Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: January 15, 1865

Headquarters Second Mass. Inf'y,

Savannah, Ga., January 15, 1865.

Our latest and most important item of news is Colonel Coggswell's promotion to the position of Brevet Brigadier. I think it is a well deserved promotion; he has always commanded his regiment well, and I feel confident he will do himself credit with a brigade; at any rate, I am glad to continue to serve under him, for he is to have this brigade. This promotion, of course, puts me permanently in command of the regiment, although at present the Colonelcy will not be vacated; but I believe it will be long before the regiment will have men enough to muster me. It is rather discouraging to sign a morning report showing an aggregate present of only two hundred and fifty men, and for duty only one hundred and ninety. I have applied to the War Department for the detail of an officer for recruiting, but with our past experience as a guide, there is very little to hope for, even if that is granted.

Sherman's last general order to his army was a capital one; it told every man what this campaign had accomplished, and was written in his piquant style. Sherman is giving great attention to the careful shipment of the cotton seized here; every bale is weighed and numbered, and marked U. S.; there is the usual number of agents, etc., trying to get their hands on it, but I think there is a fair chance that this lot will go straight to the Government.

We should have started on the march before this if we had not had to wait for supplies; as yet, there is no accumulation of rations here, but they are expected daily.

If you can help me in any way towards getting recruits, please do so.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 206

Major Wilder Dwight, April 24, 1862

Camp Between New Market And Sparta,

Thursday, April 24, 1862.

When I awoke on Easter morning in my dripping bivouac, and looked gloomily at my boots, which, with studied carelessness, I had so placed as to receive the stream from the flimsy shelter over me, and which were full of water, when, more than all, I poured the water out and put the boots on, I might have known, by intuitive conjecture, that our forces would the next day occupy Sparta. The storm did not abate until Tuesday, and it left us in hopeless mud and rain. Our advance is now in Harrisonburg, and Jackson's force has crossed the gap, and is on its way to Gordonsville. “The Valley” is cleared; and General Banks has been enjoying himself with a “general order” of congratulation, back-patting, and praise, worthy of little Jack Horner, and his thumb and his plum. Still, one fact is stubborn. Our column has penetrated Virginia one hundred miles, and is very near to important Rebel lines of communication, and has achieved important results with reasonable promptness and without disaster.

We hear to-day that the freshets of the Potomac and Shenandoah have combined to carry away the railroad bridge over the Potomac at Harper's Ferry. This will interfere with our supplies, and, I think, hasten our course over the Blue Ridge towards Gordonsville.

I have enjoyed for the past two days the slight alleviation of weather. Tuesday afternoon the Colonel and I rode through the gap opposite New Market, over the Massannattan Mountain, into the other valley which is bounded by the Blue Ridge. The road is a graded, gradual ascent, winding in and out. At its summit is one of the signal-stations, whence the view into both valleys is very fine, and, under the changing, clouded, and showery light, the scene had a great charm, heightened by the camps which were scattered over the green fields of the valley. We descended into the other valley to visit the Third Wisconsin, a regiment of Colonel Gordon's brigade, which is stationed there to protect two bridges over the South Fork of the Shenandoah and another stream.

Yesterday was a bright, breezy, sunshiny day, tempting one strongly to out-door life, — otherwise I should have written you a word on my birthday. Colonel Gordon and I drove down to Rood's Hill to examine the position which Jackson occupied there. We found it of great natural strength, with a river on either flank, and a broad, flat bottom, over which our approach would have been made.

We saw one scene in the course of our ride which illustrates the vile tyranny, oppression, and outrage which has been practised by the Rebels here. A neatly-dressed woman, with five little children, — one in her arms, — was crossing the field. We stopped and spoke to her. “Indeed it is,” said she, “hard times for poor folks. Jackson took my husband off with him. They gave him his choice to go or death. I expect him back, though, now that you've got here. He promised to run away the first chance.” Comment on such a “volunteer’ system is unnecessary. I told you that we were living near the house of Mr. Williamson, and took our meals there. I am now writing in the parlor, which is brigade head-quarters. The husband and father of the family is off with the army, but his uncle, the owner of the farm, an old man of eighty years, is here. He is an intelligent man. He heard John Randolph's maiden speech in Congress at Philadelphia. He sat in Richmond in the Convention to amend Virginia's constitution with Madison and Monroe. His farm here contains sixteen hundred acres, and as he sees his rail-fences disappearing before our camps he recalls how it looked in New Jersey years after Washington's army had wintered there; not a fence for miles. This helps his philosophy a little, but he is a bitter Secessionist, though his hope flickers under the blast of Northern invasion. One of the most amusing things connected with our movement into this country is the constant and odd exhibition of its effect on the negro. Day before yesterday our pickets brought in six contrabands. They had fled from above Harrisonburg, to avoid being drawn off with Jackson's army. One of them was almost white; another was of quite mature years, and very much disposed to philosophize and consider and pause over this emancipation question, and act “for the best.” I must try to give you a snatch from the dialogue between Colonel Gordon and the negroes; but I must leave out the brogue and laugh and aspect of the men which made up the incomparable effect. After asking them where they came from, &c., the Colonel, “Well, why didn't you go off with your master?” Ans. I didn't want to go South. Q. The South are your friends, ain't they? A. No, dey isn't no friends to colored people. Q. Well, what made you think we should be? Didn't your master tell you we wanted to steal you and sell you to Cuba? A. Yes, but we don't believe no such nonsense as dat. De Norf is our friends. I've heard all about de Norf, and I never see black men chained together and driven off to de Norf, but I have seen ’em, hundreds of ’em driven off Souf. I'd ruffer trust to de Norf, and I'd like to try it. Q. Well, but you can't work and take care of yourself, can you? Your master always took care of you, didn't he? A. Bress you, if de nigger don't work, who does? De white folks don't do no work. I've hired myself out for five years, made de bargain myself, and my master got de money. Yah! yah! yah! And they all laughed. Q. Well, you want to go Norf, do you? A. Yes. Then the philosopher, who was named George, reasoned a little more about it. At last the Colonel said: “Well, you are free; you can go where you please. You ain't slaves any longer, unless you choose to go back. Now, what are you going to do? Ain't you going to do something? ain't you going to turn somersets?” The negroes laughed and were exuberant. “Turn over, George, turn over,” said the darkies; and down the old fellow dumped, and went heels over head on the floor amid a general conviviality.

That's what I call the practical effect of invasion. Where the army goes, slavery topples and falls. For my part, I enjoy it hugely.

