Wilder Dwight: Wednesday, July 24, 1861

Head-quarters, Harper's Ferry,

Wednesday, July 24, 1861.

If you knew the pleasure I have had to-day in receiving my first letter from you, you would write — write — write. A letter written on Sunday with C.’s charming postscript. Its arrival is the incident of our bloodless campaign. Yet our progress is not without its triumphs. To-day, for instance, we have had another flag presented. The ladies of Harper's Ferry, this evening, assembled on the Square, and our officers, with the band and color-bearer, went out to receive the national color. The flag, during the occupation of the town by Johnston, had been sent off to Frederick City, in Maryland. It was brought back last Saturday, to bo given to the first regiment of Federal troops which brought its protection to the people. The scene and the occasion were striking. One of the ladies made a short speech. The Colonel responded, and the band rang out, “Long may it wave!”

Virginia gives an American flag to Massachusetts, and Massachusetts restores the blessings of that flag to Virginia. I cannot help attaching a good deal of significance to the occasion. I fancy, too, that there are Virginians whose blood will boil with the desire to tear down that flag, which we will certainly carry into action when the time comes.

Since I began to write news has come that General Banks has arrived to take command of this division. We hear from Winchester that there is great mourning and no joy over the battle at Manassas. Their dead are coming home to them in great numbers. If I am not mistaken, it will turn out that, if that senseless panic had not overtaken our troops, a half-hour more would have given them a decided success. These speculations and discussions fill our minds here, for want of something more practical and direct.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 56-7

Wilder Dwight: July 24, 1861

Harper's Ferry, July 24, 1861.

The news from Manassas has filled us with gloom and bitterness. We can only rejoice that we were not misled into such a rout and panic. I cannot tell whose fault it is, or how the explanation may alleviate the disgrace, but it seems to me that the disaster is a most terrible one.  . . . O that we had force and energy to strike again immediately! But we cannot judge here. Yesterday a lot of negro fugitives came in. We are obliged to stop them, though it went against my grain to throw any obstacles in their way. One of them, a fine-looking fellow called Bob, we took as a waiter. He was the slave of Colonel Baylor of the secession army, and I think Colonel Gordon will retain his services until Colonel Baylor returns to his allegiance. A moment ago a man was brought up under guard, and Colonel Gordon ordered him into the office. “Where do you come from?” asked he. “From Charlestown,” said the man, a rather dark-complexioned fellow, with curly hair. “I ran away,” said he, “last night.” “Ran away! from whom?” “From my mistress.” “Are you a slave?” “Yes.' Nothing could have been more unexpected than this reply. The fellow says he has brothers and sisters as white as himself, and all slaves. His father a white man, his mother a yellow woman. The man's features and accent were European. O, this is a beautiful system, in its practical details, — a firm basis for a Christian commonwealth! It is an order of things worth fighting for! Bah!

By our maintenance of good order and discipline, by our protection of the inhabitants of the town against the undisciplined of our own army and against lawless oppression from the Rebels, and by the fact of our being the first regiment to bring back the flag to this town, we have so far won the affection of the townspeople that they propose, this evening, to present us with a flag. We shall accept it, and add it to our bundle of banners. Yesterday afternoon (Tuesday) we had quite a flurry. Orders came to be ready to march at a moment's notice. We packed up speedily, and were just ready to move when an order came that a telegram was received from General Scott telling us to stay where we are. Such is camp life. We do not know what a day will bring forth, literally. I see no immediate prospect of our getting into active military duty; but one cannot tell how the aspect will change before night.

One thing is clear, our column would have met the fate of McDowell's, had it made an attack upon Johnston in position at Winchester. But, on the other hand, had McDowell made his attack when we threatened Johnston at Bunker Hill, perhaps the result would have been different.

One thing is certain, there has been no concert, no union in the movement of the two columns. But what good is there in speculating upon what might have been! I do hope that the government will wake up and put out its power. These rebels mean fight. We must have an army, an armament, — generals and soldiers, if we mean to whip them.  . . . Here's hoping the good time is coming.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 55-6

Wilder Dwight to Elizabeth White Dwight, Saturday, July 18, 1861

charlestown, Va., July 18, 1861.

