On shipbound. Burial at sea. At Hatteras Inlet. Battle of Roanoke
Island. Battle of Newbern. Reading Johnnies' love letters. Athletics.
Battle of Camden. Went to the relief of the 2d Maryland.
Although we went on board ship the 6th of January, 1862, we did not
leave port until the 9th. General Reno, our brigade commander, came on
board the 7th and we were much pleased that he was to be with us on our
ship during the voyage.
The morning of the 9th we moved down the bay; late in the afternoon
the weather grew thick and we anchored for the night. The next day
about noon, the fog having lifted, we moved on and about sunset sailed
into Hampton Roads and anchored with a number of other ships of the
squadron not far from Fortress Monroe.
The “Northerner” was a large boat, but a thousand men aboard made
her very much crowded.
Between ten and eleven o'clock the night of the 11th, amid a furore
of signals, whistles, ringing of bells, etc., we left Hampton Roads and
headed out to sea. I had turned in when we started but soon realized
that we had left the placid waters of Chesapeake Bay, and that the good
ship “Northerner” was plowing its way through the waves of the open
ocean.
It was midwinter. The wind was blowing strongly; the ship rolled and
plunged and as I lay in my bunk I soon became aware that many of the
boys were sea-sick. I felt a little peculiar myself, but decided the
best thing for me to do was to lie right still in my bunk. I soon went
to sleep and slept until morning. As soon as I got up I was sick, too.
I ate no breakfast and was sick most of the forenoon, but during the
afternoon my stomach became settled and during the rest of the voyage I
was able to eat and was as well as usual.
The next day our destination was revealed. We were bound for
Hatteras Inlet and the North Carolina coast. The cape, a narrow belt of
sand, came into view. The waves breaking on the sand made a white line
all along the cape and we could hear the roar of the breaking waves.
The forts at the inlet that looked like two piles of earth could be
distinguished but the sea was too rough to attempt to enter the inlet
so we anchored in a sheltered place and waited until the next day when
the wind and sea having quieted down we were able to pass safely
through the inlet.
Cape Hatteras is known to mariners as a rough, stormy place. The
wind blows almost a gale there nearly all the time. We were thus
heartily glad when we found ourselves safely inside the inlet. Our ship
was among the first to arrive inside; for many days ships of the
squadron continued to come in.
This was the first trip on the ocean for many of us, but while it
was very rough and fraught with exposure and danger, the spirit of
adventure was so strong among the boys that on the whole it was welcome
experience.
After we arrived in harbor we learned that the captain of the ship
was found dead drunk, by General Reno, the night of the 12th, at the
very most critical time when we were approaching the inlet. He was put
under arrest and command of the ship was turned over to the first mate.
The captain intended to run into the inlet that night, which would have
been a very perilous thing to attempt.
Just before running into the inlet we witnessed a new and weird
ceremony,—burial at sea. The night of January 12th and 13th two men
had died on board; one a Company A man, and a Company B man. They were
each put into a canvas sack with a 32-pound ball at the feet and
dropped overboard.
The basin where we were anchored was simply a deep hole just inside
the inlet. It was large enough to accommodate ten or fifteen ships
comfortably, but towards the last of our stay there, when all or nearly
all the ships of the squadron had arrived, and there were seventy or
eighty ships there, the place became dangerously crowded.
Soon after reaching the inlet it was discovered that the
“Northerner” and some other vessels drew too much water (nine feet) to
cross the bar which had only eight feet of water at high tide, to admit
of their passing into the sound. We lay there from the 13th until the
26th when, after the regiment and everything else that was movable had
been transferred to other vessels, three tugs succeeded in dragging the
“Northerner” across the bar. The two weeks we lay anchored in that
basin seemed like months. All one could see was sky, water and the
cape, a narrow strip of sand stretching off to the north and south, the
whole a picture of desolation. The ocean waves came pouring and
thundering unceasingly in from the east, pounding the cape as if
determined to force their way into the sound. The wind blew a gale and
it rained most of the time. The sun shone only twice during the two
weeks. On account of the delay, the water supply ran short and but for
the rain we would have suffered for water.
Two ships of the squadron never made the inlet. The “City of New
York,” a freighter loaded with tents, ammunition, etc., ran onto the
rocks and went to pieces trying to make the inlet. The “Pocahontas,”
another freighter, loaded with horses, went ashore some distance up the
coast. One day the colonel and surgeon of the 9th New Jersey Regiment
came into the inlet in a rowboat from their ship outside, for orders.