As I write this letter, two men are brought in. They are just out of Jackson's army. They live over on the Blue Ridge. A fortnight ago they were hunted into the woods by cavalry, shot at, and caught and put into the army. They say that the woods are full of men hiding in the same way, and that the cavalry are hunting them out. “The South is fighting for independence,” says Lord John Russell; “the North, for empire.” “No man's liberty of speech or person is interrupted,” says Jefferson Davis.

I believe I am fighting in God's cause against the most diabolical conspirators, rebels, and tyrants in the world.

The bright sun of yesterday dried the ground so much that we had battalion drill, and I had the pleasure of drilling the battalion. This morning, however, this treacherous climate again betrayed us, and it is snowing! for all day, I fear.

I rejoice to receive your letter of April 14, just brought in. It brings me news of Howard and William and home, in which I delight. I hope William's forebodings are not well founded, but McClellan must gather fruit soon or go to the wall. Still, silence to all clamor against him, and let us await the issue. I agree with Howard, that this military life gets wearisome.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 237-40

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: January 8, 1865

Headquarters Second Mass. Inf'y,

Near Savannah, January 8,1865.

We are liable to move very soon; rations are coming up pretty fast, and clothing has been issued to most of the army. Everyone anticipates hard fighting before we strike another base; it seems most probable that Lee will come out of Richmond and give us a fight before he will allow us to take up a position immediately threatening his communications.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 205

Major Wilder Dwight, April 20, 1862

bivouac Near New Market, Virginia,

Raining from the East. Easter Sunday, April 20, 1862.

Looking back, it seems an age since we dwelt peacefully in the wooded camp near Edinburg. It was Wednesday night that our marching orders came. On Thursday morning at a quarter before two we had reveillé, and marched before light, under a pale moon, toward Mount Jackson.

Shields's division had gone on in advance. The day was a glowing one, and the valley spread itself out before us like a garden in its fresh green.

After a short halt at Mount Jackson, which is a town, and filled with evidences of Rebel occupation, such as large hospitals, one of them unfinished, we were ordered to march round to “turn the enemy's left.”

Our path was a rough one, through a river, over rocks, and through deep mud, on, on, on. We heard occasional cannonading over toward the centre, where Shields's force remained drawn up in line of battle, to await our tedious circuit. The day was long and hot; the artillery labored over the almost impassable road. I went on in advance, with some pioneers to aid a little by removing obstacles. As we passed through the little village of Forrestville, a party of young girls sang Dixie to us. I bought a loaf of bread there of a woman, and paid her five cents in silver. “It’s too much,” said she. “No,” said I. “It’s more money than I've seen for a year,” said she. On we go. We have got round the enemy's position. It is dark; too late to ford the North Fork of the Shenandoah to rejoin the rest of the army, who have now entered New Market, which Ashby even has left. Tired and foot-sore, we lay down to sleep in the woods. Marching for eighteen hours, and such marching! the bivouac, in the warm, pleasant night is a luxury. The next morning we start again, and ford the Shenandoah, and get on to the turnpike at New Market which we had left at Mount Jackson. The Shenandoah is swift, and up to one's middle. Fording is an exciting, amusing, long task. It is finished at last, and the brigade, led by our regiment, moves through the town of New Market to the saucy strains of Yankee Doodle. We move two miles beyond the town, and bivouac on a hillside. Our tents and baggage are all sixteen miles back, at Edinburg.

It is late Friday evening before we get bivouacked. Many of the men are barefoot and without rations. Saturday morning it begins early to rain, and ever since we have been dripping under this easterly storm. Luckily, Mrs. Williamson, whose husband is with the “other army,” and who has a fine farm and a roomy, old-fashioned, ante-Revolution-built house, surrounded by generous barns and outbuildings, swarming with negroes of every shade and size, — luckily, Mrs. Williamson and her six little boys and her aged uncle need our protection; and, in return, she gives us a shelter for our meals, and so alleviates the adversity which had reduced our commissariat to starvation. Mr. Williamson is a major in the Rebel army. His wife is true to him and to Virginia. The eldest boy, of fifteen years, is a stubborn little traitor. Mrs. Williamson invited us all to tea on the first night of our arrival. She spread a most bounteous meal for us, but hardly sweetened it by the bitterness with which she snarled at our invasion. The general statement that these people are traitors, and deserve all the horrors of civil war, is easy; but the individual case, as it comes up under your eye, showing the helpless family in their dismay at our approach, can hardly fail to excite sympathy. When we came into New Market on Friday, we met General Banks in high spirits. He complimented our march, and said the Secretary of War had telegraphed thanks to us, &c., &c., that when our movement was perceived, the rear of Jackson's force fled hastily, &c. My own opinion is, and was from the beginning, that the movement was all nonsense, and pretty expensive silliness for us.

Jackson was ready to run, and began to do so as soon as we began to move. But perhaps we hastened him a little. Here we are, eighty miles from our supplies, all our wagons on the road, our tents and baggage behind, our rations precarious, and following a mirage into the desert. Well, the Secretary of War is much obliged to us “for the brilliant and successful operations of this day.” So we ought to be happy, and to conclude that glory looks very different to those who see it close to. Our news now is, that Jackson is hurrying to Richmond as fast as possible. We are probably Pattersonized, as General Shields calls it, and shall be too late for any decisive part in what is now expected as the great battle of Yorktown. Still I do not regard it as impossible that the wheel may so turn as to give us a little conspicuousness in the next movements. It is our misfortune not to be in a condition of outfit, transportation, and supply to enable us to do much. We are working, too, on a frightfully long line of operations. Still hope.

Aha! the clouds begin to break. I wish you a pleasant Easter Sunday. One thing at least we may hope for, that before another Easter day we may be at home again; for this Rebellion will die rapidly when we hit its vitals. They have not been hit yet, however.

I wish you could look at our regiment under rude shelters of rails and straw, and dripping in this cold storm. Our shoes and clothing came up yesterday, and this morning we are giving them out. So we are not wholly helpless yet.

The first night that we bivouacked here a charge was made on our New York battery. A desperate cow swept in upon it, and actually knocked down and trampled on two men before it could be shot. It was a gallant charge! You need have no anxiety about us. We are safe enough. Our future is uncertain, and we are wet.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 234-7

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: January 2, 1865

Near Savannah, January 2, 1865.

Without going much into detail, I will give you a general idea of our last campaign as we saw it. The minor experiences I shall leave till I come home some time, to amuse you with.