From Bunker Hill to Charlestown may not seem a long way to a Massachusetts man, but in Virginia it is a hard day's work. Our regiment slept on its arms at Bunker Hill Tuesday night. We thought the forward movement was to be on Winchester. A feint was made that way. The enemy had obstructed the main road. We held Johnston's men, expecting attack. By our sudden flank movement we have got him. If McDowell has done rightly by Manassas, we will put Johnston in a tight place. Yesterday we were ready to start at three, A. M. Twenty thousand men move slowly. It took till nine in the evening to get the regiment into position at Charlestown, twelve miles off. We were in the reserve, fifteen hours in the saddle. When the men were drawn up, and had stacked their arms, they fell right down to sleep as they stood. The day was bitterly hot; the march terribly tedious, but glorious. Twenty-five thousand men occupy the town where John Brown was hung. We are the first Massachusetts regiment which has defiantly, and without interruption, stalked through Virginia. In the afternoon we entered a small village on our route. The band played first the Star Spangled Banner, then Hail Columbia, then Yankee Doodle. Our horses arched their necks and moved to the music. The men moved with fresh life and spirit. Our splendid banner, not a star dimmed, flaunted in the faces of the sulky Virginians.

The country is splendid; but, as the hymn-book says, “Only man is vile!” My cook came to me on the route, after vainly endeavoring to forage for our dinner, and said, “I tout Virginny was a perducing country, but I don't see nothin' growin' fit to eat nohow.” The negroes sat on the fences along the route, and wondered. Our march means freedom to them. It means, too, the restoration of the Union line wherever we move. The-American flag sprouts in the furrow of our ploughshare. It is hard work, slow work, new work; but it has its compensations, this military occupation of a country. “Southern blood has been boiling all day,” said a woman standing on the door of a farm-house on our line of march. Just at dusk, as we neared Charlestown, there was a cannonading in front. We threw out skirmishers and drew up the battalion, but have not yet learned the cause of the alarm. This is not a very coherent epistle. It exhibits only an echo of the tone of feeling which animates one on an expedition like ours. You would have wondered to see our jaded men prick up their ears, and stand alive again, when they thought a brush was at hand. The Indiana regiment in our rear yelled like wild Indians. I think Johnston will retire without much of a fight. But here we know nothing except the movements of our own brigade. Half of our force goes out of service tomorrow. This will hamper our movements.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 51-2

Diary of William Howard Russell: Monday, March 18, 1861

“St. Patrick's day in the morning” being on the 17th, was kept by the Irish to-day. In the early morning the sounds of drumming, fifing, and bugling came with the hot water and my Irish attendant into the room. He told me: “We'll have a pretty nice day for it. The weather's often agin us on St. Patrick's day.” At the angle of the square outside I saw a company of volunteers assembling. They wore bear-skin caps, some turned brown, and rusty green coatees, with white facings and crossbelts, a good deal of gold-lace and heavy worsted epaulettes, and were armed with ordinary muskets, some of them with flint-locks. Over their heads floated a green and gold flag with mystic emblems, and a harp and sunbeams. A gentleman, with an imperfect seat on horseback, which justified a suspicion that he was not to the manor born of Squire or Squireen, with much difficulty was getting them into line, and endangering his personal safety by a large infantry-sword, the hilt of which was complicated with the bridle of his charger in some inexplicable manner. This gentleman was the officer in command of the martial body, who were gathering to do honor to the festival of the old country; and the din and clamor in the streets, the strains of music, and the tramp of feet outside announced that similar associations were on their way to the rendezvous. The waiters in the hotel, all of whom were Irish, had on their best, and wore an air of pleased importance. Many of their countrymen outside on the pavement exhibited very large decorations, plates of metal, and badges attached to broad ribbons over their left breasts.

After breakfast I struggled with a friend through the crowd which thronged Union Square. Bless them! They were all Irish, judging from speech and gesture and look; for the most part decently dressed, and comfortable, evidently bent on enjoying the day in spite of the cold, and proud of the privilege of interrupting all the trade of the principal streets, in which the Yankees most do congregate, for the day. They were on the door-steps, and on the pavement men, women, and children, admiring the big policemen — many of them compatriots — and they swarmed at the corners, cheering popular town-councillors or local celebrities. Broadway was equally full. Flags were flying from the windows and steeples — and on the cold breeze came the hammering of drums and the blasts of many wind instruments. The display, such as it was, partook of a military character, though not much more formidable in that sense than the march of the Trades Unions, or of Temperance Societies. Imagine Broadway lined for the long miles of its course by spectators mostly Hibernian, and the great gaudy stars and stripes, or as one of the Secession journals I see styles it, the “Sanguinary United States Gridiron” — waving in all directions, whilst up its centre in the mud march the children of Erin.

