Chapter VI: Part 6

The Excelsiors made one charge, and it was a hustler. They and the rebels were facing each other across a deep, rocky gulch. The Excelsiors charged down through this with a yell. Colonel Farnham, of the Second Excelsior, and Gen. Spinola dashed ahead of everything, on their horses, and took two rebel sharpshooters prisoners, although Spinola was badly wounded. Farnham was the captain of the slave ship “Wanderer,” which was the cause of so much excitement a few years ago. By this day’s work the rebels were cleared entirely out of the gap.

The next morning our division advanced into the Shenandoah valley, the entire Second Regiment being deployed as skirmishers in advance of the column. We had not gone thirty rods when, on coming into the road, I came upon the sprawling form of one poor Johnny who had met his fate the previous day. He was apparently fighting in the shelter of a sunken road, when a bullet pierced his brain and he rolled down the bank to the roadbed. The cartridges were scattered from his open cartridge-box, and picking one up I noted it was of peculiar construction. None of us have ever seen one like it before. The paper is set firmly in the base of the bullet, so all one has to do in loading is to break the two apart with his fingers, pour his powder and ram his bullet home. It is the toothless man’s sure-pop cartridge fast enough. [I still have it among my war relics.] We advanced clear to Front Royal without any serious opposition, then rallied on the colors, about-faced and marched back to the gap.

I intend to carry this letter down to the post-office myself, so you will be pretty sure to get it. Hen. Everett is going down before long and I will wind up so as to go along with him.

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_CII_

POINT LOOKOUT, LOWER POTOMAC, MD.,
_August 1, 1863_.

We have a mail at last, and I was fortunate enough to get _four_ letters from you. Now that we are here, it looks as if I would not have much of anything to do except to write letters. We got here yesterday forenoon, and are now fairly well settled. We are camped close to the beach, on smooth, level ground. We have A-tents and a plenty of them, so we are not crowded for room. Dan. Desmond and I have a tent all to ourselves. Jess. Dewey is acting orderly-sergeant, so he has his own tent.

_Afternoon._—I was called away rather suddenly this morning, to go on guard. Now, coming back to the guard headquarters from dinner, I have brought my writing materials along, so as to finish my letter today. Talking of comfort! I am sitting in the shade of big pine trees, within two rods of the shore of Chesapeake Bay, a delicious breeze blowing from the water and the waves rolling up on the beach. [This was at General Marston’s headquarters.] The first thing this morning, when reveille was blown, nearly every man in the regiment made a dash for the water, for a plunge and a swim. This was a fashionable summer resort before the war. The waters abound in crabs, and the boys have already got to catching them. When I was up to camp this noon one of the boys had a kettleful on boiling. We had a ration of “salt horse” [corned beef] today—the first we have had since leaving Washington for Falmouth. It seemed like an old friend.

On the steamer, coming down, I had a long chat with one of the batch of prisoners we were taking along. He was a native of Alexandria, and on the way down the river he pointed out the places where he had been for a good time before the war. We had been in the same fights, quite a number, and it was very interesting to compare notes. The day we left Washington I was on guard at the gate, and there was a flock of secesh women there to bid good bye to friends and give them things to eat or wear. Among the prisoners was an Irishman who formerly lived in Manchester. I recognized him as soon as I saw him. He was down south when the war broke out, and was forced into the army. He fell out on the march on purpose to be taken and is very anxious to take the oath of allegiance, as are many others, especially the foreigners.

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_CIII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _August 4, 1863_.

This forenoon “Curley” Converse and I went out to a creek near camp, hunting for oysters. We found and shucked till we had three pints of solid meats. There were lots of crabs there, some almost as big as lobsters, and I soon found out that a crab is a very pugnacious animal. I ran across one in shoal water hardly deep enough to cover my feet, and playfully tapped him with my knife, just to see him run. He ran. So did I, for I was barefooted and he made straight for my toes, with the water boiling. Soon I encountered another, and just to make sure, I rapped him. He came on like the other; but there was no surprise this time, and I speared him with my knife. The boys bring in bushels of them, and they are excellent eating—as good as lobsters.

George Slade has not been with us for some time, but we expect he will join us soon. [We did not know it then, but he was in fact a prisoner, having been picked up by the rebels somewhere below Harper’s Ferry. He never got back to the regiment, but died at Camp Parole.]

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_CIV_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _August 8, 1863_.

Ed. Bailey’s father came down here night before last and is going to be regimental sutler, so they say. There is some pretty sharp talk by some of the Manchester men, who affirm that he would be more at home as sutler for a rebel regiment. I do not know, but I guess we can balance the colonel’s good services against his father’s political shortcomings.