They got their orders and started back, but were swamped in the
breakers in plain sight of us. The ships were continually dragging
anchor and running into each other. Just before we got across the bar
it became known that we were bound up Pamlico Sound to attack Roanoke
Island.
Life became more bearable after we got across the bar out into the
sound. The storm had passed off, the sun came out. We received our
first mail from home the 28th. The gunboats practiced firing at targets
and we boys practiced firing at ducks and gulls with our revolvers.
February 5th we started up the sound, the gunboats taking the lead.
It was a handsome sight, eighty ships in all, forty gunboats, and about
the same number of other ships carrying the troops, baggage,
provisions, ammunition, etc. The naval part was under the command of
Flag Officer Goldsborough. At about five o'clock we anchored in plain
sight of Roanoke Island. We were enveloped in a dense fog all day the
6th and did not move, and saw nothing. To break the monotony, Colonel
Maggi got us together on the hurricane deck and made a speech.
Considering their brevity, as well as his accent which was very
Italian, his speeches were very funny. This one was about like the
following: “Soldiers ob de 21st, to-day you be 21st, tomorrow you be
1st.”
February 7th at nine o'clock we moved on, the gunboats leading the
way, and they were soon engaged first with some Confederate gunboats,
then with the forts on the island, the rebel gunboats retiring behind a
line of obstructions.
The battle between our gunboats and the forts continued more or less
fiercely all day. In the middle of the afternoon Fort Bartou, the fort
nearest us, was practically silenced. At four o'clock we began to load
into small boats preparatory to making a landing, and at five o'clock
three or four thousand Union troops were on the island.
We landed at Ashby's Cove, on the edge of a large field, where the
water was sufficiently shallow to enable us to get ashore from small
boats there being no landing of any kind on that side of the island.
The boat I was in ran up into a lot of bogs and grass. As I sprang from
the boat I made a good jump and landed on a large bog and got ashore
with only wet feet, but one of the boys who followed me made a less
successful jump and landed in three feet of water. Just at that moment
we saw the light flash on bayonets just across the field in the edge of
the wood, and we expected the Johnnies would open fire on us every
minute, but they did not, nor did we open fire on them. Soon we were up
to the edge of the wood where we had seen the flashes of light on the
bayonets. There was a road there and what we had seen evidently was
flashes on the guns of a company of soldiers passing along that road.
Early in the evening it began to rain and it rained most of the
night. By putting on my rubber blanket which protected my body, arms
and legs, my havelock kept the rain out of my face and neck, then with
a stick of wood on which to sit on the leeward side of a tree trunk, I
kept myself dry and got through the night fairly comfortably and got
quite a little rest.
About seven o'clock the morning of the 8th the first brigade moved
past us down the road leading to the Confederate barracks and forts.
About half a mile down that road the Johnnies had built an earthwork
and mounted cannon. The first brigade, as it approached the earthwork,
moved to the right to attack the fort on the left flank. Two little
brass howitzers manned by sailors went next and we followed them until
we were in sight of the fort, when we moved to the left to attack the
fort on the right flank. As we got into position the Confederates
finding themselves out-flanked on both sides, retreated. The road in
front of the fort was the only dry land on that side and it was
occupied by the sailors and their howitzers. The fort, however, was
built at the end of a tongue of dry land extending toward us. This
tongue of land was completely enveloped in front and the two sides with
shallow water, the troops on both sides thus operated in water from one
to three feet deep.
Directly after losing their entrenched position, the rebels
surrendered, we marched over to their barracks and went into camp. That
night we had a fine supper and slept in fine, comfortable quarters, the
first time we had slept in a real comfortable place since leaving
Annapolis.
Just before we started to charge, the moment intervening between the
order to cease firing and the order to advance, George Booth was
wounded in the mouth; he was talking to me at the time and the ball
entered his mouth, leaving no mark on his lips, knocked out two or
three teeth and passed through his neck. He died in the hospital about
a month and a half later.
It is always interesting to analyze the feelings one had when going
into battle, especially the first one; the feelings of the same man
differ so much, however, on going into different battles my belief is
that much depends upon the state of the nervous system at the time.
It is very well known that the bravest men have on certain occasions
been very much depressed before going into certain battles, yet went
through them doing very brave things and came out unscratched. On some
occasions, I do not remember that my feelings were exceptional at all,
while on other occasions I remember distinctly feeling very nervous.
The times that were the most difficult for me to control myself were
when we were ordered to hold a position and being without ammunition we
had nothing to do to employ our minds but just stay there and take the
enemy's fire, such an instance as occurred at Antietam on the ridge in
the afternoon of the fight.