First came the acting Brigadier-General and his staff, escorted by 40 lancers, very ill-dressed, and worse mounted: horses dirty, accoutrements in the same condition, bits, bridles, and buttons rusty and tarnished; uniforms ill-fitting, and badly put on. But the red flags and the show pleased the crowd, and they cheered “bould Nugent” right loudly. A band followed, some members of which had been evidently " smiling" with each other; and next marched a body of drummers in military uniform, rattling away in the French fashion. Here comes the 69th N. Y. State Militia Regiment — the battalion which would not turn out when the Prince of Wales was in New York, and whose Colonel, Corcoran, is still under court martial for his refusal. Well, the Prince had no loss, and the Colonel may have had other besides political reasons for his dislike to parade his men.

The regiment turned out, I should think, only 200 or 220 men, fine fellows enough, but not in the least like soldiers or militia. The United States uniform which most of the military bodies wore, consists of a blue tunic and trousers, and a kepi-like cap, with “U. S.” in front for undress. In full dress the officers wear large gold epaulettes, and officers and men a bandit-sort of felt hat looped up at one side, and decorated with a plume of black-ostrich feathers and silk cords. The absence of facings, and the want of something to finish off the collar and cuffs, render the tunic very bald and unsightly. Another band closed the rear of the 69th, and to eke out the military show, which in all was less than 1200 men, some companies were borrowed from another regiment of State Militia, and a troop of very poor cavalry cleared the way for the Napper-Tandy Artillery, which actually had three whole guns with them! It was strange to dwell on some of the names of the societies which followed. For instance, there were the “Dungannon Volunteers of '82,” prepared of course to vindicate the famous declaration that none should make laws for Ireland, but the Queen, Lords, and Commons of Ireland! Every honest Catholic among them ignorant of the fact that the Volunteers of '82 were, all Protestants. Then there was the “Sarsfield Guard!” One cannot conceive anything more hateful to the fiery high-spirited cavalier, than the republican form of Government, which these poor Irishmen are, they think, so fond of. A good deal of what passes for national sentiment, is in reality dislike to England and religious animosity.

It was much more interesting to see the long string of Benevolent, Friendly, and Provident Societies, with bands, numbering many thousands, all decently clad, and marching in order with banners, insignia, badges, and ribbons, and the Irish flag flying along-side the “stars and stripes.” I cannot congratulate them on the taste or good effect of their accessories — on their symbolical standards, and ridiculous old harpers, carried on stages in “bardic costume,” very like artificial white wigs and white cotton dressing-gowns, but the actual good done by these societies, is, I am told, very great, and their charity would cover far greater sins than incorrectness of dress, and a proneness to “piper's playing on the national bagpipes.” The various societies mustered upwards of 10,000 men, some of them uniformed and armed, others dressed in quaint garments, and all as noisy as music and talking could make them. The Americans appeared to regard the whole thing very much as an ancient Roman might have looked on the Saturnalia; but Paddy was in the ascendant, and could not be openly trifled with.

The crowds remained in the streets long after the procession had passed, and I saw various pickpockets captured by the big policemen, and conveyed to appropriate receptacles. “Was there any man of eminence in that procession,” I asked. “No; a few small local politicians, some wealthy store-keepers, and beer-saloon owners perhaps; but the mass were of the small bourgeoisie. Such a man as Mr. O'Conor, who may be considered at the head of the New York bar for instance, would not take part in it.”

In the evening I went, according to invitation, to the Astor House — a large hotel, with a front like a railway terminus, in the Americo-Classical style, with great Doric columns and portico, and found, to my surprise, that the friendly party was to be a great public dinner. The halls were filled with the company, few or none in evening dress; and in a few minutes I was presented to at least twenty-four gentlemen whose names I did not even hear. The use of badges, medals, and ribbons, might, at first, lead a stranger to believe he was in very distinguished military society; but he would soon learn that these insignia were the decorations of benevolent or convivial associations. There is a latent taste for these things in spite of pure republicanism. At the dinner there were Americans of Dutch and English descent, some “Yankees,” one or two Englishmen, Scotchmen, and Welshmen. The chairman, Judge Daly, was indeed a true son of the soil, and his speeches were full of good humor, fluency, and wit; but his greatest effect was produced by the exhibition of a tuft of shamrocks in a flower-pot, which had been sent from Ireland for the occasion. This is done annually, but, like the miracle of St. Januarius, it never loses its effect, and always touches the heart.

