Diary of Private Charles Wright Wills: 11 a.m., Sunday, May 5, 1861

Cairo. The bells are just ringing for church. I intended going, but it is such hard work getting out of camp that I concluded to postpone it. Anyway, we have service in camp this p. m. This is an awful lazy life we lead here. Lying down on our hay constitutes the principal part of the work. As our routine might be of interest to you, I will give it. At 5 a. m. the reveille is sounded by a drum and fife for each regiment. We arise, fold our blankets in our knapsacks and prepare to march. We then “fall in,” in front of our quarters for roll-call; after which we prepare our breakfast and at the “breakfast call” (taps of the drum at 7) we commence eating; and the way we do eat here would astonish you. At 9 a. m. we fall in for company drill. This lasts one hour. Dinner at 12. Squad drill from 1 to 3 and supper at 5:30. At 6 p. m. the whole regiment is called out for parade. This is merely a review by the colonel, and lasts not more than 30 minutes and often but 15. After 8 p. m. singing and loud noises are stopped; at 9:30 the tattoo is beat when all are required to be in quarters, and at three taps at 10 p. m. all lights are put out, and we leave things to the sentries. Our company of 77 men is divided into six messes for eating. Each mess elects a captain, and he is supreme, as far as cooking and eating are concerned. Our company is considered a crack one here and we have had the post of honor assigned us, the right of the regiment, near the colors. Our commanders, I think, are anticipating some work here, though they keep their own counsels very closely. They have spies out in all directions, down as far as Vicksburg. I think that Bradley's detective police of Chicago are on duty in this vicinity. We also have two very fleet steamers on duty here to stop boats that refuse to lay to, and to keep a lookout up and down the Mississippi river. Yesterday, p. m., I noticed considerable bustle at headquarters which are in full view of our quarters, and at dark last night 20 cartridges were distributed to each man, and orders given to reload revolvers and to prepare everything for marching at a minute's notice, and to sleep with our pistols and knives in our belts around us. That's all we know about it though. We were not aroused except by a shot at about 2 this morning. I heard a little while ago that it was a sentinel shooting at some fellow scouting around. The Rebels have a host of spies in town but I think they are nearly all known and watched. The men confidently expect to be ordered south shortly. Nothing would suit them better. I honestly believe that there is not a man in our company that would sell his place for $100. We call the camp Fort Defiance, and after we receive a little more drilling we think we can hold it against almost any number. We have 3,300 men here to-day, but will have one more regiment to-day and expect still more.

We are pretty well supplied with news here; all the dailies are offered for sale in camp, but we are so far out of the way that the news they bring is two days old before we get them. Transcripts and Unions are sent to us by the office free. I wish you would send me the Register once and a while, and put in a literary paper or two, for we have considerable time to read. We have a barrel of ice water every day. Milk, cake and pies are peddled round camp, and I indulge in milk considerably at five cents a pint. Everything is much higher here than above. Potatoes, 50 cents; corn, 60 cents, etc. It has been raining like blue blazes since I commenced this, and the boys are scrambling around looking for dry spots on the hay and trying to avoid the young rivers coming in. Almost all are reading or writing, and I defy anyone to find 75 men without any restraint, paying more respect to the Sabbath. We have not had a sick man in camp. Several of the boys, most all of them in fact, have been a little indisposed from change of diet and water, but we have been careful and are now all right. There are 25, at least, of us writing here, all lying on our backs. I have my paper on a cartridge box on my knees.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 10-11

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Thursday, September 8, 1864

Such freaky weather; cool and rainy nearly all day. Chaplain Roberts of the Sixth Vermont, has called this afternoon. He's a fine man. I have been reading East Lynne. It's very dull in camp. I've written to Aunt Thompson this evening. The papers state the North is jubilant over our recent victories, and well they may be.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 145

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: February 13, 1863

When Chester came over we talked about going to Mr. Rice's in the evening and concluded we wouldn't go, so went over to Capt. N.'s and got him to give our regrets, etc. Saw the other boys before dark and none of them was going. I prefer staying in camp, a soldier's home.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 56

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Friday, August 8, 1862

Camp Green Meadows, Friday.  — Captains Drake and Skiles of [the] Twenty-third and Captain Gilmore of the cavalry returned today. They brought fourteen head [of] good cattle got from Secesh. Captain Drake is very much irritated because he and Captain Sperry were not detailed on my recommendation to go on recruiting service, the reason given being that captains in the opinion of [the] general commanding, General Cox, ought not to be sent. Since that, a number of captains have been sent from this division. This looks badly. Captain Drake tenders his resignation “immediate and unconditional.” I requested the captain not to be too fast. He is impulsive and hasty, but gallant and brave to a fault, honorable and trustworthy. I prefer to send him on any dangerous service to any man I ever knew. I hope he will remain in the regiment if I do.

