pleasant Hill, Camp Near Darnestown,
September 4, 1861.
A picture! Life is but a series of them. Stand on a hill
just above the creek. Let Major-General Banks, with all his unwon, untried, not to say uncomfortable
or unfit, glories, be by your side.
It is evening; you are at headquarters. The General will say, in full, deep
tones, “A fine sight, Madam.” You will have anticipated his platitude; for you
will find your eye filled with blazing camp-fires and bright-lighted tents, on
every hillside within the circle of which you are a centre. Your ear will
listen to the bands playing in every camp. The distance softens and harmonizes
their discords. You have seen the camps at evening.
A night's rest under the tent, with two blankets and a
bundle of straw extemporized into a bed, is a second picture. Your dream is
interrupted by a clang of kettle and bass drums. It is the infernal reveillé of the Indiana Twelfth.
Presently you hear a clear rattle and shrill fife, and recognize the reveillé
of the drum-major of the Massachusetts Second. Follow it with your ear. You
will see how it is measured. A little practice teaches the soldier at what
point to open his eyes, when to throw back his blanket, and, at the moment, he
is in ranks at the last ruffle of the drum. Regiments are known by their
reveillés, you may say. But if you have obeyed the call, you will be looking
upon the camps in the first glimmering of sunrise. You will glance at the old
moon, in its second childhood almost as graceful as its first. You will see the
men swarming from their tents into ranks. In half an hour the hills are alive
with moving columns, and you are watching the morning drill.
It is afternoon. You have come to visit the camp of the
Massachusetts Second. The General had at once pointed it out last evening. You
then admired the regularity of its form. You now admire the neatness and order
that you find within.
You go out in front and look over at the opposite hill, where
the Regiment is in camp. The officer of the day in our camp is administering a
punishment. The court-martial had sentenced a
drunken and insubordinate fellow to be tied to a tree for
one hour three successive days. There he is tied. The Regiment catch
sight of him. At once, in a disorderly mob, they rush to the edge of their
hill. They cry, “Cut him down!” they groan and yell against us. Our guard is
called out. Their officers cannot restore order, though they succeed in keeping
their men within their lines. The punishment is concluded. Not a man in our
lines stirs or speaks. You have contrasted the discipline of the two regiments.
You have seen pictures enough, because you want to hear more of this one.
Colonel Gordon, as Acting Brigadier, directs the arrest of the ringleaders of
the Regiment, and of their officer of the day. The next morning, to wit,
yesterday, the 3d September, Colonel comes to ask that the man may be tied
somewhere where the regiment which he is commanded by cannot see him.
Colonel Gordon says, No. General Banks, on being consulted by Colonel Gordon,
directs him to go on. “Discipline must be maintained,” says the General.
Colonel then goes to General Banks, and, by what persuasion we know not,
wheedles out of him a recommendation to Colonel Gordon that the punishment be
inflicted with less “publicity.” This recommendation comes just before the time
for the punishment. General Banks cannot be found in season to give any
explanation of his written recommendation. Colonel Gordon makes up his mind to
tie the man in the same place and in the same way, come what may. It is done
without trouble. But the recommendation from head-quarters has shaken our
confidence. This illustrates the difficulties under which discipline is
maintained. We are the only regiment that attempts it, and even the officers
among our neighbors discountenance the severity which alone insures our
discipline. But our men are getting, every day, a better tone. They
pride themselves on the obvious contrast between their regiment and the others.
They submit to the rules out of which this contrast comes. But the fact that
the other regiments do as they please aggravates our difficulties and endangers
our success. We are beginning to long for the direct command of McClellan, who
would sustain our system without fear, favor, or affection. A political
education does not favor the direct disregard of consequences which belongs to
military command. Yet I do not wish to complain of General Banks. I think he
means well, but I fear that he lacks a little either of education or confidence
to push things through.
I have been working away at the deficiencies of our
commissariat. I do not hesitate to say that its condition is disgraceful. No
organization, and not even accidental and disproportioned abundance, in any
direction. A general short commons. This we hope to remedy. But I do not make
much progress. In fact, General Banks's division is not officered in the
Quartermaster and Subsistence Departments as it should be. But enough of this.
We are getting on well, and I only grumble because we might do so much better.
To-day, again, the man shall be tied to the tree.
Yesterday morning we had a visit from General Reed, Albert
Brown, the Governor's Secretary, and Mr. Dalton, the Massachusetts Agent. They
seemed pleased with what they saw. But they only made a flying visit. They
brought no news from home, but they brought the tale of Butler's achievement. “That's
the talk,” say I. “Give ’em unexpected droppings in all along shore. Scatter
them with vague dread. Make 'em constantly ask, ‘What’ll come next ?’” General
Butler is in luck. He hasn't got a big lamp, but he brings it out after
dark. In the night that surrounded Washington in April, he appeared with
his farthing candle: men thought it a sun! Now, again, when the public longs
for a glimmer of achievement, he strikes a light, and men are dazzled by even
so small a blaze. Verily, opportunity has served him. But the move is in the
right direction, and I applaud vehemently. I am just informed that the mail
goes immediately, and must close my letter. We hear of a large mail on its way
from Washington, and hope to get it to-morrow. It is nearly a week since I had
a letter; but if men will go to Darnestown they must take the consequences.
Love to all.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 92-5
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