Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Monday, October 21, 1861

Battle of Ball's Bluff. Gen. Stone crossed the Potomac near Conrad's Ferry, across Harrison's Island, with Col. Baker's brigade, this morning. (Forty-second New York, Fifteenth and Twentieth Massachusetts Regiments, and a piece of artillery, of Capt. Vaughan's battery. The rest of the battery stayed on Harrison Island.) By seven o'clock in the evening, the whole division of Gen. Banks left Darnestown, going to Edwards Ferry. Our battery started about nine o'clock. Arriving at Poolesville, we heard of the disastrous result. Our troops had withdrawn from Ball's Bluff. Col. Baker's corpse was brought into town.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 24-5

Diary of Laura M. Towne: Tuesday, June 24, 1862

We had a serenade last night. It was given by Holbrook, Fuller, and others. They spoke about it at breakfast and General Hunter laughed heartily as they wanted to know why it was not appreciated by the household. We had a very cosy, sociable, pleasant meal. Mrs. Dibble, or Dibbil, the wife of an officer on Morris Island, who stays with Mrs. Hunter, shared her room with me, and after the serenade we slept well. I had another long talk with General and Mrs. Hunter. I told him of the assault upon Mr. Pierce, and the cotton agents' evil doings generally. He says he shall burn Charleston if he ever has a chance to take it, but that he has no chance now, for all his troops are withdrawn except barely enough for defence. He is a generous but too impulsive man, kind to a fault to his soldiers, and more anti-slavery than I expected. He wore a loose undress coat made of white cassimir and a straw hat, when walking on the piazza. His manner is very quick and decided, and to his wife, attentive and as if he were much attached to her. He told me how she went with him on all his campaigns and how impossible it was for him to do without her; and she told me how he had suffered with the cut across the cheek and wound in the ankle which he received at Ball's Bluff, I think, or Bull Run. I spoke of Fremont admiringly, and he blazed up. “I admire his anti-slavery,” I said, “and his proclamation.” “That was well,” he replied, “but his military operations were ridiculous and he came near losing Missouri;” and he said, I think, that he was not trustworthy.

“There's that guard asleep again,” he said once. “Let him sleep, David,” urged his wife. “How would you like to stand and walk about so long uselessly with a heavy gun on your shoulder in the hot sun? Let him sleep, David.” “Oh, you would keep pretty order in my camp,” he said, laughingly, and let the man sleep.

Mr. French took me back, in the Locust Point, to Beaufort.

SOURCE: Rupert Sargent Holland, Editor, Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne: Written from the Sea Islands of South Carolina 1862-1864, p. 71-2

The Victory on the Cumberland—The End in Sight

We have reason to believe, if not the certainty, that Fort Donelson has fallen.  After a struggle, desperate on both sides, and, as far as my be judged from the imperfect details which have reached us, creditable to the fighting qualities of both, the post capitulated, and the National colors took the place, on the ramparts, of the rebel rag.  The destruction of life and the lists of wounded are probably largely in excess of those of any previous contest of the war.  It could hardly be otherwise.  The opposing forces were strong in numbers, but while the assailants were more perilously exposed, the defenders, from their very numbers, cooped up as they were in lines where they were helpless to fight, and simply in the way of each other, must have suffered frightfully from the storm of shell and shot hurled upon them from that circumvallation of fire.  It was doubtless the terrible sacrifice of life to which they were subjected within the fort that prompted these daring sorties which the besiegers so gallantly repulsed.

Having this glorious result of the fight, we may well postpone the discussion of details.  With the capture of Fort Donelson, another of those mortal blows recently struck at the heart of the rebellion has been inflicted.  Nor are we to lose sight of the fact that nearly all of these victories come from the command of Gen. HALLECK.  Fort Henry captured, the loyalty of Tennessee brought to light, the surrender if Fort Donelson, the retreat of PRICE, from Springfield, and the report of this morning that CURTIS had overtaken his rear, had seized his baggage-train and more prisoners that he knew what to do with, show with what energy and how victoriously the commander of the Western Department is executing his part of the great programme.  These, with the retreat of JOHNSTON from before BUELL, relieve, practically, both Missouri and Kentucky from the rebel enemy, and lay bare the Tennessee  to the admission of these Union armies which shall bring liberation to its oppressed but loyal people.

While the war in the West is thus drawing to a close, the signs are not less significant in the East.  There is little doubt that in North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia, our forces are at this moment executing flank movements to the interior, which must effectually isolate the main rebel army in Eastern Virginia from its sources of supply.  It is clearly improbable for the rebels to hold their position at Manassas.  Their retreat must be a question of a few days—perhaps of a few hours.  There is but one reason for the evacuation of Bowling Green that is not valid for the evacuation of Manassas, and it is that no division of the Potomac army has been thrown forward to threaten an attack.  But such a threat is no longer necessary.  The news that Fort Donelson is in National hands; that the Tennessee river is open to our gunboats even to Muscle Shoals in Alabama; that the Cumberland can now be ascended to Nashville; that Memphis is in danger, and that the garrison of Columbus are for all practical purposes prisoners of war, must give that shock to the rebels near Washington which shall leave to its leaders an only alternative of withdrawing their army, or seeing it dissolve.  A retreat will be begun, but where will it end? Nowhere, we conceive short of the Gulf States.  The only pause at Richmond will probably be to witness the gloomy pageant of JEFF. DAVIS inaugurated as President, like a King crowned on his death-bed, or the succession of a Byzantine Emperor, when Byzantium itself was beleaguered and stormed by the Turks.  It will be in the Gulf States that the last stand of the rebels will be attempted.  But there our lines are already drawn tightly about them.  We hold the coast.  The blockade is pinchingly close.  What our gunboats and mortar-boats have done East and West they can do for every river and harbor on the Gulf.  Our troops will escape from the mud and the frosts of the Border States, to a theater of war, where for months to come the temperature is that of our Northern Summer, and where roads are settled, and military movements facile.  Indeed, of the resistance of the desperate traitors can be protracted through the Summer, a campaign in July and August would convey no discomfort to those who have experienced similar heats in our own latitudes; for the steady Southern Summer is far less intolerable that the varying temperatures of the North.

It is no extravagance, therefore, to say the rebellion has culminated.  Its settling must be as the flash of a meteor.  Had the illusory stimulus of the apparent victories of Bull Run and Ball’s Bluff been wanting; and had the certainty of the non-interference of France and England been earlier attained, the result must have been early reached.  After this, it certainly can[no]t be materially postponed.  The monster is already clutched and in his death struggle.

SOURCE: “The Victory on the Cumberland—The End in Sight,” The New York Times, New York, New York, Monday, February 17, 1862, p. 4.

Lieutenant John William Grout

Lieutenant John William Grout, the subject of “The Vacant Chair,” was the only son of Jonathan and Mary Jane Grout, and was born in Worcester, Massachusetts, July 25th, 1843. His father was a successful business man, and the son enjoyed the excellent educational advantages given to the young in that enterprising city. He was a bright boy, and a favorite of his playmates, by whom he was familiarly known as Willie Grout. It soon was evident that he was by nature endowed with rare gifts, physically and mentally.

“Of medium stature and symmetrical proportions, erect carriage and remarkably fine and manly features, and with elastic vigor and the glow of health, he might have been selected as a model by an artist.”

The photograph herewith given, which was taken just before his departure for the war, is an excellent likeness of his personal presence. He was a diligent student, and mastered easily subjects to which his attention was given; but he turned with special interest to history, in its relation to nations, and their conflicts one with another. He seemed to have been born for a military life; and inherited undoubtedly a love for the camp from his ancestors. “He was of the sixth generation from John of Sudbury, who was a grandson of an English Knight, and who distinguished himself for his heroism in leading his townsmen triumphantly against the assaults of the Indians in 1676, — for which he was rewarded with a Captaincy, then a substitute for Knighthood in England.”