I ordered camp changed today to get rid of old leaves, soured ground, dirty tents, and the like. Have succeeded in getting more room for tents and more room for drill.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 319

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Friday, September 2, 1864

Cloudy and cool; think it will rain in a day or so; have completed my roll. Lieutenant George P. Welch returned from Vermont this afternoon; has been absent sick since we left City Point. We moved back to our old camp at 5 o'clock p. m.; arrived about dark; shall probably stay here several days; are laying out camp.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 143

Diary of 1st Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Monday, August 29, 1864

A cool comfortable day; laid out Company streets this forenoon and everything looks as though we were to remain in camp several days. Torbet's cavalry has been engaged all day, but was driven back about 4 o'clock when our Division was sent out to support it. The enemy fell back as soon as they discovered our infantry. We followed the rebs about five miles, returned about half way to camp, and Bivouacked. There's good news from Grant's army to-night. We await anxiously for the returns from the Chicago convention.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 141

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Wednesday, July 16, 1862

Camp Green Meadows. — A warm, beautiful day. The men busy building shades (bowers or arbors) over their streets and tents, cleaning out the springs, and arranging troughs for watering horses, washing, and bathing. The water is excellent and abundant.

I read “Waverley,” finishing it. The affection of Flora McIvor for her brother and its return is touching; they were orphans. And oh, this is the anniversary of the death of my dear sister Fanny — six years ago! I have thought of her today as I read Scott's fine description, but till now it did not occur to me that this was the sad day. Time has softened the pain. How she would have suffered during this agonizing war! Perhaps it was best — but what a loss!

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 304

Major Wilder Dwight: August 15, 1862

Camp Near Culpeper, Virginia, August 15, 1862.

I have fallen into camp life and its spirit quite easily. It is the virtue of duty in the field that it is persistent, inexorable, exacting. It is the virtue of the military life that it is busy and ardent. Both these considerations urge themselves on me as I sit down to write in cheerful temper, while there are so many reasons for heaviness and sorrow.

Our crippled regiment turns out to its duties and parades as if nothing had happened to it, while its thinned ranks and vacant posts tell the story of its trial and losses, — of its glory too.

Yesterday morning I spent with Colonel Andrews in visiting our wounded, and doing my possible for them. It is hard to see some of the very best of our men disabled; but their pluck and cheeriness are delightful. The regiment behaved wonderfully, but the position into which they were ordered was a hopeless one.

After dinner General Gordon and I rode out to the field of battle, and I examined it thoroughly. I shall write out and send you a full account of the position and the action. The scene was full of interest. I went to the spot where Cary fell and lay till he died on the following day. I found, too, where our other officers fell. The evening was spent with Professor Rogers, Mr. Dean, Mr. Shaw, and others, who have come out to get tidings of our officers.

This morning we have had a grand review (the first occasion of my putting on my sword as Lieutenant-Colonel) of Banks's corps. As we passed out to the field our bands played a dirge, and we paid a marching salute to Colonel Donelly, who had just died of his wounds, and was lying in a house in the town. Then to the field. The loss of the corps is about two thousand five hundred. Their work was done in a few hours, and all you can say is, the enemy went back, but their loss can hardly have equalled ours.

This afternoon I am on duty again, so that I have no time for writing you as I could wish. I hope something can be done to recruit us up to an approach to our former numbers. Nothing can ever make good our losses. Cary and Goodwin and Grafton were all too sick to march, and went up to the battle-field in ambulances, rushing forth when their regiment was ordered forward.

