Camp Near Seneca, November 6, 1861.
“The war cannot be long. It may be desperate.” This is not
prophecy from the closet. It is inspiration from the master of the position. I
claim for our General the rare virtue of sincerity, — the fibre of all genuine
character. I repose on his statements. Recollect that he wields the causes.
Shall he not predict the consequence? “I ask in the future forbearance,
patience, and confidence.” But not for long. If he can compel our people
to yield him those, he has already gained a victory like the conquest of a
city. “I trust and feel that the day is not far distant when I shall return to
the place dearest of all others to me.”
Now that's cheerful. Of course he won't go home and leave us
on the wrong bank of the Potomac, — of course he won't go home and leave his
lambs to come back wagging their tales, or tails, behind them and him. No! let
us accept, let us hail the omen. “Youth is at the prow.” “Pleasure,” God's own
pleasure, “has the helm.” For one, I am ready for the voyage. I take
McClellan's speech to the Philadelphia deputation for my chart.
I am afraid this is in the nature of rhapsody; but then it
is November, and one must live in the imagination, and look over into the land
of promise, or he may wither and fall like the leaves about him.
I wrote thus far yesterday, but the gloomy sky and chilling
blasts were so unpropitious, that I thought I would not attempt to resist their
influence. It was a regular heavy, clouded, wet day. We had as yet no news of
the fleet, and nothing to lift ourselves above the influence of the weather.
Last evening we got a rumor of the safe arrival of the fleet off Bull's Bay,
near Charleston, after the blow.
Upon this vague elation we went to sleep I am very glad to
receive your copy of Howard's letter, and rejoice that he is in the midst of serious
work. I recognize in his account the inevitable hardships and vicissitudes of
his new life. As part of the Western army, he will undoubtedly see active
service this winter, and will perhaps hardly get breathing time, unless he
pauses awhile in Memphis to take a look at his old cotton-press. I am very glad
that he is there, and prefer his position in the line to one on the staff, if
he is equally well pleased with it. You say you like to receive my letters, and
so, of course, I am most happy to write, but there is really just nothing to
say. Yesterday, for example, all our fires smoked. My little stove was very
vigorous in that direction. Proverbs are said to be the condensed wisdom of
ages. I recalled that, “Where there is so much smoke there must be some fire,”
and cheerfully hung on to the maxim through the day; but I felt very little
fire. Then the question of moving the hospital was raised, considered, and
settled; then the increase of measles was croaked and investigated; then the
news came that the patient sick with typhus would die, and at evening he was
dead; and now, this morning, we are preparing his funeral
To-day we have no news but the prevailing and increasing
rumor that we shall move, in a day or two, into winter-quarters, or, at least,
out of these quarters. I have a sort of hope that the fates may select our
regiment for some Southern service, if we succeed in getting a good foothold on
the coast.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 138-9
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