You ask me to tell you about Steve Palmer and —— ——. So the story has got to Manchester, has it? These are the facts: On the first day’s march from Falmouth Steve had some whiskey in his wagon, which he was selling to those who wanted the stuff. —— was officer of the guard that day. He went to Steve and Steve gave him a drink. Then he brought a canteen to Steve and said: “Here, Steve, let me have some whiskey in this canteen and I will pay you when I get some money.” Steve let him have it, and he went directly to the colonel and reported Steve for selling whiskey. Steve was at once taken from his wagon and put into the ranks, and at Gettysburg was very badly wounded, and if he lives will be a cripple for life. [He died of his wounds.] The affair, naturally, has created a good deal of feeling. Steve did wrong in taking liquor upon his team to sell; but there was an element of treachery in what —— did that I wouldn’t want charged up to my credit.

We are living pretty well now, for army rations. Here is our bill of fare for the past three days:

_Wednesday:_ Breakfast—Baked Beans, Coffee. Dinner—Beefsteak. Supper—Coffee.

_Thursday:_ Breakfast—Potatoes, Boiled Pork, Boiled Fresh Beef, Boiled Salt Beef, Coffee. Dinner—Soup, Parsley Greens. Supper—Coffee.

_Friday:_ Breakfast—Potatoes, Boiled Beef, Coffee. Dinner—Boiled Dish of Potatoes and Parsley Greens.

In addition, we have, each day, a loaf of “soft tack,” baked here on the Point, and occasionally a ration of molasses. We call that high living. And Company I is going to have something extra for dinner today—roast beef and potatoes. The beef is roasting in two Dutch ovens.

A big school of porpoises went up the river yesterday. They came so near in shore that some of the boys fired at them, and I should judge hit some, from the commotion that was created and the way they dug away from shore. Ed. Bailey and I struck up the beach for an old boat that lay there, in which to get out and have a crack at them. The colonel had a carbine and an old stocking full of cartridges, and I picked up an ancient oar. We got the craft afloat and I paddled it out quite a piece. But the waves ran high and the water poured through the boat in a dozen places, until it was a question of pull about or swim for it. So we put about and got ashore before the old tub sank. Sixteen of us took a sail out to the mouth of the river two or three days ago. It was very rough and the boat was terribly overloaded, and it was only by good seamanship that we saved ourselves from going under.

I have just run across another Manchester fellow—James, who used to be City Messenger. He is with the Twelfth Regiment sutler.

Now I must tell you the story of Bill Ramsdell, for it is decidedly interesting, although rather rough on Bill. A short time after we came on from New Hampshire Bill went to Concord and reported to Major Whittlesey. Well, no sooner has he reported than he goes away again and is not seen about Concord for two or three days, when he again reports; but this time the major puts him under arrest as a deserter, and when the squad of deserters leave New Hampshire under a guard of convalescents Bill is packed off with the rest. They go to Boston and stop at Fort Warren for a time, and while there the prisoners are put to all sorts of menial work. Part of the time Bill was haying on the parapet, which was not at all bad, but after that he was given a mule’s job, hauling coal. A dozen of the prisoners would load a cart, hitch on and drag it along, dump their load, and so on. All this I learned from George Cilley, who was left in New Hampshire, sick, and who was guarding prisoners three or four weeks. He said Bill took it all very philosophically—he couldn’t help himself. He is now in Washington and will probably be sent to the regiment before long.

The guard duty is divided now so that we do it one week and the Twelfth the next. During our week every man is on guard every other day, but we are not overworked, as we have no drilling to do.

My tentmate, Dan. Desmond, is one of the quaintest old Irishmen you ever met. He loads me with his adventures and experiences until my ribs fairly ache from the laughing. Every night he regales me with some story—and a good one—to go to bed on.

The Seventeenth fellows will be discharged within a few days. Two in my company have died in the service—Tibbetts, killed at Gettysburg, and Ingalls, died of disease.

The laugh is on Steve Smiley, and it is too good to keep. The day we came down from Washington Steve ran down to some place on the street to get some papers—I don’t know just what. But he didn’t get them, because the colonel had been there before him. On his way back to the barracks—only a little ways—he ran into the provost guard, and as he had no pass they gathered him in and chucked him into the central guard house, where they kept him over night. The next morning they let him out and he got on a boat and came down. He is pretty touchy about it, and the boys like to thorn him about patronizing the “Central Hotel.”

The boys catch some nice fish here, among which are sea trout, which the natives tell us will be very plenty in a short time. There is a big kettle of beans on the fire, parboiling, which will be ready baked for breakfast. You see I have to keep bringing up grub matters; but it does seem good to have a plenty.

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_CV_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _August 10, 1863_.

I want something to do, and so “I take my pen in hand,” &c. And yet, after all, I have been pretty busy this forenoon. We had to move our tents so as to give the officers more breathing room—delicate souls! Then I went out and did my week’s washing in a skillful and artistic manner. When that was “hung out” I watched the operations of a pile driver. We are to have a sink way out over the river, and the piles for its support are being driven into the sand.

