On the 16th we marched to the James River. I do not know at what point. The rest of the corps, together with the Second, Sixth, and Ninth, had crossed at Wilcox's Landing. I think we must have reached the river lower down. We were crowded on board transports. Judging from the time we were on board, we must have been carried a considerable distance up the river. We landed on the south side. Here we rested awhile. I went down to the river to bathe and to wash a shirt. Hundreds of soldiers were in the water, plunging, splashing, diving, enjoying themselves like schoolboys. After sharing in the sport to my heart's content, I washed my shirt. The process was simple enough. The garment was well soaped, then held on a large stone and pounded with a club or any thing convenient. A final washing out completed the operation. This is the usual modus operandi during a campaign. When I have described this process in these latter days, some of my good friends have manifested an unreasonable and unnecessary skepticism as to the real and ultimate object of the pounding. But I solemnly affirm that the purpose is to expel the dirt from the garment.

There is a little animal. Every soldier knows him. Noah Webster, LL.D., knew him. Noah is good authority. He derives his name from the Gothic verb liusan, to devour.

The noble Roman knew him. He called him pediculus. He is truly democratic in his instincts and disposition.

He loves a rebel. But a copperhead loves a fat army contract. So does he. On this line he is cosmopolitan. He has some splendid business qualifications. He is modest, retiring, persistent, insinuating. He comes to stay. He will stay if you let him. He sticketh closer than a brother. If you don't want him you must skirmish for him. You can not argue him out of it.

I once knew a warrior that cultivated him contrary to army regulations. We protested. They were firm friends, like David and Jonathan.

One day stern Law, embodied in a corporal and a file of men with glistening bayonets, took that man down to the running brook, and, regardless of the frosty air and chilly temperature, with a scrubbing broom they cleansed and variously purified him, furnished him a new outfit of regulation clothing, and brought him back as bright and rosy as need be. He made some remarks. They were comprehensive, but not to edification, and we will not reproduce them. If that veteran still breathes the vital air, he voted for Hancock last Fall.

This seems like a digression, but it is suggested by the facts of the case. As before remarked, I washed that shirt. When I began it was only an ordinary shirt. When I got through it was a most extraordinary garment. There were "millions in it." I skirmished, and washed again. The result was astonishing. I thought of Moses, Aaron, and Egypt, and wondered why Pharaoh did not let the people go. It was a moving sight. It may be there yet, or it may have followed the army. I do not know. I retired from the scene sadder, but wiser.

During the forenoon the march to Petersburg began. The day was very warm, and the dust which rose as the column pressed on rendered the hot air stifling. The men suffered greatly from thirst. I do not remember any march more trying in this respect. Late in the afternoon we halted to rest. There was a strip of rough, broken ground on the right, a kind of ravine, about half a mile away. I went over there in search of water. Not a drop could be found. Returning to the column, I learned that there was water some distance to the left. Here was a beautiful spring of clear, cold water flowing in abundance. My intention was to drink very moderately; but I forgot all about this when I raised my quart cup, brimming full of the delicious beverage, to my lips. Of course I paid the penalty of my imprudence, and before dark was so ill that I was compelled to leave the ranks. I kept up with the column until after dark, but finally gave up all hopes of keeping with them, and camped till morning. The regiment, meantime, had reached the vicinity of Petersburg, and during the severe fighting there, had suffered some loss. Lieutenant-colonel Pattee was dangerously wounded. Lieutenant Steel, of Company A, received a terrible wound in the face. Abe Eshelman, formerly of the Eleventh, was mortally wounded, and died a few days later at City Point. The regiment was on a sandy ridge in front of woods, facing the rebel works, at a point nearly where the Norfolk Railroad passed through their lines. Behind them, in such a position as to fire almost over them, was a battery of rifled guns, which kept up a fire of shells upon the rebel works at intervals day and night. The rebel batteries responded at intervals of but a few minutes. This position was also under a continual fire from rebel sharpshooters, their balls reaching as far as the woods beyond with fatal effect.

The second day we were here, June 18th, William Rutter was mortally wounded. He had picked up a piece of corn-cake in the field back of the works. Some jesting remark was made about the cake and the rebel that made it, when he said he would go out and get some more. He was sitting in the pit beside me. He rose, still laughing, to carry out his purpose; but as his head and shoulders were exposed above the pit, there was a sharp "crash," and he grasped his left shoulder with his right hand and uttered a smothered exclamation of pain. A large rifle ball had penetrated and crushed the shoulder joint. He was taken back at once, and the arm amputated. It was reported that he did not survive the operation; but I have since learned that he lived till the 15th of July. We lost a number of men in this way and on the picket line.

The pickets were changed during the night, usually between nine and ten o'clock. This was the occasion for a lively time down on the line, in which the artillery usually joined. Sometimes this picket firing, with its accompaniment of booming cannon and screaming shells, would rise almost to the dignity of a night battle. In front, from the picket pits, rifles blazed and flashed with their crackling roar; and farther back, the great guns belched forth their lurid flames, casting a momentary glare over the weird scene. The gunners would range their guns before dark, so as to give the rebels a good one when the time should arrive. Every device was resorted to that would make this night-firing effective and annoying to the enemy.