At Roanoke Island the idea most prominent in my mind as we went into
our first fight was the desire to see a Johnnie and then perhaps to get
a shot at him. Any fear of going in or possible result did not occur to
me. It is impossible to say this in relation to some of the great
battles in which I took part later on, for my desire to see Johnnies
was satisfied long before the war ended.
The day after the fight, Colonel Maggi took the regiment over into a
big fort on the west side of the island, formed us around a big cannon
there, then climbed up onto the gun carriage and with a big black
cannon for a back ground made speech number two. This was like speech
number one delivered on the “Northerner,” but with variations. It was
about as follows: “Soldiers ob de 21st, yesterday you be 21st. I tol
you to-day you be 1st, you be 1st.” Flag Officer Gouldsborough,
Commander of the Naval Squadron, was in the fort and he also made a
speech to us. He was a big massively built, handsome man with a large
full beard. He made the impression of being every inch a naval
commander.
The day we landed on Roanoke Island, February 7th, there died on the
steamer, “Northerner” one of the most interesting men in the regiment,
Charles Plummer Tidd. He was a personal friend of Dr. Cutter, the
surgeon and had been a personal friend and follower of John Brown. He
had been in Kansas with them and with the latter at Harper's Ferry from
which place he, with two others, made their escape. He enlisted in the
21st because Dr. Cutter was there, under the name of Charles Plummer;
he enlisted as a private in Company K, and soon after was its orderly
sergeant which office he held at the time of his death. Plummer was
buried on Roanoke Island, and Miss Cutter, to whom he had just become
engaged, was buried beside him. Later, however, both were taken up and
buried in the National Cemetery at Newbern.
Just before we left the island, Colonel Maggi resigned. Colonel
Maggi was a military educated Italian, and it was said had seen service
under Garibaldi. He wished to enforce the same kind of military
discipline in our regiment that is maintained in the regular army. Our
boys, as volunteers, would not submit to it; there was trouble and he
resigned. It was a very unfortunate thing; he was a fine officer and
his loss was very much regretted. In addition to this, all our company
officers left us. Captain Washburn and Lieutenant Williams disobeyed
orders and were dismissed. Lieutenant Sermondy, who enlisted in the
company in the hope that he might become Chaplain of the regiment,
having failed in obtaining the appointment, and doubtless having seen
all the fighting he cared to, resigned and went home. This put Company
K in an awkward position. Second Lieutenant Charles W. Davis of Company
A, was promoted to the rank of First Lieutenant, and put in command of
the company.
During the time we remained on the island we drilled a little in
addition to guarding the prisoners who were soon sent to Elizabeth City
and paroled. March 4th we went on board the “Northerner” again. The
sailors of the old ship had her gaily decorated for the occasion and we
were welcomed on board again most cordially.
Not until the 11th did we move, then at night we dropped down the
sound to near Hatteras Inlet. On the morning of the 12th we started
down Pamlico Sound toward the mouth of the Neuse River. We were then
told we were headed for Newbern, and up the river we sailed until we
came to the mouth of Slocum's Creek, a small stream emptying its waters
into the right side of the Neuse about fifteen miles below Newbern.
Here we anchored for the night.
The next day we were engaged most of the forenoon in landing, which
was accomplished without interference, and about noon we started up the
right bank of the river toward Newbern. We soon struck the railroad
connecting Newbern and Beaufort and an extensive earthwork, and farther
on toward Newbern still another, and a cavalry camp with a considerable
quantity of provisions. Later on in the afternoon we reached the
immediate front of the enemy's last line of works filled with soldiers
and a fort with cannon mounted. Here they evidently intended to make a
stand. We halted for the night and our company was thrown out in front
of us as a picket line. That was the first time I had been on picket
duty right in front of the enemy, and if I remember rightly, I kept
very much awake that night. Early in the morning we had coffee and
directly started forward to the attack. The ground in our immediate
front was uneven and as we passed over a little hill we came in sight
of the Johnnies filing into their works in front of us. As we moved
down the hill and across a narrow valley with a small stream winding
through it, other troops appeared on the little hill we had just passed
over. The Johnnies opened fire on them, we moved up to the brow of the
next rise of ground and opened fire. Thus the battle in that part of
the line began.
A thing happened as we were making our way across the little stream
just mentioned that afforded the boys some amusement. The stream was
too wide to ford but there were places where one could jump across.
