Camp Hicks, Near Frederick, December 7, 1861.
When I scribbled a
hasty note to send by Colonel Andrews, I was looking grimly forward to a
snow-storm. That foreboding was premature. In its place, I might have indulged
midnight orders to march, and a winter's morning to start in. On Monday night,
at eleven, our quiet camp near Seneca was invaded by a mounted orderly, who
brought orders for an early start. The night was given to preparation. Colonel
Andrews was to go off in a canal-boat at six in the morning. I had planned to
escort him. Instead of this, I was obliged to content myself with a hasty
good-by at the house, and a careful packing of him and his wife in the hospital
wagon, and starting them for the canal. How cold it was! At last we started in
good order. The morning was so cold that horseback was penance. I marched on
foot, leading my horse. We went, by a new road, toward Frederick. The cold that
nipped our ears stiffened the mud, and our path was made easy. A brisk march of
seventeen miles brought us to Barnesville, just under the Sugar-Loaf Mountain.
The latter part of the way hung heavy on the legs of the men, and they
straggled badly. So at evening in the village, whither we went supper-hunting, we
found some officers of the –– Massachusetts boasting of the fine marching
condition of their men, and alluding to our stragglers. This piqued us. We were
assigned the advance, the next day, unless, as General Abercrombie said, some
other regiment gets started first!
I should like to
describe our camp at Barnesville. It was on a wooded ridge. The night was
intensely cold. Colonel Gordon and I shared a tent, and we put up his stove.
The men had good fires. The scene was wintry, and the experience was harsh. The
order was issued, “Reveillé
at half past four”!! The men got to bed early. At half past four came the
rattle of get up. Our candle was relighted, our stove glowed again, a big fire
crackled before the tent, our hastily built straw-bed aided the flames, but the
weather kept the keen edge on. We breakfasted on some coffee borrowed from one
of the company kitchens, and some bread and cold chicken, — frozen chickens.
Soon after half past six the men were all breakfasted, the wagons ready, the
line formed. At quarter to seven we were out on the road started. The sun was
just showing an intention to rise. The Colonel and I walked. He led off at a
smacking pace. Our rear-guard was made up of picked men under Lieutenant
Sawyer, an energetic officer. There could be no stragglers. On we went over a
mountain road, on, on, on! The sun came up. It even began to melt the ice a
little: still we marched on, till we had made between ten and eleven miles
without a halt! A short rest was all the impatience of the Colonel would allow.
Onward again. General Abercrombie here overtook us. “Great marching,” said he. “I
thought you had missed the road.” He had no idea we could so get the start of
him. On along the bank of the Monocacy, — on across the river and the railroad.
The cars were just
coming in. “Hallo,” says one soldier to another; “what's that?”
“I don't know, it's
so long since I've seen it, — believe it's a steam-engine.” The steam-whistle
screeched.
We halt just
outside Frederick at about eleven o'clock. Fourteen miles with knapsacks in
four hours and a quarter! Beat that if you can, over a mountain road.
The Colonel formed
the line in a grove, and the men rested. We awaited orders. But we were so
early that the orders were not ready. Two or three hours after, the –– Regiment
came along with thin ranks. The Colonel had told our regiment, before starting,
that the –– boasted they marched better than the Second. It was that emulation
which made us march so well. Now the men enjoyed their victory, and chaffed the
late regiment. “Tell your colonel,” says one, “that we 'll lend him some of our
wagons to help him along,” &c., &c . I marched the whole distance and
felt finely. So you may know I am well. We went into camp, after recrossing the
Monocacy. Another cold night.
The next morning,
just as the regiment was ready to start on its march to its present permanent
camping-ground, we were sitting about the fire on a hillside overlooking our camp,
when up came R––. I was delighted to see him, and to hear from home. He made
only a short call on us, and left for Frederick just as we started for our new
camp. It was Thursday morning. We marched round to the southwesterly part of
the city, and struck the Baltimore turnpike. Our camp site was on a wooded
slope facing the south and the sunshine. The latter is pouring into my tent as
I write, this fine Sunday morning. We were soon busy getting into camp. I have
been up to Frederick twice. The first time I went to General Banks's
head-quarters, and happened to be invited in at General Shriver's, the Union
man of Frederick. I found myself in a parlor, talking to a young lady! What a
transition!
Frederick is a fine
old town. Our band-leader already talks of giving concerts there. Our thoughts
are all turning on peace and quietness.
The principal duty
will be keeping the men in order, and preventing drunkenness. Yesterday, as
field-officer of the day, I was very busy at it. But had you seen our Sunday
morning inspection, you would have seen order, neatness, and system
transplanted with no check of growth. Opinions may vary of Colonel Gordon, but
his administrative success is testimony enough in his favor. I wish you could
see our camp. Perhaps you will one of these days. We have had glorious weather
since the cold abated. It is Indian summer. At last I have actually caught that
evanescent and supposititious season. We have had the President's Message and
all the reports
I hope there will
be no hasty and ill-considered legislation about the army. The volunteer force,
as it stands, ought not to be put on the same footing as regulars. A hasty,
extempore, uneducated army made permanent, — what folly!
SOURCE: Elizabeth
Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col.
Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 165-8
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