It was early a question what profession in life he should follow, — a matter which was not settled till he entered the Highland School in his native city, where in the Military Department his wishes were gratified. He joined the company of Cadets, and soon became its commander. Hardly had his [ambition] been thus gratified, when the Civil War became the all-absorbing matter of interest to the people.

No one was quicker than he to see that 11 is hour had come, and he desired at once to enter the army; but his parents withheld their consent for a while, chiefly on account of his youth, for he had barely attained the age when his country could legally claim his services. When however, they yielded to his importunity, his joy knew no bounds; and with all the ardor of his nature he began preparations for the service before him, such as sleeping on the floor to inure himself to the hardships of life in camp.

When the Massachusetts 15th Regiment was organized, he received the commission of second lieutenant of Company D, — an honor rarely bestowed upon so young a person. He was very popular in the regiment. His knowledge of military tactics was such that his services as a drillmaster were in constant demand.

“He assured his friends, not with buoyant rashness, but with serious candor, that he had girded on his armor for all the emergencies of war, and for victory or death. He seemed to feel the solemnities as well as the [responsibilities] of his position, but never faltered in his purpose, or in the duties he was [subsequently] called to discharge.

“It was the fortune of the Massachusetts 15th Regiment to do the greatest execution, and suffer the greatest loss, in that disastrous conflict at Ball's Bluff, October 21, 1861.”

The coolness, self-possession, and courage of Lieutenant Grout were noticed by his comrades with astonishment, and greatly stimulated the courage of others. When the day was lost, and they were forced to retreat to the river, he seemed to be utterly regardless of himself in his desire to have the wounded conveyed to the opposite shore. To his honor let it ever be remembered that he crossed the stream with a boat-load of the sufferers, and seeing them safely landed, returned to render like assistance to others; and continued so to do till he was obliged to plunge into the stream to save his own life. He had reached the middle of the river when he exclaimed to a comrade at his side, “Tell Company D I could have reached the shore, but I am shot, and must sink;” and as the waters closed over him, his spirit took its flight from the throes and conflicts of earth.

When his death was announced, Col. Devens with deep emotion said, “Dear little fellow; he came to me at the close of the battle and said, ‘Colonel, can I do anything more for you?’ and I replied, ‘Nothing but take care of yourself.’”

For several weeks the Potomac held his body in its embrace, to be finally surrendered to loving hands, from whence it was tenderly borne to his native city for burial.

The heart of the old Commonwealth had never known a sadder day than when his remains, under the escort of the Highland Cadets, attended by the mayor and both branches of the city government, Col. Devens, and a large concourse of sympathizing citizens, were taken to the cemetery for interment.

Many tears were mingled with the volleys fired over the grave of the hero, who, at the early age of eighteen, fell a voluntary sacrifice upon the altar of his country.

SOURCE: Henry Stevenson Washburn , The Vacant Chair and Other Poems, p. 15-18

Speech of Senator Charles Sumner in the United States Senate, December 18, 1861

Some days ago I called the attention of the Senate to abuses in Missouri with reference to fugitive slaves. Since then I have received a great many communications from that State showing very great interest in the question, some of them in the nature of protest against the system which has been adopted there. One of these purports to come from a slave owner, himself educated in a slave State, and he speaks with great bitterness of the indignity that has been put upon the Army there, and of the injury that it has done to the cause of the Union. Another letter from another person contains a passage which I shall read:

“I wish to say in addition that I have lived twenty-four years in Missouri, that I know the people well, have served them in various offices, and let me assure you it is nonsense to try to save Missouri to the Union and the institution of slavery also. We must give up one or the other. Slavery ought to fall and Missouri be saved. Frémont's army struck terror into the secessionists. He made them feel it by taking their goods and chattels. Let our armies proclaim freedom to the slaves of the secessionists, and the rebellion will soon close. We can take care of the free negroes at a future day. Give General Lane ten thousand men, and he would establish peace in Missouri in thirty days.”

But, sir, my especial object now is not to call attention to this abuse in Missouri, but to call attention to this abuse here near at home. Brigadier General Stone, the well-known commander at Ball's Bluff, is now adding to his achievements there by engaging ably and actively in the work of surrendering fugitive slaves. He does this, sir, most successfully. He is victorious when the simple question is whether a fugitive slave shall be surrendered to a rebel.

Sir, besides my general interest in this question, besides my interest in the honor of the national Army, I have a special interest at this moment because Brigadier General Stone has seen fit to impose this vile and unconstitutional duty upon Massachusetts troops. The Governor of my State has charged me with a communication to the Secretary of War on this subject, complaining of this outrage, treating it as an indignity to the men, and as an act unworthy of our national flag. I agree with the Governor of Massachusetts; and when I call attention to this abuse now, I make myself his representative, as also the representative of my own opinions.

But there are others besides the Governor of Massachusetts who complain. There are two German companies in one of the Massachusetts regiments who, when they enlisted, entered into the public service with the positive understanding that they should not be put to any such discreditable and unconstitutional service. Sir, they complain, and with them their own immediate fellow-citizens at home, the German population generally throughout the country.

Nor is this all. The complaint extends to other quarters. I have here a letter from a citizen of Philadelphia, from which I shall read a short extract. The writer says:

“I have but one son, and he fought at Ball's Bluff, in the California regiment, where his bravery brought him into notice. He escaped, wounded, after dark. He protests against being made to return fugitive slaves, and if ordered to that duty will refuse obedience and take the consequences. I ask, sir, shall our sons, who are offering their lives for the preservation of our institutions, be degraded to slave-catchers for any persons, loyal or disloyal? If such is the policy of the Government, I shall urge my son to shed no more blood for its preservation.”

With these communications which I have received, some of an official character and others of a private character, I have felt that I should not do my duty if I did not call the attention of the Senate to this outrage. It must be arrested. I am glad to know that my friend and colleague, the chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs, promises us at once a bill to meet this grievance. It ought to be introduced promptly, and to be passed at once. Our troops ought to be saved from this shame.

SOURCE: John C. Rives, The Congressional Globe: Containing the Debates and Proceedings of the Second Session of the Thirty-Seventh Congress, p. 130

Diary of Edward Bates: Tuesday, October 22, 1861

Cabinet Council

Present all. Capt Cravens¹¹ U. S. N. commanding Flotilla in the Potomac, reports great progress made by the rebels with their batteries along the river — stretching from Matthias’ point¹² up — at intervals, for more than 25 miles, and having at the different places, at least 40 heavy guns — so as, in fact to command the river. Two of his vessels are between their strongest batteries, and opposite Acquia Creek.¹³

The Capt says — judging by the camp fires — that the enemy is increasing his force below, near the batteries, every day — Each night there are more and more fires, and less in the region of Occoquan.¹⁴ He thinks they are preparing to pass over into Maryland.

If that be so, they are growing desperate in their present position; and if we let them cross it is our folly and crime. The fact that we allow them to obstruct the river is our deep disgrace.

There was some discussion about the battle near Leesburg¹⁵ yesterday and last night — a most unsatisfactory affair.

Baker's¹⁶ brigade was driven back with great loss. Baker and several other high officers were killed — the total loss not known but supposed from 2 to 300. McClellan¹⁷ was to go up in person.

