Maryland Heights, August 3, 1861, in Bivouac.
Our new leafy camp presents an odd appearance. Two or three
ingenious men belonging to the band have fitted me up a bedstead of branches
and boughs, and have thatched my tent with leaves, so that the breeze rustles
cool through it as I write. But we have few incidents. The bugler is teaching
the skirmish calls, which makes a confused variety of very bad music; but
except that, we are in the sultry stillness of high noon. . . .
I think we are doomed to a life of warm inaction for many
weeks, while the awakened North will, I trust, give itself cordially to the
task of organization. We must have an immense army. We must feed it, teach it,
equip it, and all this must be done without delay. We must pay it promptly too.
Our men all suffer now for want of the few comforts their pay would bring.
Again, we must feed them well, honestly, not with bad meat or mouldy
bread. I believe a little attention to these two matters will shorten the war
six months. We demand a great deal of the men, we must give them all they are
entitled to, and we must do this a great deal better than it has been done. I
could write much on this score, but I am not inspector-general, my report will
not go to head-quarters, so I will try to give you something more lively. Yet
these are the pressing thoughts of one in the system who feels its pressure.
Men willing and devoted you can have; but one central, organizing will you
cannot have, I fear. Never mind, we have got to accomplish the result sooner or
later. Only I think I can see most clearly how it ought to be done. Health is a
condition of courage, and without it you cannot have an army Yet there are
colonels, within three miles of us, who have not had their men in bathing
within a month, though the rivers flow close by. Discipline is another
condition of concerted and organized movement; yet, in several regiments,
obedience is the exception, and orders take the shape of diffident requests.
This has been unavoidable in the three months' militia. It must be corrected in
the three years' army that is to fight the war. Here I am preaching away on the
same text. I will stop and try again tomorrow.
Sunday has come, and brought with it the usual inspection of
the regiment. Under the glaring sun, it was a severer work than common. The
Colonel was bent upon having it thoroughly done, however, and so we made a long
story of it. On our outpost, special duty, the regiment must be kept
efficiently ready for sudden emergencies; and all matters which at Camp Andrew
might have seemed merely formal, here assume practical and obvious importance.
The hard work, hot weather, and soldier's fare begin to tell upon the men, and
they are not as well satisfied as they were. They see the undertaking in a new
form, and they are in the worst stages of homesickness too. The contagious
disorderliness of other regiments, with lower standards of discipline and
drill, also has its bad effect on them. Again, the inaction is depressing to
the men, and they long for an occasion to fight. Still further, the want of
vigorous health is a predisposing cause of discontent. The result is, that the
regiment seems to lack willingness, obedience, enthusiasm, and vigor. It wants
what is called tone morale. How to get it? There is the problem. Colonel
Andrews has been over to see me to-day, and we have been talking regiment for a
couple of hours. Vexing our minds with problems, and inquiring eagerly for
solutions. I do not mean to intimate that we are not better off than others. I
trust we are, much. In all military and material advantages, we certainly have
got the start of them. And in these respects we are making every effort to hold
our own. But there are and will be new problems before us at every step.
Several of our officers are sick or disabled, and we are working with a short
allowance. This adds to the bother. There you have the lees of a conversation
with the Lieutenant-Colonel, which I have just finished. It indicates a few of
the perplexities that belong to my position, but you need not let them
discourage you. Nor do I allow them to halt me on my way. The march is to be kept
up, and the obstacles are to be overcome or removed. Still, let no one think
that because we are not fighting battles, therefore we are not serving our
country. With all diffidence, and awaiting the correction of experience, I
think we are now doing our hardest work. I should not write so much on this
subject if it were not filling my mind completely. The same languor,
undoubtedly, is creeping over the army everywhere. The only remedy for the
trouble is to bring the men to their duty with a strong hand. The romance is
gone. The voluntariness has died out in the volunteer. He finds himself
devoted to regular service. A regular he must be made, and the
rules and articles of war, in all their arbitrary severity, will not sit
lightly upon him. So much for my Sunday sermon. I got your pleasant note of
Thursday yesterday afternoon. I hope the boys will enjoy the Adirondacks. I am
having my camp-life, this summer, on other terms. Everything goes well with me.
I never was happier in my life.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 65-8