The 15th of November, the whole corps left Atlanta at seven A. M.; previous to that time all heavy buildings had been battered down with rails, tracks torn up, etc., so that everything was ready for the torch. The Fourteenth Corps and our post command was not to move until the 16th. As soon as the city was pretty clear of trains the fires were set. It is impossible for you to imagine, or for me to describe, the magnificent spectacle which this city in flames presented, especially after dark. We sat up on top of our house for hours watching it. For miles around, the country was as light as day. The business portion of Atlanta, embracing perhaps twenty acres, covered with large storehouses and public buildings, situated in the highest part of the city, was all on fire at one time, the flames shooting up for hundreds of feet into the air. In one of the depots was a quantity of old rebel shells and other ammunition; the constant explosion of these heightened the effect. Coming from the sublime to the ridiculous, in the midst of this grand display the Thirty-third Massachusetts band went up and serenaded General Sherman; it was like fiddling over the burning of Rome! While the conflagration was going on, we kept large patrols out to protect the dwellings and other private property of the few citizens remaining in the city; this was effectually done.

On the morning of the 16th, nothing was left of Atlanta except its churches, the City Hall and private dwellings. You could hardly find a vestige of the splendid railroad depots, warehouses, etc. It was melancholy, but it was war prosecuted in deadly earnest. The last of the Fourteenth Corps did not get off till about half-past four P. M. We followed after, being the last United States troops to leave Atlanta. That night we marched eleven miles, going into camp four miles beyond Decatur.

From this time until the 22d, we marched as rear guard of the Fourteenth Corps, crossing the Yellow, Alcofauhachee and Little Rivers, passing through Conyers, Covington and Shadyvale, and arriving at Eatonton Factory on the 21st. Here we left the Fourteenth Corps and followed the track of the Twentieth, which was on the road leading from Madison through Eatonton to Milledgeville.

On the 22d, we passed through Eatonton, and came up with the rear of the Twentieth Corps at Little River, which we crossed on pontoons.

On the 23d, we marched into Milledgeville, joining our division across the Oconee River. The capital of Georgia is a very one-horse place, with a few good public buildings including the Capitol, which is quite handsome. Here, for the first time since leaving Atlanta, we got into camp before dark, and therefore had a little rest, which was much needed. We had averaged getting up at half-past four A. M., and into camp at eight P. M., which, with an intermediate march of fifteen miles, made a pretty good day's work. Two hours are none too many to allow for getting supper and pitching shelters.

At six A. M., on the 24th, we were off again; it being Thanksgiving day, our excellent cook had provided us with a cold roast turkey for lunch at our noon halt, and at night, after getting into camp near Hebron, he served us with turkeys and chickens, sweet potatoes and honey, in a style which did honor to his New England bringing up.

The 25th, we crossed Buffalo Creek, after some delay, the bridge having been destroyed by Wheeler's cavalry, which skirmished with our advance.

On the 26th, Wheeler had the impudence to try and stop our corps. Our brigade, being in advance, was deployed against him. We drove them on almost a double-quick march for six miles into the town of Sandersville; the Fourteenth Corps' advance, coming in from the north, struck their flank and they scattered, leaving their killed and wounded in the streets. Our whole loss was not more than six. That night we struck the railroad at Tennill; we destroyed several miles of it before going into camp.

The 27th, we marched to Davisboro, a pretty little place, rich in sweet potatoes and forage for our animals.

The 28th and 29th, our division destroyed the railroad from Davisboro to Ogeechee River. The army way of “repairing” railroads is this: the regiments of a brigade are scattered along for a mile, arms are stacked, and the men “fall in” on one side of the track. At a given signal, they take hold of the rail, tie, or whatever is in front of them; the order, “Heave,” is then given, which means lift, and lift together; at this, the whole length of railroad begins to move, and the movement is kept up until the whole thing goes over with a smash. The ties are then collected and piled up; across each pile three or four rails are laid; the whole is then set on fire; the heat makes the rails red hot in the middle, and their own weight then bends them almost double. In many cases each rail was twisted besides being bent.

November 30th, we crossed the Ogeechee.

December 1st and 2d, we were rear guard; the roads were bad, and we didn't get into camp before eleven or twelve P. M.

December 3rd, we halted within a quarter of a mile of the pen where our prisoners were kept, near Millen. I rode over and looked at it. No description I have ever seen was bad enough for the reality. Situated in the centre of a moist, dismal swamp, without a tree inside the stockade for shelter: you can imagine what the place must have been in this climate in August. There wasn't a sign of a tent in the whole enclosure; nothing but holes dug in the ground and built up with sod, for our men to live in. Eight bodies, unburied, were found in these huts; they were of men probably too sick to be moved, who were left to die alone and uncared for. Every one who visited this place came away with a feeling of hardness toward the Southern Confederacy he had never felt before.

The marches of the 4th, 5th, 6th and 7th brought us to Springfield, twenty-seven miles from Savannah. The country is generally poor and swampy, the roads bad. On the 8th, the corps trains were left in the rear, guarded by the Third Division, the First and Second going along unencumbered. We had to cut our way through the trees which were felled across the road by the rebels.

On the 9th, we encountered a redoubt on the road, fifteen miles from Savannah; this was soon carried with a small loss, our brigade flanking the position.

On the 10th, the army formed line of battle for the first time since leaving Atlanta, six miles from Savannah, fronting the rebel works. The rest of the story you know. Altogether, the campaign was brilliant and successful; in many respects it was a fatiguing one, but to make up for the hard work the men generally had an abundant supply of sweet potatoes, fresh beef and pork. Since the 10th, and up to the present time, rations for men and officers have been very short, but they are now improving.

We are threatened with another campaign immediately; I imagine it will be a move towards Columbia, threatening Augusta and Charleston.

There was no mistake made in the amount of force left with Thomas, as the result has shown. The rebellion has one front only now, — that is in Virginia, and we are going to break that in before next summer.

Savannah is a very pretty, old-fashioned city, regularly laid out, with handsome houses, etc. The officers on duty here are having fine times, even better than ours at Atlanta. Sherman reviewed the whole army, a corps at a time, last week. Considering the ragged and barefooted state of the men, they looked well.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 201-5

Major Wilder Dwight to Elizabeth White Dwight, April 13, 1862

camp Near Edinburg, Virginia, April 13, 1862.

