Fortunately, an immense empty barn was at hand, into which the regiment wedged themselves, like sardines in a box, so tight, in fact, that those unfortunates who happened to find themselves under a leak in the roof—and there were many such—had to remain quiet under their douche, and take it coolly for the whole night. The Eleventh and one or two other regiments, being without either barn or tents, were obliged to sleep in the woods all night without any protection whatever, and were consequently regarded as suffering martyrs by all the rest of us, who wondered how they could possibly have lived through it.
Little did those think who shuddered when they talked about sleeping in the rain without cover, that in a very short time they would be doing that very thing themselves, and come to regard it as a mere matter of course, inconvenient to be sure, but so commonplace as to be hardly worth mentioning.
The next morning, having pitched our tents, we entered upon the usual routine of camp life, humdrum to the last extent. Hot as an oven, stupid and monotonous as a prison, the first few days passed quietly enough. It is true that the roofs and spires of the capital of Pennsylvania, which we had come to defend, were in plain sight, but a very few visits there, combined with the chilling reception we received in passing through it, put an effectual quietus on our hopes of the good time that was coming. Little bills, and big stories of little bills, for necessary purchases; fifteen cents for a cup of (rye) coffee, and other things in proportion, the general indifference of the inhabitants as to which side won in the contest which was impending, and the other annoyances which have been so fully ventilated in the New York newspapers, in a very short time destroyed the clamor for passes, and rendered useless the complicated system of signatures which had been devised to prevent the expected rush for those documents.
By-and-by we were regaled by perusing in the New York papers the most astounding accounts of the dangers of our position, and of the uprising of Pennsylvania; unquestionably it was all true, but we hadn’t seen anything of the kind yet. Still, while laughing over much that we read, we could not help noticing, that as time wore on, a stream of skedaddlers, small at first, but rapidly increasing, was sweeping by the camp; and in a short time crowds of able-bodied natives, driving their flocks and herds, and followed by wagons heaped mountain high with their most precious household goods, blocked up every road leading into the city, and showed that the enemy were rapidly approaching.
Things, however, remained quiet, as far as we were concerned, but it was only the quiet which portends the storm. A night alarm, caused by the guard and pickets firing on spies escaping from the camp under cover of the darkness, more spies, both male and female, in the guard-house, more cattle, more scared natives rushing by as though a second exodus was at hand, soon put us on the alert.
On Saturday, the 27th of June, that portion of the regiment not on picket was hastily marched down the turnpike, and set at work throwing up a line of rifle pits, to cover the road up which the enemy were now rapidly advancing, report said, only four miles off; but as companies C (Capt. Post), and G (Capt. Howland), had been previously sent some five miles down the same road as pickets, and had not yet been driven in, we took these figures with a slight discount. There was no question, however, but that they were near enough, and we dug away for dear life, from eleven A. M. to two P. M. (and the Sixty-ninth may be safely defied to produce a bigger hole than we had finished at that time); and in consideration of these unparalleled exertions, those in authority kindly allowed us to rest our wearied limbs—by chopping down a good-sized forest, which interfered with the range of the artillery.
Now, digging rifle pits in a hot sun is so very much like excavating a sewer, that axe-work was fun itself compared with it, so the boys, dropping their spades for axes, went to work with a vim, Col. Aspinwall himself setting the example, while each company did its best to outdo the others; and soon the big hickories, two and three feet in diameter, were crashing in all directions, shaking the very ground with their fall. This, by-the-by, was the “heavy cannonading at Harrisburg,” which was telegraphed on to the New York papers, where it greeted our wondering eyes in print the next afternoon.
Of course the people of the vicinity lent their experienced arms to assist in obstructing the march of the enemy; the deputation of patriots present, up to seven o’clock P. M., numbering precisely four (and two of these were blacks, but none the worse choppers for that). After that hour, through the earnest solicitations of a guard despatched by Colonel Aspinwall, whose fixed bayonets presented an unanswerable argument, the surrounding male population volunteered (?) their aid and axes towards the completion of the work, while the tired troops sought their tents to sleep.
No alarm broke the stillness of the night, and the regiment assembled the next (Sunday) morning in front of the Colonel’s tent for religious services, feeling rather more disposed to be pious than usual, for none knew what might occur before another day was passed.
Those services never took place. The men were assembled, the prayer-books distributed, the Chaplain had risen and was on the point of announcing his text, when the Colonel dashed up at full gallop, with the order—“Go back to your company ‘streets,’ and strike tents at once!”