Department Shenandoah, Maryland Heights,
August 10, 1861.
“How pleasant of Saturday night, when you've tried all the
week to be good,” &c. Pleasant, indeed, of a Saturday night to note the
gathering clouds, and to look up through the withered and twinkling thatch of
your rude boughs, and to think of the “drop too much” you will be taking all night.
The muttering thunder will be the “sound of revelry,” and the pattering rain
will soon be falling. Yet it is pleasant of Saturday night to have the retrospect
of busiest occupation, — the prospect of a quiet Sunday. There is the
uncertainty, too, which spices every joy. Let me just schedule my day for you,
and you will see that life is not exactly a dream, and if a shadow, a most
substantial one. Half past four, A. M. The Major wakes and wonders where “that
first call is.” Quarter before five, A. M., he is getting up to the intrusive
melody of that sleepless reveillé.
Five, A. M., he is walking about camp to see that “things is workin’.” Half
past five, A. M., he is strapping on his sword, and, with the bugler, going out
on to the broad field with six companies to skirmish-drill. Soon the men are
scattered over the plain, rallying, deploying, advancing, retreating, firing,
ceasing to fire, lying down, getting up, swarming in masses, and scattering
again singly, double-quicking upon their reserves, forming squares to resist
imaginary cavalry, forming column again, &c., &c. This, in the cool of
the morning, in obedience to the bugle-note which obeys him. Then, again, at a
quarter to seven, the companies return. The Major goes to the kitchens and sees
what each company is going to have for breakfast. Then, at eight o'clock, comes
first mail. The Major franks the soldier's letters, attends to requisitions,
&c., looks up the Tactics. At half past nine he goes out to battalion
drill. The sun blazes, the regiment manœuvres.
It breaks into column; it forms into line; it closes into a square; it again
shapes itself into column and line; and the sunshine glows with satisfaction
over all. The impatient Colonel urges on the movements. The Major flies round and
means well. Two hours have passed and he returns; O, how hot! His horse is
ordered, and, at twelve, he is in the saddle, on his way to head-quarters.
There is always business enough to make him late to dinner, at two, P. M. At
three the mail comes, and brings the refreshment of a letter or the disappointment
of none. Perhaps the saddle again in the afternoon; perhaps other work; perhaps
a nap. At half past five, drill again; at half past six, parade. In the
evening, tactics, picket posting, discussion, reflection, schemes, bickerings,
&c., &c. And bed soon after taps at half past nine. Bed in the open
field. Rest conditional and precarious, — broken by the frown of the sky, or by
the false alarms of trepid sentinels. But rest which, scorning all these
accidental obstacles, these chances and mischances, comes willingly and
wooingly to eyelids that have gazed their fill of wakeful activity. So, da
capo, one day treads closely on another, and variety is always at hand.
Here I give you the prose of it, — the treadmill without the song. But
there is poetry in it, too. There is a sentiment which gives the impulse to
this duty, and which rewards and halos the effort. I have been to
Washington, and returned with a sort of desperate, teeth-set determination to do
all that I can within the sphere of my duty. It seems to me that the country
wants active, busy, self-forgetting endeavor. More than that, it needs guidance
from a wisdom that has not guided it yet. It makes me chafe with indignation to
see the helplessness of the administration. Misconceiving the emergency,
mismeasuring their foe; dallying with a rabble of volunteers when they should
be disciplining soldiers. Thinking, forsooth, that bold conspirators, with the
halter at the end of one path and wealth and honors looming in the other vista,
do not mean to fight for their very existence. Where is the evidence, either of
civil or military administrative faculty, in anything they (the administration)
have done? Where is the will? Who is the leader? McClellan, they hope. It is a
hope so young and tender, yet so fair in its promise, that I will indulge it;
yet it is only a hope. Are we to drift into another Bull Run? If not, we must
all wake up. Those unappreciative politicians had not the tact or energy to utilize
the first noble impulse of the country when it leapt to arms. Now they will
find the drooping influence of mismanagement and defeat a fearful obstacle, as
I forebode. But out of this nettle I pluck one flower, namely, that I can be of
service; and it cheers me to hope that, by active and constant endeavor, I may,
perhaps, do my small mite towards organization and efficiency. I wish I could
do more. To will is present with me. At all events, let men awake to it. The
opportunity to save the country will not wait much longer. A leader, however,
we must have But too much of this. The darker the sky, the warmer my purpose.
But I cannot help writing a little of the atmosphere that is
about us. They say that when some prating talker in Washington told McClellan, “You
have undertaken a fearful task,” he quietly replied, “I know it, and I can do it.” Whether vero or bentrovato,
I hail the omen. The rain drops now and then upon my paper. The camp is
quieting itself to sleep. The other morning General Banks came over to our camp
and happened in on a battalion drill. The Colonel rattled things, and General
Banks was delighted. It was a clever drill, and General Banks thought it better
than it was, so we are the pet of head-quarters. I wrote you a line after my
return from Washington. Colonel William reigns at his camp, as of course he
would. 1 think his military career will credit him. He has the energy and
purpose for achievement. He gives spirit to his men. Barring accident or
impatience, he will do well. If every man will be content to fill his place in
this war, without pushing for the next higher, all will go well.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 68-71
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