Reminiscences of Two Years in the United States Navy — Reading Companion

A Surgeon's Station Amid the Fleet

Batten's role as acting assistant surgeon places him at a specific vantage point. His station during action is the dispensary, 'just in front of the boiler on the berth-deck.' From there he witnesses the chaos of battle filtered through the needs of the wounded. The memoir records not only his own movements but those of the crew: the officer of the deck pacing the starboard side, the pilot standing on the after hatchway, the messenger boys carrying victuals. These details build a sense of spatial order that combat disrupts. When the attack comes, Batten hears 'the zipping of bullets' and the 'three loud and prolonged rattles' calling all hands to quarters. His description of Lewis being passed down to him, killed by a bullet through the head, is stark and unembellished. The medical lens here is implicit—Batten records what he sees without clinical commentary, letting the event speak for itself.

River Geography and Tactical Movement

The memoir is anchored in specific locations: the Roanoke River, the Dismal Swamp Canal, Plymouth, Newbern, Rainbow Bluff. Batten describes the river's bends and bluffs with a surveyor's eye. At one point the fleet anchors where 'the river makes a bend like that of a horseshoe,' with a low, level ground on one side and a high ridge on the other. This geography dictates tactics: the rebels fortify Poplar Point, and the fleet must dredge the river under fire. Batten notes how small boats are 'tied in line across the river' to stop floating torpedoes. The movement between scenes—from the Valley City to the launch, from the berth deck to the dispensary—creates a sense of constrained mobility. The river itself becomes a character, its current rushing past, making the rudder flap. These details ground the narrative in a physical world where every bend might hide an enemy battery.

The Death of Pilot John A. Lewis

One of the memoir's most vivid episodes is the death of Pilot John A. Lewis. Batten recounts the moment with precise chronology: the quiet afternoon, the fish nibbling, the cook preparing supper. He is pacing the port side when he asks Lewis about the prospect of reaching Rainbow Bluff. Lewis replies, 'I think we will get there by and by, if we have patience and the rebels don't blow us up.' As Batten turns, he hears an explosion 'like that of a number of barrels of fire-crackers.' Bullets zip past his head. Lewis is killed instantly, a bullet passing through his head from ear to ear. Batten does not dwell on emotion; he reports the fact and notes that Lewis had been pilot of the ill-fated Otsego. The scene encapsulates the memoir's method: a quiet moment, a casual exchange, then sudden violence. The reader is left with the image of a man standing on a hatchway one moment and gone the next.

Daily Routine and Sudden Danger

Batten's narrative oscillates between the mundane and the terrifying. On December 18, the fleet dredges the river by day and anchors at night, when 'rebel musketeers and sharpshooters frequently come up under cover of the darkness.' The crew responds with grape shot. On December 20, launches are fired into; Acting Master Wells and two men are wounded. The rowers panic, dropping their oars and lying down in the boats. Captain Brooks must call to them from the Valley City to rouse them. Batten records these incidents without judgment, letting the actions speak. The memoir also includes lighter moments: the fish nibbling hardtack, the men lounging on the berth deck. These details create a texture of life aboard ship that makes the sudden attacks more jarring. The structure of the memoir—short dated entries, each a vignette—mirrors this rhythm of waiting and action, of quiet and alarm.

Batten's memoir offers a ground-level view of Union naval operations in North Carolina's rivers. Readers should attend to the dated entries and the shifts between calm and crisis. The author's medical background shapes his observations, but he rarely steps back to analyze. Instead, he presents scenes as they unfold, trusting the reader to see the pattern. The incomplete nature of the excerpts means some episodes remain fragmentary, but the core experience—of duty, danger, and the daily business of keeping a ship afloat—comes through clearly.

There’s something about Batten’s river-war quietness—the lulls between alarms—that stayed with me long after finishing. It reminded me of another kind of waiting, the one I found in The White Road to Verdun — Background and Themes, where the silences feel just as heavy as the noise. Two wars, different waters, same ache between the lines.