Page updated 05/25/2006.
A soldier of the Eighth Ohio regiment, writing from Falmouth, makes the following notes on the movements in that vicinity: —
"Everything seemed to be progressing finely until Tuesday night, when the "heavens opened and the flood descended." "Eph" suggested that the flood gates must be entirely off their hinges, as his sleeping apartment suddenly became a bath house, and his bunk a bathing tub. Indeed our "brown stone front" came near being dissolved, and the "aristocratic " inmates drowned. The storm continued with very little cessation until Friday morning, and as every hour made the "soil" more soft than "sacred," the roads soon became blocked with an indescribable mass of artillery wagons, and "pontoons," hopelessly stuck in the mud. It was very evident that this "delay of the pontoons" was not attributable to a lack of energy on the part of Q. M. General Meigs, nor yet on account of a misunderstanding between Messrs. Generals Halleck and Burnside. "Eph" thinks a greater General than any of these had something to do with it, and remarked that "it was undoubtedly on account of the same One to whom Victor Hugo ascribes Napoleon's failure to win the battle of Waterloo."
One thing is certain, the artillery and "pontoon" could move no more at present. The "meeting" was postponed, and after lying out in the mud and rain for three days and nights, the troops that had moved up the river came back, probably believing that it was "all for the best," but on account of the mud that obstructed their vision they failed to "see it." As we were to have crossed the river nearly opposite our camp, we did not leave our quarters, and had a good opportunity to witness the return of the muddy, straggling mass. The scene was anything but a pleasant one, yet there were many ludicrous incidents connected with it. "Eph" and three or four of the "boys" were standing near our mansion, looking at the floating mass of men, horses, mules, artillery, and wagons, when we observed a conglomeration of blue cloth and mud approaching. As it had on a gun, knapsack, haversack and canteen, we concluded it was a "straggler," and "Eph" hailed him with —
"Hallo! Earthen-ware! what regiment do you belong to?"
The figure never paused, but the earth; visible under the visor of a cap, moved, displaying a cavern from which issued the words;—
"Don't speak to me! I'm a spared monument! I've marched in mud, swam mud, drank mud, and slept in mud for three days and nights. My colonel and regiment wore all drowned in mud. I'm the only man left, and I'm demoralized as —"
"Eph" extracted the leather pontoons he wears from the rich soil in which he was standing, retreated "without loss" to the "sitting room," threw himself into the " easy " chair before the "coal grate," elevated his pontoons to the "mantel-piece," and remained in this position evidently meditating until we came in. After we had requested him to remove his muddy "pontoons" from the "furniture," he said: —
"That's the first demoralized monument, I ever saw. He was probably a brother of the Fire Zouave we saw over in Fredericksburg the other day, and I am inclined to believe most of his story." At this juncture some one called him out to look at the new balloon which was going up from near General Sumner's headquarters. On his return we asked him "what he supposed the professor saw that attracted him to such a dizzy height so often ?" "Well," said "Eph," (at the same time setting one of his soiled "pontoons" down on our boots just polished for "inspection,") "I guess it ain't what he sees while he's up there so much as it is the five thousand dollars he sees every time he comes down."
To-day we rode down to the river to look at the enemy's fortifications, see their cannon and ask their pickets the price of cotton. At Falmouth we visited the ruins of an old bridge, on the end of which we had a picket to watch a gray-back "picket who was stationed at the opposite end, and whose duty was evidently to watch ours. All along the river we found the pickets of the opposing armies within easy hailing distance, and apparently quite friendly, but as conversation was not allowed, we asked no questions.
The hills back of Fredericksburg looked as though they were in possession of an enterprising oil company who were engaged in boring for "ile," but from the fact that the piles of fresh earth increased daily we suspected they had not "struck a vein." On our return we passed through the little hollow near General Sumner's headquarters, where a part of our hospitals were located during the battle of the 12th ult., and stopped to read some of the names appearing upon the little headboards that were planted in a regular row on one side. "Eph" made the discovery of several, that read "Private, Unknown," and one "Lieut., Unknown," whereupon he immediately seated himself upon a log, and crossing his "pontoons" — upon each of which he had strapped a "buzz saw" the two constituting what he calls his " spurs," and said:—
"Death is a rude customer to meet at any time and at any place; he is not welcome even at home and among friends — but to think of a fellow dying as it were alone., with not even an old comrade or a familiar face near, and upon whose monument — a pine board two by three — appears the inscription 'Private or Lieutenant Unknown,' reminds me that I am not well and ought to be discharged." Here he looked pale, and we began to think he was unwell, but he continued: " I wonder if the one who wrote those epitaphs had an idea that when the Chief Bugler comes to sound the last 'reveille,' he would pause to learn whether the ashes that slumber beneath these pine boards ever wore straps or not?" Here he paused again and looked at his old blouse, shrugged his shoulders, and concluded —
"When the epauletted general who commands and the soldier without straps who obeys, both stand before One in whose presence all
* *
* ––'
tinsel of time,
Must fade and die in the light of that region sublime,'
I wonder if they will remain Unknown?"
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Page updated 05/25/2006.