< I hear tonight that a large part of our force has passed the river— both Banks¹⁸ and Stone¹⁹ are on the Va. side and I do and [sic] not doubt that the most strenuous efforts will be made to press the enemy, for our Generals are I think by this time, (besides other motives) heartily ashamed of inaction and inefficiency — the weather is very bad for active operations, by reason of constant rain last night and today, still I expect hard fighting. >

Another subject in C.[abinet] C.[ouncil] was the vexed question of the recall of Genl. Fremont. The report of Adj't. Genl. Thomas,²⁰ made by direction of the Sec of War put it, I thought, beyond all question that the removal must be made and instantly — The President seemed to think so, and said it was now clear that Fremont was not fit to for the command — that Hunter²¹ was better — Still, at the very pinch, the Sec of State, came again, as twice before, to the rescue — and urged delay — “not today, put it off a little” — The idea (gotten by Mr. Chase from Dr. Eliot²²) seemed to be that the Army was devoted to Fremont and had full confidence in him! while the evidence to the contrary is overwhelming — Hunter and Curtis²³ openly declared it — as stated in Adjutant Genl. Thomas' report, and as far as I know, none actively support him, but his own pet officers and contractors — Yet strange! both Cameron and Chase gave in and timidly yielded to delay; and the President still hangs in painful and mortyfying [sic] doubt. His suffering is evidently great, and if it were not connected with a subject so momentous, would be ludicrous.

I spoke as heretofore, plainly, urging the Prest. to avoid the timorous and vacillating course that could but degrade the Adm[inistratio]n. and make it weak and helpless — to assume the powers of his place and speak in the language of command. Not to send an order clogged with conditions and provisos — send a positive order or none at all. To leave him there now would be worse than prompt removal — for you have degraded him before the world and thereby unfitted him for the command, if otherwise capable — You have countermanded his orders,²⁴ repudiated his contracts and denounced his contractors, suspended his officers and stopped the progress of his

fortifications — If under these circumstances we still keep him in command, the public will attribute the fact to a motive no higher than our fears. For me — I think too well of the soldiers and the people, to be afraid of any Major General in the Army. I protested against having my State sacrificed on such motives and in such a cause.

Still I fear he will be allowed to hang on until he drops in very rottenness. And if we persist in this sort of impotent indecision, we are very likely to share his fate — and, worse than all, deserve it.

_______________

¹² Spelled “Mathias.” A village thirty miles below Washington.

¹³ A river-port at the outlet of a deep tidal channel about fifty-five miles below Washington. It was the terminus of a railroad from Richmond.

¹⁴ A village about six miles up the Occoquan River from where it flows into the Potomac not far below Mount Vernon.

¹⁵ The Battle of Ball's Bluff where the Union force was disastrously defeated when General Stone, under misinformation about the enemy, actually crossed the Potomac into Virginia instead of making a feint of doing so.

¹⁶ Supra, Oct. 12, 1859, note 9. He had raised a regiment of volunteers and, though still senator, had led a brigade at Leesburg.

¹⁷ George B. McClellan, West Point graduate of 1846, served in Mexico, on the Pacific Coast, and in Europe, but resigned in 1857 to become chief engineer and later vice-president of the Illinois Central Railroad. When the War came, he was given command of the Department of the Ohio with the rank of major-general. After the Battle of Bull Run he commanded the Army of the Potomac until political considerations and his constitutional unwillingness to attack led Lincoln to remove him in November, 1862. He became the candidate of the combined opposition to Lincoln in 1864 and ran for the Presidency as a man who could secure both peace and union — Lincoln seemed to have sacrificed both — but he ran on a platform that seemed to urge peace even at the cost of union, and was defeated.

¹⁸ See supra, July 27, 1859, note 57. At this time Banks was serving as major-general of volunteers in the Department of the Shenandoah.

¹⁹ Charles P. Stone, graduate of West Point in 1845, had served in the Mexican War and on the Pacific Coast until he resigned in 1856. At the outbreak of the War he was put in command of the District of Columbia. His disaster at Balls Bluff led him to ask a Court of Inquiry, but McClellan exonerated him and the matter was dropped until he was suddenly arrested in February, 1862. See infra, Nov. 1, 1861, note 28.

²⁰ Supra, Oct. 1, 1861, note 9.

²¹ David Hunter, graduate of West Point in 1822, had served in Mexico and on the frontier, had commanded the main column at Bull Run, and was now serving as major-general of volunteers in Missouri under Fremont whom he succeeded on November 2.

²² Supra, Feb. 22, 1860, note 79.

²³ Samuel R. Curtis: West Point graduate of 1831; civil engineer in the West; lawyer of Keokuk, Iowa, 1855-1861; Republican congressman, 1857-1861 ; member of the Peace Convention of 1861; at this time brigadier-general in the Department of the West. He commanded the Department of the Missouri, 1862-1863, the Department of Kansas, 1864-1865, the Department of the Northwest, 1865.

²⁴ Lincoln, after first giving Fremont a chance to recall it himself, had countermanded his order of emancipation of the slaves and confiscation of the property of all Missourians who took up arms against the United States. Lincoln also forbade him to carry out his order to shoot as traitors, after a trial by court martial, all Missourians found with arms in their hands.

SOURCE: Howard K, Beale, Editor, The Diary of Edward Bates, 1859-1866, p. 197-9

Diary of Brigadier-General William F. Bartlett: Friday, October 21, 1864

Put my leg on this morning, not very comfortable yet Three years ago to-day, Ball's Bluff. Wrote Dr. J. Monroe, 560 Hudson St., New York, about his leg.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 147

Diary of John Hay: October 27, 1861

We went over to Seward's to-night and found Chandler and Wade there. They had been talking to Seward to get up a battle, saying that one must be fought; saying that defeat was no worse than delay, and a great deal more trash. Morton and Speed then began to growl about their guns. Seward and the President soon dried that up. Wilson came in, a strong, healthy, hearty, senator, soldier and man. He was bitter on the Jacobins, saying the safety of the country demanded that the General should have his time. Going up to McClellan’s the Leesburg business was discussed; McC. saying that Stone’s report would be in to-morrow; every one forebore comment.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 49-50; Tyler Dennett, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, p. 32.

Diary of John Hay: October 22, 1861

This has been a heavy day. Last night Col. Baker was killed at Leesburg at the head of his Brigade. McClellan and the President talked sadly over it. McClellan said, "There is many a good fellow that wears the shoulder-straps going under the sod before this thing is over. There is no loss too great to be repaired. If I should get knocked on the head, Mr. President, you will put another man immediately into my shoes." "I want you to take care of yourself," said the President.

McClellan seemed very hopeful and confident — thought he had the enemy, if in force or not. We left him making arrangements for the morrow. (During this evening's conversation, it became painfully evident that he had no plan, nor the slightest idea of what Stone was about).

To-night we went over again. M^c was at Poolesville. Telegraphs that loss is heavy and that troops behaved well. All right in that quarter.

At Seward’s to-night the President talked about Secession, Compromise, and other such. He spoke of a committee of southern pseudo-unionists coming to him before Inauguration for guaranties, etc. He promised to evacuate Sumter if they would break up their Convention, without any row or nonsense. They demurred. Subsequently he renewed proposition to Summers, but without any result. The President was most anxious to prevent bloodshed.

I never heard secession made more absurd than by the conversation of to-night; Seward, Chase, Kennedy and Bishop McIlvaine.

To-day Deputy-Marshal came and asked what he should do with process to be served on Porter in contempt business. I took him over to Seward, and Seward said:

“The President instructs you that the Habeas Corpus is suspended in this city at present, and forbids you to serve any process upon any officer here." Turning to me: "That is what the President says, is it not, Mr. Hay?" "Precisely his words," I replied; and the thing was done.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 46-7; Tyler Dennett, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, p. 30-1.

