[drawing of pointing hand]     Camp near Belle Plains Va                            

January 25/63

 

            Dear Wife—As you will perceive by this heading, we are back in our old camp, whence we have started on two warlike expeditions, and returned without having accomplished much for our country. Our last trip, would no doubt have been successful, had it been made but 3 or 4 days before, But unfortunately we were caught in the storm of last Wednesday, and could get no further than some 15 miles from our old camp, and for some time, it was exceedingly doubtful whether we would reach here again. The experiment of a winter campaign has been fully tried, and has signally failed. I had heard of mud, and how the Army of the Potomac suffered during last winter from that source. But I must say, had no true conception of the effect of a storm upon this "sacred soil of Virginia". As we marched the very day after I wrote you last I will endeavor to give you a full account of our sufferings and privations. I only wish I could do full justice to some of the scenes, for even in the midst of our troubles, we had much to occur that was laughable. We struck our tents on Tuesday morning about 10 o'clock and were marched about a mile from camp, and halted on our parade ground. Here we were formed in Divisions. (I had command of the 5^th) and the address of Gen. Burnside was read by the Colonel. It spoke of our meeting the enemy once more, and of the glory of the victory we were to win and the applause of the country &c. &c. The Col. then added a few remarks, expressive of his confidence in the entire Regiment, and a few hearty cheers having been given off we tramped. We passed through a part of the country that had evidently not been before visited by any part of our own, or the Rebel Army, as the fences were generally good, and the farm buildings were of a fair average character. We were marched fast and made but two halts before camping for the night in a woods back about one mile from the Rappahannock. We here stretched ourselves (I mean myself & the 2 Lieuts.) under a hastily made pine shelter, and prepared for sleep. It had clouded over during the day, and the weather being very chilly, we anticipated snow. One of our surgeons, whom we found sitting on a pine stump, intending to pass the night in that manner as he could find no other accommodation, turned in with us by invitation, and we fondly hoped for a good night's rest. Alas! it soon commenced to pour rain, but I kept quiet under my gum blanket and slept quite soundly until about 1 o'clock in the morning when I was awakened by a very cold feeling in my sitting part, and down my legs, and found a stream of water had found its way down under my blankets and had saturated them, and was running a respectable volume down my back and legs, and was fast filling my boots. when I arose disgusted, and upon making observation discovered Lieut. Logo sitting by the fire the picture of despair, wet through and through and much vexed to see that I could sleep, though lying in a running stream. Lieut Saylor had cleared out some time before and bunked in a shelter tent with 3 of the men. As soon as I dug out and had shaken myself / the Doctor crawled out, and as his part of the tent or shelter, had been higher near his heels than his head, he had escaped tolerably well. We next made a roaring fire and seating ourselves on some logs we dozed and talked away until morning. As soon as daylight appeared and we caught sight of the roads, we knew we were caught. The rain had taken out all the frost and, wagons coming along, we soon saw the depth of Virginia mud. The rain continued and we learned by 9 o'clock that we were not to march that day (Wednesday) so all we had to do was to keep up our fires and watch the wagon trains and artillery endeavoring to get somewhere where there was no danger of being swallowed up in the mire. A wagon has either 4 or 6 horses or mules in ordinary times. We here saw 10 and sometimes 12 animals to one wagon, and they could scarcely pull through. A 10 pound gun is generally drawn by 4 or 6 horses, and a caisson the same. We here saw 20-28 and in cases 32 horses to one gun, and even then, they could scarcely be moved. The day passed in this manner, and having created a somewhat better shelter, we spent another night in better condition. The next morning we learned that the roads had become completely blocked up with stalled wagon teams, artillery, and pontoon trains, and that no other Division than our own had been able to move, so we had to spend another day in the rain. Thursday we passed without much excitement. We were assured by General Pratt that if it was possible we would be marched that day, and it soon became the gossip that the Army would go back to its old quarters, and the forward movement must be postponed until the mud dried up. This depressed us considerably. So we passed Thursday night. On Friday morning we recd orders to march at 7 A.M. and punctually we started, not without dread of the 15 miles through the mud. Fortunately the rain had ceased, but the mud! In we dashed, and before we had gone a mile our men were scattered like a drove of sheep, each for himself. We officers had enough to do to take care of ourselves and let the men march as they pleased. The roads were one mass of horses, mules, wagons, pontoons, guns caissons and men, and it certainly had the appearance of a vast army on a retreat, so much was every thing confused. Before many miles were passed over the men began to drop out exhausted, and disheartened. The weight of their knapsacks and pieces, and ammunition (each man having 60 rounds) proved too much for many. On the way we passed an ambulance train filled with the sick. In one of them had been an invalid who was compelled to leave it while going up a hill, the horses having given out. The poor soldier was so completely disheartened, and powerless to move, that he drew a pistol from his pocket and shot himself dead on the spot. 