Picking their way across in that way, to be sure, broke the line up
pretty badly. It was just at that time the Johnnies opened fire on the
troops in our immediate rear on the little hill. The Johnnies' opening
fire was vigorous. There was a terrific roar of musketry and the way
the balls tore through the treetops over our heads sounded peculiar
enough, but we were protected, being so low down. One of the officers
of our company had been a member of a country band at home, furnishing
music for balls and dancing parties about the country. He had been the
prompter, had called off the different dances. As we were getting
across that stream in the midst of the roar from the Confederate
musketry the officer referred to, became very much excited and danced
around furiously ordering the company to keep in line, etc. None of the
boys were particularly disturbed, but the officer referred to was very
much excited. The boys noticed this, and directly some one piped up
“All promenade.” Instantly another sang out, “Ladies, grand change.”
That had the most remarkable effect on that officer. He saw at once
that was banter aimed at him. He quieted down and behaved himself like
a little man through the rest of the fight.
We lay there and fired away until about eleven o'clock, when General
Reno saw a favorable opportunity to make an advance. With the right
wing of the 21st a charge was made breaking the enemy's lines and
capturing a battery; our right wing was forced back somewhat but the
Johnnies were not able to recover their line entirely, nor get the guns
of the battery away. Our boys shot down the horses and we all advanced.
Directly, the Confederates saw their line was broken and they began to
retreat all along the line. During the fight I had visible evidence of
three close calls. I was lying with Brig. Barnes behind a little log
that partly protected us, firing away. First the bayonet of my gun was
hit, then a ball passed through my roll of blankets, and last the stock
of my gun was shot away. Those hits were each made an instant after I
fired. I think a Johnnie saw the smoke puff out from where I lay and
fired at it.
When my gun-stock was shot away I had to go back and get another.
Pat Martin had been killed. I saw him lying on the ground with a bullet
hole through his forehead. I was given his gun and went back to my
place again. The bullet that went through my roll of blankets also made
two holes through my blouse on my shoulder underneath the blankets.
Captain Frazier of Company H did a clever piece of work at this
time. He was in the right wing, his company was one of those that made
the charge breaking the enemy's line and capturing the battery. When he
was in the most advanced position, he was hit and fell to the ground; a
few minutes later after the Johnnies had retaken the ground, he came
to, the wound being a scalp wound, the bullet not penetrating the skull
only stunned him for a moment. He was made prisoner and sent to the
rear under guard. He was soon all right. He took in the situation and
determined to play opossum. He feigned very sick, induced the guard to
let him lie down in the shade of some bushes a little way from the
road. He then kept a sharp watch out, saw the Confederates were
retreating and at the proper moment pulled out his revolver, got the
drop on his guard, made them lay down their guns and marched them back
to the place where we were.
We moved on a quarter or a half a mile where we came to the
Johnnies' barracks. In front of the cook-house the tables were all set
for breakfast but apparently not a thing had been eaten. The poor
devils had been obliged to fall into line before they could eat their
breakfasts and had fought the battle on empty stomachs. That must have
been the reason why they lost.
As we got over the excitement and had a chance to look around we
discovered we were as black as a lot of niggers. Our powder was bad,
the air was thick and heavy, forcing the smoke down to the ground and
as we perspired it stuck to us; my gun had kicked so my shoulder was
dreadfully sore, and my head had been nearly snapped off every time I
fired, toward the last, and it ached enough to split open.
We occupied the Johnnies' camp for a few days and had no end of fun
going through their things and reading the love letters they had
received from the girls they had left behind them. The next day we
buried our four boys who were killed. They were Pat Martin, James
Fessenden, Joseph E. Stone and James Sullivan.
Of the four men killed in our company, I felt in only one a personal
loss. Jimmy Sullivan of Westboro, was an exceptional boy, two years my
junior. His was a light-hearted, joyous nature. He was the pet of the
company and without an enemy in it. How he was killed I never knew;
from the advanced position I occupied during the action it was
impossible for me to know what was going on in the company.
We remained in the rebs barracks three days, then went into camp in
tents on the south side of a large field stretching along the right
bank of the Trent River about a mile and a half from Newbern. That was
not a bad place and we enjoyed the time we stayed there very well. Up
to that time we had used the Sibley tent quite a little, a tent of the
same form as the Indian tepee and doubtless designed from it, but they
have evidently been given up, for from this time on we saw no more of
them. The tents we were supplied with there were the wall tent used by
the officers, hospitals and for commissary stores, and the small
shelter tents for the men. The snakes were rather thick and too
neighborly to suit some tastes. It was not at all uncommon to find one
comfortably asleep in one's pocket or shoe as he dressed in the
morning, or sunning himself under the edge of the tent in the
afternoon, but they were not dangerous. I never heard of any one being
bitten by one of them.