The toads here! Their number is legion, of all sizes and conditions. There is the very best of understandings between them and the boys, for they are our dependable fly-traps. The men drive them into the tents rather than out. I am fairly in love with some of the bright-eyed little fellows that are tentmates of mine. They sit so demure and still until a fly comes within reach, when there is the flash of a tongue, and one less fly to plague us. Long live the toads, and may they multiply and increase at Point Lookout.

We had another instalment of rebel prisoners yesterday, five hundred coming down from Washington. I could not help noticing the feeling between the men from North Carolina and those from the Gulf States. On their arrival here the prisoners were formed into companies of one hundred men each, and as far as practicable those from the same state were put together. There were not quite enough North Carolinians for a company, so some Mississippians were put in with them, who began at once to berate their new messmates, twitting them of being unpatriotic, and telling the guard that those fellows wanted to get back into the Union.

Dan. and I are going to fix up our tent. First, we will raise it up a few inches, so as to give the air a chance to circulate under the bottom. Then we will build a couple of nice bunks, one on each side, and between the heads of the bunks a table just big enough to eat and write on.

_Tuesday Evening, August 11._

I have been on fatigue duty today. This forenoon I was digging a hole on the beach in which to set a pile post, and this afternoon I helped pitch some tents for the adjutant. About half a dozen of our boys came down on the boat yesterday, some of whom had been in the convalescent camps, or in the distributing camps at Alexandria, ever since the regiment left Washington for the front. But George Slade was not among them, and now I am wondering what has become of him and where he can be.

Company I had fried fish both for breakfast and dinner today. They were fine sea bass, brought in last night by a fisherman in his boat. He had an iron bucket full of blazing pitchwood for a light, and his two little bareheaded children were with him—a boy and a girl five or six years old. They were very pretty, fair-haired, and their appetites evidently had not been spoiled by indulgence, for their father cut slices from a huge loaf of bread in his basket, which they put out of the way, clear, as fast as their little jaws could work.

Well, my boy Dan. has made up the bed and gone to bed, and I guess I will follow suit.

_Wednesday Evening, August 12._

I made a great discovery today—nothing less than a newspaper in this out-of-the-way place. It is named _Hammond Gazette_, and is published for the benefit of the sick and wounded in the Hammond General Hospital. It is a little fellow, just the size of _The Literary Visitor_ that George Batchelder and I used to print. This afternoon I went down and hunted up the office, along with old printer Smith of the Twelfth—familiarly known in Manchester as “Snuffy” Smith. We found quite a neat little office, with a real sociable Vermont printer running the establishment.

About the middle of the forenoon we had a wild gale here, coming off the bay, and the river was full of vessels fleeing to shelter under the Point. Desmond and I went out this evening and brought in a couple boards, which we have cut up into length for bunks; but as we have yet to make a raise on some nails, we will use them tonight for a floor, and I guess we will need one, for it looks as if we were going to have a great shower.

_Thursday Morning, August 13._

Last night we had a holy terror of a storm. The wind blew almost a hurricane, the water was a continuous deluge, and the thunder and lightning were terrific. Many of the tents went down, but ours stood up nobly. Those boards of ours were a perfect godsend, as a brook of no mean proportions ran through our tent, and we were perched above it, high if not dry. Jess. Dewey’s tent was one of those that blew over, and everything in it got thoroughly soaked. I thought, at one time, ours would have to go. It must have been a sight, Dan. and I each hugging a tent-pole and holding it down for dear life.

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_CVI_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _August 18, 1863_.

I was terribly provoked this evening. I had just got comfortably settled down to write a letter when I was ordered out on a detail. I soon found it was to load boards, at the wharf, for the sutler. As I was on guard last night, and going on again tomorrow, it looked to me very much like crowding the mourners; and more than that, I did not like being ordered out to do work they have no right to put on a soldier anyway; but to keep peace in the family I went and did the work, and now, at ten o’clock, I have got back to my letter. I have been very busy today, and have something to show for it. Dan. and I got hold of some more boards and immediately proceeded to build a palace. We have a good one, the walls four feet high with our big tent perched on top, a bunk on each side, a table, and lots of spare room, not to mention a well-fitted board floor.

We have an addition to our company in the shape of a contraband who come across from Virginia in a little dugout canoe the other night. We took him in to the cook, and he is earning his keep.

_Wednesday Morning, August 10._

We are getting quite a gathering of prisoners here. Several hundred arrived yesterday. The increasing force of prisoners calls for extra vigilance on our part. We now have two Dahlgren boat howitzers posted so as to command the rebel camp, and are going to have four more. The rebels are set to do their own work—to dig wells, build cook houses, &c. In such a crowd you will always find a proportion of smarties, and a few of the lordly ones kicked up a rumpus and swore they would not do any work for the United States. They changed their mind when they were strung up without any parley, and the joke of the thing was that a good many of the prisoners were tickled to death to see them disciplined.

