A Vermonter in New Kent - 1862 - Part VI

Continuing a series on the Civil War in New Kent with reports to the The Daily Green Mountain Freeman from their correspondent in the Vermont Brigade during the Peninsula campaign of 1862. In this letter our correspondent continues his adoration of "Little Mac," and denounces the "cruelty and barbarity"  . . . of those who he has traveled half the country to kill.

(Language warning)

(Our War Correspondence)

                                 From the Fifth Vermont Regiment

                                                                   Camp at White House Farm, Va,
                                                                                    May 17th, 1862.

Mr. Willard: We have been in this camp since the forenoon of the 14th inst., and troops are concentrating here all the time. Transportation has been greatly impeded by the long rain storm, making the roads almost impassable. I learned yesterday that the roads between this camp and our last one, at Cumberland, are filled with our wagons fast in the mud. But slowly thy keep coming up, and should say that now we have at least sixty thousand men at this camp- all on one level, open field, the east side being skirted by the river with its raking musts and smoking chimneys. Near the northeast comer is the White House, a very respectable, but not costly or fancy residence. Its yard and garden grounds are extensive, unique, and very pleasant, just the place to satiate the extravagant home feelings of the most princely American.

Upon these grounds Little Mac ins pitched his tents, and himself and staff are evidently quite at home in their shade and clover. Though strictly guarded, the premises are constantly surrounded by thousands of anxious soldiers,- anxious for what? Why, more to see their General than this deserted homestead of the arch traitor, for we all love him, and it is a satisfaction that no soldier can express to belong to this army, to share their trials and sufferings with one they so much honor and esteem. Yea, I have told you this before. Nothing can shake our confidence in that man, for it in absolute, like the faith of the Christian mother in her God.

But now, on we go. It is only eight o'clock, and at twelve we march again, -that is, this division, and for aught I know, others. But I think the order is for this division only, us we have all the time been pushed in advance, and shall be until somebody's appointment as a Brigadier General is confirmed; at least, that is what we all think. But no matter; if we are to fight so as to kill two birds with one stone, so much the better. Yet, it may cost us a little more blood to do this "heavy and perilous work."(1) We have a fierce, bitter and desperate foe before us, and from many specimens that I have seen of their rank and file, as also of their officers, and from the further evidence before us of their cruelty and barbarity, it is hard, very hard indeed, to persuade myself that these men were ever amenable to the influences of Christianity. God knows I pity them, and while we fight them as enemies, and day by day become more familiar with their folly, perverseness and crime, our shame for them as countrymen is augmented. But, as I have just told you, we are to proceed on, -onward to Richmond, and should it be my good fortune to live to pass this equator of Rebeldom, I expect to see enough more of treason and its blind adoration to enable me to finish this partial exordium of my hate. 

What is to be the character of our march from this point, cannot be known. Ayers' battery has just gone on gunboats. Our order is to march at noon with two days' rations, but as a remark, apt and spicy, and too good to be lost, amid not contraband, I think, I must inform you that my friend, Maj. Joyce, says "very man is to be put in a runner case and floated up the river." Not bad; we are short of transportation, and the idea, impromptu and original is not much behind Gen. Mitchells cotton bale bridge(2). By the way, this reminds me of an other good thing on a Washington County officer. and when you are short for "copy,' just ask, in a mild but not exactly leading manner, Capt. Randall about his novel mule trade, and he will sell you something rich. I once owned a mule myself, and can in a measure sympathize with the Captain when his transaction, like my own, comes to be a standing joke. Don't be afraid; the Captain is the best natured man in the world, and in self-defence(sic), will give you at least "a plain, unvarnished title." 

For a wonder, we have not seen a wood-tick since we have been in this camp. Yet it is no wonder either, for we are fully a quarter of a mile from timber. But we have the marks of our old friends still about us, in the shape of blotches and sears, and to make a clean breast of it, we are just about as well tick, flea and bug bitten, dirty, ragged and cross as we can he and still be in a condition to make a good fight. Soldiers must have something ail them besides hunger, or they would be of little account. I said hunger, for I can think of nothing else that plagues us more. Yet we have enough to eat, such as it is; at the same time we can't call it nourishment; it is simply subsistence. And just as I feel now, though I am not hungry, and do not expect to die just yet, I would freely give five dollars, if I had it, for the measure of good bread and milk that I could "mow away." That may look a little extravagant in your " price current," but the late sutler tariff has used us soldiers to such extravagance. "Uncle Ira" says, "he saw a nigger this milking milking a cow, and he had a mind to run up and knock him over and take the milk; and there are many soldiers here who would not have showed a good revolution in that way, they would have knocked him over. 

