The failure at Fredericksburg, considered in itself, and especially in connection with its causes, was well calculated to produce much discouragement throughout the entire army. On the eleventh of December the troops streamed forth from their camps, confident in their ability to drive the foe from Marye’s Heights, and hurl him back to Richmond. On the sixteenth they returned, baffled and dispirited, having lost twelve thousand men in fruitless efforts to overcome the natural and artificial advantages of the rebel position. The fearful scenes of a battle may well impress the veteran of many conflicts; but when, for the first time, a regiment meets the enemy with every advantage in favor of the latter, and when the list of killed and wounded swells to unusual proportions, and nothing is accomplished by this expense of life and energy, it is no sign of weakness that despondency and gloom for a time prevail. Such a feeling, resulting from failure in the campaign, and from the loss of a large number of our most esteemed officers and men, pervaded the Twenty-seventh in common with the rest of the army. The loss of such men as Captains Schweizer and Taylor, Sergeants Barrett and Fowler, Corporals Mimmac and Alling, and many others, men of high character, who went to the field purely from a sense of duty—such men in their death could not fail to leave behind, among their fellow soldiers, a universal sorrow, reaching to the very depths of the heart. The memory of those who fell on the thirteenth of December, and many of whom lie in unknown graves back of Fredericksburg, will never lose its freshness, but rather grow in strength as the history of future years adds significance to the conflicts of the present.

Fortunately for the success of Burnside’s plan of evacuation, his operations were concealed in the darkness of a severe storm, which had not terminated when we arrived in our former camp on the morning of the sixteenth. In the afternoon the two hundred and fifty men of the Twenty-seventh who had been picketing along the Rappahannock for the previous six days, rejoined us, many of them much exhausted by their unusually prolonged duties. Expecting to be absent from the regiment only a day, the ordinary limit of picket duty at one time, the party took with them only one day’s rations, and in the confusion attending the movement of troops and the battle, rations for the additional time could be procured but irregularly and in insufficient quantities.

According to orders, the camp was now moved to a strip of pine woods skirting the west side of the division parade-ground. But this was not to be our permanent location; and after manoeuvring for several days from one place to another, we at length encamped in the edge of a forest, only a few rods from where we first pitched our tents, on the line of the Rappahannock. An elevated plain stretched away between us and the river, and above a slight depression the clustered spires of Fredericksburg rose to view, from whose belfreys, on a Sabbath morning, we could sometimes hear the summons to the house of God. A walk of a few rods brought us in full view of the city, sitting in calm quiet among the hills, while long red lines told where the rebel earthworks lay, and little specks of white in the background disclosed the enemy’s camps. Just under the edge of the bluff to our right, and concealed from view, was the village of Falmouth, a mongrel collection of houses arranged along dirty, unpaved streets.

Although intimations were thrown out that the army would now go into winter quarters, yet it was nearly two weeks before our men could dispossess themselves of the idea that some fine morning the old stereotyped order, “Strike tents and pack knapsacks!” would scatter to the winds their plans of personal comfort.

As soon as it was evident that no further movements would be made, the men vigorously applied themselves to the work of building huts, devoting the mornings to this labor, while brigade drill occupied the afternoon. In the hundred and thirty log houses of our little regimental village was embraced an amount of comfort wholly inconceivable by those who know nothing of the numerous contrivances a soldier’s ingenuity can suggest to supply the place of ordinary conveniences. Generally, four congenial minds would unite their mechanical resources. A pine forest within reasonable distance, an axe and a shovel, one of Uncle Sam’s mule teams, and a moderate degree of ingenuity, constitute the only capital of these camp carpenters. Having secured a favorable site, ten by seven, these comrades in bunk sally forth to the neighboring grove, and before their sturdy blows the old pines come crashing down, are split into slabs of the required length, and in due time reach their destination in camp. After smoothing the ground, and carefully removing stumps, the logs are hewn out and placed one above another, with the ends dove-tailed together, or set upright side by side in trenches, and soon the huts assume their full proportions—seven feet by ten. Every man now becomes a mason. The surrounding region is ransacked for stone and brick, with which to construct a fire-place at the front end. While this important work is going on, another is vigorously plying his wooden trowel, in plastering up the fissures with clay, on the principle that nothing is without its use, even Virginia mud. The roof is made of thin shelter-tents, buttoned together. As regards internal arrangements, at the further end are two bunks, one above the other; and as the upholsterer has not performed his part, and very likely never will, the occupants must content themselves with the soft side of pine slabs. On one side of the hut is a rack for the reception of guns and equipments, while at the other a cracker-box cover on stilts does duty as a table. In respect to seats, the ingenuity of different individuals showed itself in rudely constructed benches, or square boards, elevated on three-pronged crotchets, obtained in the woods, or was satisfied with the trunk of a tree cut into suitable lengths. Over the fire-place a mantle was generally located, containing a confused collection of tin plates and cups, knives and forks, and an endless variety of rubbish. In winter quarters it is very desirable to have a liberal supply of culinary furniture. The man whose fire-place is adorned with an iron frying-pan, is an object of envy to all his comrades, and is universally agreed to have reached the acme of comfort. However, the halves of old canteens, fitted with handles, answer very well in its place. In many of the huts, telegraph wire might be found doing service in the shape of a gridiron, upon which an occasional steak is broiled. Very likely, in its appropriate place is a coffee-pot, perhaps of the plantation style, two feet high, and large in proportion, which some argus-eyed soldier has observed and quietly confiscated.