Not long after the siege began, and while we were yet at this point of the line, we got a mortar-battery—two guns—into position. One clear, calm evening, the Yankees proceeded to try a little of this new-fangled music on our friends across the lines. The mortars were planted some distance to the right, and in such a position that we had a fine chance for observation. The line had been unusually quiet, as if the beauty of the tranquil sunset hour had subdued for a season the fierce spirit of war in the hearts of men. The sun's last ray had faded from hill-top and tree, and twilight was settling down upon the scene, when we heard on our right a strange, grumbling, muffled roar; and with a rushing sound, we saw what seemed two lighted tapers mounting upward, describing a curve through the air, and descending upon the rebel works, followed by two sharp, ringing explosions. There was a moment's pause, and then "boo-oom," and again two curves of light were marked along the dark sky, and the great shells descended upon the rebel works, exploding with a terrific crash. Still no reply from the rebel guns. Again the mortars boom out as before; but now, as if by a preconcerted signal, the batteries for about a mile along the rebel line cut loose at once, a perfect volley of cannon, all centered on the one point, around which the shells burst and flashed like a thousand thunderbolts. Not a cannon replied from our lines; only at intervals, for a while, would growl out that "boo-oom," and above the flash of bursting shells and flaming cannon would rise those two little points of light, curving slowly upward and then down, with a seeming deliberation that contrasted oddly with the whirl and bustle below. This continued a few minutes, and the "boo-oom" ceased. The little mortar-battery was "knocked out of time." Then there arose along our line a great "ha-ha"—an army laughing. Such was the spirit in which the men had watched this unequal combat. But the laugh quickly changed to a cheer, and a hundred cannon roared out their savage thunder from either line. Gradually the noise of strife died away, and an hour later the army slept.As before noted, our rifle-pits extended along a sandy ridge, the ground open in front, sloping downward to the railroad. On our right the ground was somewhat rough and broken; but immediately in front, at the railroad, the ground rose abruptly for several feet, and then sloped gradually upward toward the rebel works. Toward the left of this point, the abrupt rise disappeared; but in general, the rebel works crowned elevated ground beyond, and the entrenched picket-lines of the two armies were in the open ground between the railroad and the rebel entrenchments. On the right, as you would go down from our trenches to the road, a kind of ravine extended toward the rebel works, and was commanded by their rifles. A large and well-manned picket-pit was established at its head, from which they sent their bullets hissing down almost without hindrance.

On the afternoon of June 19th, I think it was, word came in from our picket-line that ammunition was running short, and a fresh supply must be sent out. Myself and nine others were detailed to perform this rather delicate operation. The ammunition wagons were beyond the strip of woods in our rear, and we must run the gauntlet of sharpshooters, and risk odd shells in going and returning over this route, before getting started from the works. Taking each a piece of shelter-tent, in which to carry cartridges, we started for the wagons. If any man, that has been placed in similar circumstances, can say that he felt no unusual agitation, in view of the possible consequences, I must be allowed to suggest that he is got up on a different plan from myself. The truth is, I was considerably shaken up over the matter. It would seem quite heroic to be able to say that I was glad of it, when assigned to this dangerous duty. I am free to confess I was not glad of it. When selected for this purpose, I went through with it. The world looks very bright, on a fine June day, to a healthy boy of seventeen. He is not particularly anxious to exchange it for another, least of all by way of minie balls, when he has no chance to send back any in return. To do our work without faltering, it was necessary to count on a hurried burial down there between the lines that night. Whatever reckoning others made, this is how it seemed to me, and we might just as well look the probabilities square in the face.Taking as much ammunition as each could conveniently carry, we returned to the rifle-pits, and thence to the skirmish-line. For some distance we had partial protection from the rifle balls, by crouching low as we walked; but as we advanced we drew the fire of the rebels more and more, as they discovered us and our object. At last we reached the ravine. It seemed as if a perfect stream of bullets was hissing down it; but we must pass. One after another we dashed through. As I passed, I turned my head to the right, and glanced up the ravine. The pit, at its head, seemed to smoke, from the rapid fire of its occupants. As I turned my head, a bullet clipped close to my face, and seemed to touch my hair. Onward we went, at the top of our speed, and soon reached the shelter of the high bank by the railroad.

Here we rested a few minutes. All were safe thus far. A fine spring bubbled out of the bank. How cool and refreshing its water seemed! Here were a number of men who had been shot on the picket line, some dead, others dying, one or two unharmed, caring for the wounded, until night should permit their removal. The sight of these mangled, bloody forms here was grimly suggestive. We must not think too much. The most dangerous part of our work still remained. The ammunition must go to the picket pits—must be carried there under the close range of rebel riflemen. During our progress thus far our pickets had kept up a sharp fire on the enemy. As we started for the pits the fight became more exciting. Both parties exposed themselves more recklessly, the rebels to shoot us before we could complete our mission, and our men to keep them down and make their fire less deadly. Bullets hissed at every step. I went toward the left, past several pits, I know not how far, and stopped at one in which was a lieutenant. Forgetting the situation for a moment, I stood upright, and stretched myself for relief from the weariness of carrying my heavy load. Instantly a bullet whizzed past my head, and dashed into a tree in the rear of the pit. Quick as a flash the lieutenant jerked me down, and warned me of the danger of exposure. After resting awhile, I started to return. Back to the railroad, again our only protection was the rapid fire and deadly aim of our riflemen. Thence to the main line, the only point we dreaded much was passing the ravine. The return was at last successfully accomplished. Notwithstanding the severity of the fire to which we were exposed but one of our number was injured—mortally wounded, I was told. Had it not been for the return fire of our own men not one of us would have reached the picket line alive.