John L. Motley to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., August 31, 1862

Vienna, August 31, 1862.

My Dear Holmes: Bare, bare, bare of news, events, objects of the slightest interest to you or any one else, what need have I to apologize for silence? Naked, but not ashamed, I involve myself in my virtue, while you, if, like kind fortune, you will still wag your swift pen at me, — si celerem quatis pennam, — will find me ever grateful, or even trying to be resigned if you do not. I have not written for about four months. Even to my little Mary I am obliged now to write themes instead of letters. By this mail I send her one “on the advantages of silence.” If you should happen to meet her, ask her to show it to you that you may see to what a depth of imbecility your old friend has descended. I have yours of the 27th of April and the 20th of June. I am deeply grateful for them. I have just been reading them both over, and you will be glad to know that now, after the lapse of fifty years, which is about the distance from the first date at the rate we are living at, there is no false coloring, no judgment turned inside out, no blundering prophecy, no elation or no despondency which subsequent events have come to rebuke.

Writing as you do to me out of the kindness of your heart and the fullness of your head, you willingly run the risk of making blunders for the sake of giving me, in your vivid and intense way, a rapid image of the passing moment. I strain my eyes across the Atlantic through the stereoscope you so kindly provide me, and for an instant or two I am with you. I think very often of your Wendell. He typifies so well to me the metamorphosis of young America from what it was in our days. Consule Planco. There, within less than a twelvemonth after leaving college, the young poet, philosopher, artist, has become a man, robustus acri militia puer, has gone through such scenes as Ball's Bluff, Fair Oaks, and the seven days before Richmond, and, even while I write, is still engaged, perchance, in other portentous events, and it is scarcely a year since you and I went together to the State House to talk with the governor about his commission. These things would hardly be so startling if it was the mere case of a young man entering the army and joining a marching regiment. But when a whole community suddenly transmutes itself into an army, and the “stay-at-home rangers” are remembered on the fingers and pointed at with the same, what a change must be made in the national character!

Pfui liber den Buben

Hinter den Ofen,

Hinter den Sttthlen,

Hinter den Sophen,

as the chivalrous Koerner sang.

I had a very well-written letter the other day from a young cousin of mine, Julius Lothrop by name, now serving as sergeant in the Massachusetts Twenty-fourth. I need not say how I grieved to hear that Lowell had lost another nephew, and a near relative to your wife, too. You mentioned him in your very last letter as having gained health and strength by his campaigning. There is something most touching in the fact that those two youths, Putnam and Lowell, both scions of our most honored families, and both distinguished among their equals for talent, character, accomplishment, and virtue, for all that makes youth venerable, should have been among the earliest victims of this infernal conspiracy of slaveholders. I know not if such a thought is likely to comfort the mourners, but it is nevertheless most certain that when such seed is sown the harvest to be reaped by the country will be almost priceless. Of this I entertain no doubt whatever. God knows I was never an optimist, but in the great result of this tremendous struggle I can foresee nothing but good. The courage and the determination of both sides being equal, the victory must be to the largest army and navy and the longest purse.

What has so long held back the imprisoned power of the North during all these dreary years of the slave domination of our Republic was, after all, a moral principle. It was pushed to excess till it became a vice, but it was still the feeling of patriotism and an exaggerated idea of public faith. There is even a lingering band or two to be broken yet before the great spirit of the North is completely disenthralled. But I hope I am not mistaken in thinking that they have become weaker than packthread.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 276-9

Major Charles Fessenden Morse: June 22, 1863

Near Leesburg, June 22, 1863.

I wrote a short note yesterday to let you know my whereabouts and relieve any anxiety you might feel for me; to-day I'll try to give you a few particulars of our movements.*

Friday, the 12th, I left headquarters, ease and luxury. The regiment was still away with the cavalry. However, the camp was standing and about sixty men and two or three officers were there who had been left behind for various reasons, so I had a small command.

That night, orders came to march at daylight. We moved back about three miles towards Acquia Creek, stayed there through the day, and at night started forward again and marched till eight the following morning, halting this side of Dumfries. Sunday, we rested all day while the train of our corps and the Sixth passed by. Monday, we started at three in the morning and marched twenty-three miles under a burning sun to Fairfax C. H., getting into camp about ten P. M. This was a really terrible march; the day was very hot and a great part of the time we were marching side by side with a column of wagons, which raised a dust that was almost choking. Next morning, Tuesday, about eight, the Second Massachusetts and Third Wisconsin made their appearance from their cavalry excursion; they marched into camp covered with dust and dirt, but looking soldierly as ever. All the regiments of the corps that were near by turned out to have a look at them and give them very hearty greetings, for the two old regiments are now pretty well known in the corps.

I had a very pleasant time hearing the accounts of the fight at Beverly Ford; all seemed to think that if they had to fight cavalry only till the end of the war, they would have a very jolly time. Whenever our infantry skirmishers made their appearance, the cavalry left in a hurry, showing a great respect for our Enfields.

A company of the Second and one of the Third Wisconsin, made an attack on about two hundred of the enemy's cavalry who were dismounted and lying behind a stone wall firing their carbines; our men, not numbering more than forty in all, fired one volley, then made a rush, capturing over twenty and finding, at least, as many killed by their shots. Wednesday morning, we marched again to near Drainsville. Thursday, we marched again, reaching Leesburg towards night. All of the corps, except our regiment and the Third Wisconsin with a battery of artillery, remained east of the town; we kept on a mile farther and occupied a fort and strong position on one of the Katoctin Hills.

We are still in this same position, how long to remain, no one here knows. Our army lies stretched away for a number of miles towards Thoroughfare Gap, the Eleventh Corps occupying an important position on our right, its flank touching the Potomac.

We can only surmise whether Lee will attack us here or not; he is moving somewhere in our front but not very near. We have at last had a severe rain storm and the weather is more comfortable. It hailed for about an hour very severely; the hailstones were, at least, as large as rifle bullets; I was riding at the time and could hardly force my horse against the storm; he would rear and kick, and didn't seem to understand at all what was going on.

The battle that I spoke of yesterday proves to have been quite a success for us; we drove the rebels three miles and captured three guns and some prisoners. Our wagon camp is on the field where Ball’s Bluff was fought. I am in command of the regiment now, Major Mudge being on Court Martial. I don’t see anything of my commission yet.

_______________

* The writer had been promoted to be Major of his regiment but had not yet received his commission.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 139-41

Major Wilder Dwight: Saturday Evening, November 23, 1861

Head-quarters Second Massachusetts Regiment,

Camp near Seneca, Nov. 23, 1861, Saturday Evening.

Yours of the 19th is in my pocket. The evening has passed pleasantly under its influence. The camp is fast falling asleep.

I last wrote you just after dinner on Thanksgiving day. The rest of the day went glibly enough. In the evening the men had a brisk dance to the music of the band, and the next morning there were fewer sick men than for two weeks before. Gladness and gayety are good medicines. Friday was a very busy day with me. Among its morning incidents was a visit to Generals Hamilton and Williams. General Williams quite won my affection by saying, apropos of the review, “The Massachusetts Second is the best volunteer regiment in the service.” “A man of sense,” was my echo. Our two new lieutenants, Grafton and Shelton, appeared yesterday, and were assigned to duty the next day. They were eager for duty, and promise well. Give Charley the stockings for his men by all means. I rejoice in his effort and success. I am amused to see that the London Times compares Ball's Bluff to Braddock's defeat. That was my first exclamation. A regular Braddock's defeat! Who was the Braddock? . . . .

I do not expect to come home at all. While there is anything to do here, I certainly shall not come. Indeed, I do not think I desire it. Three years or the war, was my enlistment; and I am willing to stay with my regiment while it lasts. . . . .