My Dear Mother, — We have been stirred by the news from Grant's and Buell's armies since I wrote, and even more, perhaps, by the attitude of McClellan's forces near Yorktown. This letter can hardly have a rapid flight enough to reach you as soon as decisive news from the Army of the Potomac. I hope large results; yet, in doing so, I must shut my eyes to everything around me, torpid as it is with the paralysis of — incapacity, shall I say? or mischance? To-day we obey the order of the War Department, and give thanks for our victories. The regiment will shortly be formed for that purpose. The time is a fitting one. It is the anniversary of that sombre Sunday of the dishonored flag which brought us the news of the fall of Sumter. It is also a fit time for McClellan's coup de grace. I received yesterday your copy of Howard's letter from Pea Ridge. Its clear description of what he saw and heard and did there is very interesting. After all, I was wiser for him than for myself, and urged him to go to the field where victory has come to be almost monotonous.

Our life here since I wrote is full of emptiness. Picket duty and occasional shelling. Now and then I go down and let the enemy's pickets fire at me, just by way of keeping up the illusion of war. One of our pickets the other day got hit, but the miss is the rule. Out of this nettle safety we will pluck the flower danger one of these days, but not yet. . . . .

Since I laid down my pen our service has taken place. I watched the faces of the men, and missed the light which gladdens them whenever they are called to action. Veterans in everything but conflict, it only quickens their impatience to hear of other achievements.

We shall stay here some days longer, I think. Subsistence, clothing, transportation, all limp and halt and stagger.

We are the most timid and scrupulous invaders in all history. It must be delicious to the finer feelings of some people to watch our velvet-footed advance. It keeps me in a state of chronic contempt.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 232-3

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: December 24, 1864

Near Savannah, Ga.,

December 24, 1864.

Our campaign has been successfully ended, and we are again in camp preparing for a few weeks' rest and comfort.

Since my note to E–––, we have had the hardest time of the whole campaign since leaving Atlanta. On the 15th, about two P. M., our regiment was ordered to the river; on arriving there, we were shipped on flat boats and crossed to Argyle Island, with considerable difficulty, getting aground once, and being shelled at long range by a rebel gunboat. We camped that night with the Third Wisconsin on a rice plantation. The object of our move was to protect a rice mill which was threshing out rice for the army, and to prepare a crossing into South Carolina. The remainder of our brigade crossed to the island on the 16th. That same morning, our threshing operations were suddenly brought to a standstill by a rebel battery, which opened on us from the South Carolina shore; this caused the most amusing skedaddle of about a hundred negro operatives, men, women and children, that I ever saw.

We got two guns into position and silenced the rebs. On the 19th, after several delays, our regiment, the Third Wisconsin, and the Thirteenth New Jersey, started at daylight, and, under cover of a heavy fog, crossed to the South Carolina side, effecting a landing without loss. We advanced at once, driving in about a brigade of rebel cavalry. After having secured all the desirable positions, we entrenched ourselves, and received the support of the remainder of our brigade and two guns. The enemy were much annoyed by our movement, and in the afternoon made quite a decided attack, charging in one place almost up to the works.

Our position was a peculiar one. With our five regiments, we held a line about two and a half miles long. The whole country is a rice swamp, divided into regular squares by dykes and ditches, with occasional mounds raised a few feet above the water level. On a series of these mounds our regiments were placed, connected along the dykes by a thin line of skirmishers. Our ground being perfectly open and level for miles, we could see every manoeuvre of the enemy.

On the 20th, the enemy pressed as close to our lines as they dared, showing a very superior force to our own, and in the afternoon opened a battery in our front, and fired from a gunboat in our rear, in a manner which was by no means comfortable. Early in the morning of the 21st, news came of the surrender of Savannah, and orders for our immediate crossing into Georgia. Most of our regiments and the two guns were transferred to Argyle Island, when the enemy began to advance rapidly into our old position ; they were easily checked, but with them in our front and a gale blowing on the river, it became a very difficult and dangerous operation to cross. However, by ten P. M., that night, the last man was on the island, though he had to swim the river.

Now I must go back to about four P. M., that same day, when our regiment attempted to cross to the Georgia shore. Arrived at the landing, no boats capable of carrying anybody were to be found. Captain Grafton and I took a light “dugout” and went across to send some over. Two “flats” were found and sent back, and the regiment put on them. The largest of the two, containing the majority of the men, had, with great difficulty, struggled against the wind and tide and nearly reached the shore, when an irresistible gust struck it, turning it round and round, and sending the poor boat up the river towards South Carolina with great speed. Grafton and I pursued them in our light boat, and found them about seven P. M., hard and fast on the lee shore of Hutchison Island, whence, after a deal of work, they were ferried back, a few at a time, to Argyle Island.

Such a row back against the wind as we had is easier imagined than described; however, at twelve at night, we were safe on Georgia soil with a fraction of the regiment. The next day was spent mainly in ferrying the brigade over. Towards night we started for camp, and reached it after a hard march of nine miles. This expedition cost us a few very good men wounded, but no officers.

I haven't as yet heard any estimate of the guns, stores, etc., captured, but I understand that everything was left behind. The city has been well protected since our occupation; the citizens seem very well contented that it has changed hands, and show themselves freely on the streets. We are camped about two miles from the city; the river is not a stone's throw from my tent. We are collecting quite a fleet of light boats, so that we shall have plenty of opportunity for rowing. Our next move will probably be to take Charleston.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 199-200

Major Wilder Dwight: April 11, 1862

camp Near EdinBurg, Virginia, April 11, 1862.

Dear D——, — Reduced in my finances: I have not been paid since January 1. Reduced in my commissariat: we are faring on soldiers' rations, our best luxury being hard aspiration: they have made —— a brigadier; who now would seek promotion? Reduced in ardor: rumor says the Rebels are quitting Virginia. Reduced, in a word, in everything, except size: the final reduction came, when, on Thursday, April 10, I received, on this outpost of invasion, a note from you out of the midst of such congenial and agreeable companionship tantalizing me with the suggestion that I should join you last Monday. I would I had the wings of memory to do it with. But alas! my face is turned toward the south, and my future is in other hands than my own. . . . . We might have hoped to see you, had not the perversity of General Jackson or the ' stratagem ' of General Shields turned us back from Manassas, whither our steps tended a fortnight ago. Well, there is a sequence, perchance a wisdom, in events, that is better than our plans or hopes. I cannot but rejoice that every day seems to bring us nearer to a military success over this Rebellion. The political solution of our difficulties is quite a more serious embarrassment. I see no wisdom in the government, and seem to myself to be fighting in the dark. One thing, however, is clear, — the more sharp and decisive our victory over their forces, the easier will it be to re-establish a wise government over them. . . . . We have had a very hard time since we came into the field in February, and cannot look for much else at present.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 231-2

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: December 18, 1864

Argyle Island, Ga.,

December 18, 1864.

