charlestown, Va., July 18, 1861.
From Bunker Hill to Charlestown may not seem a long way to a
Massachusetts man, but in Virginia it is a hard day's work. Our regiment slept
on its arms at Bunker Hill Tuesday night. We thought the forward movement was
to be on Winchester. A feint was made that way. The enemy had obstructed the
main road. We held Johnston's men, expecting attack. By our sudden flank
movement we have got him. If McDowell has done rightly by Manassas, we will put
Johnston in a tight place. Yesterday we were ready to start at three, A. M.
Twenty thousand men move slowly. It took till nine in the evening to get the
regiment into position at Charlestown, twelve miles off. We were in the
reserve, fifteen hours in the saddle. When the men were drawn up, and had
stacked their arms, they fell right down to sleep as they stood. The day was
bitterly hot; the march terribly tedious, but glorious. Twenty-five thousand
men occupy the town where John Brown was hung. We are the first Massachusetts
regiment which has defiantly, and without interruption, stalked through
Virginia. In the afternoon we entered a small village on our route. The band
played first the Star Spangled Banner, then Hail Columbia, then Yankee Doodle.
Our horses arched their necks and moved to the music. The men moved with fresh
life and spirit. Our splendid banner, not a star dimmed, flaunted in the faces
of the sulky Virginians.
The country is splendid; but, as the hymn-book says, “Only
man is vile!” My cook came to me on the route, after vainly endeavoring to forage
for our dinner, and said, “I tout Virginny was a perducing country,
but I don't see nothin' growin' fit to eat nohow.” The negroes sat on the
fences along the route, and wondered. Our march means freedom to them. It
means, too, the restoration of the Union line wherever we move. The-American
flag sprouts in the furrow of our ploughshare. It is hard work, slow work, new
work; but it has its compensations, this military occupation of a country. “Southern
blood has been boiling all day,” said a woman standing on the door of a
farm-house on our line of march. Just at dusk, as we neared Charlestown, there
was a cannonading in front. We threw out skirmishers and drew up the battalion,
but have not yet learned the cause of the alarm. This is not a very coherent
epistle. It exhibits only an echo of the tone of feeling which animates one on
an expedition like ours. You would have wondered to see our jaded men prick up
their ears, and stand alive again, when they thought a brush was at hand. The
Indiana regiment in our rear yelled like wild Indians. I think Johnston will
retire without much of a fight. But here we know nothing except the movements
of our own brigade. Half of our force goes out of service tomorrow. This will
hamper our movements.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 51-2
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