Diary of Josiah M. Favill: Wednesday Morning, April 24 to Friday April 26, 1861

Reveille at daybreak, when we fell in and stood under arms for half an hour, when, finding everything quiet, and no enemy in sight, we broke ranks and prepared breakfast. Authentic reports came in early that the railroad between this place and the junction has been destroyed, and all the bridges burnt. We have orders to march immediately after breakfast, but cannot do so until transportation for officers' baggage, ammunition, etc., has been found; the quartermaster is at work, and has many varieties of wagons already engaged, drawn by mules, oxen, cows, and horses. The camp is still abundantly supplied by the colored folks with eatables, and we have filled our haversacks with boiled eggs, corn bread, and home-made pies. At 6 P. M. of the 25th we fell in, and to the music of the drums and fifes, began our first real march; we stepped out at a brisk pace, full of enthusiasm, thoroughly rested, and ready for anything required of us; reports of the close proximity of the enemy were abundant, which kept us well closed up throughout the day, and after dark, the rockets and blue lights discharged in various directions stimulated us to constant and renewed exertions. These signs of hostilities greatly interested us, and made us think we were already in an enemy's country. About midnight we suddenly came upon a brilliant scene, being a bivouac of the First and Second Rhode Island regiments. There were more than a hundred fires burning, and the picturesque groups sitting around them gave us a delightful little view of campaigning most unexpectedly. The Rhode Islanders cheered us heartily, and as soon as we halted, invited us to share their hot coffee, which we were not slow to do.

We rested here over an hour, the Rhode Islanders preceding us by about an hour; we were greatly fatigued, as the roads were very heavy, being knee-deep in sand, and were loath to move forward again, but it had to be done, and footsore and weary, valises and bundles in one hand, guns in the other, we started off again, to march the remainder of the thirty miles. Many of the fellows lightened their burdens by throwing away some of their things, their views of the necessities of military life undergoing very serious changes as they encountered the hardships of campaigning. I was sorely tempted to throw away something myself, but held on to the end, although greatly exhausted.

The night was dark but fine, and as soon as we got warmed up again, we stepped out at a lively gait, smoking, telling stories, and helping each other; about two o'clock a couple of rockets were suddenly discharged almost directly in front of us; the regiment was halted, and a company deployed as skirmishers, while the remainder formed in hollow square by the roadside. It was rumored there were a couple of rebel cavalry regiments in the neighborhood, and we supposed they were probably going to attack us. As soon as the square was formed, the men were told to sit down, arms in hands, and there we sat in perfect silence, while the skirmish line advanced to discover the enemy. We talked in whispers, gave each other our home address in case of accident, then quietly awaited results. All of a sudden a strong beautiful tenor voice broke the silence, singing, “Vive l’America.” It was Pendergast, a noted professional singer, and was indeed exquisite, rendered unusually so, of course, by the surroundings. It was strange, romantic, and delightful, and I know I shall always remember it most distinctly. After nearly an hour's delay, the company ahead reported the coast clear, so we fell in and resumed the march. One of the funny things about this march was the depressing responses of the natives to our frequent inquiries as to the distance to the junction, the invariable replies being nine miles, and it began to look as though that nine miles was interminable. At last, just about the dawn of day, we reached the little station and village known as the junction, closed up the ranks, stacked arms, and lay right down in the street, and fell fast asleep.

About seven o'clock we were on the alert again, and quickly transformed the nice rail fences into roaring camp-fires, around which we prepared our coffee and ate our breakfast. Afterwards we went foraging, capturing chickens, ducks, pigeons, and whatever was eatable, and had lots of fun; as the government had not provided us with anything to eat here, we were obliged to help ourselves or fast, and under such circumstances we did not hesitate. The natives protested in vain; hungry soldiers must eat, and if the government cannot provide, the country must do so, and the people will be obliged to charge up their losses to the calamity of war.

We remained all day and quite recovered from our thirty mile march. About five P. M. a long train of cattle-cars came in from Washington, to which we were promptly transferred, and arrived at our journey's end, Washington, about six o'clock the following morning, marching directly to the navy yard, where quarters were already prepared for us.

SOURCE: Josiah Marshall Favill, The Diary of a Young Officer, p. 19-21

Diary of Josiah M. Favill: Tuesday, April 23, 1861

I LEFT home at 7 A. M., satchel in hand, crossed the ferry, and soon arrived at the armory. It was already filled with men of the regiment receiving their arms and equipments. We were furnished with a Springfield musket, bayonet, cartridge-box, cap-pouch, haversack, and blanket. Our new uniform were not ready, and so the greater part of the regiment appeared in every-day clothes and hats. Every company had a few regularly equipped men, however, so that we had some little military appearance. The greatest difficulty was an absence of knapsacks, which necessitated carrying valises, a very awkward arrangement, giving us more the appearance of a lot of emigrants than a regiment of soldiers.

