PREFACE.

WHEN I had the good fortune, in the spring of the year 1861, to be appointed Chaplain of the Second Massachusetts Infantry, I was asked by the proprietors of the Congregationalist to become a correspondent of that paper. I did so; and have written, with tolerable regularity, ever since. The Letters, so furnished, form the basis of the present volume.

This book is, however, far from being a mere reprint. I have omitted much; and I have also added much from private notes, especially of facts, which could not properly be made public at the time of their occurrence. I have revised the whole as carefully as the very limited time at my disposal will allow.

In no sense do these pages assume to be a history. They contain merely the frankest record of impressions received by an eye witness, of places and scenes in our eventful campaigns; while, of my peculiar duties, I have never avoided nor intruded mention. Friends have urged me to

believe that these observations may be worth adding, in this more permanent form, to the materials of the future historian.

If any one discovers a change of feeling, from that of political antagonism to the administration (generally obscure, of course), to that of hearty confidence in the ability, honesty, and wisdom of its present head, I am not careful to deny it. Regretting deeply some acts, yet I wonder only that public affairs have been conducted so well, and promise so auspiciously.

A somewhat parallel work, -the Record of the Second Massachusetts Infantry, though covering the same campaigns, will prove to have an entirely different scope.

I acknowledge my great indebtedness to the scholarly taste and accuracy of my friend, Mr. Samuel Burnham, of Boston, for his assistance in my absence. The index, also, is entirely his work.

CAMP OF THE SECOND MASSACHUSETTS INFANTRY,

ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND, March, 1864.

THE

POTOMAC AND THE RAPIDAN.

CHAPTER I.

THE FAILURE AT WINCHESTER.

NEAR DARNESTOWN, MD., September 6, 1861.

You think it strange that I do not write. But I remember that machinery used to suffer more by standing still a few months, than it would have done from the wear of use; and that, when started, it ran heavily till the dust and dirt worked out and off. The very oil that had lubricated the bearings hardened into a hinderance.

How could you expect, then, my mental machinery to start into smooth running, after a few weeks of such change as that from a quiet village pastorate to the life of a camp, and the total cessation of all writing save the hasty epistles to a few, very few friends, to revered and beloved father and mother, and to the two, mother and child, whose faces are first in thought at morn, and last at night? It used to take time to get into writing order after returning from one's summer vacation; if that so diverted the mind from its usual current, how much greater the effect where reveille wakes