This morning's inspection took about two hours. It was a thorough one and satisfactory. We have church this afternoon, unless it rains, as it threatens to do.

For one, I have no sympathy with the prisoners at Fort Warren. I desire that all benevolence and sympathy may flow to our loyal soldiers, whose hardship is quite as great. As for Mason and Slidell, the joke is so good, so practical, so retributive. I admire the calm irony with which Mr. Everett wishes them a short residence at Fort Warren. That is clever and bright, and politely severe

I predicted church when I was writing this morning. Lo it is evening, and the ground white with snow! So winter steals upon us, and we have a snow-storm instead of divine service. Well, camp life has its variety, and is not always same. I confess, as I look out through the flapping door of my tent, I think it looks as little like invading the South as any scene I ever looked on. White and heavy falls the snow, — I hope on the unjust as well as the just, on both sides the Potomac! Now's the time for mittens with no holes in the thumbs I have quite a long letter from ——. She is full of the glory and spectacle aspect of the army and the war, her visit to Washington having taught her all about armies. I could give her a few practical lessons that would unidealize her abruptly. Never mind, to be illusionée is to be happy.

I hope, in view of the dread you express of my going to Charleston, where they fight “without giving quarter,” you will be pleased at the imminent prospect there seems to be that we shall be snowed into Maryland till spring. However, the weather is so fickle, we may have bright sunshine to-morrow.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 155-7

Major Wilder Dwight: November 16, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 16, 1861.

The difference between our actions in this war seems to be, that we don't half do our Ball's Bluffs, and we do half do our Port Royals. Fruit ripe in South Carolina, and no one to pick it. That's the way I read the news from the scene of our late success. Where are the next twenty thousand troops? They should be within an hour's sail of Port Royal. Is it a sagacious military conjecture, that a victory at that point would strike terror and panic to the neighboring cities? If so, should not that conjecture have anticipated the result of which we are just beginning to hear? Should it not have provided a force to enjoy and intensify that panic? I know of a whole division, which, instead of shivering in the mud of Maryland, would gladly be pursuing a panic-stricken multitude with fire and sword. Why not? Of course, we are much in the dark, but my guess is, that twenty thousand good soldiers could to-day enter either Charleston or Savannah. If they could not occupy and hold, they could burn and destroy. “Rebels and Traitors,” I would head my proclamation. Not “Carolinians and Fellow-citizens.” Not peace, but the sword. There is cotton to tempt avarice, negroes to tempt philanthropy, Rebels to tempt patriotism, — everything to warrant a great risk. As I read the Southern accounts, they seem to me to indicate the presence of panic. From that, I infer a weak and exposed condition. We shall leave them time to recover their courage, and strengthen their defences. I do not know what is possible to our “Great Country,” but, possible or impossible, I would pour an avalanche on that shore forthwith.

You see that reflection and conjecture are the only amusements of our rainy days. So I must fill my letters with guesses and hopes. I advise you to read McClellan's Reviewof the War in the Crimea. One could wish that his pen were free to criticise his own campaign. Could he not expose, here and there, a blunder? Perhaps the answer is, It is not his campaign.

My new man arrived last night, very unexpectedly to himself, apparently; for he seemed to find obscurity enveloping his path, and to think his advance to this point a great success.

He brought letters which delighted me. It was mail night, and I had no mail till John came with his budget. Father seems to speak stoically of “a long war.” What it may be mismanaged into I cannot say, but, decently managed, it cannot be a long war. The disasters and embarrassments which will follow in its train will be long enough; the war itself short and desperate, I hope.

There is something ludicrous in writing so quietly on calm, white paper, without expressing at all the roaring, whistling, wintry surroundings of my present scene. Our yesterday's rain has cleared off cold. Real winter this morning. Ice in the wash-basin, numbness in the fingers, frost from the breath. I rejoice in the invigorating turn that the weather has taken. I feel myself much better for it, and I know it must improve the health and vigor of the camp. But the howling blast is a stern medicine, and even now it shakes my tent so that my pen trembles. I should like you to have seen the picture our camp presented at reveillé this morning. I purposely went out without my overcoat, and walked leisurely down the line, as if I were fanned by the zephyrs of June. I wished to have the men observe that I recognized nothing unusual in our first taste of winter. Still, in point of fact, it was cold. Now drill is going on without overcoats. I told them they must double-quick if they were cold. The only way is, to hold things up to the sharp line under all circumstances. It will be a little hard to keep up the illusion all winter, I fear, however. Still, everything requires bracing up constantly. The virtue of this military life is the importunate recurrence of daily duty. Rain or shine, health or sickness, joy or grief, reveillé knocks “ӕquo pede” with impartial cadence at every tent. Its lively and awakening beat thrills a new life through the camp, as the rising sun whitens the glowing east. And then when tattoo at evening awakes the men to sleep (for it is not a soothing strain), “duty performed” has made them happy, or should have done so, on the authority of the great expounder of the Constitution himself. Such are the consolations of camp life in November. But then, as Dr. Hedge happily observes in a discourse on “National Weakness,” “the Rebel power is still unsubdued; the harvest is passed, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.” True, but we are not lost. We propose in the Massachusetts Second to keep Thanksgiving day thankfully, if not for what has happened, at least for what has not happened. I have just sent out an order for the provision of Thanksgiving dinners for the men. And I quite expect that turkey and plum-pudding will smoke on our mess-pans and exhale from our ovens on Thursday next. I could be content to be at home on that day, but, failing that, I shall enjoy an attempt to extemporize and emulate a New England Thanksgiving in a Maryland camp on the wrong bank of the Potomac. We shall read the Thanksgiving Proclamation, and be as happy as we may. I suppose you will have your usual celebration. I expect to enjoy the unusual honor to come in among the absent friends. . . . .

The pleasure of reading your last letter was somewhat alloyed, I confess, by the pervading strain of eulogy of my own letters. It is all nonsense. The story is a very good one, perhaps; the telling it is nothing; and as for “historical value,” you just wait. Our little events will not be a paragraph in the record which ought to be and must be written.

Father closes his last letter with the very kind wish that he knew what to send me. I happen to be able to tell him, — viz. a little nice English breakfast tea. A good honest cup of black tea would delight me. If you should find that Colonel Gordon has not gone back before this reaches you, pray make him the bearer of a small package of tea.

I see by to-night's Clipper (it is Saturday evening while I write), that a delegation from Baltimore goes to ask the President for government patronage for the repentant city. This fulfils a prediction I had the honor to make. I see, also, that the landing of our force at Beaufort was a scene of disorder and confusion. That comes of sending the rawest troops to the hardest duty. I am puzzled to know why this is done to such an alarming extent. But tattoo is just beating. It is a raw and gusty night. The air bites shrewdly. I think I will leave that puzzle unsolved, and get within the warm folds of my constant buffalo-robe. Good night. Grandmother will be pleased to hear, before I go to bed, that with one of her blankets I have just made Captain Mudge warm and comfortable in a little attack of illness which has just overtaken him. The soft blanket will be as good as the Doctor's medicine, — better, perhaps. . . . .

I have just room to bid you good morning, this Sunday morning. I am just ready for inspection, and have no doubt the day will work itself off quietly and pleasantly.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 144-7

Major Wilder Dwight: November 1, 1861

muddy Branch Camp, Camp Near Seneca,

November 1, 1861.

