The following day brought a confirmation of the rumors which for some time had been rife among us. The Ninth Corps was ordered to Annapolis, Md., and we were to commence our eastward journey on the morrow. We could hardly credit the good news, and joy beamed in every countenance. Had it been possible for us to forecast the future our joy would have been considerably lessened.
March 17th the reveillé was sounded at four o'clock, and we marched at six. It was a morning without clouds, and we were all in excellent spirits. The Thirty-sixth Massachusetts led the brigade; and as we left our old camp the brigade band, which was with us, struck up a lively air, and we were as happy almost as if we were marching homeward. That night we encamped at Newmarket,—a march of twenty miles.
The next morning the reveillé was sounded at half-past four, and we marched at half-past six. Our brigade was still in advance. We crossed the Holston, at Strawberry Plains, on a pontoon. At half-past four we pitched our tents seven miles from Knoxville, having marched nineteen miles.
Early the next morning we resumed our march, and about half-past ten in the forenoon, having passed through Knoxville, we encamped near Fort Sanders. That day and the next we remained at Knoxville. We now learned that we were to march over the mountains into Kentucky, leaving the sick and the shoeless to be transported by cars. An inspection of the regiment was accordingly ordered, and the names of the men whose shoes were in such condition as not to allow them to make so long a journey were placed in the list of those for whom transportation was to be furnished. The rest—about two hundred officers and men—were the toughened remnant of the one thousand who left Massachusetts a year and a half before. All were animated with high hopes, and the rough road before us was one which, even at that inclement season of the year, we were exceedingly eager to travel.
The next morning, March 21st, we took our last look of scenes with which we had become so familiar since November 17th, and commenced our long march. The Thirty-sixth Massachusetts led the corps. We advanced eighteen miles, and encamped at Clinton.
The next day, in a snow-storm, we were ferried across the Clinch river in scows. Then, in a raw wind and over icy roads, we marched seventeen miles, and encamped about four miles from Jacksboro'. Some of us remembered that it was just a year before that we left Newport News. The next morning, March 23d, we marched through Jacksboro', and soon after commenced to ascend the mountains back of the town. It was a beautiful sight, as the long line of troops moved up the zigzag road, with muskets glittering in the bright sunlight. We marched that day thirteen miles. March 24th we advanced eighteen miles. The road led us up and down mountains without number. The next morning snow covered the ground. We marched at half-past six. About eleven o'clock we reached the Kentucky line. Rain set in early, but we pushed on and advanced eighteen miles. A rainy night was followed by snow on the morning of March 26th. During the forenoon the clouds broke and we had fair weather. At noon we met a wagon-train, loaded with rations which had been sent out to us from Camp Burnside. That day we marched nineteen miles. The next morning, at half-past six, we were again on the road, and about ten o'clock we reached Camp Burnside. From Jacksboro' to this place our march had led us through an almost unbroken wilderness, and over the worst of roads, and through brooks and streams without number. Leaving Camp Burnside we crossed the Cumberland river about noon, and encamped that night about a mile beyond Somerset, having marched sixteen miles. March 28th we advanced eighteen miles, and encamped at Waynesborough. The next day, a little past noon, we encamped at Hall's Gap, three miles south of Stanford. Snow fell during the night. March 30th we passed through Lancaster at noon, and at night we pitched our tents not far from Camp Dick Robinson, having advanced eighteen miles. The next morning we marched at the usual hour, passed Camp Nelson about eleven o'clock, and encamped three miles beyond. The Second Brigade of our division took cars at Nicholasville in the afternoon. In the morning, April 1st, we marched to Nicholasville in a pouring rain. Cars arrived about eleven o'clock, and we embarked at once. There were delays on the road, so that we did not arrive at Covington until about midnight. It was a cold, cheerless ride.
The next morning, April 2d, we marched to the barracks, where we remained until the following day. Transportation having at length been provided, we marched to the depot in Cincinnati, where we took the train about eleven A.M. We reached Columbus, O., about eleven P.M. There we were notified that a lunch had been provided for the regiment; but it proved to be a mean affair. At Steubenville, O., which we reached about noon, April 4th, we found a large crowd of ladies at the depot, with baskets of bread, cakes, and pies. There we remained about an hour and a half. Resuming our journey, we reached Pittsburgh, Penn., at midnight. Leaving the cars, we marched to the City Hall, where a bountiful collation had been prepared. The men had all they wanted, and that, too, of the best. At three A.M. we were again on the cars. We crossed the mountains in a snow-storm. Altoona was reached about eleven o'clock. At nine o'clock A.M., April 6th, we were in Baltimore. The regiment marched to the rooms of the relief committee and had breakfast. We remained in the city until late in the afternoon, and reached Annapolis, Md., about midnight. Our orders were to remain in the cars until morning, when we went into camp just outside of the town. The Forty-fifth Pennsylvania, which had rejoined the corps, its furlough having expired, furnished the Thirty-sixth with coffee on our arrival at the camp,—one of many instances of friendly regard manifested toward us during the war by our old companions in arms.
And so closed, not only our long journey, but a memorable chapter in our history. What the future had in store for us we little imagined.