Did you ever know Sam. Newell? He was one of the squad that enlisted from our company into the regular cavalry last fall. When we were in Washington on our way down here, he came on from the front with a lot of dismounted cavalrymen, and when we came down here he simply got homesick. So he got on board the boat and came along with us. This was nothing more nor less than desertion, and he was arrested here and put under guard. But one fine morning Samuel turns up missing and is not heard from again for several days, when he appears at the guard house under full military escort and is again in the toils and more carefully guarded than before. When he ran away he went up country about forty miles and let himself to work in a sawmill. The owner has a schooner on which he ships wood down here to the Point, and the next trip he made Sam. came along to help work the boat. He kept pretty shady while they were unloading here, but one of our officers got his eye on him and Sam. was ingloriously dragged out of his hole. I guess most of those fellows who went into the cavalry wish they had stayed with the old Second. They missed that long furlough at home, and life with the regulars is not like soldiering with your own crowd of old-time friends and acquaintances.

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_CVII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _August 22, 1863_.

Irene [Mrs. Wasley,] Mrs. Col. Carr and some other women came down on the boat day before yesterday. I got the little bundle, ate the cakes, enjoyed your cooking, and was delighted with the fine towel. We now have four or five times as many prisoners here as there are men to guard them. I put a picture in the mail today. It will look quite pretty framed, but I value it most as a record up to date of the boys of Company I. I only wish the copy had been prepared by some one a little more accustomed to that sort of work.

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_CVIII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _August 26, 1863_.

Have just been up to see Mrs. Irene Stokes Wasley, and she had lots to tell me about you—so much she almost made me homesick. Mrs. Bailey came down on the boat Monday evening, and we catch a glimpse of her and the colonel parading. Dan. expresses the opinion that they are a mighty wee bit of a couple.

The other night, while I was on guard at Marston’s headquarters, we had a queer lot there under guard. There were fifteen men who said they had run away from Richmond to escape conscription. Some of them would not take the oath of allegiance, and it is said they will be returned to their friends—sent across and landed on the Virginia shore. They were mostly Irishmen and Jews, and it was the Irishmen who were willing to take the oath.

Now I must tell you of one of the meanest little skunks that ever lived. He is a brother of our second lieutenant. He is familiarly known as “Culpepper,” and the boys hate him devotedly. He is not enlisted, but ran away from the Reform School and came on with us. He is one of the most incorrigible little thieves that ever was. On the march through Maryland, while we were camped for a little while near Emmitsburg, he had a large sum of money which he pretended to have found in a box in a ditch, but which some of the boys now believe was stolen from the poor box of the convent there. Be that as it may, he has been engaged in two or three bad scrapes here which should furnish sufficient cause for having him arrested or sent home. His latest exploit was to crawl into the house of a man named Murphy, near the camp. He got in through a window, and Mrs. Murphy came in and caught him rummaging her bureau. She grabbed him, but he fought and scratched and bit until he got away, and now he is roaming around as big as ever, notwithstanding Mrs. Murphy declares several dollars in money are missing. The young scoundrel says he knocked a bag in at the window and climbed in to get it. His brother pretends to believe he is innocent, and shields him.

We are going in for improvements here, just as they do in other enterprising cities. A brick oven is being built which will take in a pile of beans, meat or bread. Bill Summers, our company cook, is the architect and mason; the next company’s cook is the tender. Clay is used for mortar, and where the bricks come from is one of the company secrets. Another job that it has taken all day to accomplish is the raising of a flag staff, eighty feet high, on the parade ground in front of the regiment.

_Evening._—Dan. and I have just risen in our wrath and put an end to—well, I won’t try to tell how many millions of flies. By the judicious application of a couple of towels we wiped cartloads of them from the face of the earth. If any escaped to tell the tale, some fly historian will record August 26 as the fateful day when a wild Irishman and a crazy Yankee ran amuck at Point Lookout. Now Dan. is reading, in peace, an account of the operations at Charleston, the knocking to pieces of Fort Sumter, and wishing we could take the cussed city.

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_CIX_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _September 3, 1863_.

Guard duty has been pretty strenuous for a time—every other day, but with three reliefs. Now, however, the prison camp has been extended, doubling the number of posts around it, and we are put to it to find men enough to make two reliefs—the men being on post twelve hours out of twenty-four, every other day. Monday I marched a beat three hours at one time, and over four hours at another. But Marston has taken the matter in hand and ordered up reinforcements—that is, he has ordered that every man in these two regiments shall take a gun. All officers’ waiters and other bummers are to be returned to their companies for duty and their places filled by contrabands. If carried out it will help us out some. Yesterday I had a very pleasant tour of duty, being on picket some distance from camp, on a narrow neck of land between the bay and creek, where I could sit down while on post.