'Tis a very sad case, but I do not much wonder, as even the strongest of us, were scarcely able to drag along. We managed to crawl along in some kind of way until we reached Falmouth Station on the Acquia Creek Rail Road. Here the General halted us, and furnished the brigade with pork, crackers and whiskey all around. It did us much good, and we started on the march again having about 4 miles of the worst part of the road to go over before night. We got along pretty well for about 2 miles, splashing through mud and filth, no one picking his way, for we had ceased to / try that. We here came to a grain field, clay bottom, at least I suppose so, for we found clay as far down as we went and that was some few feet. It was flanked by the road, and a bog, and was some 300 feet across. You have heard of mud Addie, and I have seen it and marched through it, but Heaven forbid that I shall ever go through such a field again. We went down, down, until the mud run in over our boot tops, and the darned stuff withall, was just like putty. When we were half way through, a cry of distress arose from Captain Warner. He was fast, and was sinking further at every flounder he made. At this time, no officer could rally more than 4 or 5 men around him so badly were they scattered. Two of Warner's men went to his assistance, and I am sure you would have laughed could you have seen him getting pulled out. One in front of him, holding a musket out to him, and another behind, with his musket between the Captain's legs prying him out. I wish I could sketch the scene. A short distance ahead was Lieut Dykes of Company A, being pulled out in the same way. A little further ahead was Lieut Baroux of D stuck, Lieut Logo went to his assistance, and they stuck fast together and both had to be helped out. One of the drummer boys fell down and was nearly suffocated before we could extricate him. But at last we passed the cursed slough and about 5 o'clock reached our camp again thoroughly worn out and despondent. We found our nice mud houses had been all broken to pieces by soldiers passing along, and teamsters, who had been using them in our absence. So we have to go to work and build new ones. And so ended our glorious attempt to outflank the Rebs. Had it continued fair we would have succeeded, for all had been kept so quiet that even our own Generals did not know where we were going to. Had we crossed the river we would have had some of the severest fighting that had ever been known, for every man would have done his duty, and we would either have whipped the Rebs terribly, or been cut to pieces ourselves. Our men had wrought themselves up to the fighting point, and we knew that should we be defeated over there, it was almost certain death to us. But it may be all for the best. I expected to see half of the Regiment down with Rheumatism, but they stand the exposure better than I anticipated. In fact, not one of my men have been made sick in consequence of the march. What we will do now we know not, but we hope the roads will soon be fit for another movement. In the meantime we must rest. I have not yet recd the box, but we expect some tomorrow. Many many thanks for your kindness in sending it. Such thoughtfulness does us good.

 

                        I hope you and the little ones are well. I wish I could see you all for a few minutes only, if I could not get any longer furlough. I hope to get one some of these days, for being a good boy—The Colonel now seems to think a good deal of us, and I only trust we will be able to please him better, for he has a pretty faithful set in our Company.

 

                        The best news I have for you is, that we expect the paymaster tomorrow Monday. I hope we will not be disappointed but he is here for certain with $425,000 for our brigade— 

 

I think with that good news I will close. Give my love to all. Cannot Henry or Williams come down and see us? We would be tickled to death if either of them would. Several citizens have been down, and I am sure 2 or 3 days would be passed quite agreeably by them. Do make one of them come and bring Roly—Judge Kelley would give them a pass. Kiss little ones for me over and over—and remember me to all inquiring friends, and hoping to hear from you soon

believe me to be as ever

 

Yours devotedly

Andy

 

Jan 25/63                     

 

            [drawing of tent supported over logs]

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