Our huts were now nearly completed, and with no little satisfaction we surveyed their rough architecture, pork-barrel chimneys, and cracker-box doors, feeling that though the winds might blow, and the rainy season pour down its floods, we were prepared to endure it patiently. When the army has just completed its preparations for a comfortable time, it is safe to prophesy marching orders within three days thereafter. So it proved in the present instance. At dress parade, on the sixteenth of January, an order was read for the regiment to be ready to march on the next day with three days’ rations. Details were dispatched at midnight to the Brigade Commissary’s, after rations, and in good season on the seventeenth we were ready to start; but no final orders came, and it was bruited about that General J. E. B. Stuart, while roving around Dumfries and Alexandria with his rebel cavalry, in the absence of General Burnside in Washington, had telegraphed an order, as if from him, for the army to be ready to move. This is of a piece with a joke Stuart perpetrated on another occasion, when in the name of a Union General he telegraphed to Washington for certain stores, and is reported to have received them in good order.

On the eighteenth, Generals Burnside and Sumner reviewed our Army Corps. In the afternoon of the twentieth, an order was read, announcing that the army was “about to meet the enemy once more. The auspicious moment had arrived to strike a great and mortal blow at the rebellion, and to gain that decisive victory due to the country.” The plan was for Hooker and Franklin to cross at Banks’s Ford, six miles above Falmouth, and capture Taylor’s Hill, the key of the position, from which they could advance in the rear of Fredericksburg, and turn the enemy’s flank. This being done, Sumner with his grand division, to which the Twenty-seventh belonged, was to cross directly in front of the city at the old place, and take the batteries which had baffled our efforts in the battle of December thirteenth. The plan was substantially the same as the previous one, except that the flank movement was to be made upon the rebel left wing instead of his right. The failure of December resulted from the inefficiency of Franklin’s flank demonstration, which allowed the enemy to mass his forces in front of Sumner. But now it was proposed to use two corps in the preliminary movement, and, provided they were successful in taking Taylor’s Hill, Sumner’s success would be assured, notwithstanding the rebels had been engaged for a month previous in strengthening and extending their works. Hooker and Franklin were in motion on the twentieth, while impetuous Sumner waited in his camps to hear the signal which should summon his veteran legions to the conflict. For several days, artillery and pontoons had been passing camp en route for Banks’s Ford. If the weather continues favorable, the morrow will bring to our ears the boom of a hundred and fifty cannon.

But one of those strange events beyond man’s power to avert disconcerts the whole plan. Instead of the roar of artillery, the unwelcome sound of rain salutes our ears the next morning, and continues for several days. Impassable roads, guns and pontoons fast in the mud, men toiling slowly along, or pulling at the boats, add a new page to the chapter of misfortune which had followed the noble Army of the Potomac. The rebels briefly summed up this last advance in these laconic words, “Burnside stuck in the mud!” which they impudently displayed from their picket-line, derisively inquiring when the “auspicious moment” would arrive. The rainy season had now set in in good earnest, and the wearied troops returned to their camps to await the advent of spring.