There is, naturally, more or less discussion as to the possibility of the rebels raiding over here from the Virginia shore, but they will not venture on any such foolhardy expedition. They took two of our small boats up in the Rappahannock river the other day and are reported to be mounting heavy guns on them, but they would have about as much show against our gunboats here as a boy with a bean-shooter would.

Last night about forty prisoners and convalescents came down from Alexandria, and among the number was Bill Ramsdell. Notwithstanding his escapades he is a fine fellow and I was glad to see him. Our oven is completed and is a work of art. There are a great many schooners out in the river, raking for oysters, and people here say mackerel will be plenty before long.

Some of our Johnny Rebs have been trying to get away. By some means three of them got out by the guard the other night and started for the country. They didn’t get far—only to the creek which makes Point Lookout almost an island. It is pretty wide at this end, quite a little pond, and looks more formidable for wading than it really is. One of their party couldn’t swim, so they finally hid in the bushes, where they were found the next morning. They didn’t make a very good job of it. “Hang ’em!” said Marston, “they won’t stay and let us treat ’em well, when we want to.”

George Slade has not made his appearance yet, and I think he has not been heard from.

I see by the list of drafted men in the papers that some of the meanest Copperheads in New London and Newbury have been drawn, and now I am interested to see what they propose to do. I wish they would send a few of the worst ones out here for the old Second to break in.

The Paymaster came down here a week ago and paid us up to the first of July, but he didn’t have to disburse a great amount of money to the rank and file. The clothing account was squared up, and there were but very few men who had not overdrawn their allowance. Some did not have pay enough coming to balance their clothing account. To add insult to injury, company property, such as canteens, haversacks and rubber blankets were put down on the men’s clothing accounts. Alba Woods had 74 cents coming to him and I was not much better off. We doubtless have to thank some desk officer up at Washington, who is drawing, perhaps, several thousand dollars a year and perquisites, for this raid on the fellows who are drawing thirteen dollars a month and doing the fighting.

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_CX_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _September 7, 1863_.

The men who like to fish are having the time of their lives. My particular passion is crab fishing. The outfit consists of a boat, a piece of fish or meat on the end of a string, and a dip-net. Three or four of us coast along the shore, and when a crab is sighted the bait is thrown to him, he fastens onto it and is tolled up within reach of the dip-net. There is a big sea turtle here in the cove. We see him every day. Some of the boys _say_ they are just dying to get hold of his tail or flippers and be towed out a piece.

What some negroes will risk for liberty was well illustrated by a slave family that came over last night from Virginia. There were a man and his wife and three children. They traveled all day, on foot, to reach the river. Then, although the water was very rough, they all packed into a little “dugout” canoe and got safely across the six or eight miles of tossing waters that to them was the highway to liberty. A syndicate of us bought the canoe, and Sam. Oliver and I tried it out today.

Day before yesterday we were reinforced by a company of regular cavalry that came down from Washington on the boat. They were from the same regiment so many of our boys went into a year ago, and we have learned the fate of some of them. Rod. Manning was killed, a few days ago, in a cavalry fight near Culpepper, and Nich. Biglin—our “Heenan”—is supposed to have been killed, as he had a bad saber cut and a bullet wound and could not be carried away. [He died in Andersonville.] Father will remember Rod. Manning as my tentmate at Alexandria. I am glad I did not blunder into the regulars with the other boys, for although we have had a rough time of it, they have had a rougher. A third of those who went from Company I are dead. When the boys went off to get transferred they urged me to go with them, and perhaps the only thing that saved me was the fact that I had come off a hard picket turn the night before and hated to crawl out of my warm nest.

Several more rebel prisoners have escaped, and in consequence of the growing propensity to run away they have had their watches, money and other valuables taken away from them, and they have been restricted in many privileges they formerly enjoyed. I understand a board fence is to be put around the prison camp, and that will help some; but the crying need is for more men to do guard duty. Some of the men who ran away have been recaptured.

Most of our married officers have their wives here and are keeping house in the little tenements on “Chesapeake Avenue.”

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_CXI_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _September 9, 1863_.

Bill Ramsdell had his trial today, but I have heard nothing of its course or result. Bill told me he was going to plead his own cause. In any civil court he would be acquitted; but this is a military court, and Bill is only a private, and I am not so sure. It is getting to be more and more so that there is one law for officers and another for enlisted men. Shoulder-straps are a great protection to the men wearing them. For instance: At Washington Colonel Bailey broke a sergeant for getting drunk, and issued a terrible manifesto decreeing condign punishment for any one who should disgrace the regiment in a like manner. Now for the sequel. A few days ago one of our officers appeared at guard-mount so gloriously drunk that he could not walk straight, and made a big bull of the whole ceremony, to the disgrace both of himself and the regiment. Has he been disciplined as the sergeant was? Not on your life.

