That country is all historic ground. Those white boards on the right, “covering many a rood,” marked the last resting-places of the thousands of unknown heroes who sealed their patriotism with their blood in the battle of South Mountain; and all along the stone fences and among the trees on the left, the frequent bullet-marks tell how hot the conflict raged a year ago; for every foot of land for twenty miles around has been a battle-ground for the contending forces.
About sun-down we arrived at Frederick City, a bustling little place, full of soldiers, and with a large sprinkling of the fair sex, who, contrary to the experience of last year, loyally applauded the passing troops. Many would class it as a “one-horse town,” but to us it appeared a little paradise. It was a place where you could buy things, and although our predecessors turned up their aristocratic noses at the food there procurable, our only grievance was that we could not get any of it. Expecting to start directly for home, the division, without halting, continued its march through the city to within a quarter of a mile of the railroad depôt, which, for some unknown reason, is situated about three miles from the city, but, as usual, we were doomed to disappointment; whether the cars were ready or not, I cannot say; but, after a long consultation among the officers, it was settled that we could go no further, and at about eight o’clock we went into camp; having completed a march of over twenty-five miles since breakfast, with little or no straggling. This, we consider, is doing pretty well for militia.
The next day we “loafed,” resting under the trees and devouring the stock in trade of the sutlers who had come down to see us, restlessly waiting all day under orders to be ready to start at a moment’s notice.
At about six P. M., the Thirty-seventh and Eleventh struck camp and marched off for the cars, amid the cheering of the whole division; but no orders came for us, and after waiting till half-past nine P. M., we went to sleep. At exactly eleven o’clock an orderly dashed up: “The regiment was to take the cars forthwith.” The word passed from mouth to mouth like lightning, and in less than no time the men were awakened, formed, and marching off “for home.”
We had to go precisely a quarter of a mile and get into the cars which had been standing all day on the track; and how long can any outsider, unacquainted with military manœuvres, imagine it took to get us on board? Not an hour, nor half an hour, but five hours and a half, by the watch, elapsed from the time we started till we got into those cars; and as it was raining in torrents all the while, it is not difficult to imagine the benedictions that were freely bestowed on every one supposed to be concerned in the matter. When we had gone about a hundred yards from camp the order came to “halt.” After a little time we were told to “rest.” Seeing no signs of a movement, and a heavy rain having come up, the boys unrolled their rubber blankets, and the cooler hands wrapped themselves up and lay down to sleep in the middle of the road, while the others took it out in swearing. In about an hour “Fall in!” was heard. We woke up, shook ourselves, and marched another hundred yards, where the same scene was repeated. Marching off the third time, we turned away from the main road and struck along the field to the depot, thinking we were off this time, sure. Vain thought! When we got on the bank, overlooking the railroad track, not a car was to be seen, and there we stood in the midst of a drenching rain, on a slippery clay slope where it was impossible to sit down, tired and sleepy as men could well be, for nearly two hours before the cars, after a little eternity of backing and switching, were pronounced ready for us. The moment the cars were reached every one threw himself on the floor, and, in spite of wet clothes, dirty floors, and leaky roofs, knew nothing more till daylight dawned on us entering Baltimore.
With the mention of the word Baltimore, the word breakfast is intimately associated in our minds.
Oh! that first good civilized breakfast, with forks and chairs, and the other appliances of civilized life—the pen fails in the endeavor to do justice to that repast!
Yet in spite of the threats that were made of the quantities that would be eaten; and although it was near one o’clock before we sat down, we were disgusted to find our systems so disorganized by a habit of taking breakfast late in the afternoon, and omitting the other meals altogether, that half the things that were ordered could not be disposed of; in fact, it was at least three days after our return to the bosom of our families, before we could manage three regular meals a day, without feeling uncomfortable; but this sensation soon wore off, and when it did, ample amends were made by all, for past abstinence.
From Baltimore to New York was a short and uneventful journey, and on the 18th day of July we found ourselves swinging up Broadway, glad to be home once more, but sorry enough to think that we were denied the pleasure of a shot at the rioters in general, and our worthy ex-mayor in particular. And although a long and aggravating tour of duty at home was still before us, here ended our eventful campaign.
It has been a favorite argument against the militia organizations, to decry them as Broadway troops, good for playing soldier, but who would be found wanting if subjected to the stern realities of a soldier’s life. This test has now been made, and the New York militia can proudly point to their record.