But I am writing more than I intended to, and taking time that I should be giving to preparations for the march, Richmond! Richmond, the great Babel of rebellion, is all we think about. Shall we ever get there? I hope so, and if we do, your correspondent will have something besides a dearth of news for his letters. What a field will then he open for the rivalship of scribblers. Somebody will "spill" in attempts at sensation. Artemas (3) will be there to tell his tale and open his show, exhibiting to the astonished natives "wax works" of their forefathers, and the Dixie mummies of their descendants. And can't Greeley, or some one else, be there to read Othello's tale, of "men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders, the anthropophagi,"(4) and other monsters that picture best his horror and his hate? Certainly we can. Well, well see by-and-by. We may be weeks on the road, -the 2d Vermont has been a year already,- but some of us will get there, or the war will not, as predicted, he speedily closed. 

Yours, &c , See See Ess.

-The Daily Green Mountain Freeman, May 28, 1862

(1) Gen. Ormsby M. Mitchel had recently used a cotton bale pontoon bridge to cross a creek in                  Tennessee.

(2) In April the "Yorktown Correspondent" of the New York Herald Tribune had written,

"When the advance is made whenever that day be -Gen. Wm. F. Smith's division will be first in all heavy and perilous work. No one in the army enjoys the confidence of Gen. McClellan and his generals more than Gen. Smith."

 (3) I assume Artemas Ward, 

"Artemus Ward was a persona dreamed up by 23-year-old New Englander and newspaperman Charles Foster Browne (née Brown—he added the e to affect an English air). Browne started out as a humble typesetter but rose to transatlantic fame thanks to this immensely popular alter ego he created to fill out the pages of the Cleveland Plain Dealer."- American University Magazine, March 2015

 (4) Othello,  (1.3, lines 141-146)

A Vermonter in New Kent - 1862 - Part V

Continuing a series on the Civil War in New Kent with reports to the The Daily Green Mountain Freeman from their correspondent in the Vermont Brigade during the Peninsula campaign of 1862. In this letter our correspondent reads purportedly stolen mail and shows himself to be less than a fan of Honest Abe.

A Vermont Civil War flag on display in Barre, Vermont

(Our War Correspondence.)

From the Fifth Vermont Regiment.

                                                                                            White House Va.,
                                                                                                 May 15, 1862.

Mr. Willard: -It was raining terrible hard yesterday afternoon when I finished my letter at that date, and I told you that there were no indications of its ceasing. It has rained without stint ever since, is coming down now at a good rate, and beat into us by a driving, chilling wind. But I hear no grumbling, though every body looks surly and cross. To prevent sickness from this much exposure, especially colds and ague, the medical staff have just issued to the whole Brigade rations of whisky and quinine, and I have heard of none so temperate as to refuse the dose, and not a few would be glad to have it repeated, that is, it the storm continues. I gave you yesterday a bit of history about our present camp ground, and told you, of course, all I knew, not expecting that I should ever have occasion to write again about these White House people or premises. but I saw a letter to day, that was found about here by some one in the Second Vermont, some of the contents of which are quite interesting and in some senses important.

The letter (without date) was written at Fredericksburg, Va., by Col. W. F. Lee, son of Gen. Lee, to his mother, or "ma," as he terms her, now domiciled at the White House on this place. Alter a pithy and quite sharp rebuke to his wife for neglecting to write him as often as he expected, the Colonel says, (I give you his very words,) "The many reverses we have met with have not discouraged me." He may have told the truth then, but the signs of the times indicate that most of the F.F.V.s are tired and disappointed, if they are not discouraged. "The whole people seem to be panic stricken, and vie with each other in circulating the most improbable reports." If the Northern people were "panic-stricken" and "vieing" in that way, I think that some of our Colonels would feel discouraged.

"I must say that the surrender of Nashville by the Tennesseans caps the climax, and I think that Pillow and Floyd ought to be hung for disgracefully leaving their commands." The young man is no fool, if he is a rebel. Pillow and Floyd had ought to be hung, first by Uncle Sam for stealing and treason, and then by old Jeff for cowardice and treachery. 