A party of us boys built a trapeze and a vaulting bar, and started
quite a little interest in athletics and had a lot of good fun there.
We had been at Newbern but a few days when Miss Carrie Cutter, the
daughter of the surgeon died of spotted fever. She went south with us
from Annapolis to assist her father in the care of the sick and wounded
men of the regiment. She was a delicate girl of eighteen years and
could not withstand the exposure incident to army life. Her body was
taken to Roanoke Island and buried beside that of her friend, Charles
Plummer Tidd.
There was a good deal of sickness in the regiment at this time. The
water we drank was surface water: many of the boys had chills and fever
and a great deal of quinine and whiskey was taken. Some of the boys
used to turn out quite regularly and go up to the surgeon's tent for
the quinine and whiskey. Others of the fellows were unkind enough to
intimate that they really went up for the whiskey, which was, of
course, unjust and wrong.
We had been here but a few weeks when a batch of recruits arrived at
the regiment, two of which were assigned to our company. One of them
had a few locks of rusty red hair hanging down over his shoulders,
while his face was partially covered with a faded yellowish red beard.
He was at once dubbed the Collie. The day after his arrival he was met
by a friend of Harding Witt. This friend suggested to the newcomer that
he could not have been informed of the regulations of the service or he
would have been to the barber-shop and that soldiers who did not have
their hair cut and their whiskers trimmed within forty-eight hours
after joining the company were liable to imprisonment for five days.
Our friend with the yellow hair innocently fell into the trap and
begged his comrade to conduct him to the company barber. This was
precisely what was wanted, and the newcomer was escorted to the tent
occupied by Harding Witt and his friend, which had been ordered to give
the impression of a barber-shop. A large chair had been placed in the
center of the tent with a mirror in the front of it, and near the chair
was improvised a table on which was arranged a razor, scissors, cologne
water and perfumery. Harding impersonated the barber, with coat off, a
large white towel pinned in front of him like an apron. He sat reading
a novel as the two entered. On seeing them he sprang to his feet and
shouted “Next!” The recruit took the chair and Harding commenced
operations. He took out his watch and laid it on the table, explaining
as he did so, that the time was short but he would try and have him
shaved and his hair cut by parade time. He had trimmed the beard from
one side of his face and had cut the hair from one side of his head,
when the drum beat. The recruit was dismissed till after the parade
when he was told to return and the job would be finished.
When the Captain took command of the company his eyes fastened on
the recruit instantly, and he ordered him three paces to the front. As
the man lumbered forward, for he was as awkward in actions as he was
rustic in looks, the boys were ready to burst with laughter. Indeed
some of them did shout. The captain took in the situation, saw the poor
fellow was the butt of some one's joke, smiled and ordered him to his
quarters. After parade, Harding finished his job.
Later Tom Winn and I found a large cotton field a mile and a half or
two miles to the west of the camp, where the ground was just covered
with running blackberries. We noised it around the camp and directly a
fourth of the regiment could be seen out there picking blackberries. Dr
Cutter heard about the berries and believing them beneficial to the
health of the boys, recommended the giving of passes liberally, and
extra large rations of sugar were also served to eat with them and for
a while we had all the berries to eat we wanted.
April 17, we went on board the old “Northerner” again. We were told
we were going on a special expedition to the rear of Norfolk, Va. We
moved down the river along Pamlico Sound, past Roanoke Island up
Albermarle Sound to near Elizabeth City and landed on the opposite side
of the sound near Camden at just sunrise April 19. We started off into
the country. At eleven o'clock we had marched a distance of eighteen
miles through the dismal swamp, parts of the way over a corduroy road
in a terrific heat. A number of the boys were sunstruck. E. B.
Richardson of our company received a partial sunstroke. At eleven
o'clock we struck the Johnnies at a place near South Mills. Our errand
was the destruction of the stone locks of the Dismal Swamp Canal at
that place. At four o'clock we had accomplished our purpose, the
Johnnies had been driven away and the locks of the canal destroyed.
From four to eight o'clock we rested, had coffee and supper, then
started back and arrived at the boat and went aboard at sunrise the
next morning.
