Rockville, Maryland, August 24, 1861.
Here I turn up this evening, as much to my own surprise as
yours. I got a short note on its way to you from Buckeyestown, just before we
were off. Friday morning at twelve “the general” was beaten, and at the signal
every tent fell as by a single will. Then the “assembly” sounded, and the
regiment formed into line. The ceremony of starting was for the first time
performed with promptness and accuracy. We marched without knapsacks. The men
were all paid, and we rattled along briskly. Our wagons were hardly as lucky,
and, though the regiment got on to its camping-ground soon after four, the wagons
dragged slowly in until nine. This made us late in camping, and late in supper.
We were camped by the river-side, and the evening had an autumn chill and a
heavy dew. I know of nothing more cheerless than the getting late into camp
after a march. Every one is tired; every one is hungry; every one is cross.
Everything seems to be going wrong. Yet at last all the men get their supper,
or go without their supper. The last camp-fire falls down into sullen coals.
The last tent-light fades out, and the chilly whiteness of the camp throws back
the paleness of the moon. As the dawn reddens, reveillé comes fresh as the lark, and soon the sunshine
lights up a busy scene. The men are rested, and have forgotten their hunger in
a good breakfast. The band plays gayly at guard-mounting, and a fresh life
begins for the day again. Such was our experience of camp last night and this
morning. I was just composing myself to camp-life. We were encamped with our
brigade. The New York Ninth was on our left. The two Wisconsin regiments were
on the hill above us. Webster's regiment was just beyond them. I had listened
to four reveillés
in the morning, and soon after breakfast the hills were alive with skirmishers
at drill. I was sitting in my tent when the Colonel called out, “Major, you
must go to Washington.” “What!” said I, “to Washington?” “Yes. You are ordered
to go in command of an escort of a large wagon-train, and are to report for
instructions immediately at head-quarters.”
I found that two parts of the train, consisting of one
hundred wagons each, had already gone on. The third was expected from Frederick
to-day. Captain Mudge's company were ordered to escort that train when it
arrived, and I was directed to choose my own time, but to proceed to Washington,
and see the wagons turned over to the Quartermaster, and take care of the
battalion of three companies while it remained in Washington, and march it back
to Hyattstown. The wagons to remain in Washington. “The train may be
interrupted by Rebel cavalry,” said Colonel Cromman, the Quartermaster, “so it
needs an escort.” I got everything in readiness, gave Captain Mudge his instructions,
and directed him to “wait for the wagons.” And at three o'clock this afternoon
was in the saddle on my way in pursuit of the other companies and trains. I had
a charming ride, — a little warm at first, — through a beautiful country, and
animated by just the least uncertainty as to the path. But I met nothing but
respect for my uniform. After a ride of eighteen miles I stopped at this town
of Rockville, the “county seat,” as they say in this country. I selected a
tavern that had a Union flag flying, and rejoiced in the safe name of “the
Washington House.” This is a secession town of the worst kind, but they have
not confidence enough yet to do anything more than look cross. At the
tea-table we were protected from the flies by a series of fans worked by a rope
and pulleys, and at the end of the rope was a little negro girl who swung back
and forth and kept the fans moving indefatigably. It was an odd picture, worthy
of Eastman Johnson's pencil. I shall be in the saddle again at five to-morrow
morning, and in Washington before eight.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 82-4
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