. Because of the hot weather, all men not on duty stay close to their tents in the shade.

17th. Sunday. Breakfasted and under way at 5 A. M. Passed through Rose Hill, a very pretty little town. Hugh Watson and I went ahead and got apples, watermelons, plums and wild grapes. Had a good time. Passed through “Index,” another little town. Major rode with us in the wagon all day, good time. Reached “Lone Jack,” where the enemy were, at sundown an hour before. A man came up and reported 1500 enemy in our rear. Major Purington with rear guard, watched them and kept near them. Fired a good deal and tried to detain them. Proved to be the enemy retreating the way we had come. Major sent word for reinforcements. Some went but did not follow fast enough till dark set in. Commenced to rain. Command moved. Baggage soon could not go, it was so dark. So the enemy escaped us, so slickly through the gap. General Salomon had advised and entreated Blunt to keep flankers and scouts out through the woods near “Lone Jack.” They had intelligence from Warren that they were surely there, and we were passing within a mile. The ground was favorable for their retreat from the town–unseen. They kept a large picket about town and thus fooled our men. Warren could not believe that they had gone. So they left us, as a mouse from a trap. All the officers were enraged and disgusted with Blunt’s mistake, still hoped to overtake them. I went out a mile and got an old mare to ride. The history of the fight of the day previous was as follows: The day before, Quantrell, with 1200 men burned Independence and then skedaddled; Capt. Burns from Kansas City, with two companies of cavalry, four of infantry and two pieces of artillery, followed; at night overtook them and shelled their camp. They ran. The next morning Quantrell met Coffee and turned back. Lay in the brush and waited for them, coming through a lane. When the Feds came along they rose up and poured volley after volley into them. They hurried back to the village and there fought desperately. Finally overpowered, spiked one of the guns, destroyed the ammunition and ran. Warren, who had followed Coffee from Butler, watched them here that and the next day, till we came up confident that they would stand a fight. About 60 killed and many wounded on each side. Rebels burned ten of our wounded men in a house used as a hospital.

Sunday 17th.—At 9 A. M., we were in three miles of Cumberland Gap, when the Federals began shelling us; continued slowly throughout the day; one man slightly wounded; after dark fell back half mile.

(Note: picture is of an unidentified Confederate soldier.)

AUGUST 17th.—We have also news from Missouri of indications of an uprising which will certainly clear the State of the few Federal troops remaining there. The draft will accelerate the movement. And then if we get Kentucky, as I think we must, we shall add a hundred thousand to our army!

17th.–Left Charles City at 5 1-2 o’clock this A. M. Beautiful day; clear, windy and cool, but terribly dusty. At 3 P. M., crossed the Chickahominy near the mouth, on a pontoon bridge.[1] * Pontoon bridges are a success. To-night we lie at the mouth of the Chickahominy, under protection of our gun boats. What a commercial world this State of Virginia should be. Its navigable waters are nearly equal to that of all the Free States combined; yet there are single cities in the North which have a larger commerce than the whole of the Slave States. Why is this? Has the peculiar institution any thing to do with it? If so, God, nature– everything speaks aloud against it as a curse. The ground which we now occupy is one of the most beautiful, as well as one of the most desirable sites for a city in America, high and dry, with an easy ascent from the water, presenting three fronts to the navigable rivers, with fine water views in all directions, as extensive as the range of vision, with business amounting to one house and a few cords of dry pine wood, which seems to be the article of export from this part of the State.

There is no longer a doubt that we are leaving the Peninsula. What now becomes of the statement that our retreat was only “a change of base?”

[1]A pontoon bridge is thus built: Narrow, flat-bottomed boats, about twenty-five feet long, are anchored in the stream. They lie side by side, from ten to fifteen feet apart, so as to make a row of boats from one bank to the other. From one to the other, clear across the stream are tied stringers, on which are laid down heavy planks, about sixteen feet long, which makes the bridge, and which is sufficient to bear up any number of teams which can be crowded on it.

Saturday, 16th–Ten men from each company are detailed every morning to stand on picket, while the others patrol the railroad tracks. The first thing we do is to form a line of battle every morning at 4 o’clock.

