Letter from the New York 114th Regiment
Chenango American, January 1, 1863
Steamer Arago at Sea
Monday, Dec. 8, 1862
Dear American: Nearly a month has passed since I last wrote you and the most of that time, until Thursday last, was passed in entire inactivity, save an occasional airing on shore, which was grudgingly given us. On the morning of the 4th of Dec., a boat from Fortress Monroe brought orders for us to move out to sea, and lay off Cape Charles light house and wait for the steamer Baltic and the United States Gunboat Augusta, the former being the head quarters of Gen. Emery, and the latter our consort for the voyage. There were thirteen transports, having two brigades on board, besides provisions for twenty-two days. Accordingly at 11 A.M., we weighed anchor, and at 4 P.M., we hove too to await our flag ship and the gunboat which was to accompany us.
A ship laying too--in a heavy swell, is a fruitful cause of sea sickness, and here our boys began to feel the effects of being on the sea, and the writer was one of the first to get into that state where it is an indifferent matter whether "school keeps or not," and for three days I was not able to keep a very correct diary of things that were passing around me. Thursday evening, however, about 8 o'clock, our flagship and consort arrived, and we all put to sea, bearing a southeast course, all sail keeping within sight of each other until about 2 o'clock Friday morning, when a heavy rain store, accompanied, with wind from the south set in and continued until Saturday. On Friday night it blew a gale, and the rain poured in torrents, while lightning the most vivid and thunder whose crashes seemed to rend the very elements around, made us fearful that the less seaworthy boats of our fleet would not outlive the sotrm. This seemd to be the "clearing up shower," for on Saturday morning the clouds began to break away, and yesteday (Sunday), the heavens became clear, and today we are enjoying one of the most beautiful days that nature can give. Our fears respecting a portion of our fleet are not altogether quieted for since Friday we have not seen nine of our vessels. The Augusta has been flying about, skirting the horizon in every direction, but she reports "nothing in sight." We have laid too about one day, hoping, if they were behind, that they would come up, but now the flag ship says "keep on your course," and we together with the gunboat, have to follow the Baltic.
Our destination is yet a mystery--even the officers are in profound ignorance of the port for which we are sailing. It cannot be Charleston, Port Royal or Savannah, for we are below either of those;--it may be Mobile, New Orleans or Galveston. Which ever it is, we are all willing to go where we are most needed, for this long confinement has made us crazy to go on land--and when once there, and we get over our enervating sea sickness, we will follow where ever our officers lead.
Our regiment has been very much decimated by sickness. There must have been, at the least estimate, 250 men left at the Fortress Monroe and Baltimore Hospitals--and among them were Captains Bockee and Titus, both of Norwich. Co. B has lost one man, Henry D. Scott, of North Norwich died the 29th ult., of typhoid fever. He was thought much of both by officers and men, and we know that he was a sincere Christian. His only sister and friends in Chenango have the heartfelt sympathy of all the company. His remains were placed in the soldiers' burying place of the Chesapeake Hospital, Fortress Monroe.
Tuesday, Dec. 9--We are still "Out on the ocean sailing." our course due south, and at the present writing, off the southern coast of Florida. All day we have been in sight of land, enjoying the warm western breeze which is as the zephyrs of May in our northern clime.
Wednesday, Dec. 10--Five weeks today since we came on board of the Arago. Five weeks of close confinement--five weeks of patient waiting on the part of some, and five weeks of bitter cursing by those who would damn the greatest privileges--five weeks of crowded life where the jostle on one side is succeeded by a push on the other--five weeks of babel, where almost as many tongues are spoken as there were created on the great day when God sent confusion among the people--five weeks of sighs for home and wishes for home comforts--five weeks of miserable existence, which, to present appearances, is to be carried out indefinitely, have "dragged their slow, length along." There must have been insanity in the mind of the man who sent us aboard of these transports, or else a mismanaging hand had hold of the pen that wrote our orders, for confinement on shipboard to men who have lived in the open air is sure to bring on fevers, and contagious diseases of different kinds, and more men have been lost to our brigade by sickness and death since we left Baltimore, and its healthy camps, than would have been had we gone into immediate battle.
