This Saturday found my companions and I lethargic and listless; our shiftless Bohemian existence reinforced and extended by the boredom of camp life.  Neither the Rebels nor our Army have shown the least disposition to move.  The coming of daylight presaged yet another featureless day.  Even a robin’s egg blue sky could not lift our spirits.

The buzz of activity which is an army camp no longer engages our interest as it has formerly.  The men assigned here drill endlessly, shouted orders on every side.  Large bodies of troops maneuver on the parade ground.  Our tents are pitched near the main house of Arlington Plantation, until recently occupied by members of the Lee family of Virginia, and now transformed into McDowell’s headquarters.

Orderlies and dispatch riders are repeatedly coming and going.  A knot of staff officers gather on the steps of the great house, joined for a time by the commanding general himself.  They engage in the daily ritual, holding animated discussions concerning the current state and readiness of the Army for the long awaited move upon Richmond.  Yet no movement is made.  The half dozen of us humble scribes thus assembled all agreed that some kind of activity, however small, would be preferable to continued inaction.  Such is the state of our affairs here that even the midnight revelries, bordering upon dissipation, which we have permitted ourselves, no longer provide the necessary stimulant.

Ever determined to be men of action, we approached the General’s adjutant in order to obtain passes to go forward and view the enemy from one of our most advanced posts.  To our delight, our request was granted without demure. While making application to take our leave of the camp, a headquarters clerk cast an envious eye and asked if we intended to “see some real live Rebels” and if we would give them a real thrashing when we did come in sight of them.  In the spirit of his inquiry we all gave our most solemn assurances that we would.

I soon determined to make my own arrangements as the demands of our profession soon intruded.  I fell in with a picket detail of the 2^nd Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry.  Lt. Koska gave me a knowing smile as he described our errand as a “mere Sunday excursion into the countryside.”  I will hereafter be on my guard for such confidences and side long glances as were exchanged as we departed, for our experience would be anything but what was described.

We took to the main road and headed in the direction of Centreville.  The afternoon was already well advanced when we arrived at our destination; a line of woods in front of an expanse of a large, verdant green field.  The previous detail was promptly relieved, having been alerted and readied to depart prior to our arrival.  The Lieutenant set about establishing our picket and arranging things to his satisfaction.  We had the comfort of knowing that a pair of guns from an artillery battery, and regulars at that, were nearby, supporting our position should the enemy become too inquisitive.

It wasn’t long before someone pointed to a fence line on the far side of the next field.  There, unmistakably were several figures, crouching or huddling against a wood rail fence.  Smoke rose from a small cook fire located somewhere along the fence line. I took out my glass for a closer look but even before I placed the instrument to my eye I knew we were observing and almost certainly being observed by our enemy.  They were much like our men.  In fact I must express my astonishment at the fact that they wore uniforms of the same dull gray color as worn by the men of the 2^nd.  The only distinguishing characteristics I could discern at such a distance was the impression that some of those opposite appeared rather unkempt and unshaven.  In fact, one solider was busy hanging out his uniform to dry on the fence and was going about clad in nothing but a union suit.  “Look y’ there,” said a wiry artillery sergeant,  “they’re doing their bloody laundry.”   “They mean to stay,’” said another.

Looking further to our right and at a goodly distance, I noticed a gathering of Rebels.  They were spaced out fairly evenly in that part of the field.  At intervals one or two of them would dart and run.  Of course, they were engaged in a game of some sort.  My wonder and astonishment increased as I pointed out the Rebels to Captain Brown of the artillery.  Was this what the war was to be like?  Unconcerned about our presence, and with an ease that belied their true occupation, the Rebels were engaging in an impromptu and spirited game of rounders. Seeing the incredulous look upon my face Captain Brown soon explained that the casual nonchalance of those opposite was entirely due to the fact that absolutely nothing of consequence had occurred between pickets on either side for many days.  Individual soldiers had adopted a free and easy attitude toward one another and fraternization had become commonplace.  It was obvious to me that this state of affairs was an irritation to disciplined officers like the Captain. For some time we occupied ourselves by discussing the relative merits of each of the batters.  We warmly agreed that our men were their superiors in every respect, whatever contest might ensue.

I had gone to lay my back against a tree for a little repose when I was alerted to some little commotion among our men.  I rose and went to investigate.  There, at a midpoint between our two positions, a small group of soldiers had gathered. They were busy examining items which I could scarcely make out.  But their discussion appeared friendly.  Suddenly, I realized that three of our soldiers were standing next to two of the enemy and adopting a stance one does when he meets a friend at a street corner. “Perhaps some good Virginia tobacco for a little Yankee rum and brandy,” exclaimed the Captain with an air of resignation.  I went out into the field a short distance and met the soldiers as they came in and as politely as I could asked them what they had taken in trade.

