The morning of the 27th, a detachment of cavalry was sent out to the “wilderness” to recapture some of our wounded who had been for several days in the hands of the rebels. Before night they returned with forty of those poor half-starved men, whom I assisted in feeding after they were taken on board the steamer “George Weems.” About nine o’clock that evening I went aboard the same boat. It was filled to its utmost capacity with the wounded, nurses, agents, officers and refugees. Next morning—as we had not left Fredericksburg—while waiting for the tide to come in, I went ashore and returned to our old quarters, nearly a mile and a half distant. Mrs. Mayhew and Mrs. Samson of Maine accompanied me. Having found the forgotten articles, which I was in search of, we retraced our steps; but, supposing we had plenty of time, we strolled leisurely along, gathering flowers, and stopping a moment to gaze upon the lonely, deserted hospitals that we passed, in which so many distressing sights had been witnessed, and so much suffering experienced.
On our way, several “Secesh” women greeted us with, “Good-by, Yanks; glad you’re going—reckon you won’t get back here again.” We most heartily responded to their expressions of joy. If they were rejoiced to have us go, we were no less so to leave. When within a few rods of the landing, the whistle blew, the plank was taken in, the water-wheel began to revolve, and the boat to shove out from the shore. If we never before knew the meaning of the phrase “double quick,” I think we then learned it; while the thought of being left in rebeldom every moment accelerated our speed. Hands extended to aid us were eagerly grasped, and with a desperate leap, as for life, we jumped on board. Had we been left, no alternative would have remained to us, except that of marching the overland route with the troops, the last of whom were then slowly filing out of town; for this was the last boat of any description that left Fredericksburg, and all communication with the place that day ceased. At ten o’clock we bade farewell to the “bloody city” with its hundreds of sleeping braves. But we could not forget the sad experiences of the previous two weeks.
The weariness, the fatigue, the oppressive heat, the care and anxiety, the sick, the wounded, the dying, the dead; the long trains of ambulances freighted with human suffering, the bloody scenes, the torn and mangled bodies, the newly-made graves, were all fresh in mind, and, being securely locked in the halls of memory, can never be forgotten.
CHAPTER XV.
PORT ROYAL—FROM PORT ROYAL TO WHITE HOUSE—ARRIVAL OF AGENTS WITH SUPPLIES—BATTLE OF COAL HARBOR—SICK AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS—MAJOR LEWIS—A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER—EVACUATION OF WHITE HOUSE—A SAD ACCIDENT—THE DELAY—LAND AT CITY POINT—ARRIVAL OF MR. HOWARD WITH SUPPLIES—A CALL FROM GENERAL GRANT.
After considerable delay, and entertaining many fears lest we should be attacked by guerrillas who were occasionally seen along the shore—until we were joined by a gunboat, under the protection of which we felt secure—we arrived at Port Royal Sunday morning at eight o’clock. Here we left the “George Weems,” which was en route for Washington, and went on board the exchange. While lying at anchor, services were held by the chaplain of the Sixth Wisconsin volunteers. His sermon—from the words, “The Lord is my shepherd”—was full of comfort. Those present upon that occasion will, I am sure, ever love to refer to it as one of the bright spots in their army life. Before arriving at Port Royal a touching incident occurred. A rebel soldier was dying, and, in great distress of mind, he asked to be prayed for. We gathered around his bed—a few professing Christians—and tried to point him to the “Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world.” Precious words of promise were read from the New Testament and prayer offered in his behalf, after which he seemed more composed, but he sank rapidly—as a wound in his neck had broken out afresh and was bleeding profusely—and died, as we hope, trusting in Jesus. Late in the afternoon, learning from Dr. St. Clair, master of transportation, that another boat would leave the next day having better accommodations, I went ashore and put up for the night with a rebel family, which at that time consisted of an elderly lady and a little girl. I learned from the old lady that her husband was dead, and that her two sons were in the rebel army. Her servants had all deserted her. She appeared lonely and disconsolate, not having even the hope of victory to cheer her.
Her house was an old-fashioned vine-clad cottage; the kitchen, with its huge fire-place and massive iron kettles, where the servants had formerly done the work, being separated from the main building, as is customary in the South. A large garden near by was filled with vegetables and flowers and interspersed with shade-trees and shrubbery, the whole being surrounded with a fine boxwood hedge. In one part of the house were the head-quarters of Dr. Snow, of the Ninth Corps. Being detained here, contrary to expectation, until Monday evening, I endeavored to make myself useful by assisting about the cooking for the doctor and “mess.” We got up quite a sumptuous dinner, consisting not only of pork, “hard tack” and coffee, as usual, but, in addition, “flour gravy,” stewed goose, berries, and “hoe-cake.” Our Port Royal dinner will certainly not soon be forgotten by those who partook, for it was a right royal one.
Shortly after sundown we took leave of our kind hostess and went on board the steamer “Ocean Wave,” bound for White House Landing, which place had been decided upon as the “new base.” We anchor and await the tide next morning, when we find ourselves sailing down the Rappahannock. It is afternoon when we enter the Chesapeake bay, ninety miles from Port Royal. The day was extremely warm, but a fine breeze blowing from the bay renders the heat quite endurable. The scenery, portions of the way, was fine. I enjoyed the passage very much, especially as it afforded a good opportunity for rest and preparation for another hard campaign.
About seven in the evening we ran upon a sand-bar and anchored for the night. The next morning we entered the York river, and at five P. M. the Pamunkey.
The waters of this river, unlike those of the York, are dark and muddy, its banks low and marshy; besides, the river is very crooked and the channel narrow; consequently, it was not at all surprising that we ran aground again soon after dark, where we were obliged to remain until the tide came in the next morning. Point Lookout, where we had an extensive hospital, had been passed, also Yorktown—a place of great historical interest, rendered so, not only during our late war, but the Revolutionary also. Here Lord Cornwallis surrendered his sword to General George Washington. Here also, nearly a century later, McClellan’s mighty army encamped for weeks, besieging the fortifications of the rebels, which they finally evacuated in safety, while his own brave men died by hundreds and thousands, of disease contracted in the pestilential swamps of the Chickahominy.