The progress of events had already foreshadowed a change of commanders, and on the twenty-ninth of January general orders were read announcing that General Burnside had been relieved, and the accession of Joe Hooker. The brief two months of Burnside’s command had secured for him the sincere respect of the whole army. His honesty of purpose could not be impeached, and none felt more keenly than himself the ill success which had attended him. History, in summing up his campaign, will assign no small significance to the fact that Burnside did not receive the hearty coÖperation of his subordinate commanders. He possessed an excessive self-distrust, and it was creditable to his candor to confess it; yet it is a question whether this distrust did not reÄct unfavorably upon the officers and men of his command. Condemn it as we may, the boastful self-confidence of Hooker had no little influence in reÏnspiring the army with that self-reliance which forms an important item in the calculations of success.

The advent of General Hooker was signalized by the abolition of the grand divisions, and a return to the simpler organization of Corps d’ArmÉe. And what was of more consequence to the soldiers, an order was published directing the issue of four rations of fresh bread and fresh beef, and two rations of potatoes per week, with an occasional supply of other vegetables. This measure went right to the hearts of the army, for it must be confessed, and it is nothing to their disgrace, that the hearts of soldiers are very near, if not actually in, their stomachs. For an army is a great physical machine, expending a vast amount of animal power, and requiring careful attention to its animal wants to secure the highest moral efficiency.

From the battle of Fredericksburg to Hooker’s move in the spring of 1863, the Twenty-seventh was engaged in picket duty along the Rappahannock, whose banks are as familiar to the men almost as the walks of childhood. Every other day, at seven in the morning, our quota of the division picket, equipped with blankets and one day’s rations, formed in front of the Colonel’s tent, and, after inspection, marched a mile to General Hancock’s headquarters to undergo another inspection, after which a march of two or three miles brought them to the line of the river. The fact that three fourths of the time it was either rainy, or snowing, or cold and blustering, will give some idea of the arduous character of picket duty. By mutual agreement, the custom of picket firing, so annoying and useless, was discontinued, and friendly intercourse was no uncommon event; which latter practice, though harmless in itself, was yet so liable to make trouble that it was prohibited by special order. Frequently the rebels launched out on the river their diminutive craft, laden with tobacco and the latest Richmond papers, and bearing a note to “Gentlemen of the United States,” requesting an interchange of commodities.

February twenty-second, we experienced the severest snow-storm of the season. At noon, through the thick mist of snow-flakes, came the deep boom of cannon, swelling into a loud chorus, from the adjacent batteries, answered by the low, muffled murmur of the distant discharge. In every direction salutes were being fired in honor of Washington’s birthday. The time and place gave additional interest to this demonstration of respect for the Father of his Country, for this region is intimately connected with his history. Here he lived, and here are his descendants to this day, while on the other side of the Rappahannock a simple tomb marks his mother’s resting-place.

March fifth, General Hooker reviewed the Second Army Corps, on a large plain, near Hancock’s headquarters. The corps was drawn up in nine lines by brigade, in all nearly fifteen thousand men. General Hooker and General Couch, the then corps commander, with their brilliant and numerous staffs, rode rapidly up and down the several lines, while the men presented arms. Then taking position in front, the brigades marched by in column by company. Nothing was more impressive than the sight of the many regiments reduced to a mere fragment of their former strength—a silently eloquent commentary upon the inscriptions on their banners.

The rapid advance of spring, and Hooker’s known determination to move on the enemy at the earliest possible moment, led to much speculation as to the plan of the new campaign. Before the close of March, intimations were thrown out that the army must expect soon to take the field. Daily balloon ascensions were made at several points on the river, in order to ascertain the position of the rebels. As an illustration of “Fighting Joe’s” cool assurance, it was currently reported that one day he sent his balloon directly over the city of Fredericksburg, having previously notified the commandant that any molestation would meet with condign punishment from his batteries. The comparative nearness of our camp to the river afforded good opportunities for observing any change on the rebel side, and the probability that we should have to cross in front of the city in any future movement, whetted our curiosity. The rebels had been actively engaged all winter in strengthening their position, and now dark lines of rifle-pits and earthworks frowned from the bluffs for miles up and down the banks, commanding every available crossing. As may well be imagined, the prospect was by no means inviting.