1863: Along the Rappahannock, the Mud March

Winter Campaigning.
The Army of the Potomac on the move. Sketched near Falmouth--Jan. 21st
Alfred R. Waud (PD)

Chère maman,

The weather here has been consistently miserable, cold, rain, and nothing but a sea of mud around our bivouac outside Fredericksburg. Now, after the butchery of that late battle, old Burnside seems to have cooked up yet another scheme to outfox Bobby Lee.

We are heartily sick of Burnside and long for the days of our Little Mac. Can the President find no one else to lead this poor Army of the Potomac? Morale is terrible, most of us are at the point of letting the secesh go their own way, we just want to go home.

If the Army continues to throw our lives away, many will do just that!

I must close this now, the drummers are beating the assembly, what new fiasco awaits us?

Votre fils, Joseph

Sergeant Halpin went through the bivouac of Company K shouting for the men to fall in with full equipment. "We're marching off to war again lads! Grab your shite and fall in on the colors! Move, move, move!"

Joseph threw a glance at Thomas Dignan as he struggled into the straps of his pack. "Where is old Burn going to take us now? He find some new place to get us killed?"

Thomas chuckled and shook his head, "Surprised that you'd disparage a fellow New Englander like that, Frenchie."

"Ah merde, he is from Indiana and I am from Quebec, neither one of us is really from New England."

Halpin stuck his head into the tent, "You two quit jawing and get yer arses in formation! Move!"

The long column of Wadsworth's First Division of John Reynold's First Corps looked bedraggled and miserable. The rains had turned the road into a sea of mud. Cavalry and artillery had preceded the infantry and had torn an otherwise reasonable road into a primitive, sodden farm track.

Colonel Walter Phelps, Jr. rode his horse beside the column, his First Brigade had earned its nickname of the "Iron Brigade of the East" on a long march earlier in the war. He noted, with pride, that his boys were marching with their heads up, resolute looks upon their faces.

The 22nd New York was leading the brigade march and he called out to Lieutenant Colonel John McKie, Jr. "Your boys are setting a fine pace, John!"

McKie, marching on foot with his men, his horse nowhere to be seen, tossed a salute at the brigade commander, "Hell Sir, my boys will march through hell itself if the cause is right."

Under his breath McKie muttered, "Too bad Burnside doesn't know his arse from his elbow."

Phelps shook his head, "Keep that thought to yourself, John. No sense pissing off the lads any more than they already are."

"Understood, Sir. My boys don't mind dying, just want it to mean something."

"Don't mind dying? Who the hell is he talking about?" Thomas was angered at the colonel's comment.

"Like we've a say in the matter, Thomas. We go where we're told, we fight, we die, and the generals throw it all away at every turn. Merde, I say. Au diable tous ces généraux!¹"

"Fais attention à ce que tu dis, Gaudry!²" Sergeant Chartier looked sharply at his fellow francophone. Chartier was the only man in the company who called Joseph by the name he was born with.

"My apologies, mon Sergeant, it's just frustrating."

"It's the army, nothing more."

Joseph nodded, he wondered again how a man so young, rumor said he was only 14³ years of age, could be so wise.

"Damn it!" Colonel Phelps swore loudly when the courier from General Reynolds relayed the order to halt, word from Burnside's headquarters was that the march around Lee's left flank was cancelled. The roads were terrible and rebel cavalry had spotted the movement.

"Colonel, Old Marse Lee has his boys up in force at the crossing site. His sharpshooters are already knocking down engineers and artillerymen, if we push on, it'll be Marye's Heights all over again!" With that last word, the courier galloped down to the next brigade.

"Officer's call, Sergeant Major Towne! Regimental commanders to me!"

The brigade being very understrength, it didn't take long for Phelps' regimental commanders to gather. Lieutenant Colonel McKie of the 22nd, Colonel Beardsley of the 24th New York, Colonel Searing of the 30th New York, Major de Bevoise of the 14th Brooklyn (aka 14th New York State Militia), and Colonel Burnham of the 2nd U.S. Sharpshooters all looked at Phelps in anticipation of being told to reverse direction.

Colonel Burnham spoke up, "So is that it, Walter, back to our bivouacs across from Fredericksburg?"

Phelps nodded in annoyance, Burnham was a regular, and they seemed to take delight in talking down to "State" officers. Burnham wasn't a bad sort, just overly familiar at times.

"Yes, Hiram, time to wade home in the mud. Let's get the column turned around and be ready to move."

"Are we going to try and maneuver the column around in this mud?" Beardsley exclaimed.

"No, Sam, we'll about face, have the color parties move to what was the rear and will now be the front. No sense trying to maneuver off the road, we'll be here all damned day."

The morale of the Army of the Potomac had been improving at the thought of getting after the rebs, the turnaround sent morale once more into the pits of despair. It also sealed the fate of Ambrose Burnside's command of the Army. The President had lost all confidence in the man.

On the 26th of January, 1863, Major General Joseph Hooker took command of the Army of the Potomac. Major General Burnside was sent to the west, to the Department of the Ohio.

¹ To hell with all these generals!

² Be careful what you say, Gaudry!

³ According to Company K's roster: CHARTIER, HENRY J. - Age, 14 years. Enlisted, June 8, 1861, at Albany, to serve two years; mustered in as private, Co. K , July 2, 1861; promoted sergeant, March 1, 1863; mustered out with company, June 19, 1863, at Albany, N. Y. He was either a very big kid, or the roster is incorrect. I lean towards the latter. He is not listed on the 22nd's muster roll.

Author's Note: You can read more about the Mud March here and here.