An opportunity offers to send a few lines home. We are now on an island in the Savannah river, very near the Carolina shore, our principal duty being to guard a rice mill which is threshing out rice for the army. A gunboat and shore battery have tried to drive us off, but we still hold our own. To-day we shall probably receive rations from the fleet; for the last week, the army has been living entirely on rice and some fresh beef. No operations as yet are going on against the doomed Savannah. I imagine that Sherman is waiting for a force to come through from Port Royal and connect with our left, so as to invest the city thoroughly, and cut off all retreat for the enemy. As soon as we get settled anywhere, I will write an account of our last campaign, though I can't do it justice in any letter. Such a variety of experiences as we have passed through during the last forty days, I never dreamed of.

We had a very jolly Thanksgiving, although we marched that day from Milledgeville to Hebron, fifteen miles. Turkeys and sweet potatoes, honey and various other luxuries, were served at our table at eight P. M., and we drank to the memory of the day in some old apple-jack of the country.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 197-8

Major Wilder Dwight: April 9, 1862

camp Near Edinburg, April 9, 1862.

Scene, camp, snowing and raining, and blowing angrily; Time, Tuesday morning. The Major Second Massachusetts Regiment enters his tent, shaking the dripping oil-skin cap and India-rubber clothing. He discovers John, his John, surnamed Strong i’ the arm, or Armstrong, digging a hole within the damp tent to receive some coals from the hickory fire that is trying to blaze without. John (loquitur). Sogering is queer business, sir. M. Yes, John. J. But it's hard, too, sir, on them that follers it. M. Yes, John. J. It's asy for them as sits to home, sir, by the fire, and talks about sogers and victories, very fine and asy like. It's little they know of the raal work, sir. M. Yes, John. J. ’T wouldn't be quite the same, sir, if they was out here theirselves trying to warm theirselves at a hole in the ground, sir. M. No, John. Then the coals are brought on, and a feeble comfort is attained. The woods are heavy without with snow and ice. In the afternoon I visit the pickets, and spend a chilly and wearisome day. This morning is again like yesterday. –––, who has shown himself  a trump in our recent exigencies, but who has certain eccentricities of manner and speech, came to breakfast this morning, rubbing his hands and saying, “You wouldn't hardly know that this was the South if you did n't keep looking on the map, would you? hey? What say?”

Since I wrote the above I have spent two hours in the hail-storm visiting pickets. This, then, is an invasion of the South, query?

We receive this morning news of the capture of Island No. 10, and the defeat of Beauregard.

Westward the star of — victory takes its way. How long can this thing last? Is it not collapsing with occasional throes of vigor, and are not these spasms the twitchings that precede death? I cannot say. But of one thing I am sure, that it will be warmer farther south; so I wish to go there. It is a week that we have hesitated on the bank of this stony creek; soon we will move on. Our signal-station on the neighboring mountain can see Jackson's camps beyond Mount Jackson, and his wagons, with teams hitched, ready to move at a moment's notice. We can advance again at any moment, by a prolonged skirmish.

I wish you all at home much better weather than we have, and the same peace and quietness.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 230-1

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: November 3, 1864

Atlanta, Ga., Nov. 3,1864.

I am now going to let you into some of our mighty secrets, which, probably, when you receive this, will be no secrets at all.

We are going to abandon Atlanta, first utterly destroying every railroad building, store, and everything else that can be of any use to the rebels. The railroad from here as far north as Resaca will be entirely destroyed. Then, cutting loose from everything and everybody, Sherman is going to launch his army into Georgia.

We shall probably march in two or three columns to Savannah, destroying all railroads and government property at Macon and Augusta, and taking up all rails on our line of march. Isn't the idea of this campaign perfectly fascinating? We shall have only to “bust” through Joe Brown's militia and the cavalry, to take any of these inland cities. Of course, the taking of Savannah is only the preface to taking Charleston. Colonel Coggswell, with five regiments, has been ordered to prepare this place for destruction; he has given me the charge of about half of it. I have just submitted my proposition how to do it.

The proposed movement is the most perfectly concealed I have ever known one to be; scarcely an officer on the staff or anywhere else knows our destination or intention. There are all kinds of rumors which are told as facts, but they only more effectually conceal the real campaign. We shall be lost to the world for a month or six weeks; then shall suddenly emerge at some seaport, covered with dirt and glory. I like the idea of a water-base amazingly; no tearing up railroads in our rear, no firing into trains, and no running off the track. General Thomas will be left, with fifty thousand or sixty thousand men, to guard the line of the Tennessee. I suppose Hood will bother him considerably, but that is none of our business. If Hood chases us, we can whip him as we have done before, and we have the best of him in the way of supplies, as we shall eat up ahead of him. I feel perfectly confident of success, no matter what course the rebels take. General Slocum will have command of the two largest and best corps in the army, and will show himself the able man he is. Sherman will have a chance to compare him with his other army commanders.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 196-7

Major Wilder Dwight: April 6, 1862

camp Near Edinburg, April 6, 1862.

It might be a June morning, by its sunshine and warmth. This broken valley, the “interval” of two sharp, dark-wooded ranges of cuts, itself broken and furrowed by impatient “runs,” as they call every water-flow in Virginia, might be a fitting scene for a pleasure journey. All the air might a Sabbath stillness hold, but another solemn influence is everywhere present. Within a mile of our quiet camp the outposts of two armies are watching one another. The cannon and rifle tone break the silence now and then. If you go down to our line of pickets, you will see the men watching with eager though patient eyes for a good shot; and as the smoke breaks from some cover on the opposite bank of the stream, you may hear a ball whistle near you, and some sentry near by will send his quick reply. I had quite an animated day yesterday. As field-officer of the day, I had charge of our line of outposts. I found in the morning that the Rebel pickets were quite importunate and vexatious. I also thought it important to change the position of some of our pickets; and, in order to do so, desired to reconnoitre the ground. I was soon interrupted in my quiet use of my field-glass by the whistle of bullets following the crack of rifles. The devils had probably worked down through the ravines. I moved my horse quietly under cover of a small house, and could listen to the sound without exposing any other sense. I soon changed my position; and thought, that, as the road went quite too close to the river, I would take the field. But I had not gone far in that direction when a rapid volley assailed me from behind a straw-rick, and I was again led to turn back, more especially as some of the shots seemed to be from some quarter quite too near for security. That is the working of these Rebels. They work themselves into safe covers, and pop away. Even their artillery, from which we have three or four attacks every day, is often so masked that even the smoke fails to disclose it. I leaped my horse over a fence, and made arrangements for my picket on a line a little less exposed. But you can get some idea of the persistency of the devils. They seem to act with a bitter personal hate and venom. In my ride yesterday afternoon I came to a house about which there was a gathering of curious soldiers. The poor woman was in great trouble. The Rebel battery had just thrown two shells through the house, shattering windows and plastering, &c. She was in terror, and her husband was away serving in the army whose missiles had terrified her. “Pa is pressed into the militia,” said the little boy to me. “He's gone away to New Market.” Yet these people explain their misfortunes by our invasion, not by their rebellion. “I wish you'd move your men away or stop their firing,” said a young girl to me at a farm-house. “Our boys'll shell the house sure, if you don't take care.” They cling to their allegiance to their flying army, — and why shouldn't they? It is made up of their brothers and sons and lovers. We find very few men. Indeed, their practical conscription leaves nothing male and able-bodied out of the ranks.

