Camp Beyond Rockville, Maryland, September 7, Sunday.
It is a hot, sunny,
breezy afternoon. We are in line of battle with Sumner's corps, as we have been
ever since yesterday noon. The air is full of rumors, but my opinion is firm
that the Rebels will not cross in force into Maryland. If they do, and
if our hearts have not really died within us, then we shall be fit to
strike them. We want Soldiers, SOLDIERS, and a General In Command. Please
notice the words, all of them; for the history of the past fifteen months is
the sad record of that want. Nothing surprising happened in Virginia. The force
brought against us was not larger than our own, was equally fatigued, and,
still more, without food. But we allowed them, — impotently and with fatal
blindness, allowed them to outgeneral us. We ignored what was passing under our
eyes, denied the familiar maxims of military science, blustered up to the
moment of defeat, and then fled back to our base.
“No line of
retreat.” “No base of supply.” “No strong positions.” What is the issue of that
policy? A starving army hunting lines of retreat upon the firm base, and up to,
and within, the strong fortification of its capital. We stood on the banks of
the Rappahannock a week, while the enemy steadily pushed his columns up the
other bank, and through a well-known mountain pass upon our rear. O, it is
heavy to see life and hope and peace and honor withering away daily under such
influences! Nor do I see any evidence of tone or wisdom in power anywhere
It has come back to
McClellan! I met him as I went into Washington the other day. His manner was
gay, confident, elate. His staff were jubilant. Again he takes the reins, and
what do you expect? I must hope, though I know not why.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 287-8
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