Soon after we started on our return trip it began to rain and it
rained in torrents all the first part of the night. That return march
was something indescribable. The logs of the corduroy road became very
slippery when wet and if I fell flat once I did twenty times that
night. That march of thirty-six miles between sunrise and sunrise,
fighting a battle, destroying a canal, eighteen miles through a swamp
in a terrific heat, and the return eighteen miles in a dark, stormy
night, part of the way over a corduroy road, was a test of our powers
of endurance we never exceeded during the whole four years of our
service.
We clambered aboard the boat, threw off our knapsacks and dropped,
and I do not think I moved during the whole day. At night the cook came
around and woke us up and we had a cup of coffee and something to eat.
After that I unrolled my blanket and lay down on it and went to sleep
again and slept straight on until the next morning. We arrived at
Newbern early in the forenoon and at mid-day of the 22d we were back in
our camp again.
That was the time when the dread Merrimac was receiving her
finishing touches at the Gosport Navy Yard. The whole north quaked with
fear of that huge iron monster. Government officials at Washington were
very much disturbed about the mighty ironclad that so much was being
written about in the public press. They were concerned lest she should
steal down Dismal Swamp Canal from Norfolk to Elizabeth City, destroy
our squadron in the sound, then escape to the high seas through
Hatteras Inlet, hence our expedition, and destruction of the locks of
the canal at South Mills.
Had the officials at Washington known then that the Merrimac drew 22
feet of water, that source of anxiety would have been dispelled at
once, for no ship drawing such a depth of water could have manoeuvred
in the shallow water of Albermarle and Pamlico Sound, much less passed
over the bar at Hatteras Inlet where there is only eight feet of water
at high tide.
I brought back from South Mills in my knapsack one thing I did not
carry up there, namely, a Johnnie's bullet. When we first reached the
battle ground, as our picket-line was feeling the Johnnies' position,
the 21st was moved up just in their rear as a support and ordered to
lie down. In a moment I was asleep, but directly something woke me. I
had no idea what it was that started me. We were then ordered forward,
and I thought no more of it until the next day on the boat, when I
opened my knapsack I found a ball, a hole in my knapsack and holes
through a number of other things. It had entered the side, passed about
half way through and brought up against a little hand dictionary. Then
I knew what it was that awoke me as I lay asleep just in the rear of
our picket line.
A full blooded African, who was employed by Dr. Cutter about the
hospital, was one day asked by the doctor his name. “Nathaniel” replied
the negro. “Any other name?” said the doctor to which Sambo replied,
“Why de last name is always de massa's name, Massa Johnson.” “What do
the people down here say this war is about?” asked the doctor.
Nathaniel replied: “Why, sir, dey say dat some man called Linkum is
going to kill all de women and de chilun an drive de massa away, and
all de colored folks will be sold to Cuba.” Nathaniel then proceeded to
give some new and highly interesting particulars respecting the
genealogy of the President of the United States. “Dey say his wife is a
black woman and dat his fadder and mudder came from Ireland,” said he,
speaking with emphasis.
The doctor indignantly refuted the aspersions cast upon the family
of the President and disabused the negro of the false impressions which
he had received from his secessionist mistress.
On the night of May 16th, in the midst of a terrific thunder-storm,
the long roll was beaten and we fell into line in light marching order.
The night was as dark as a pocket but we formed line and dressed as
readily as at mid-day, the lightning was so bright and so continuous.
As soon as the line was formed we started off at a quick pace. After
marching a few miles, one of the officers told us that the 2d Maryland
Regiment was surrounded some miles back in the country, and we were
going to their relief. They had been on a scouting expedition and had
been entrapped. Soon after daylight having marched about fourteen
miles, we met them on their way back to Newbern. They had extricated
themselves from the trap they found themselves in, but they were
well-nigh starved. Our cooks set to work and got them a rattling good
breakfast, for we had taken a wagon load of provisions along. After the
breakfast was disposed of we marched back to Newbern and the 2d
Maryland was ever after a good friend of the 21st.
At sunrise, July 6, 1862, we left our old camp on the bank of the
River Trent, went on board of a large schooner and started down the
river. At night we anchored near Hatteras Inlet. The next day, after
being towed over the bar and through the inlet we sailed for Fortress
Monroe where we arrived the middle of the afternoon of the 8th. The 9th
we were taken to a landing at Newport News and went ashore in plain
sight of the masts of the “Cumberland” and “Congress” as they stuck up
out of about sixteen feet of water.
It was just six months ago we started from this same place on the
North Carolina campaign. When we leave here this time we shall join
Pope to take part in his campaign in front of Washington.