He then, after a few remarks about domestic affairs says, I hear it reported that "pa" is to be made Secretary of War. I should n't consent to that, us I do not wish to have him mixed up in polities, but should be glad to see him made Commander-in chief." Ain't he a brick? That '"mixed up in politics" is a splendid idea, for that is just about us bad a mix as most men ever get into. And then his desire to see him Commander-in-chief." There's pride and aspiration for you by the wholesale. I guess the young man ain't badly  discouraged alter all, for his F. F. V. blood seems to circulate freely. "Pa" Commander in chief! Ain't that sublime? "Pa" Gen. Lee, going into Little Mac's bag first and foremost, the bell weather of treason! Keep on aspiring young man, but beware the ides of June.

Before closing his lengthy and quite interesting epistle he advises his mother, as a prudent measure, to take an inventory of the White House property, cattle, horses, sheep, hogs, &c. Now, what does that mean? Putting this and that together, the "inventory" and the "not discouraged" sentiment, and we have quite a puzzle. He certainly must be a very prudent young man, or else be had got on the scent of a big mice. Well, if ever I should meet Col. Lee, I am not sure but that I should be just curious and impudent enough to ask him for an explanation of that puzzle.

Every day we see new evidences of the demoralization of the confederate army. Yesterday, not long after we left Cumberland Landing, a rebel captain, sergeant, and forty men without arms marched into camp and gave them selves up as prisoners of war. What account they gave of themselves or of their army, I have not heard, but expect to do so to-day, but such a desertion is as good an index of the condition of the army as the Barometer is of wind and rain.

You will recollect that just before we left Fairfax County, Gen. McClellan in his address to the army, told us that his movements would seem mysterious to us, and so indeed they are just at this time at any rate. What he intends to do with us now is truly mysterious none of us are able to figure it out. Were we to make a central advance, and reduce their works on the Chickahominy, why make such a halt here?

We do not understand it, but at the same time we have no misgivings about the Generalship of the army. It a flank movement is contemplated, then here is just the place to cross the Pamunkey, and make towards McDowell's column, and why not make such a move? There can certainly be nothing gained by reducing their fortifications on the Chickahominy, when this army can get in position upon their flank much nearer Richmond. With Burnside, on the South, Banks on the West, and McDowell and McClellan on the North of Richmond, there can certainly be no retreat left for them, save this Peninsula, and it is the last place that army will ever fall back upon. McDowell can not come to us or even make an advance near enough to act as a support, but we can go to him, or near enough to allow him to take his forces over the river without danger. But the speculations of a soldier amount to but little. There is a plan, and soon it will be fully carried out.

You have heard, of course, about Old Abe, and our naval forces at Fortress Monroe. What the "special" or official report is I do not know, but the camp story is a little spicy: 

In "ye olden time" Old Abe served his time upon a flat boat, "warping" and pinting"* his craft up and down the Wabash and other Western waters, marketing and peddling lumber and fruit, such as hop poles and pumpkins. In the course of time he became an adept at the business, and could "pint" a craft and cargo equal to the best of the flat boat marines. The rail business offering better inducement for his capital and labor, he soon left the muddy deep, and invested his all in the "stake and rider" business, in which the historian informs us he was very successful, and by dint of a little good management on his part, as also that of his friends, the rail business elevated him to his present exalted position, which he has thus far filled with the most consummate ability. He now visits Fortress Monroe, the great theatre of our naval operation, for the purpose of giving to his distressed country the benefit of his early and finished education upon navigation, and the ebb and flow of tides in our inland waters. Flotillas and squadrons will now be commodored by Old Abe himself, and it would I not be surprising if the first gun boat,  that takes the Stars and Stripe, to the very portals of the rebel metropolis should be "pinted" by Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. He is there, I say it in no jesting spirit, for a special and heroic purpose. Should this war close without a signal exhibition of heroism on the part of the President, there would be some thing wanting in the embellishments of history, and how could he better show his prowess as well as patriotism, than as the officer first in command of those iron clad monsters that have routed treason from its every stronghold Second, I may be foolish, whimsical and extravagant in this idea, but I certainly am candid in the statement, that neither the army or the navy will be in advance of the President when Richmond falls. History demands it to make the name and administration of Lincoln, historic. 

So we go. I commenced this story with all the jest and humor I could command, and wind it up with some of the most serious reflections, if not important considerations, connected with the final overthrow of rebellion. The President in Richmond, he will have an army for his cabinet. May we welcome him there.

               Yours, &c., See. See. Ess.

-The Daily Green Mountain Freeman, May 23, 1862

* To "warp" a flatboat is to use a rope tied to something on the riverbank to help it move up the river. To "punt" is to move a small shallow boat through the water through the use of a long pole. Our correspondent for some reason spells it pint throughout.