Quite an exciting scene occurred one afternoon, occasioned by one of the many rumors constantly afloat in the army. All was usually quiet, no apprehension of immediate danger or sign of “a move,” when suddenly we were startled by an order for the regiment to be ready to move at a moment’s notice, as it was reported that the rebels had crossed the Rapidan, driven in our pickets, and were already engaged with the cavalry. Presently the order to “advance” is received. Then comes the hasty preparations; well-filled cartridge-boxes are buckled on, muskets shouldered, and the order, “fall in,” quietly obeyed. Very soon they are all drawn up in line of battle on the ridge of a high hill in front of our camp; batteries are placed in position, and everything in readiness to give the “chivalry” a cordial greeting. Things really looked like a fight; but before sundown all were quietly withdrawn and returned to their old quarters without even getting a sight of a rebel. As they came filing into camp, some felt provoked, and all disappointed, for they had hoped to have a “brush”—as they called it—with the enemy. To use their own words, they were “spoiling for a fight.” The inactivity of camp life while in winter quarters was one prolific source of demoralization in the army. The true cause of the alarm was soon ascertained. A few rebels did cross the river and drive in some of our pickets, but they were soon driven back and compelled to re-cross. For a few days this furnished the topic of conversation, and then something new came up; and when nothing new happened, the “boys” would improvise something.
Toward the last of March I expected Mrs. Thompson, formerly of Ionia, Michigan, to make me a visit and bring a new supply of hospital stores. But I looked in vain. The goods at length came, but she was not with them, as she could not obtain a pass. I was so greatly disappointed that for a while time seemed to pass more slowly; my evenings were unusually lonely. The evening tattoo and morning reveille, and the warriors’ calls of the drum, to which I had ever listened with pleasure, now seemed only to mock my loneliness. I tried to be reconciled, but never could fully. I was obliged to adopt the language of the old adage, “What can’t be cured must be endured.” Toward the middle of April I began to feel somewhat anxious to return to Washington, as all non-combatants were ordered to leave the army. General Grant had arrived and taken command in person, and the work of re-organizing commenced. The sick were being sent away as fast as possible, and everything indicated a speedy move. However, I remained until I had disposed of the new supply of goods.
The review of the Second Corps on the 22d of April, by General Grant, was a grand sight. It was estimated that there were fifty thousand troops on review that day. Then, in addition to these, were the almost endless lines of ambulances and army wagons, all having been repaired and newly painted; everything was in readiness for the opening campaign. To one unaccustomed to seeing large armies, it would seem that this corps alone was sufficient to meet and successfully resist whatever force could be brought to oppose it; and yet what a small part of the vast army of the Union, and only about one-third of the Grand Army of the Potomac!
Many of our sick I afterward found scattered through various hospitals in different cities. Among these, there were three of the Twenty-sixth, for whom I had felt the deepest interest and solicitude, who died after arriving in Washington, viz., Sergeant Rooks, privates Van Decar and Miller. Each left a family to mourn departed hopes.
The morning of the 23d, I bade “good-by” to the few sick left in the hospital and returned to Washington. The day was warm and pleasant; yet my heart was sad, for it took no great stretch of the imagination to look forward into the midst of the terrible conflict about to begin, and to see many of the brave and the noble fall; to see the wounded and slain by thousands, scattered far and near, with the advancing and retreating armies marching and counter-marching over their mangled bodies, the bones of multitudes being left to bleach upon the plain and the earth made red with human gore. Then the thought of the bitter grief and unavailing tear which would so soon succeed the long suspense and anxious fears which filled every home, if not every heart, in our land, left little room for other than sad reflections. But every picture, however dark, has its bright side, and so had this fearful one. The hope of victory illumined its dark background. It was this that buckled on the armor and nerved every heart for the contest.
CHAPTER XIII.
HOSPITAL WORK IN WASHINGTON AND ALEXANDRIA—NEW ARRIVALS OF THE SICK—NINTH CORPS—BATTLES OF THE WILDERNESS—THE WOUNDED ARRIVE—EN ROUTE FOR FREDERICKSBURG—FIRST NIGHT IN THE “BLOODY CITY”—OUR QUARTERS—HOSPITAL VISITS AND HOSPITAL WORK—DISTRIBUTING SUPPLIES—DISTRESSING SIGHTS—SAD INCIDENTS.
I arrived in Washington without accident this time, though the rebels had become very bold, making frequent raids upon the road, tearing up the track, capturing the guard, and doing all sorts of mischief. Immediately upon arriving in Washington, I expected to start for Michigan on a short visit; but, as the army was on the eve of a move, I yielded to the urgent request of the officers of our Association, to remain until the close of the opening campaign, and resumed my work of visiting hospitals, in connection with Mrs. Brainard, who had returned from her visit home three months before. We found plenty to do, as our hospitals were being filled with the sick daily arriving from the army. Many were left from the Ninth Corps, which passed through the city on the 25th instant, on their way to rejoin the Army of the Potomac, having been recalled from the Western department, where they were sent one year before. The corps, at this time, numbered about thirty thousand. They were over three hours in passing a given point. Poor fellows, how worn and weary they looked! There was the Eighth Michigan, to which a dear brother once belonged. How eagerly I watched for Company K! But, oh! a tall, manly form was missing. No familiar face met my eye, no well-known voice greeted me; but while his comrades were marching on to victory and to death, he lay calmly sleeping a few miles distant. No more fatiguing marches, no more sleepless nights, no more suffering, no more hunger or thirst or weariness for thee, brother; thy last march is ended, the last battle fought, and the victory won. Sleep peacefully, brother, until the archangel’s trumpet shall bid thee arise.
The 26th of the month I went to Alexandria, and remained three days, visiting and distributing to the sick and wounded in those hospitals. While there, I had the pleasure of seeing, for the first time, General Burnside—that noble, generous officer, who always did the best he could, if not always the most successful. He was then, and still is, loved for his honesty of heart and integrity of purpose.
Two days more, which were spent in Washington—one in visiting hospitals, the other in packing goods to take to the front and attending to home duties—brings me down to the first of May.