But I must not omit to tell you of my revenge on the men who fired at me. The straw-rick stood just in front of a barn. From the hill on which a section of our battery was posted it was a good mark. On my return to that point I directed a few shell to be thrown there. With lucky aim two of them struck the barn itself; and their explosion had, at least, the result to scatter the men within, who were seen to run back to the woods.

We hear an odd story of an incident in the battle at Winchester. It shows that the Second Regiment has a name in this valley. Probably its long continuance here, and the fact that a flag was given to it at Harper's Ferry, have attracted Rebel attention to it. It is said by some of the soldiers who were in the battle, that when one of the Ohio regiments was broken by the Rebel fire, and faltered a little, some of the Rebels jumped up from the corner of their stone-wall and shouted, “Where's Gordon's bloody Second? Bring it on.” A good deal of curiosity was also expressed by the Rebel wounded and prisoners to know about the regiment, and if it was here. They might any of them have seen it the other day if they would only have waited!

It seems that the Rebels swell their numbers now by a systematic and general compulsion. Such troops will only be an embarrassment to them, I think. But their unscrupulous tyranny spares nothing. An old free negro woman, living in a small hut near our camp, says, “They took away my son last summer to Manassas, and I've had a hard winter without him; but they left me my young son, a poor cripple boy. The other day they come and took him, and my horse and wagon to carry off their sick. He's a poor, weak boy, and all I've got, but they wouldn't spare him to me. I can't help it, but I feel more kind to you all whom I never saw than to them that I was born among.” So she talked on sadly of her troubles.

Look at another picture of this free and happy people, with their patriarchal institutions. Colonel Gordon stopped for the night at a house near Snicker's Ferry. The master was out of the room, and a mulatto slave woman was busy about the table. “You are happy, are you not?” says Colonel G. “No,” with a dull, whining, sad tone in her reply. “Your master's kind to you, isn't he?” “No, he sold my mother fifteen years ago.” That memory and loss had been her life and sorrow for fifteen years, and it would last. Pretty pictures of pastoral content!

“Do not take my corn and grain,” says Mr. Ransom, of Charlestown, a courtly Virginian gentleman. “I've a large family of negroes dependent on me, and I must have enough left to feed them, and to take care of my horses and cows till spring. My poor servants will starve.”

The army moves on; a week passes, and Mr. Ransom may be seen taking care of his single remaining cow and horse. His dependent servants have taken care of themselves, and Mr. Ransom is rubbing his eyes over the abrupt lightening of his burdens. Let us clear our minds of cant, — pro or anti slavery. There is full as much of the former cant as of the latter.

It was Sunday when I began this letter; it is now Monday. We make no movement yet. The Rebel shells have not been thrown among us for a whole day! so life is a little monotonous.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 227-30

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: October 26, 1864

Atlanta, Ga., October 26, 1864.

Yesterday, Captain Crowninshield and Mr. Storrow arrived, after a long journey of thirty days. I think Storrow will prove a good officer; I like his looks very much.

We are still occupying our mansion, quietly living on the fat of the land. Every other day, a forage train of seven or eight hundred wagons goes out about twenty miles into the country, and comes back the third or fourth day loaded with corn, sweet potatoes, flour, chickens, etc. Yesterday, our small mess wagon brought in two barrels of flour, two or three sacks of sweet potatoes, a dozen chickens and ducks, a jar of honey, a keg of sorghum, and several other small articles; so you see that we are not likely to starve for some time to come.

General Sherman says that, as the Georgians have seen fit to get in our rear and break our railroad, we must live on Georgia. Of course, very heavy guards have to go with these trains, for the country is full of cavalry; thus far, however, they have all returned safely.

We keep a cow in our back garden, and have cream in our coffee and new butter every day; we also keep ducks and pigeons. In the city there are concerts or negro minstrel entertainments every night; the concerts by the Thirty-third Massachusetts Band are very good indeed.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 195

Major Wilder Dwight: April 4, 1862

Camp Near Edinburg, Virginia, April 4, 1862.

We make life musical these hot sunny days with the screeching whir of shells or the sharp buzz and sping of rifle-balls. But the enemy keep at a respectful distance, for the most part, and our own shameful mismanagement about supplies, or some large wisdom affecting other forces, keeps us quiet. Our tents came up yesterday, and we are now in camp again. This morning Colonel Andrews and I have been out “prospecting” round, as they say in this country.

The Rebel pickets are in plain sight, just beyond the river, but there is no evidence of any force there, and when we conclude to go on, on we shall go without difficulty. Our advance to this point was made by our regiment in fine style. The men skirmished over a distance of fifteen miles, and did their work well. Neither the musketry nor the artillery delayed or embarrassed our progress, which was as rapid as an ordinary day's march. The impetus and stimulant of pursuit spurred on the march, over a difficult and broken country. At the “Narrow Pass,” where the Shenandoah and a creek crossing the pike a little below almost come together, but are kept asunder by a piece of rock, over which the road passes with just the width of a carriage path, was the sharpest conflict. It was mainly an “artillery duel,” as the phrase is. Our skirmishers had learned, however, before this, that, to their deployed line, the shell, though assailing the ear with terror, were sound and fury signifying nothing. Their effect was aimed at the reserves or our artillery, and it really had an unpleasant sound as it whizzed or spanged near us. It is high time that being “under fire” should be among our “has beens.” I am quite satisfied that the order and discipline of the regiment will tell there as it has everywhere else, and our recent experience is a proof of it. I suppose you must have read General Shields's “private” letter about the battle at Winchester. A more barefaced series of Irish romances I never read. The man actually has the effrontery to connect his fortunate blunders into a chain of shrewd stratagems, and with after-event wisdom to glorify himself. The idea of a man in bed, with a broken arm, four miles from the field, not knowing of the enemy's force or positions till four, P. M., directing and guiding a battle that commenced at once and closed in two hours!! Pshaw! It is like Sir Lucius O'Trigger or Mickey Free.