_Friday Evening, September 11._

Now for a tale of wild adventure! I came off guard at nine o’clock this morning, and Sam. Oliver and I arranged to go a-fishing. We did not get off until after dinner, which for Dan. and I consisted of a big mess-pan of potatoes and bread and butter. We worked pretty hard to find some worms for bait, but not a worm could be found on the Point; so we caught a few grasshoppers and a crab and started in a dugout for a point about two miles up the river. We fished diligently and faithfully, but not a fish came to our hooks. But we were repaid for our trouble by several very near views of the giant turtles which have lately made their appearance here. Several times they came up close to the boat. If they can bite as savagely as a “snapper” in proportion to their size—O, my! Their heads looked as large as a man’s, and their spread of flippers was tremendous. They would stick their heads out of the water, give a big puff, and lazily roll under again. As we couldn’t catch fish, we went ashore, had a good swim, and then went home. Then I found I had left a rebel officer’s belt on the beach, and I paddled the boat back again and picked up the belt.

Here is another: Colonel Bailey, Steve Smiley and a few others went out sailing, yesterday, in a dugout they had rigged up with a keel and a sail. They had no trouble running out before the wind, but when it came to beating back they couldn’t get anywhere. They went kiting about, hither and thither, and their boat did everything but what they wanted it to. One of our armed schooners fired two shots to bring them to, but they couldn’t heave to if the fate of the world had depended on it. At last they came within an ace of running down one of the gunboats, which obligingly lowered a boat and towed them ashore.

I do not know yet the result of Bill Ramsdell’s court martial, but he says he is perfectly satisfied with the way he got his side of the case in. The President of the court did not hesitate to say that Bill’s treatment had been “shameful” in some particulars.

We have not had a drop of rain here for some time, although it is cloudy almost every day and looks as if it was going to pour right away. But we have an almost constant breeze, which is very refreshing, although it is so late in the season that it begins to be a little cool.

Old Dan. is the prince of story tellers. He tells me stories of Ireland and of his own adventures there and elsewhere. I like to hear him. He will start in with some entirely reasonable and probable narrative. Then he tells me something a little steeper, which I pretend to swallow. Properly encouraged, he goes on, each time improving on his last, until Gulliver and Munchausen sink into insignificance. Then I say: “Och, Dan., what a divvle of a liar ye are!” He twists his picked nose, snaps his eyes, and the show is over.

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_CXII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _September 18, 1863_.

I was on guard yesterday, coming off this morning, and it was a lucky strike, as a rain storm has just set in. So while the poor fellows on duty today are paddling up and down in the wet, I will sit in my comfortable tent, nice and dry. But if the storm holds on tomorrow my crowing will be over and I’ll be the one out in the cold. Our Seventeenth men will leave us very soon. Their time is up, but they are being kept here on the plea of waiting for a mustering officer and paymaster. There are three still doing duty in Company I. We had six, but three have died. Since our arrival here the regiment has lost five by death, four of whom were from the Seventeenth.

A good portion of our Reb prisoners, being out of ready money, have taken to manufacturing little trinkets for sale to our men. They make bone rings and bosom pins and other ornaments, some of which are of remarkable workmanship. And they make wooden fans which are very ingenious.

If the Fifth Regiment are coming down to help us I wish they would come along. I have got tired of standing guard every other day as regularly as days come around. We hear they are not having as good a time at home as we did. I had rather be out here than to be cooped up as they are, right at their homes and yet not permitted to spend their time there.

_Sunday Evening, September 20._

The Governor, Jack Hale and Dan. Clark were down here yesterday and made speeches to a crowd at headquarters. Hale said we would probably stay here until we are discharged, and that we had not got much longer to serve.

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_CXIII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _September 28, 1863_.

Now I can answer your question as to what I think has become of George Slade. This very minute I have received a letter from him, dated at Camp Parole, Annapolis. He has just got in from Richmond, where he has been a prisoner at Belle Isle.

I am going to burn just four inches of candle. When not on duty the boys have fine times boating and fishing. As soon as we got off guard today I went a-fishing with two other fellows, and did not get back till the middle of the afternoon. We had a grand time and poor luck. I got only three.

There was a great naval disaster last Saturday. Steve Smiley and three or four other bold mariners have been fitting up a boat that was intended to be the boss of the fleet. Saturday, with a stiff breeze blowing, they set out for a sail. They went down the river in grand style and out into the bay. There was an injudicious combination of a cranky boat, too much sail and too much wind, and the first thing they knew the boat was bottom side up with care and the crew afloat on the fierce rolling tide. A gunboat sent a boat to pick them up, and they returned to camp wiser and wetter men.

We are receiving batches of prisoners every few days now. The Fort Delaware prisoners are being transferred here, a steamer being kept busy all the time. There are said to be about nine thousand there awaiting transfer. Day before yesterday we had an arrival of prisoners taken on Morris Island, S. C.

