Head-quarters Second Massachusetts Regiment,
Camp near Seneca, Nov.
23, 1861, Saturday Evening.
Yours of the 19th is in my pocket. The evening has passed
pleasantly under its influence. The camp is fast falling asleep.
I last wrote you just after dinner on Thanksgiving day. The
rest of the day went glibly enough. In the evening the men had a brisk dance to
the music of the band, and the next morning there were fewer sick men than for
two weeks before. Gladness and gayety are good medicines. Friday was a very
busy day with me. Among its morning incidents was a visit to Generals Hamilton
and Williams. General Williams quite won my affection by saying, apropos of the
review, “The Massachusetts Second is the best volunteer regiment in the
service.” “A man of sense,” was my echo. Our two new lieutenants, Grafton and
Shelton, appeared yesterday, and were assigned to duty the next day. They were
eager for duty, and promise well. Give Charley the stockings for his men by all
means. I rejoice in his effort and success. I am amused to see that the London
Times compares Ball's Bluff to Braddock's defeat. That was my first
exclamation. A regular Braddock's defeat! Who was the Braddock? . . . .
I do not expect to come home at all. While there is anything
to do here, I certainly shall not come. Indeed, I do not think I desire it.
Three years or the war, was my enlistment; and I am willing to stay with my
regiment while it lasts. . . . .
This morning's inspection took about two hours. It was a
thorough one and satisfactory. We have church this afternoon, unless it rains,
as it threatens to do.
For one, I have no sympathy with the prisoners at Fort
Warren. I desire that all benevolence and sympathy may flow to our loyal
soldiers, whose hardship is quite as great. As for Mason and Slidell, the joke
is so good, so practical, so retributive. I admire the calm irony with which
Mr. Everett wishes them a short residence at Fort Warren. That is clever and
bright, and politely severe
I predicted church when I was writing this morning. Lo it is
evening, and the ground white with snow! So winter steals upon us, and
we have a snow-storm instead of divine service. Well, camp life has its
variety, and is not always same. I confess, as I look out through the flapping
door of my tent, I think it looks as little like invading the South as
any scene I ever looked on. White and heavy falls the snow, — I hope on the
unjust as well as the just, on both sides the Potomac! Now's the time for
mittens with no holes in the thumbs I have quite a long letter from ——. She is
full of the glory and spectacle aspect of the army and the war, her visit to
Washington having taught her all about armies. I could give her a few practical
lessons that would unidealize her abruptly. Never mind, to be illusionée is to be happy.
I hope, in view of the dread you express of my going to
Charleston, where they fight “without giving quarter,” you will be pleased at
the imminent prospect there seems to be that we shall be snowed into Maryland
till spring. However, the weather is so fickle, we may have bright sunshine to-morrow.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 155-7
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