You have your choice of dates, for I think our camp lies between the two, and General Banks uses the former designation for the division, while General Abercrombie uses the latter for his brigade. I hope that we shall cease to have occasion to use either date before the traditional Thanksgiving day overtakes us. Unless we do, it will find us in the wilderness, and in fasting and humiliation. I look to see ripeness in these late autumn days, and I hope that, without shaking the tree of Providence, some full-grown events may gravitate rapidly to their ripe result, even in this ill-omened month of November. Your letter of Monday takes too dark a view of events. I can well understand that, at your distance, our hardships and trials look harder than they seem to us. I do not, in the least, despair of happy results, and the more I think of the Edward's Ferry, or loon-roads, or Conrad's Ferry mishap (or, to describe it alliteratively, the blunder of Ball's Bluff), the more clearly it seems to me to be an insignificant blunder on the out skirts of the main enterprise, which, except for the unhappy loss of life, and except as a test of military capacity, is now a part of the past, without any grave consequences to follow. I was well aware that, in writing my first letter, I should give you the vivid, and possibly the exaggerated impressions of the sudden and immediate presence of the disaster. The wreck of a small yacht is quite as serious to the crew as the foundering of the Great Eastern. But the underwriters class the events very differently. And in our national account of loss, Ball's Bluff will take a modest rank.

Should the naval expedition prove a success, and should the Army of the Potomac strike its blow at the opportune moment, we can forget our mishap. You see I am chasing again the butterflies of hope. Without them life wouldn't be worth the living.

Tell father I have read the pleasant sketch of Soldiers and their Science, which he sent me. I wish he would get me the book itself, through Little and Brown, and also “Crawford's Standing Orders,” and send them on by express. This coming winter has got to be used in some way, and I expect to dedicate a great part of it to catching up with some of these West Point officers in the commonplaces of military science.

We are quietly in camp again, and are arranging our camping-ground with as much neatness and care as if it were to be permanent. The ovens have been built, the ground cleared, the stumps uprooted, and now the air is full of the noise of a large party of men who are clearing off the rubbish out of the woods about our tents. By Sunday morning our camp will look as clean and regular and military as if we had been here a month. Yesterday was the grand inspection and muster for payment. I wish you could have seen the regiment drawn up with its full equipment, — knapsacks, haversacks, and all. It was a fine sight. By the way, why does not father snatch a day or two, and come out to see us? We are only a pleasant morning's drive from Washington, and I think he would enjoy seeing us as we are in our present case. D––– would enjoy the trip, too, and they might also pay a visit to William down at Port Tobacco, or wherever he may now be. I throw out this suggestion.

To-day I am brigade officer of the day, and I have been in the saddle this morning three or four hours visiting the camps and the pickets on the river. It has been a beautiful morning of the Indian summer, and I have enjoyed it greatly. Colonel Andrews took cold and got over-fatigued during our last week's work, and he is quite down with a feverish attack. Yesterday I found a nice bed for him in a neighboring house, and this morning he is quite comfortable. We miss him very much in camp, and I hope he'll be up in a day or two

“Happy that nation whose annals are tiresome,” writes some one. “Lucky that major whose letters are dull,” think you, I suppose. That good fortune, if it be one, I now enjoy.

I have an opportunity to send this letter, and so off it goes, with much love to all at home, in the hope that you will keep your spirits up.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 133-5

Major Wilder Dwight: October 30, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, October 30, 1861.

We still keep the camping-ground in which we were when I last wrote, and we are enjoying the brightest of October days. There is a general impression that winter-quarters, or some such depressing movement, is to be the fate of the grand Army of the Potomac

Yesterday Captain Cary took a letter from Colonel Gordon to General Evans in command at Leesburg. The Colonel was a West Point friend of General Evans, and wrote to ask the fate of our friends of the Twentieth. Captain Cary took a white handkerchief on a stick as his flag of truce, and crossed the river in a skiff. He went up and down the river, but could find no picket anywhere. After wandering about with his flag for three hours, he came to a farm-house. The man was a Union man. He said he had been twice arrested, and refused to take the letter. He told Cary that he had seen no soldiers for a week, and thought there were none nearer than Leesburg, but he advised the Captain to go back, as he said his flag of truce would not be respected. Cary made up his mind to return. I confess I was very glad indeed to see him back, and considered the

expedition a very risky one. . . . .

We have a beautiful camping-ground here, and are getting it into perfect order for muster to-morrow. The last day of October is our semi-monthly muster and inspection.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 132-3

Major Wilder Dwight: October 28, 1861

camp Near Seneca, October 28, 1861.

I wish you could have looked in on our camp this morning. The stockings came last night. They were spread out under an oak-tree, and the companies were well supplied. The men were radiant over them. The memory of our cold, wet week's marching and countermarching was still fresh. The chill of the October morning had not yet yielded to the glowing brightness of the sun. The sight of the stockings made us feel warm again. The young officers paid particular attention to the bundle from Professor Agassiz's school

I had no idea that the stockings were so much needed, but the fact is, they are so much better than the ones given by government, that the men are eager for them. The captains all say that there could not be a better gift. We shall await the coming of the shirts and drawers with pleasure Collect and keep stockings, if you are willing to do so, against another time of need. Convey, in some form, to the donors, our high appreciation of their kindness. It is the thing. And it makes men feel a tingle of grateful pleasure out here, to think they are remembered and cared for at home. Apart, even, from their usefulness, the stockings bring a warming and cheering sensation to the men. That is the moral aspect of the present.

We made a brisk little march yesterday morning, and at noon were in camp again, on a charming spot, sheltered by a fine wood, within the edge of which are the field and staff tents, while the regiment extends out into the open field. We are within a mile of the Potomac. The enemy's pickets ornament the opposite shore, while we adorn this. The point is near the mouth of the Seneca, and about opposite Drainsville.

After a week's work, we are again, on this Monday, apparently as far from any immediate active duty as we were a week ago. I do not know that I can bring myself now to be so impatient of delay as I have been. It was the itch for a poor kind of distinction that led to the massacre at Leesburg.

We find, on our return to our old division, that the regiment is reassigned to General Abercrombie's brigade; and to-morrow we are to move into our new position. The General places us first in his, the First Brigade. That gives us the post of honor, — the right of the whole of General Banks's Division.

I have not yet commenced my duties as Examiner of Officers. We have been so locomotory lately that there has been no time for anything. A pretty low standard of qualifications will have to be adopted, or we shall have to exclude a great many of the present officers.

William, I suppose, is down on his old ground again, opposite Aquia Creek, trying to reopen, or keep open, the Potomac. Well, I wish him luck; but the leaves of autumn are falling, and we seem to be just about in the same position that we were when I saw the buds first bursting last spring in Annapolis.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 131-2

Major Wilder Dwight: Saturday Night, October 26, 1861

Camp Near The Little Seneca, Saturday Night,

9 o'clock, P. M.

He who predicts the morrow in this life has his labor for his pains. The morrow takes care of itself. Here we are, and tattoo is just beating again, and we are twelve miles from our last night's camp. I will go on with my story. When I got to the river, I began to carry out my instructions from General Hamilton. They were, to visit Harrison's Island, which was abandoned by our troops on Tuesday night, and bring off some government stores. I found that, owing to the stupidity of the officer whom I had left in charge at the point of crossing opposite the island, one of the ropes had been cut, and there was only one rope left stretching across the river on which I could ferry my men over. I got my men ready, took the two leaky flatboats and moored them well, and waited for darkness. The night was very cold. In its cover we started with one boat, leaving directions for the other to follow after we got across and got things secure. We pulled across silently on the rope which came up out of the water, and sagged a good deal with the stream. Just as we got within the shadows of the opposite bank, the Sergeant whispered, “Hold on, the rope has broken.” The men held on by the end, and, sure enough, it had parted, and we were swinging off down stream away from the island. There was something laughable in the mischance. We had nothing for it but to return, which we did, coiling the rope in our boat as we went back. So ended all visits, for the present, by our troops to Harrison's Island. I was kept on the alert all night by firing up the river, and got no sleep of any consequence, — sending and receiving despatches from General Hamilton. At light, — a bright, golden, October morning, ice an inch thick, — I visited all the outlooks, and then went back to camp to report to General Hamilton. After breakfast, on Friday morning, the Colonel suggested that we should ride to the Fifteenth and Twentieth.