This was my first and only visit to the picket line at this point. The same evening I was detailed for guard duty at brigade headquarters, where I remained till after July 4th.

On this part of the line it was not the custom to station videttes in front of the picket pits at night, as was usually done. A constant fire was kept up day and night. The boys used to invent various contrivances for the special benefit of the "graybacks." I have seen them work for hours to mold a bullet of such form as would make a particularly ugly sound, and then fire it across with a double charge of powder. But the favorite amusement was shooting iron ramrods. These could be picked up by hundreds over the battle-ground of the previous days, and, with a little careful fixing, could be made to fly with considerable accuracy. They were thought to have peculiar penetrating power, if they could be made to strike a picket pit with the sharp end. As they would send such an unusual missile whizzing through the air, they would laugh and chuckle over the anticipated consternation it would cause. One result often prophesied was that they would "string" a goodly number of the enemy on the ramrod. Whether such direful results were ever produced, we had no means of knowing.

Colonel Carle, of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, then in command of the brigade, had his headquarters in the woods about a hundred yards in the rear of the line. Here we were exposed to shells and stray rifle-balls, which occasionally reached us. The only damage inflicted was the loss of a quart of coffee, which was overturned by a fragment of shell striking in our fire while we were preparing dinner. About the same time one man was wounded at division headquarters, a few rods to our right.

It is remarkable how indifferent men become to danger under such circumstances. While myself and another soldier were engaged in washing some clothes one day, at a little stream to the right of this place, a bullet passed within a foot of our heads. The only effect was to turn our conversation to the subject of the range of rifles. It would naturally be supposed that, under such constant danger of death or wounds, men would be in continual dread of what might happen. As a rule, it is quite otherwise. Feelings of dread and uneasiness gradually give way to a sense of comparative security.

Coming under fire for the first time, a man usually feels as if he were about as large as a good-sized barn, and consequently very likely to take in all the balls, shells, grape, and canister, and such odds and ends, coming in his direction. After a while he begins to realize that he is not so large, after all, and frequent and continued experience confirms him in the view. That which unnerves the recruit is not alone the fear of injury or death to himself, but also the very nature of the terrible tragedy about to be enacted. He takes his place in line of battle as they are forming for a charge, knowing that hundreds of men who now stand with him there in the full flush of life and health and the hopefulness of vigorous manhood, in one hour will lie dead in their blood, or be racked with the agony of shattered limbs or torn flesh. What man of ordinary humanity can be unmoved by such surroundings? No man should regard war otherwise than with the utmost horror, nor sanction it except as an awful, inevitable necessity. Some such feeling as this is in the breast of most men on the eve of battle, modified somewhat by the fact that the stern necessity is present. The difference between a recruit and a veteran is, mainly, that the latter has learned to command, perhaps to ignore, such feelings.

For my own part, I can remember few occasions when such thoughts did not oppress me during the waiting which is frequently incident to the opening of an engagement. These thoughts soon vanish amid the noise and excitement of battle.

You may ask whether soldiers feel any scruples as to shedding blood. I answer, first and in general, kill is the game. You know it, and prefer that the killing should be confined as much as possible to the parties over yonder. If this seems to you to be a cold-blooded way of looking at things, please remember I am not representing the ideal, but the real. Again, suppose the bullets are coming thick and fast from the woods over yonder, you soon discover that the only way to stop them is to send in your own as close as possible.

In firing, we always took aim, though often we could not see the enemy on account of trees or brush in which they were concealed. In such case we took aim at the point where they were supposed to be, guided by the smoke, a glimpse of a battle-flag, or the glitter of a gun here and there. The men were sometimes ordered to keep up a fire when not an enemy could be seen. The One Hundred and Ninetieth was generally sent on the skirmish line. The men always preferred this, and did not like it if this place was given to another regiment. Those who were not accustomed to skirmishing dreaded it. On the other hand, our boys were uneasy if placed in line of battle. As a matter of course, the skirmishers took aim in fighting. It was not seldom a question of marksmanship between two men, each the other's target. We took advantage of every thing possible in the way of "cover," the main point being to go ahead, stir up every thing in front, develop the enemy's position, drive in his skirmishers. A line of skirmishers is always thrown forward when the presence of an enemy is suspected. They will soon discover what is in front. Advancing at a distance of five paces apart, the loss is not so great as if a regular line were advanced in the same manner. In the Summer of 1864 the One Hundred and Ninetieth was armed with the Spencer rifle, an eight-shooter, and well adapted to work on the skirmish line.