Today we passed Tortugas, and are now bearing northwestward, intending to stop at Key West should our flagship think it necessary, though from present indications we will keep to the west of the Island. We have passed several light houses that seemed to be built in the sea, but whose foundations are laid upon the choral rock with which the Gulf of Mexico abounds. One of these was a splendid looking piece of work, which spiraled from the water, its lamp resting upon six iron pillars that were imbedded into the solid rock. This is called the Sombrera light house. We have also met several sails that were bound north, but we had no opportunity to speak to them, and the many letters that have been written to send home should we have an opportunity are still kept for some other and better chance.
Thursday, Dec. 11--There is a strong south east wind today making it difficult for the soldier to keep his feet, and the decks are covered with prostrate forms--some sick, some laying down because it is easier to be in that position than on their feet, and a large share of them cursing the day that Uncle Sam placed them upon the ship.
There have been two deaths on board since we started, both occurring in the 128th regiment. A Lieutenant died yesterday and today a private followed his leader through the last great conflict between Life and Death. How sad it is to think of a death on shipboard, far away from home and friends--to be buried in the blue waters where no mark can tell the last resting place of the dead.
Friday, Dec. 12--At sunrise this morning, as the heavens were clothed in azure and gold, and the sea beautiful and calm, the dead of yesterday were dropped into their watery grave. No spade to grate harshly upon the ears of mourning friends, no dirt to fall heavily upon the coffin lid, no sound but the solemn voice of the Chaplain as he reverently read the burial service, but all was silent and peaceful and still. A deep feeling of awe seemed to pervade the hearts of all that witnessed the ceremony, so different--and yet so beautiful--from that which we are accustomed to. And as we think that their graves can never be visited by father or mother, and that no sister can plant flowers and weep by their tombstone, nor brother nor friend stand by the last resting place of those whose hearts beat warmly and purely with a sincere friendship, we are constrained to lift our petitions to Him who is God over all, and beg that He will permit us to die where a mark can be placed to designate the spot where we sleep our last long sleep.
Having parted from that portion of the fleet with which we had been sailing, during the night, the Captain of the Arago opened his sealed orders to find out where we were to rendezvous, and reported Ship Island as our first stopping place. He gave assurance that on the morrow he would anchor off that port.
Saturday, Dec. 13--At daylight we came in sight of sand islands, and at 9 o'clock A.M. sighted the Island made famous by its being the rallying point of Maj. Gen Butler's expedition against New Orleans, and in two hours we were anchored inside the harbor. It is a long sandy island with a fort, a few frame houses, and a light house. We had not been anchored half an hour before we were ordered to proceed at once on our way to New Orleans, and we again lifted anchor and are no on our way to the "Southwest Pass."
Sunday, Dec. 14--This morning at daybreak found us lying too, off the main channel of the Mississippi, our signal flying for a pilot, and the ship rocking and pitching in a strong sea from the west. About 7 o'clock A.M., a pilot boat came bounding over the waves and soon placed one of those men on board who take so many lives in their hands, and assume such a vast responsibility that we trembled almost as we thought how easy a disloyal hand and heart could send us to a watery grave. Our pilot, however, had a true and loyal soul, and when we saw how careful he was to avoid the bars, and with what precision he followed the winding stream, we knew that we were safe from the storms of old ocean, from the quicksands of the "Father of Waters," and from a traitorous pilot.
The soldiers all evinced the interest they felt as we wended our way up the river by lining the guards from stem to stern and covering every inch of available space on the decks, the wheel house and the rigging, that they might see what was to be seen along the shore. After passing up some twenty miles we came to orange groves, and the yellow appearance of the trees told us that the fruit was ripe and fit for eating. We passed Forts Jackson and Philip at noon and soon stopped opposite the Quarantine Hospital, where on account of the measles, we are ordered to stay for ten days.