“An attack having many of the elements of a surprise,” says General Banks in his order, praising the courage and constancy of the soldiers.

“Och, sure,” says our Irish general, turning with a shrewd wink to the public; “but it was a sthratagim o' me own. It's the clivir bye that I am, be dad! Troth, but I decaved 'em. And I, too, with only twelve thousand men to me back, and only a brigadier. It's I should be major-general at laste, then ye would see. Gineral Banks, indade! Och, he's a foine man intirely, and thrates me well. But it's I that inwents the sthratagims!”

Possibly there will be truth in history hereafter; there is none in the present record.

I advise you to subscribe for or buy regularly the Congregationalist newspaper. It contains our Chaplain's letters, which I consider very clever and entertaining.

Is it not about father's birthday? At any rate, I may wish him a happy return next year, and may I be there to see.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 225-7

John L. Motley to Mary Lothrop Motley, August 26, 1862

Legation of the United States, Vienna,

August 26, 1862.

My Darling Little Mary: I am writing to you a mere apology for a letter. I wrote a letter to your dear grandmama by the last steamer, and, I believe, to you, but I am not sure. I am writing at my office in town, where I have the newspapers up to the 12th of August, which your mother and Lily have not yet seen. Here I have just read in them the details of the late fight in Virginia, in which the Massachusetts Second seems to have so much distinguished itself, and to have suffered so severely. I see with great regret that my old friend and classmate Dr. Shurtleff has lost a son in the fight. The details are still meager, but I have seen enough to feel sure that our men behaved brilliantly, and I can have no doubt of our ultimate success. I have just seen Hayward, whom I dare say you have seen in Hertford Street. He had had a long talk with M. Duvergier d'Hauranne, one of Louis Philippe's old ministers, which gentleman had just heard the whole story of the Richmond battles from the French princes. They described them exactly according to the accounts of the Northern newspapers, which they pronounced perfectly accurate, said that nothing could exceed the courage displayed on both sides, and that the movement to James River had been managed in such a very masterly manner by McClellan. All this I had no doubt of, but I like to hear what outsiders say to each other. Hayward also read me a note from Lord March, Governor-General of Canada, who says that English officers present at the late battles, and since returned to Canada, pronounce the accounts given in the Northern papers as perfectly accurate.

I have not a word to say of news. We dribble on in the even tenor of our Vöslau ways. Hayward is coming out to dine to-morrow,¹ and Saturday or Sunday we expect a visit of a few days from Mr. and Mrs. Hughes (Tom Brown) and Miss Stanley (Arthur Stanley's sister). We hope to have some comfort in talking with them, as Hughes is as stanch a friend to our cause as exists in Europe. Of course we never talk or think of anything else night or day.

Good-by, and God bless you, my darling. I promise to write again next week.

Your affectionate

Papa.

_______________

1 From Mr. Hayward's “Letters,” ii. 82: “I also passed a day with the Motleys at their villa, and found him more unreasonable than ever, vowing that the restoration of the Union in its entirety was as sure as the sun in heaven.”

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 265-7

Major Wilder Dwight: April 2, 1862

camp Near Edinburg, Virginia, April 2, 1862.

I promised not to write you till our monotony ceased. It has done so; yet the story is a short one. Our regiment started yesterday morning (April 1) to advance. A few shots, as we started, from some of our Parrott guns, scattered the enemy's vedettes, and five of our companies, deployed as skirmishers, led the way. The other three companies were the reserve, four hundred yards in rear, and were under my command. The occasional interchange of shots now and then, a rapid rattle of rifle-shots from our skirmishers as they came upon a retreating line of the enemy's cavalry, kept us in excitement till we got near Woodstock. When we came over the hill to that town, spang! went a gun from the opposite hill, and whirr-r-r came a shot over my reserve; the men ducked their heads a little, and I drew them under the shelter of a bank. Here there was a rapid interchange of cannon-shot; and when we had shelled out their battery, our skirmishers again advanced, driving their cavalry before them. Just beyond the town we came upon their burning camps, which they had set on fire and deserted. Again we advanced, and came to the “Narrow Pass” (so called). Here the bridge over the creek was burning. Our skirmishers put it out.

The pass is a strong position for the Rebels, and we were not surprised to hear another “spang,” and the rushing of more shells. Our batteries got into position, and there was a brisk interchange of shots over our heads, the reserve being in the hollow, and getting an occasional bursting shell near it from each side. Here one of our skirmishers came back shot in the breast. As luck would have it, however, his brass plate turned the ball, so that he was not dangerously hurt. Again we went on till we came to this place. Here both bridges, the turnpike, and railroad were burning. We halted a little while before entering the town, and when we pushed on the inevitable “spang” assailed us. Our skirmishers drove the enemy across the river, and back into the woods. Our batteries silenced theirs. One poor fellow, in a regiment in rear of our reserve, had his head taken off by a shell. These were the only casualties on our side. Here we paused and went into bivouac; and, after fourteen miles' skirmishing in heavy-trim knapsacks, all our tired regiment went to sleep. This morning there has been a little more shelling. We halt for supplies. We are in bivouac, our tents having been left behind.

I hope Jackson will make a stand, but fear he will not. Yesterday was quite a brisk, exciting day. The regiment did splendidly, as all agree. I am very well, and recovering my spirits. Love to all.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 224-5

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: September 25, 1864

Atlanta, Ga., September 25, 1864.

It would surprise you, or any one else outside of the army, to see what an important military post Atlanta has already become; the storehouses in the vicinity of the depots are piled full of commissary, quartermaster and ordnance stores, and, even now, we are thirty days ahead on rations; the tracks are crowded with cars and engines, and to all appearances, there is as much going on in the centre of the city as in the busiest parts of New York or Boston. Most of the families have moved out, though a number still remain, probably with the intention of staying until they are actually forced from the city. The family from our house left on Tuesday, for Nashville; I felt quite sorry to have them go; they made very pleasant society for us, and it seemed very much like home, living with them. We are now in entire possession of their house, and are living in state and style. The house is a new and very fine one, built of brick with stone trimmings, every part of it finished in good shape.

Isn't a soldier's life a queer one? One month ago, we were lying on the ground in a shelter tent, with nothing but pork and hard bread to eat; now we are in an elegant house, take our dinner at half-past five, and feel disposed to growl if we don't have a good soup and roast meat with dessert; after that, we smoke good cigars on the piazza and have a band play for us.