I confess it was to some extent curiosity to observe the sentiment of the meeting, and a desire to see how Irishmen were affected by the change in their climate, which led me to the room. I came away regretting deeply that so many natives of the British Isles should be animated with a hostile feeling towards England, and that no statesman has yet arisen who can devise a panacea for the evils of these passionate and unmeaning differences between races and religions. Their strong antipathy is not diminished by the impossibility of gratifying it. They live in hope, and certainly the existence of these feelings is not only troublesome to American statesmen, but mischievous to the Irish themselves, inasmuch as they are rendered with unusual readiness the victims of agitators or political intriguers. The Irish element, as it is called, is much regarded in voting times, by suffraging bishops and others; at other times, it is left to its work and its toil — Mr. Seward and Bishop Hughes are supposed to be its present masters. Undoubtedly the mass of those I saw to-day were better clad than they would have been if they remained at home. As I said in the speech which I was forced to make much against my will, by the gentle violence of my companions, never had I seen so many good hats and coats in an assemblage of Irishmen in any other part of the world.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 15-19

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: June 18, 1864

Not much sleep and rest for us last night. Pickets kept up a ceaseless firing, with an occasional shell dropping in our midst. Could also hear the trains running into town all night. Beating of drums, pounding and hammering, and much noise. Estimated our lines are formed within three miles of the town. Our regiment holds the extreme left of the line. In the early morning the enemy dropped a shell in our midst. Two of our boys were severely wounded, one having his leg shattered, from which he later died. With us on the left was Captain Snow, with his Maryland Battery, which we had to support. The enemy made two attempts to take the battery. We charged them and drove them back into their earthworks both times. That battery did good service, as we could see, when the shells exploded in their works.

Lieutenant Robert Kerr, Company A, had command of our skirmish line. A cool, brave man in charge of a responsible duty, which he performed well. Our national flag was made fast to the roof of a large barn, in plain view of the enemy. They tried to dislodge it. It afforded us some amusement as we watched them waste their ammunition. Later, when they ceased firing, it was taken down. Our Colonel was wounded in the neck by a piece of shell. While painful, it was not very severe. He left the field, putting us under the command of Major Peale, our Lieutenant-Colonel being a prisoner at Richmond. At this point, on the left of the line, in our rear, was a peach orchard. So severe was the firing of the enemy that hardly a tree escaped the enemy's shells, some being cut down and others had limbs cut off, while many bore marks.

Our regiment, when not called up to protect the battery, was lying down in a road, which afforded us protection. We did lie close to the ground and were protected by a two foot knoll of gravel. At one time the enemy tried to sneak through a ravine to get our battery. We were ordered to charge them. As they fell back we followed them, until we were under a cross fire by our own men and the enemy. Our boys, seeing our colors, ceased firing, as we came to a halt, when orders were given to right face, and forward, by file right, double quick, which soon brought us in our position, just in the rear of the battery. We put in a hard day and were only holding our position, nothing gained. Supplies and ammunition running very low. No prospect of help as far as we could learn, and night coming on.

Orders received that we fall back tonight. We are a sick, tired, discouraged lot of Yankee soldiers. After dark the army began the return march. Our regiment detailed for the rear guard. We cannot leave our position until the army is well under way. Our duty is a very dangerous one.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 79-80

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: April 21, 1861

Received several letters to-day which had been delayed in their transmission, and were doubtless opened on the way. One was from my wife, informing me of the illness of Custis, my eldest son, and of the equivocal conduct of some of the neighbors. The Rev. Mr. D., son of the late B___p, raised the flag of the Union on his church.

The telegraphic wires are still in operation.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 25

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, July 30, 1861

Harper's Ferry, Va., July 30, 1861.

Our regiment is now left here alone, the whole army having moved across the Potomac together with all our baggage-wagons. We are quartered in some of the least ruined government buildings; our picket guards extend some two miles out into the country around.

There was quite an excitement here the night we first raised the American flag on the staff at the Arsenal. There was a large fragment of the secession flag flying at the head of it when we arrived in town, but it was so securely fastened that it could not be taken down without a person's climbing to the top. As the staff was one hundred and five feet high, this was quite an undertaking. Several tried, but had to give it up. Finally, our First Sergeant secured fresh halyards and raised the Stars and Stripes. Half the town had gathered together in the yard, together with a great part of our regiment. As our flag was run up, the band struck up “Yankee Doodle,” following with the “Star Spangled Banner.” The excitement was, for this latitude, immense.

Those who have been abroad say that this town reminds them strongly of foreign towns by its narrow, dark streets, dirty, steep alley-ways, peculiar stone houses, etc. Our mess chests have been extremely useful to us. Wherever we could get at our wagons, we have used them entirely to get our meals with and to eat from, our servants managing the cooking of chickens, mutton chops, tea, coffee, etc., very well. Our mess consists of Captain Curtis, Captain Mudge, Bob Shaw, Tom Robeson and myself; we have very good times whenever we can all get together, which is not very often, there being so much special service.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 12