EVERYTHING seems to be going wrong today. The wind has been blowing a perfect hurricane; last night it rained hard; just now there is a good prospect of our having to leave the snug huts we have built and go somewhere—the Lord only knows where. Marston has been appointed Brigadier-General, and the story persists that he has had this regiment detached for special duty at Washington and that the order is now at headquarters.
Bill Ramsdell’s “furlough” appears to be still in good working order. There are doubtless some details under the surface that we don’t know, but I’ll bet on Bill. So will all the old boys. He was not the type of patriot who couldn’t serve his country unless he was ornamented with shoulder straps, and there is a quite general sentiment that smaller men than he is have refused him a square deal.
There was a terrible catastrophy in my tent last night. Over our bunk was a shelf loaded with a miscellaneous assortment of a little of everything—letters, papers, portfolio, a dish of cooked rice and a can of molasses. All of a sudden, Lawrence, in performing some of his antics, sent the shelf flying, and such a mess! The molasses seemed to have a chemical affinity for everything there was in that tent, and it is unnecessary to say it was a total loss.
Perk. Lane, Rod. Manning and the other boys who went into the cavalry are visiting in camp. Their regiment is near here. Hen. Pillsbury and Joe Hubbard are here and well. Joe is captain of Company B. He is one of the best fellows and most popular officers in the regiment.
LXXXV
Camp near Falmouth, Va.,
January 24, 1863.
SINCE last Tuesday we have been paddling around in the rain and mud to our heart’s content—and a good deal more. The short of the story is that Gen. Burnside intended to cross the Rappahannock a few miles above here and attack the enemy, but owing to continuous rains the roads became impassable and the army was obliged to wallow back to its old position and wait for better conditions. Our division left camp Tuesday noon, in a pouring rain, and accomplished about a mile and a half, under difficulties. Then we waited until about nine o’clock at night, when we were ordered back to our camps. Wednesday we tried it again and managed to get about six miles. The mud was simply awful, and it was almost an utter impossibility to move the wagons and artillery at all. The Manchester battery was striddled along the road, a gun here and a caisson there, over a stretch of three miles. And that was the way everything on wheels was hung up. General Burnside had issued an address to the army, saying they were soon to meet the enemy and enjoining them to display their old-time bravery. But God willed that the battle should not take place just at present, and with the elements at command He prevented it. Yesterday the division made its way back to the old camps. Lawrence and I rehabilitated our old shanty and are now as comfortable and cozy as you please.