What a splendid victory was that of Sheridan's! I have never spoken of Dr. Heath's death; he is a great loss to us every way, — the best surgeon we ever had, and a pleasant, genial companion.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 193

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: September 18, 1864

Atlanta, Ga., September 18, 1864.

Yours of the 9th was received to-day. Since my last letter, I have kept pretty busy with the affairs of the post, but nothing new or startling has occurred in my line of duty. Our corps, with the Fourth and the Fourteenth, occupy the works near the city. Howard with the Fifteenth, Sixteenth and Seventeenth, is at East Point, and Schofield with the grand Army of the Ohio, is at Decatur. Troops are in comfortable quarters and leaves of absence and furloughs are being liberally granted. There is just now a ten days' truce for sending families South and the exchange of prisoners.

Before the Chicago Convention, I told you my opinion of McClellan. I am willing to acknowledge that I have changed it greatly since his letter of acceptance. His letter, as you say, was patriotic, and would have suited me if it had refused the nomination; but when he closed by saying that he thought his views expressed those of the Convention, he changed, in my opinion, from being an honest, straightforward soldier, into a politician seeking office.

He knew, as well as we know, that a large part of the Convention was for peace and not for war carried on in any way, and as an honest man he had no business to say what he did. It has always been the boast of the Democratic party that whoever their candidate might be, he had to carry out the principles of the men who elected him. The peace men must have shown their hands plainly, and whatever McClellan may say now to disown their support, they will have a baneful influence upon him, if he is elected.

Colonel Coggswell is commanding this post in a manner which reflects great credit upon him; he stands high with Generals Thomas and Slocum; even Sherman has complimented him, and spoken of the appearance of our regiment. He is, I think, one of the best practical soldiers I know; his chances for promotion are very good; I hope, for the sake of the service, his and my own, that he may get it.

It is altogether a good thing for us that we are here in the city; as I said before, it is all owing to General Slocum. His firm and just rule is felt already throughout the corps; men who have shirked, and, to use an expressive word, “bummed” all through the campaign, are getting snubbed now, while those who have done their duty quietly and faithfully are being noticed.

Sherman is an entirely different style of man. He is a genius and a remarkable one, and is undoubtedly the longest headed, most persistent man, not even excepting Grant, there is in this country, but he is too great a man to be able to go into details. He cares nothing, apparently, for the discipline and military appearance of his troops, or at any rate, leaves that for his subordinates to see to; he cares nothing, either, for doing things through regular channels, but will give his orders helter-skelter, any how; this, of course, is an eccentricity of genius, but it is a very troublesome one at times.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 191-2

Major Wilder Dwight: Monday, March 28, 1862

Camp Four Miles Beyond Strasburg, March 28, 1862.

I had just finished my letter yesterday, and started to mail it, when I was turned back by a hurried order to “march at once.” Our long roll was beating as I got back near camp, and in a few minutes the line was formed and the brigade in motion through Strasburg. It was reported that our outposts were threatened by cavalry, infantry, and artillery of the enemy. As we passed out of the town we could hear the occasional sullen tone of a cannon. My incredulity was proof, however, against any faith in an attack in force; so I was not surprised when the brigade was halted a few miles from town, and ordered to go into camp, and send back for its train. It seems that the enterprising and clever Ashby, with his two light pieces of artillery, was amusing himself and exciting us by a slight demonstration. Ready for a rapid and elusive retreat at a moment's notice, he would like to continue his game which he has safely and pleasantly played so long. He is light, active, skilful, and we are tormented by him like a bull with a gad-fly. We chose a fine oak-wood for our camp, and at sunset were quietly in tents again. This morning the sun rose warm and glorious. The singing birds anticipated our reveillé, and we have the sunniest, happiest camp to-day possible.

I have had an opportunity to hear directly from Jackson's camp yesterday. He is a few miles beyond Woodstock. He has no tents, and his wagons carry only subsistence, and are ready to move at a moment's notice. His force is four or five thousand men. He says, “My men have no uniform, they wear multiform.” He keeps Ashby in his rear with his cavalry and two pieces of artillery. His game is a winning one even when he loses. With his small force he detains twenty thousand men in this valley. It seems probable that his attack on Winchester was in pursuance of a positive order from Johnson to make the attack at all hazards, to arrest and detain our force from its intended movement to Centreville. In this aspect it was a success. In my judgment our weakness was in turning back. The force left behind was large enough to take care of this valley. But, indeed, it seems as if we had no plan and no courage or decision. Vacillation is our name. We cannot take Jackson. If we mean to hold the valley, we should establish our force in position to do so, take the rest to Centreville, and thus perform our part in the campaign. The life that we have led for the week past is a waste of men and of energy. It quells the spirit of our troops, and destroys the prestige of our leaders. My admiration and sympathy go with the gallant Ashby, and the indefatigable and resolute Jackson. With an equal force, the latter would have beaten us at Winchester. Banks, in his general order, speaks of a “subtle” foe, a most unlucky word for a shrewd observer of our movements. As soon as we give him a chance by dividing our forces or exposing a detachment, Jackson may seize the occasion for an attack. While we remain strong in numbers or position, he will do neither, you may be sure. I hope in McClellan's generalship, and am very glad father gains faith in it. You will soon, as I know, hear of movements which show boldness, plan, and decisiveness. The campaign is not to be a timid waiting on the movements of the enemy. I hope events may soon take us to Centreville, where we can feel the direct grasp of McClellan's hand. But I try to be patient, and to feel that “they also serve who only stand and wait.” At present we are safe and comfortable enough. God bless you all at home.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 221-3

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Fessenden Morse: September 13, 1864

Atlanta, Ga., September 13, 1864.

The families are fast moving South; a large wagon train goes out each day, conveying them to General Hood's lines. The family in whose house our rooms are, is going North; I wish they were going to stay, so that we might continue to enjoy the nice beds and furniture. However, we shall have our balcony left, on which we spend our evenings. It is quite a place of resort for the staff officers and others in town who call on us, especially as our brigade band, or the Thirty-third Massachusetts', plays in front of the house almost every night. I enclose some pieces of a rebel flag which was captured here and presented to me; they will answer as a memento of our entrance into the city. General Sherman told an officer of our corps that the reason he left the Twentieth Corps behind was because he knew he was going to take Atlanta by this last movement, and he wanted the corps which had done the hardest fighting and the hardest work of the campaign to have the honor of entering the city first; I believe this is honest, for there is very little humbug about General Sherman.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 190-1