I went to see Lieutenant-Colonel Ward. He has lost his leg, below the knee. Said he, “Major, I am not as I was in Washington.” “No,” said I, “you should have accepted my invitation, and ridden up with me on Monday.” We were together last Saturday night at Willard's, and I begged him to wait till Monday and go up with me. He said, “No, I shall be needed in camp.”

We then went to the Twentieth. I wish all the friends of the young wounded officers could see them; it was a pleasant picture. In the first tent I visited I found Captain John Putnam. He was bright and in good spirits. I shook his left hand. His right arm is gone at the shoulder. Turning to the other bed, I met the pleasant smile of Lieutenant Holmes. He greeted me as cordially as if we had met at home, talked gayly of soon getting well again. His wound is through the body sideways, just missing the lungs, and following the ribs. Young Lieutenant Lowell, too, in the next tent, was making light of only a flesh wound in the thigh. Caspar Crowninshield, whom I found helping Colonel Palfrey, and acting as Major, was as calm as possible. He gave a very good account of the fight; he evidently did gloriously. Only once, when he spoke of the terrible scene in the river after they got in swimming, did he seem to think of the horrors of the scene. Young Harry Sturgis was also bright. He said that Lieutenant Putnam, who was wounded in the bowels, wished to be left, as he said, to die on the field. “That is the fit place to die,” he said. But Harry took him in his arms and brought him to the river. Young Abbott looked well. Lieutenant Perry is a prisoner, but I think safe, without doubt. So of Major Revere and Colonel Lee. When we got back to camp I got a report from the river that the enemy were quite numerous on the opposite bluff, and that they were putting a field-piece in position there. Though I did not credit it, down I went, and spent the afternoon. We found they had occupied, or rather visited, the island. My glass let me see them plainly in many places, and in others they were within familiar conversational distance. I found they were re-establishing their pickets strongly. I left Captain Curtis in charge, and returned to camp. I found that I was detailed as one of the Examining Board for our division. The Board consists of General Hamilton, Colonel Halleck, and myself. We are to examine the officers as to their qualifications, &c. I cannot approve of my appointment, but as it emanates from the Head-quarters of the Army of the Potomac, I suppose it is all right.

This morning I was sitting at breakfast, when up rode General Hamilton's aide. “Major,” said he, “General Hamilton says you will move your detachment at once.” “What detachment?” said I. “The advanced guard and pioneers,” said he. “I have no orders,” said I, “and no guard.” “There is some mistake,” said he. Then up came a lieutenant from an Indiana regiment. “I am ordered to report to you,” said he. “Very well,” said I. I went over to General Hamilton, and found the whole brigade was under marching orders. By inadvertence we had not received ours. All the rest of the brigade were ready to start, and our tents were all standing. I went off at once, with my pioneers, and put the road in condition. Here we are in camp. Our regiment was, of course, the last to start. All the others were in motion before our tents were struck. But our regiment passed all the others on the way, and was first in camp to-night. We can march. Our night march to the Ferry was perfect. Life is brisk with us, you see.

I have father's letter about the stockings. After our wretched wet marching, the stockings will be a mercy, I think. Please to tell Mrs. Ticknor that towels, one apiece, will be good for us. I did not think of mentioning them, as, in the seriousness of actual business, the luxuries are lost sight of. The regiment will move to-morrow to the neighborhood of the mouth of the Muddy Branch, near the Potomac. There we are to go into camp for the present. So ends our week's work. Hard and busy, but not without its use. This morning, as our company on picket-duty came along the canal to rejoin the regiment, the Rebels from the island fired on them several times. They were also busy diving and fishing for the guns which the men threw away in their flight.

The rascals are very saucy over their victory. I think they have the advantage of our men in the chaffing which goes on across the river, though one of our corporals told the sentry opposite him, who was washing his feet, to take his feet out of his (the corporal's) river, or he would shoot him.

“Reveillé” will sound at five o'clock to-morrow morning, and at seven we shall be off and away. We are within three miles of our old camp. To-morrow we go somewhat nearer Washington.

No paper that I have yet seen gives any idea of the fight, as I glean it from various sources. No generalship seems to have been used in the matter. Not a military glance seems to have swept the field, not a military suggestion seems to have planned the enterprise. The men crossed at the worst point of the river; they had only two small scows to cross with; retreat was impossible.

If you could see how completely this rocky, wooded bluff (of which I have attempted a sketch on the opposite page) overhangs the island and the opposite shore, you would realize what a mad place it was to cross at. If you could see the scows, you would see what means they had to cross.

Again, the disposition of the troops was wretched. The formation close upon the bluff, and with their rear right upon the river, gave no chance to repair mischance. Also, the thick wood which surrounded them gave the enemy every opportunity to outflank them. If they had meant to fight, they should have rested one of their flanks on the river, and have protected the other by artillery. This would have made their line perpendicular to the river. Their retreat might have been up or down stream. But they could, probably, have prolonged the fight till night, and then run for luck in crossing. Such a position would have been stronger, and retreat would have been less fatal. But they thought apparently the two scows their line of retreat, while, in fact, they were as bad as nothing. There does not seem to be a single redeeming feature in the whole business. They went on a fool's errand, — went without means, and then persisted in their folly after it became clear

It is useless to talk of what might have been; but if you had walked, as I have done, for the past three days on that canal tow-path opposite the bluff on whose crest our brave men formed for a desperate struggle, you could not help discoursing upon the military grotesqueness of the whole action. I have said there is no redeeming feature in the whole case. I am wrong. The determined courage of Massachusetts officers and soldiers is a cheering gleam through the gloom. But Heaven save us from any more such tests of valor. “The officer who brought you here ought to be hung,” said a Rebel officer to the burial party who went over with a flag of truce on Tuesday to bury our dead. I am afraid that is too true.

The Rebels, on the other hand, managed finely. They seem to have waited till they had caught a goodly number, and then to have sprung their trap ruthlessly. McClellan's first question was, “How did our men fight?” The answer is plain, — like heroes. If the men were properly officered, they would be the best troops in the world

The blunder and its consequences are of the past. The future must be freighted with better hopes. As far as our military position is concerned, except for the loss of life, and perhaps of time, all is as well to-day as a week ago.

We cannot be thankful enough for the mercy which spared our regiment from having any other share in the movement than to aid in repairing its disasters. I shall not soon forget that night's march, and that gloomy morning. God bless you all at home! We can trust, and must trust, in that Power which will overrule everything for good. Good night. I must get some sleep for to-morrow's march.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 125-30

Major Wilder Dwight: Friday Evening, October 25, 1861

Camp Near Conrad's Ferry, October 25,

Friday Evening.

I shall try to send you some, pictures, though I am too tired to-night for anything but sleep.

