Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Major Wilder Dwight: November 19, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, November 19, 1861.

By every rule of gratitude, after receiving father's long and cheerful letter this morning, this letter should be written to him. But, as the countryman said of his wife, that what was her'n was his'n, and what was his'n was his own, so I fancy I shall talk as freely to both, though I write to only one. Did I not get a letter off on Sunday? I think so. That was a day of bright-blue cold. I gave up church because I had not the heart to keep the men even in a devout shiver for an hour. Yesterday I got a little pull back again. I had fully made up my mind to be perfectly well, so it shook my confidence a trifle. I had to keep busy in order to regain it. The day looked rather gloomy. The Adjutant was taken sick, and the Sergeant-Major. So I had to detail raw hands. Three captains were on their backs. The infernal malaria seemed to have wilted every one. Drills were dull, and the hospital over busy. There was a general cheerlessness overhanging every one.

Just at this moment what does the perverse generalship of our inapposite brigadier but send me an order: “There will be a review and inspection of this brigade in the large field hitherto known as a division review-ground near Darnestown.” There was hopelessness. Colonel and Lieutenant-Colonel both away; Adjutant and half the captains off duty; myself just between wind and water; every one dumpish. It never rains without pouring. The band leader and the drum-major reported themselves sick at parade. Whew-w-w-w-w! I think it all had a tonic and astringent effect on me. ––– sympathized with me in my efforts to repair disasters in season for a grand review. I told her that, though things didn't look very bright, yet I had always noticed one thing, a dark morning kept growing better, and I was going to get up with that faith. I made my arrangements busily last evening.

This morning was jolly cold. I was busy about all the little formalities and precisions which belong to such occasions, settling them with the various officers to whom the duties belonged. The Acting Adjutant had a little delay which bothered me, but at about ten o'clock the line was formed, — the men all in overcoats, — with full equipment. The morning had mellowed into Indian-summer. After all, the Massachusetts Second did look finely. We marched off briskly to Darnestown, about a mile and a half. The regiment arrived at the large field a few moments late, — the fault of a green adjutant. No great matter, but an annoyance. The rest of the brigade was in line, — my place was on the right. I formed the regiment a little in rear of the line, then rode up to General Abercrombie, who said he wished the whole brigade line changed. This gave me a chance to move our regiment right out in line of battle. I advanced them, and they moved with excellent precision, keeping their line exactly. It was a refreshing turn. The regiment saluted, and then marched round in review, passing round the whole field, and saluting the General, who was at the centre, opposite the front of our line. The regiment marched well, — the distances all well kept, — and wheeled into line again finely. So far, well. Then an inspection, which is a tedious process. The General noticed, what is certainly true, that the men looked peaked, dwindled, pined. But their soldierly appearance was undeniable. As if to cap the climax of our day's work, the General turns to me and says, “Put the battalion through a short drill, and then you can take them home.” I might have mentioned that I rose this morning pretty well except a raging headache, and, on the whole, felt brisk. I did not much feel like shouting through a battalion-drill, however. Still, I did it. We did it pretty well, too, on the whole. Shall I tell you what we did? You will understand it exactly. The battalion, as formed for inspection, was in open column of companies, right in front. I first threw them forward into line, which went well, then double-columned on the centre, countermarched and deployed, then repeated that movement at a double-quick, then broke the line to the left, and wheeled again to the right into line, then broke to the right by companies, closed in mass and formed divisions, then column forward and round by two wheels, closed in mass to their old front, then halted and deployed column on the first division at a double-quick, bringing them on their original line. Then, after a rest, broke by right of companies to the rear, and so marched home, having weathered the day. Now, isn't that a lucid story? Don't you like it? It's just what I did, anyway, and isn't a bad drill for the inexperience of a headachy major. I got home soon after two, having had a hard day for a regiment so much pulled down as ours. I put in several good words for us with the Brigadier, and I am in hopes to whiskey and quinine, or, better still, to transport our regiment into its old health and vigor. But certain it is, that hard work, exposure, and Potomac damp have wrought their perfect work, and we “need a change,” as the saying is. Besides, there is this constant picket duty on the river, watching through damp nights for enemies that haven't a purpose of coming. It is the hardest kind of duty, and the most useless, or rather the least obviously useful, and the least exhilarating. I was reading, this morning, an order from head-quarters about “amputations.” “Pshaw !” I exclaimed, to the edification of our surgeon. “If they want to be practically useful, let them pronounce about diarrhoea and chills: there are no amputations in civil war.” With such dismal pleasantries we relieve the depression of our sinking spirits. But I have the pleasure to know, or to feel sure, that we are only harvesting now the crop of an early sowing, and that things grow better. I am very well again this evening. Colonel Andrews now grows obviously better. The Adjutant will go to a house to-morrow for two or three days' rest, and I am inclined to hope that things have just got to their worst with us.

Perhaps I am giving you an over-dark view. Don't let your imagination run away with it. We are only debilitated, that's all. Nothing dangerous, but annoying. I am only thankful that I am so well, and only troubled that there is so little I can do for the regiment.

Send us your warm clothes as fast as they are ready in respectable quantities

Tell father I join in his hurrahs, except that I caution him to wait for exploit and achievement before he congratulates his boys, or canonizes their mother on their account. It is very humdrum duty they are doing now. It asks only willingness and endeavor, — a good, earnest disposition. If it shall turn out that they can have strength for better things by and by, sha'n't I be glad! To-day I am only tranquil and hopeful. Our Thanksgiving day will be a great success. I fancy nearly a hundred turkeys: a great many geese and chickens will smoke on our mess-pans! Then the plum-puddings! Already the cooks are rehearsing that delicacy in many forms, in anticipation of the grand and decisive movement on Thursday. I think that thankfulness of heart and generosity of good cheer will so exalt and inspirit the regiment that we shall know no more depression or invalidism. At all events, the preparation has a wholesome cheerfulness in it. General Abercrombie to-day said, “No winter-quarters.” This was direct from McClellan. He also intimated that we may go South. That rumor seems to gather and not fade, as most do. It has life in it still, and perhaps it may bring itself to pass pretty soon.

I am making a long story of my short experiences; but it is pleasant to write, and, but for a little consideration left for you, I might write on for an hour. As it is, I will write an affectionate good-night, and go to bed. Before I go, don't let me forget to admonish you to tell Mr. ––– that those drawers are as warm as the love of woman, and as constant as the love of man. Tell him they are my hope and faith in this great November tribulation. I will recollect him Thanksgiving day.

We have a bright Wednesday morning. I find a chance to send this by Lieutenant Choate, who goes home on a short “sick-leave,” so I must' close up promptly. What a joke the capture of Mason and Slidell is! There is fun in it. Whether there is, also, international law, or not, I don't know. The luck seems really to have turned lately, and to be going against rebels and traitors. I was very much pleased to read Howard's letter. It looks as if he were where he would have a good chance to make a soldier, and to be an active one too. What an oddity this whole life seems to me every now and then, when I think of it. Changes and chances are very rapid. Verily, to be an American is to be everything by turns, and nothing long.

Speaking of “nothing long,” what do you think of this letter? The camp looks white and frosty from my tent, as I look out this morning. I think I will go to breakfast and warm up a little. As to my health, it seems firm again to-day, and I have every reason for content. Love to all at home.


P. S. — I have reason to believe that the General was quite well pleased with the review. That is a comfort, under the circumstances.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 148-52

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