16th. Saturday. Kept up our march till morning at nine. Crossed the Osage. At nine A. M. stopped to feed and breakfast. Marched on through Johnstown. All the day the boys made for every melon patch, orchard or beehive to be seen. Had a good eat from melons and apples. Saw very few people. Encamped at sundown. For the first time had a night’s sleep. Very little water. Expected somewhat an attack before morning. Ordered to sleep on our arms. 1 slept soundly, as I usually do. Johnnie Devlin and I devoured a nice large watermelon. Enemy supposed to be six miles away.

Saturday, 16th.—Received orders to cook four days’ rations. Started towards Cumberland Gap, 8 P. M. Marched six miles, and halted until daylight.

(Note: picture is of an unidentified Confederate soldier.)

AUGUST 16th.—We have intelligence from the West of a simultaneous advance of several of our columns. This is the work of Lee. May God grant that our blows be speedy and effectual in hurling back the invader from our soil!

16th.–Morning came, and found us still waiting orders, whilst immense trains of teams and masses of soldiery, sick and well, are pushing past us. Our division are again to bring up the rear, and receive the attack, if one is made. j This is said to be the post of honor; but we are beginning to feel that we may be ” honored over-much.”

At 5 P. M. came the expected and anxiously looked-for order, and we are on the road down James River. Not being a military man, I may be hypercritical, but it does seem to me that it should not require the forty-eight hours which we have taken for that purpose, to get out of camp with an army no larger than ours; or, that if so much time is required, the leaders should adopt some system in leaving, so as to call the divisions successively to get ready; not to call all at once, and wear out the rear guard with watching and with expectation, whilst the-advance is passing. Two days ago our division was ordered to be ready to march at an hour fixed, and to have two days’ rations to march on. The two days expired without further order to prepare rations, and the hour of starting found our rear guard, which is to stand the brunt of battle, worn out, and without rations to march on! “Shiftless.”

At 11 p. M. we reached Charles City, an extensive capital of of one of the oldest and richest counties in Virginia. This Charles City contains one dwelling house, with three or four , buildings for “negro quarters,” and a court house of about 20×35 feet, and one story high. In Virginia, they must have very little legal justice or very little need of it. From the direction of our march so far, I judge we go to Fort Monroe, and that we shall cross the Chickahominy at its main junction with the James.

Friday, 15th–There was a very heavy rainstorm last night. We pitched our tents and built the bunks in them today, and are again quite well settled in camp. This is my birthday–twenty years old, and I have done a hard day’s work, setting up our tent and building bunks, after having been all night on picket. I have now served almost a year in the army and it has been an active year’s work, too.

15th. Stopped a little while in the morning to feed the horses. Moved on and passed through “Ball Town.” Stopped to get some breakfast. Received a letter from home. The prairie took fire several times and kept the boys busy fighting it. Colonel, Capt. Smith, Majors Miner and Purington rested under a tent fly we pitched. Marched again at 3 P. M. Passed Pappinsville. All these places in Mo. are little stingy trading posts. Over prairies and through woods and ravines we went. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Tired of jolting. Made a bed of the blankets. 2nd Ohio mounted and in advance under Major Purington. Stopped about 2 A. M. and fed horses. Roasted corn.

AUGUST 15th.—Moved my office to an upper story of the Bank of Virginia, where the army intelligence office is located—an office that keeps a list of the sick and wounded.

HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,
August 15, 1862.

My Dear Mother:

As Mr. Parker will leave in the morning for home, I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity to let you hear from me. There is nothing new to write in the way of “War News.” You hear everything that we do, and that’s in the papers. Everything on our lines is quiet. We were put under marching orders a day or two ago, with the expectation of making another march to “Malvern Hill,” but the Yankees left and it saved us the trouble of running them away. Eight hundred of the Brigade are still working on the breastworks, some two miles below here. I am in hopes the Yankees will never get near enough to Richmond for us to have to fight behind them. The other regiment in the Brigade has received their conscripts, ours is the smallest one and we haven’t received a single one, and I hope we won’t.