It was indeed as the Captain had predicted.  One soldier had dispensed some whisky to the Rebels, while they had each gotten a plug of good tobacco in return.  One of the men thrust a newspaper into my face telling me I could have it.  A companion took me aside and whispered that the man’s generosity in this respect was related to the fact that he was too proud to admit he was the only man in the company who could neither read nor write.  I could not believe my good fortune.  It was a copy of The Richmond Whig, less than a week old.  By the look of things, our southern brethren were as anxious as we for some test of arms; some trial of strength.  Richmond ladies were already complaining about the first rise in the price of flour and other necessaries, no doubt the direct result of the demands of maintaining an army in the field.  The Confederate president and his wife had held a levee, or so the paper said, attended by the entire Rebel cabinet.

I had begun to think of what I was to do for a meal and a bed, for the day had been a stern test for a man of forty and six years.  But there was to be no rest yet.  Apparently some higher officer had intervened; a Major who felt that the Rebels “should be pressed and harried.”  What this meant was that a line of skirmishers from our post were sent out to see if they could drive the Rebels from the fence line they occupied so comfortably.

At first, the enemy did not react at all to the approach of our men, bearing muskets with drawn bayonets; armed and ready for a fight.  But then one man pointed and gestured to his companions, and the entire position of the enemy was transformed in an instant into a scene of the most intense activity. It took them only a moment to have their muskets at the ready.  Several shots rang out, first from our side, and then in reply from theirs.  One of our men was down.  Then another.  Bringing my glass to my eye once again, I noted that at least one of the enemy lay over the fence motionless.  Further back, another Rebel soldier was being helped to the rear by a companion.  More firing.  A buzz like that of a fly or some large insect; a stray musket ball had flown past my head.  I was becoming distinctly less comfortable.

Before I could regain my composure, I was almost knocked off my feet by the sharp report of the artillery piece nearest me.  I found myself unaccustomed to the clangor of war.  The scene presented before me had a macabre, theatrical quality about it that only slowly impressed itself upon my unwilling brain.  The Rebels advanced beyond the fence line to close with our pickets.  I soon learned the reason for their confidence.  A Rebel battery had unlimbered on a hill beyond the fence line which commanded the whole field.  Both the meddling Major who had disturbed this pastoral scene and Lt. Koska were engaged in a desperate and hurried consultation.  They parted, and without delay, the Lieutenant ordered the rest of the infantry company that occupied our post into line and moved it forward.

Captain Brown saw what we all saw and had his gunners concentrate their fire on the Rebel battery on the hill. Puffs of smoke appeared from the positions of the enemy guns followed closely by the sound of the discharge.  We saw the event before the sound reached us.  The shells from the Rebel guns shrieked overhead but landed some distance behind our position.  Being of the old Army, Captain Brown’s gunners were considerably more efficient.  Their second salvo exploded an enemy limber and did serious damage to a team of horses which pull them.  The enemy battery knew when it had met its superior.  With great haste, the Rebel battery limbered up and drove off.

Seeing the arrival of the rest of our infantry on the field, and the departure of their supports, the enemy broke and fled.  Even though our infantry were mere volunteers from our western provinces, they fought like regulars and never broke ranks.  Our troops moved up the slope and took possession of the hill from which the Rebel battery had fired. That position became the new advance post of our army in this district.  The Rebels took refuge in some dense woods belonging to some farmer whose property adjoins the ground fought over this evening.  It is unlikely we will be seeing any friendly jesting or boasting, or games of rounders on the morrow, for the cruelties of war have come to this place and deeply impressed themselves upon every soul here.

I regret to report that though our casualties were slight, Lt. Koska who had been so good as to arrange for my journey to this place, was mortally wounded.  Our losses are detailed in the remaining pages of The Tribune among the regular lists of those wounded or made infirm through arduous service.

The foregoing was derived from observations made on the field at the Escanaba encampment of Company E, 2^nd Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry and Battery B, 4^th U.S. Light Artillery on June 23, 2001.  Mr. Samuel Wilkeson hopes to accompany the army when it does move on Richmond.  Rumor has it that President Lincoln is most anxious for our forces to move and is urging General McDowell to do so at the earliest opportunity.