Thursday, Dec. 18--We have enjoyed three days of rambling up and down the levees of the Mississippi, picking and eating the luscious oranges, and now there is an opportunity of sending a letter, so I will close my tedious scribbling, wishing you and your readers good health, a merry Christmas and one of the happiest of New Years. A.
Thursday, Dec. 11--There is a strong south east wind today making it difficult for the soldier to keep his feet, and the decks are covered with prostrate forms--some sick, some laying down because it is easier to be in that position than on their feet, and a large share of them cursing the day that Uncle Sam placed them upon the ship.
There have been two deaths on board since we started, both occurring in the 128th regiment. A Lieutenant died yesterday and today a private followed his leader through the last great conflict between Life and Death. How sad it is to think of a death on shipboard, far away from home and friends--to be buried in the blue waters where no mark can tell the last resting place of the dead.
Friday, Dec. 12--At sunrise this morning, as the heavens were clothed in azure and gold, and the sea beautiful and calm, the dead of yesterday were dropped into their watery grave. No spade to grate harshly upon the ears of mourning friends, no dirt to fall heavily upon the coffin lid, no sound but the solemn voice of the Chaplain as he reverently read the burial service, but all was silent and peaceful and still. A deep feeling of awe seemed to pervade the hearts of all that witnessed the ceremony, so different--and yet so beautiful--from that which we are accustomed to. And as we think that their graves can never be visited by father or mother, and that no sister can plant flowers and weep by their tombstone, nor brother nor friend stand by the last resting place of those whose hearts beat warmly and purely with a sincere friendship, we are constrained to lift our petitions to Him who is God over all, and beg that He will permit us to die where a mark can be placed to designate the spot where we sleep our last long sleep.
Having parted from that portion of the fleet with which we had been sailing, during the night, the Captain of the Arago opened his sealed orders to find out where we were to rendezvous, and reported Ship Island as our first stopping place. He gave assurance that on the morrow he would anchor off that port.
Saturday, Dec. 13--At daylight we came in sight of sand islands, and at 9 o'clock A.M. sighted the Island made famous by its being the rallying point of Maj. Gen Butler's expedition against New Orleans, and in two hours we were anchored inside the harbor. It is a long sandy island with a fort, a few frame houses, and a light house. We had not been anchored half an hour before we were ordered to proceed at once on our way to New Orleans, and we again lifted anchor and are no on our way to the "Southwest Pass."
Sunday, Dec. 14--This morning at daybreak found us lying too, off the main channel of the Mississippi, our signal flying for a pilot, and the ship rocking and pitching in a strong sea from the west. About 7 o'clock A.M., a pilot boat came bounding over the waves and soon placed one of those men on board who take so many lives in their hands, and assume such a vast responsibility that we trembled almost as we thought how easy a disloyal hand and heart could send us to a watery grave. Our pilot, however, had a true and loyal soul, and when we saw how careful he was to avoid the bars, and with what precision he followed the winding stream, we knew that we were safe from the storms of old ocean, from the quicksands of the "Father of Waters," and from a traitorous pilot.
The soldiers all evinced the interest they felt as we wended our way up the river by lining the guards from stem to stern and covering every inch of available space on the decks, the wheel house and the rigging, that they might see what was to be seen along the shore. After passing up some twenty miles we came to orange groves, and the yellow appearance of the trees told us that the fruit was ripe and fit for eating. We passed Forts Jackson and Philip at noon and soon stopped opposite the Quarantine Hospital, where on account of the measles, we are ordered to stay for ten days.
Thursday, Dec. 18--We have enjoyed three days of rambling up and down the levees of the Mississippi, picking and eating the luscious oranges, and now there is an opportunity of sending a letter, so I will close my tedious scribbling, wishing you and your readers good health, a merry Christmas and one of the happiest of New Years. A.
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