General Anderson was making a calculation this morning and he says that we have lost 226 men, killed and died from their wounds, since the day before we went into the fight at “Seven Pines.” The Regiment is now under command of Pat Simms. All of our company are in very good health. I don’t believe that we have a single man on the sick list, and I believe it is owing in a great degree to the good water we get. It is the best we have had since we’ve been in Virginia. I am getting along very well indeed, enjoying excellent health, and have a very pleasant time.

We have very little writing to do, not half as much as we had at Manassas. General Anderson has no Adj. General yet. I would not be surprised if he was not waiting for Dunham to get well. I believe he likes Dunham better as an officer than any man in the Brigade. He has one of his brothers (Walker) as one of his Aides. I wish you would please look in my trunk and send me that brown veil that you will find. I want it to put over my face when I take a nap in the morning, to keep off the flies. You never saw any flies yet, you can measure them by the bushel here. The mosquitoes are terrible here, too. I shall put it over my face when I sleep out of doors, and that’s every night that it don’t rain. I’ve just learned from Mr. Parker that little Leon was dead. Poor little fellow, I never thought that when I left home it would be the last time I should see him.

Give my love to all the family, my respects to all my friends. Write soon, tell me all the news.

Your affectionate son,
WALTER.

P. S. Please send the veil by the first one coming to our camp. Give my respects to all the boys that you see.

Letters from two brothers who served in the 4th North Carolina Infantry during the Civil War are available in a number of sources online.  Unfortunately, the brothers are misidentified in some places as Walter Lee and George Lee when their names were actually Walter Battle and George Battle. See The Battle Brothers for more information on the misidentification.

15th.–Called up at 2 A. M., to be ready to move at daylight. Eight o’clock comes, but no order for us to march; 10, 12, 2, 4, 8, 10 o’clock at night, and still here. One day’s rations consumed, men wearied with watching and impatient expectation; no tents, no comforts, men dropped on the ground to rest, whilst other regiments, brigades, divisions, are marching by. Many fires kept brightly burning through the night, and many soldiers would not lie down, but kept watch, momentarily expecting a call to march. This excitement and waiting, I find, is more wearing to the soldier than active duty.

Eliza Woolsey Howland to her Mother.

Fishkill, Aug. 15.

Dear Mother: In answer to my letter Dr. Draper came up yesterday noon and stayed till this afternoon. . . . The visit was part professional and part for pleasure and was satisfactory in both ways. He finds Joe improving, though more slowly than he had hoped, but he says he must not think of returning to camp. That if fever got hold of him again he would stand very little chance of recovery. It would permanently break down his constitution, if it was not immediately fatal. . . . It is very disappointing. He hoped to gain fast enough to go back the end of this month, and is greatly depressed about it, for he has made up his mind that under the circumstances it is great injustice to the regiment and to Major Seaver to continue to hold his commission, getting the credit as it were, while the Major has all the care and responsibility. He wishes to do only what is most for the interests of the service.

Joseph Howland resigned from the service by the advice of Dr. W. H. Draper of New York, whose medical certificate stated that he was suffering from extreme nervous exhaustion and debility, and was unfit for duty. The resignation was received by his superior officers with expressions of great regret, and letters full of affection poured in upon him.

General Bartlett, commanding the brigade, writes:

Headquarters 2d Brigade.
Sept. 4th, 1862, “Camp Franklin,” VA.

Dear Howland: I received your papers just as we were embarking at Newport News, and you cannot imagine how badly I felt at the thought that perhaps we should never be associated together in the field again, and perhaps never again see each other. We all agreed that you ought not to come back, all seemed actuated by the same feeling of love for you and all expressed their sorrow that you would no longer be with us. . . .

The old 16th are still “A. No. 1.”

General Bartlett writes again:

Headquarters 2d Brigade,
Near Bakersville, Md.
Oct. 1st, .1862

My dear Howland: I enclose to you the acceptance of your resignation and honorable discharge from the service.

I had much rather it had been your appointment as brigadier, for I don’t believe the service can afford to lose many such officers, and yet I would rather see you recover your health and strength than to be made a major-general, myself.