We are building a stockade across “the neck,” a narrow strip of sand connecting the Point with the mainland. I don’t know whether I wrote you, a short time ago, about five rebels escaping from here. Well, in a squad which was brought in a few days ago who should appear but one of these same fellows, back again! He had made his way to his regiment, got into a skirmish immediately on his arrival, and was again taken prisoner and returned to his old quarters.

Some of our officers are a good deal exercised just now with fears for their positions. Under the new regulations a regiment must have a certain number of men to entitle it to a colonel, and a company more than sixty men to entitle it to a second lieutenant. And the fact that our regiment, with its reduced rolls, is not entitled to anything higher than a major in command, and no company has men enough to give it a second lieutenant, has impressed our officers with a settled conviction that the regiment should be filled up with conscripts. Our second lieutenants have nearly all been made since the first of July, when the order went into effect. But one of them told me, yesterday, that Governor Gilmore had got ahead of the Government by dating their commissions back beyond the first of July. But for all that, some of them who have not yet been mustered are fearful they never will be. It is a solemn fact that we now have more officers, commissioned and non-commissioned, than we have privates doing duty in this regiment.

_Thursday, October 1._

Last night I was on patrol duty in the prison camp—really a sort of policeman to see that order was maintained, and especially that there were no unusual gatherings which might develope into an attempt to rush the camp guard. The only assemblage permitted was a religious meeting in an open space in camp—a regular old fashioned prayer meeting, the character of which was accepted as a guaranty against treachery. Marston thinks some of the prisoners are plotting an outbreak, which is not at all improbable, as in such a gathering there are sure to be more or less enterprising hot-heads. One of these insisted on passing a sentry’s beat the other night, in spite of all commands to halt. When he did halt he had a wooden “tompion” in his leg, the sentry having forgotten to remove it from the muzzle of his gun.

I have a good mattress, made by filling my bunk with hay, then pulling my old shelter tent over it and nailing down at the sides.

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_CXIV_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _October 8, 1863_.

The story is going that, the last of this month, the colonel, lieutenant-colonel and all the second lieutenants of this regiment are to be mustered out, as we have not men enough to allow us these officers. In my company there are seven privates doing duty, and three commissioned officers, which seems to be rather a top-heavy organization. The men are watching the course of events with a good deal of amused interest, and the officers with an equal amount of anxiety.

A shanty for a Masonic lodge is being put up today. Desmond suggests that there is more need of a comfortable guard house. But Dan. is a devoted Catholic and doesn’t believe in Masons anyway.

The fence around the prisoners’ camp is progressing rapidly. It is about a dozen feet high. Five of the Rebs made an attempt to escape night before last. One hid himself under the commissary building, but was soon found, and the hole through which he had crawled was securely boarded up.

_Friday Evening._

I went on guard tonight at 5 and did not get relieved till after 8 and am feeling pretty cross. I saw in a paper tonight a list of the men drafted in Manchester. There were some I was glad to have drawn, although I doubt if there is the making of one good soldier in the whole crowd.

Our guard duty will be somewhat easier hereafter, as the fence is nearly completed and less posts will be required around the camp. Already we can divide our men into three reliefs instead of two, thus giving us a chance to get a little sleep between times.

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_CXV_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _October 27, 1863_.

Two of our fellows who were captured at Gettysburg have got in from the parole camp at Annapolis. When they came I expected to see George Slade with them. I had a letter from him only a few days before announcing that he had just got in from a “hell upon earth”—a rebel prison—“tired, dirty and lousy,” as he expressed it—and asking me to send him five dollars. And now they bring me word that he is dead. I had no better friend in the regiment than good, loyal old George Slade.

Another detachment of the Second Cavalry has arrived here, among whom are some of the boys who went out of our regiment at Alexandria, and from them we get authentic news of all the boys. Rod. Manning was killed instantly at Culpepper—shot in the mouth. “Heenan” was not killed, although he had a fierce saber cut on his head. When our boys went to pick him up he told them to let him die where he was. They were, in fact, so hard pressed that they could not have got him off anyway. But he has since turned up as a prisoner in Richmond.

There has been a little disturbance up country. One of our officers engaged in recruiting negroes was shot by an exasperated slaveholder. Another officer came down today for a force to go up and preserve order, and also for a gunboat to prevent them from running their slaves from Maryland over into Virginia. A detachment of cavalry has gone up. It beats everything how the contrabands are coming in both from Maryland and Virginia. They come sometimes in squads of fifteen or twenty, and most of the men go into the army or some branch of the government service. Those coming from Maryland are not sent back into bondage, as formerly, but if the owner is loyal he receives three hundred dollars for his man, who is put in the army. This will make Maryland a free state before many years. The situation is very displeasing to the old secesh planters.

We are building a combination guard- and block house, of logs, in which a howitzer will be mounted to command the main entrance to the prison camp.

One of our men who deserted at Yorktown returned today—brought back under guard; and I hear there are quite a number of men at Washington who deserted right after the first Bull Run battle. It will be a corker on them if they have to make up the time they have lost.

