endure the misery of a long march under a burning
sun, such as for many days past had scorched these sandy plains.

It was daylight when the Sixth corps reached the James river at City
Point, and the process of embarking commenced at once. Before noon the
two divisions, with the horses and baggage, were on board transports,
which were in readiness when we arrived. The staff of Bidwell's brigade,
with the Seventy-seventh and part of the Forty-ninth New York, with the
brigade band, where on board the steamer Escort. We had also on board a
hundred horses.

Great satisfaction was felt by all at the prospect of leaving the region
whose natural desolation was heightened by the devastation of war, and
going to a country of plenty, with which so many pleasant remembrances
were associated. Each man breathed more freely as the steamer swung out
upon the river, and our brigade band sounded a good-bye to the scenes of
our recent labors and privations.

Our fleet was soon steaming down the river, passing scenes of interest,
many of which were intimately connected with the memories of other
campaigns. There was Harrison's Landing, the camping ground of two years
ago, the last one on the Peninsula, where our Union army crowded
together on the banks of the James, sweltering beneath the oppressive
heat of a southern sun; Fort Powhattan, where we had crossed the river
on pontoons a month ago; the iron-clad Atlanta, once a rebel ram, now
doing service in the Union cause; the ancient settlement of Jamestown;
the three-turreted monitor Roanoke; Sewell's Point; Hampton, the scene
of our earliest Peninsula experience; the bay at Newport News, made
famous by the conflict of the Monitor and Merrimac, the masts of the
Cumberland still towering above the waters of the bay as monuments of
the wonderful contest; the old haunts of the Teaser, which had so
unceremoniously introduced herself to our division; and, as evening came
on, we passed Fortress Monroe, where the many lights of the fleet gave
the harbor the appearance of a city in the waves.

The wind was blowing freshly when we rounded Old Point Comfort, and our
little steamer ploughed the white caps bravely. We made good time, and
found ourselves the next morning steaming up the Potomac. Aquia creek
was passed, recalling to mind the encampment at White Oak Church; Mount
Vernon claimed its tribute of thought, and at two o'clock we touched the
wharf at the foot of Sixth street, Washington. T