About two hours after I joined every man had been furnished with all there was for him, and we were standing for the first time shoulder to shoulder in the ranks. The roll was called, and all present mustered into the state's service. Immediately afterwards we marched downstairs into Bond Street, wheeled into column by platoons, and marched into and then down Broadway to Cortlandt Street, thence to pier 4, North River, where we embarked on board the steamship R. R. Cuyler.

On reaching the street from our armory we found ourselves almost unable to move on account of the enormous crowd, a magnificent crowd too, overflowing with enthusiastic loyalty and good nature, filling the air with endless cheers and patriotic songs; there were many, too, who shed tears, — mothers, wives, sweethearts, sisters, who were seemingly alone fearful of results. I felt very sorry for many of them. It is easy for us, amidst constant excitement and ever-varying circumstances, to keep our spirits up, but to these poor women at home, who can only wait, it must be very trying.

As the head of the column turned down Broadway it was confronted by a dense mass of humanity, filling the street from side to side. The doors, windows, and roofs of every building on Broadway and those adjoining, commanding a view of the line of march, were jammed with crowds of people waving handkerchiefs and flags, and cheering with all their might and main. At the corners of some of the streets were steam fire-engines tooting their whistles, and everywhere myriads of starry banners fluttering in the breeze. The police, gradually and with much difficulty, forced a passage through this immense crowd, and we followed marching to the music of our splendid band, amid the yells and cheers of the ever-increasing multitudes. They not only cheered and sang and shook hands and hugged us, but filled us up with every imaginable thing; as we were obliged to halt every few minutes, they closed in amongst us and delayed our progress sadly. We were nearly three hours in marching from Astor Place to Cortlandt Street, and on account of our baggage, very much fatigued. Individually, I got along very well, wearing a uniform frock coat, and carrying all that I had wrapped in a rubber blanket strapped to my back. Most of the men, however, carried valises in their hands. At last we reached the dock and marched directly on board the ship. She had capacity for about three hundred souls; we mustered eleven hundred in all ,and hardly managed to find standing room. However, we got on board, and very shortly afterwards the vessel's lines were cast off, the whistle blew, and the good ship left her dock and headed down the stream amid the most tremendous cheering, yelling, and screeching one can possibly imagine.

The docks and vessels in the vicinity were crowded with people, many of whom amused themselves bombarding the ship with oranges; myriads of handkerchiefs and small flags and lusty arms waved us an affectionate good-bye, and amidst this glorious and magnificent send-off, we steamed away and were soon well down the lower bay, our destination unknown, except that we were to meet the enemies of our country. We go forward in a great cause, confident of victory, delighted with the surroundings, and happy in the knowledge that the whole city we leave behind us look upon us as their representatives, and will diligently look after our necessities while we look after the enemy.

On Tuesday morning we came to an anchor, and were told the ship was off the Naval Academy at Annapolis, on the Chesapeake Bay. Our experience the past two days has been most unpleasant. The ship is outrageously crowded from deck to keelson; towards evening of the first day out the wind began to blow, increasing until midnight, when it blew a gale and rain fell in torrents. Those of us who were quartered on deck got promptly soaked through, and as a rule were horribly seasick, with no conveniences, and packed literally like sardines in a box; the state of affairs may readily be imagined by one who has been to sea, but it is difficult to describe. Seasickness is a dreadful leveler of rank and destroyer of the ordinary amenities of life; every one is indifferent to the wants of others and utterly without sympathy. There were a few facetious fellows, too gross to feel the effects of the rolling of the ship themselves, who took a fiendish delight in dangling pieces of fat pork from the end of a string in the faces of those less gross, and this little pleasantry usually succeeded in producing the desired effect. There were many of us who wished more than once that we had never been born.

At 5 P. M. the first day out we fell in for dinner, struggled up to the galley, and there received a chunk of salt pork and large slice of bread, which we ate standing, bread in one hand, meat in the other. My piece of meat had a large bone in it, and smelt so badly that I threw it overboard to the fishes, and ate the bread alone. As the wind was freshening every minute, and the ship beginning to roll suspiciously, my appetite was not of the best, and later on entirely disappeared. Monday the wind went down and it stopped raining, but we did not get dried out, and as we had no shelter, were much the worse for want of sleep. There is not much romance about this, certainly, but we are beginning to get experience.