I have a bundle of curios I would like to send home by express. There is no express office here, but the sutler brings down all the express matter directed to the Point. Bill Pendleton, of this company, who was mail agent, used to carry bundles to Washington for the boys, but he had some trouble with the captain of the boat and has been relieved.

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_CXVI_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _November 1, 1863_.

My box came today, bringing a good supply of clothing, so I think I can hold out pretty comfortably this winter. I am, also, unusually well fixed as to quarters. Have rearranged to take in Bill Pendleton. Bill and I have an upper bunk, and Dan. a lower bunk all to himself. Bill has a good mattress and half a dozen quilts and we undress and go to bed like folks. I found much more of an eatable nature than I expected in my box. We are clearing out cakes, pies and apples, and are surveying one of those big onions to find the most available point of attack.

Bill Ramsdell won out in his court martial, was acquitted, released from arrest, and returned to the company for duty yesterday. I find Bill has a very bitter feeling against Captain Gordon and attributes most of his troubles to him. The captain warmly congratulated Bill and told him he had done everything he could to secure his acquittal. But Bill grimly says he knows better.

Last night was a night of excitement over attempts of prisoners to escape. Three or four different parties had their plans all laid. One squad had made arrangements with a sentry to let five men pass beyond his beat, paying him a handsome sum in greenbacks; but no sooner did he get their money than he betrayed them to the provost marshal. The consequence was that a squad of cavalrymen was lying in wait and two of the adventurers were severely wounded. The sympathies of our boys are all with the Rebs and against the fellow who was mean enough to take their money and then give them away. Two other parties had tunnels completed from their tents to a point outside the fence, but their schemes miscarried. I was down at my tent, eating my supper, when the “long roll” beat at the guard house, and I never knew before that there were so many logs and mud holes on Point Lookout as I tumbled over and into in my haste to answer the call.

_Monday Evening._

More improvements! I wish you could see our stove. It is the biggest box stove ever made, I guess. It is not exactly _in_ our tent, but one end is. If the whole apparatus was there wouldn’t be room for anything else. It is a government stove. We discovered a nest of about fifty, and one dark night not long ago the Second confiscated the whole lot. I hear they are coming around tomorrow to pick them up, in which event we have done a good deal of heavy lugging for nothing.

Col. Bailey has been living in one of the houses “down town,” but today his tent is being fixed up for his reception. I do not know whether he is going to move his wife up to camp or not.

Being off duty today I went oystering. Got lots of them, and cut my fingers all to pieces shucking them.

Two volunteer recruits for our company came down on the boat tonight. They are a decided novelty—living proofs that there are a few left who do not wait to be drafted.

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_CXVII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _November 8, 1863_.

There is more trouble for our last batch of second lieutenants. When commissioned, their names were dropped from the rolls of enlisted men; but when it came to being mustered, it could not be done, the regiment not having men enough. They are not on the rolls of enlisted men, and cannot be mustered as officers, so they are wondering where they are and how they are going to get any pay for the past four months. It is a serious problem for some of them who have spent considerable sums on officers’ outfits.

My big stove, “The Swamp Angel,” has been taken away, and I don’t know as I am very sorry, it was such an infernally clumsy contrivance. We had the fun of stealing it, anyway. Captain Gordon says he has made arrangements for a little sheet-iron stove for each tent, which will be much better.

Our two new recruits from Manchester have both been placed in my tent. One, named Messenger, was in the Sixteenth Regiment. I do not remember the name of the other. [Jason Sherwood, a Seventeenth man, who served in Company F and re-enlisted shortly after his discharge.]

A couple of steamers were in collision, out on the bay, Friday night. One, the “Curfew,” was sunk, and the other, the “Louisiana,” was towed in here the next day by a gunboat. One of them, it is stated, has been engaged in the hunt for the “Alabama.”

Last Wednesday was state election day in Maryland, and several wagons rigged out with flags and banners, and loaded with citizens and unarmed soldiers, went up to St. Mary’s. It reminded me of some of my old election rackets in New Hampshire.

The wild geese are beginning to come along. One small flock passed over the camp yesterday. Quite a number of shots were fired at them, and one big fellow came down. The residents here say there will be big rafts of them on the river this winter.

A schooner has just gone ashore near camp, in trying to get around the point. Our guard details are so arranged now that we are on duty only every fourth day. If this continues, we will have an easy time this winter.

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_CXVIII_

POINT LOOKOUT, MD., _November 14, 1863_.

The Fifth Regiment has just landed and gone into camp. They came down from Washington yesterday afternoon, but did not land until this morning. There are 750, mostly substitutes, and I hear they have not come to help us on guard duty, but to be drilled preparatory to going to the front. We have the cutest little sheet-iron stove that ever was, set up and in running order.

_Monday Afternoon._