Scene, our old camp; time, evening. The regiment just getting into marching array under crisp starlight. The men gay with singing and laughter. The camp one huge bonfire of old bedding and tent-floors. Every man in fine marching condition. Again: Scene, the bank of the canal at Conrad's Ferry; time, eight o'clock the next morning. The regiment huddled in dripping groups, under a driving rain. The men tired and silent. Ambulances of wounded men passing by. Blankets swung on poles, covering the bodies of the slain, and borne along with that heavy, dull tread which betokens the presence of death. Jaded stragglers from the river hurrying back, cold and half naked, to their camps; the interchange of greetings and tidings. The Colonel and other field-officers huddled under an apple tree, breakfasting upon a hard-boiled egg, and shivering over a feeble fire, questioning stragglers about the fight. Up comes a Yankee-looking fellow, clad only in an overcoat, with that peculiar hunched-up movement which indicates shuddering cold. Dialogue between Colonel Gordon and Yankee. Colonel G. Where do you come from? Y. The river. G. What regiment? Y. Massachusetts Fifteenth. G. Did you fight? Y. Wal, I guess we did some. G. How many times did you fire? Y. Thirty or forty. G. What did you do during the day? Y. Wal, at first we was skirmishing along, and I got behind a tree, and I was doing first rate. I come out once, but I see a feller sightin' at me, and so I got in again suddin. Then, arter a while, the cavalry came down on us. I see there wa'n't much chance, and so I just dropped into a hole there was there, and stayed still. Pretty soon we retreated towards the river. We got together there, and formed a kind of a line, and then the fitin' really began. Some fellers came out near us, and says they, “We 're Colonel Baker's men.” “Guess not,” says I. “Yes we are,” says they. “I know better,” says I. “Let 'er rip, boys!” and we fired on 'em. But 't wa'n't no kind o' use. Baker got killed, and we couldn't see the enemy, and they raked us like death. I finally come down the bank with the rest on 'em. I see Colonel Devens there. Says I, “Colonel, wot's to be done now?” “Boys,” says he, “you must take care of yourselves.” “All right, Colonel,” says I. And the way my 'couterments come off was a caution. I swum the river. But I tell you there was a sight on 'em didn't get across.” G. Do you want to go back again? Y. Wal, not till I get rested. G. You 're cold, ain't you? Y. I tell you, I just am. G. Don't you want some whiskey? Y. Don't I? (Yankee takes a pull at the Colonel's flask, and expresses himself only by a long, silent, intensely meaning wink.) Yankee then turns and sees a shivering figure approaching. “Hullo, John; I never expected to see you again. Wal, I guess we'd better go to camp,” and off he moves. The drollery of the scene I cannot give. I just indicate an outline of the cool, circumstantial narratives that every other man would give you. We found none so amusing as this, which relieved our tedious breakfast. But the men showed no fear, and, only by an occasional allusion, any sense of the terrors through which some of them had passed. Their only idea seemed to be, If there only had been more of us, how we would have licked 'em! All accounts agree that the two Massachusetts regiments fought splendidly, as far as individual daring and coolness go.

I sent you off a letter yesterday; for I must continue my story without a formal introduction of each picture. I mailed the letter with the ink wet upon it, and went off on my duty to the river, to take charge of my picket-line along the canal. But as tattoo is now beating, and as I put on my clothes in Washington on Monday morning and have not yet taken them off this Friday night, I will tell the rest of my story to-morrow.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 123-4

Major Wilder Dwight: Thursday Morning, October 24, 1861

Camp Near Conrad's Ferry, October 24, 1861,

Thursday Morning.

The violation of every rule and maxim of military law, the exaction of the extreme penalty therefor. Such is the summing up of the massacre near Leesburg. Does it awaken you to the fact that politicians are not generals?

But how shall I tell you the story of these trying days? I wrote a hasty word as our line was forming on Monday night. We marched gayly and willingly off in the moonlight towards Poolesville, at nine o'clock in the evening.

We supposod we were to cross at Edward's Ferry, to aid in a victorious advance upon Leesburg. The men marched splendidly. At Poolesville we first met the faint shadows of the coming gloom, — a few stragglers of the Fifteenth Massachusetts. “Our companies are all cut to pieces. Our captain is shot; our lieutenant-colonel has lost his leg; we have all been cut up,” &c. On we went, more earnestly, and took the road to Conrad's Ferry. Then we began to meet the flying and scattered soldiers. One with only an overcoat, another with only a blanket, another with even less. They all told one story, of flight and death and despair. Still we pressed on. Our men were eager to reach the Ferry. We got there at about three o'clock in the morning. Eighteen miles in between six and seven hours. Then came the rain, and then came the order to stay where we were. The morning broke, — a wild, gusty, rainy morning, — upon our shelterless and weary regiment. The only house near where the regiment stopped was filled with the wounded. As soon as I could get away, I galloped down to the place of crossing. I saw them letting down a wounded man on a stretcher into the canal-boat. It was Captain John Putnam, a clever fellow, of the New England Guards. I turned and went down to the river, meeting on my way a dead one, and, as I passed, one of the soldiers who carried him turned up the face, and said, “Yes, this is one of the Tammany boys.” I went to the river, to a flat-boat full of wounded; found Dr. Hay ward, of the Twentieth. He said that Lieutenant Putnam, Mrs. Sam Putnam's son, was in the boat, badly wounded. I spoke to him; he was bright, but evidently sinking. I asked him if I could do anything for him, telling him who I was. He said, eagerly, “I should like to see Lieutenant Higginson.” I said I would bring him. Then I asked about Caspar Crowninshield, Abbott, Lowell, Holmes. Caspar, they thought, was wounded. Abbott, safe. Lowell and Holmes, both wounded. A little while after Caspar turned up. Ho was in the primitive costume of his overcoat and drawers, but full of cheery pluck, calm, clear, and a young hero in bearing and aspect. He gave a clear account of himself. I was compelled to go back to the regiment. I sent Lieutenant Higginson down, and did what I could for the men.

I had been in the saddle about twenty-four hours, and without sleep, and I got into the house among the wounded, and fell asleep on a camp-stool. Soon we were off again to put the regiment in camp under cover of a wood. Just as we got in camp, General Hamilton ordered five companies to go on picket along the river-bank The next morning at daylight, still raining, we were ordered to strike our tents, and move back out of cannon range from the river. We came to our present camp. General Hamilton then ordered me to take three companies to the river, and post pickets and keep a lookout. I started. At about three o'clock I returned to report to the General the position of things on the river, when I found General Banks and General McClellan in his quarters. I enjoyed hearing McClellan talk for half an hour. One good remark of his I recall. “Well,” said he, “so far we seem to have applied a new maxim of war, always to meet the enemy with an inferior force at the point of attack.” General Hamilton then ordered me to return, and cross to the island at night, and remove some stores which had been left there. I started off again. I got my preparations all made, when an order came, at about eight, P. M., “Take your companies at once to Edward's Ferry to cross. The enemy is in force there.” I drew in my pickets, and got ready to move promptly, when I was met, just as I started, by a mounted orderly, with a note addressed to the officer in command moving towards Edward's Ferry. “Return to your camp, and await further orders.” I turned back. The orderly had orders for General Hamilton, and did not know how to find him. It was dark, and I took my horse and rode with him to General Hamilton's quarters. Our regiment had started for Edward's Ferry before the orderly arrived. When they got there, they were ordered to return, and did so. This made the third night of fatiguing marching or guard duty, and to-day they are just done up. My three companies got their rest, however, at the river. It turns out that we were to support Stone, but McClellan suddenly determined to withdraw him, and so the countermanding order. To-night I go back to the river, and go over to the island to remove the government stores. That will give me a lively night again. I ought to be very tired, but excitement makes me feel the fatigue very little. . . . .

Providence seems to have watched over the Massachusetts Second, does it not? It has saved us from Bull Run, and now, from a worse blunder. For what has it reserved us? I hope and pray for the guidance of a good general, unhampered. I must go back to the Ferry. Good by. Love to all. God bless you.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 120-2