This morning, Tuesday, we found ourselves in company with five other vessels, all packed with troops similar to our own, convoyed by a small cutter called the Harriet Lane, a handsome craft carrying a couple of guns, and regular man-of-war crew. She is ready for action and looks quite warlike. About nine o'clock we anchored, rations were issued, including hot coffee, the band shook themselves together and played some stirring airs, and as the sun came out just about this time, we soon forgot our little troubles and became thoroughly interested in the magnificent view around us. The bay was smooth as glass, all the ships were gay with bunting, and crowds of armed men were mustering on every deck, while their bands were playing, sending their martial strains far over the silvery surface of the placid waters. Surely this is a small but beautiful picture of glorious war that we have dreamed of so much. Some time afterwards a tug boat came puffing along, and reported to the officer commanding the Lane that the rebels were reported in force ashore, intending to dispute our landing. In consequence the Lane steamed in towards shore, guns shotted and run out; when she got pretty close she lowered boats, armed with howitzers and marines, and sent them in to land and reconnoiter the town. We knew Maryland was a questionable state, being about evenly divided in its sympathies, and, consequently, were greatly interested in the outcome of the present affair. If they proved friendly, our chances would be greatly improved; on the contrary, if they opposed our landing, the capital might be in serious danger. After a good deal of delay and manoeuvering, the boat's crews landed, finding nobody to oppose them. This was signaled to the Lane, when our ship was immediately ordered to weigh anchor, go in and disembark the regiment. We got aground, and were transferred to the steamer Boston, and then landed at the Naval Academy docks. The Academy we found deserted, the students scattered, and only a few men in charge. We stacked arms, broke ranks, and received rations, coffee, meat (the same old salt pork), and bread, but we did not confine ourselves to this diet; the grounds swarmed with negroes, men and women, who had for sale, in abundance, eggs, pies, butter, and milk; we soon bought them out, and for the first time since leaving home fared sumptuously. We appreciated it immensely, not yet being used to hard living and roughing it, and miss our regular meals prodigiously.

There were no white persons in the camp, nor any white men in town; all had disappeared, the negroes say, to join the rebel army. We remained overnight for want of transportation for the quartermaster's department, and were quartered in some of the many class-rooms. We heard various rumors about the doings of the rebels in this neighborhood, and since dark have seen many blue lights and rockets in the air, no doubt signals to warn their friends of our arrival; we conclude rail traffic between here and Washington is destroyed, from the reports of the negroes, and that we shall have to march, instead of going by train, as was expected; and possibly have to fight, if, as is reported, some organized rebel troops are in the neighborhood. Marching in the condition we are in, loaded down with satchels, bundles, etc., is going to be very tiresome. It is nearly thirty miles to the junction, the place we must reach before we can go by rail.

SOURCE: Josiah Marshall Favill, The Diary of a Young Officer, p. 15-9

Diary of Josiah M. Favill: Saturday Night, April 20, 1861

To-morrow we start for the war. Since Wednesday I have been receiving the utmost attention from everybody. It is so strange to see this wonderful enthusiasm and loyalty. It is impossible for a man in uniform to pay for anything he wants; wherever I go all want to do something for me; in crossing the ferries men filled my pockets with cigars, and even insisted upon my taking money from them, and when I refused, actually forced it into my pockets; they must do something, and look upon us, I suppose, as their representatives. There is no end to their generosity and enthusiasm, which is well for the republic.

I attended a great reception given in my honor at the E---- Hotel to-night, which proved a magnificent affair. Everybody that I knew, almost, was there, and fun and frolic with songs, music, and speeches, continued until the clock struck twelve. There were amongst the young fellows a number belonging to a glee club, who sang patriotic and pathetic war-songs innumerable, and contributed immensely to the enjoyment of the evening. When we broke up, and our last good-byes were spoken, every man grasped me by the hand, many of them kissed me, and all united in wishing me good luck and a safe return. After taking an affectionate farewell of one who was more to me than all others, I hastened from the room amidst the cries of “God bless you”; “Take care of yourself”; “Be sure and thrash the rascals,” etc.

It was very hard to part when the time actually came, being my first experience, and I must admit feeling decidedly unwarlike and very desolate. However, I went home, turned into my comfortable bed, wondering what sort of beds we should probably have in the army.

SOURCE: Josiah Marshall Favill, The Diary of a Young Officer, p. 14

Diary of Josiah M. Favill: Tuesday, April 16, 1861

To-morrow we are to meet at the armory, fall in, and march in a body to Develin's clothing store, lower Broadway, there to be measured, each and all of us, for a uniform suit, to consist of dark blue jacket and sky-blue trousers. The jacket will have light blue shoulder-straps and cuffs, and will be made as quickly as possible, and forwarded to us wherever we may be. It is a thousand pities we cannot have them by Sunday, there will be such an enormous crowd to see us off, and in our every-day rig we shall look anything but soldierly.

SOURCE: Josiah Marshall Favill, The Diary of a Young Officer, p. 13-4