All these and many other memories I could write if I had time. Love to all at home. I am well, and most happy to be back here.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 277-8

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: December 3, 1864

Our duty continues to be the same from day to day. When off regular duty, work in the woods cutting up wood for camp. Everyone must take a turn at the axe. George A. Weaver, of our company, received a bad cut in the leg from an axe slipping from the hands of one of the boys. Weaver was carried to the hospital, where a number of stitches were taken in the wound. General Sheridan has posted notices along the Harper's Ferry Railroad that if the road, or trains going to and from Winchester to Harper's Ferry, are in any manner molested, he will burn every house and barn within a circle of five miles. I read the notice on trees along the line of the road.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 136

Diary of 4th Sergeant John S. Morgan: Tuesday, July 7, 1863

Quiet all day. Most time in tent writeing and laying about.

SOURCE: “Diary of John S. Morgan, Company G, 33rd Iowa Infantry,” Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 13, No. 7, January 1923, p. 492

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: November 15, 1864

Nothing special just at this time. We enjoy our camp and this town. Hope we go into winter quarters and remain here for duty. The town and railroad must be protected. No bad winter weather so far. Regular duty is kept up from day to day. Picket, guard, drilling, cutting wood for camp. The health of our regiment, at this time, is good.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 135

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes, Sunday, April 20, 1862

Rained four or five hours, part very violently. I fear we can't cross Piney. Sent to Piney; find it too high to cross teams, but not so high as to preclude the hope that it will run down in a few hours after the rain stops falling.

A cold rain coming; men sing, laugh, and keep mirthful. I poke about from [the] major's tent to my own, listen to yarns, crack jokes, and the like. Avery won a knife and fifty cents of Dr. McCurdy (a cool-head Presbyterian) today at (what is it?) freezing poker! The doctor couldn't play himself and sent for Bottsford to play his game. This, Sunday! Queer antics this life plays with steady habits!

Received by Fitch, Company E, a Commercial of 16th. Pittsburg battle not a decided victory. Beauregard in a note to Grant asks permission to bury his dead; says that in view of the reinforcements received by Grant and the fatigue of his men after two days' hard fighting, “he deemed it his duty to withdraw his army from the scene of the conflict.” This is proof enough that the enemy was repulsed. But that is all. Two or three Ohio regiments were disgraced; [the] Seventy-seventh mustered out of service, [the] Seventy-first has its colors taken from it, etc., etc Lieutenant De Charmes, the brother of Lucy's friend, killed.

What a day this is! Cold rain, deep mud, and “Ned to pay.” Cold and gusty. Will it snow now?

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 231-2

Major Wilder Dwight: February 9, 1862

Cantonment Hicks, February 9, 1862, near Frederick.

If I could take the wings of this brisk, sunny morning, I would certainly fold them on our front-door steps in Brookline. Nor would I then proceed to hide my head under the wings, but, having flapped them cheerfully, I would thereupon crow!

But, as the wings and a furlough are both wanting, I must content myself with a web-footed, amphibious existence in the mud of Maryland.

There is a secession song which enjoys a surreptitious parlor popularity here. It is called, “Maryland, — my Maryland!” and rehearses, among other things, that “the despot's heel is on thy breast!” If that be so, all I have got to say is, that, just now, the heel has the worst of it. Yet there is a just satisfaction in this morning's inspection of men, tents, and kitchens, — to see how, by discipline, method, and fidelity, there is a successful contest maintained with all the elements. The neatness and order of our camp, in spite of mud, is a “volunteer miracle.”

You will be glad to know that the regiment is now in fine health. We already begin to count the days till spring. Of course, it is unsafe to predict the climate. I remember very well, however, that last February was quite dry, and that early in March dust, and not mud, was the enemy I found in Washington. It may well be, therefore, that there is a good time coming.

Indeed, has it not, in one sense, already come? Can you blind yourself to the omens and the tendencies? What shall we say of those statesmen of a budding empire, a new State, which is to give the law to the commerce and industry of the world through a single monopoly? What shall we say of the statesmen (Cobb, Toombs, etc.) who counsel their happy and chivalrous people to a general bonfire of house, home, and product? There's a new industry for a new State. King Cotton is a rare potentate. He proposes to be, himself, his own circulating medium, among other eccentricities.

Then, too, what admirable inferiority of fortification they succeed in erecting! Will our fleet of gunboats have as easy victories over all their river defences? and, if so, how far are we from Memphis? and where is Porter going with his “Mortar Fleet.” Among the ablest of our naval commanders, he is not bent on a fool's errand. When Jeff Davis sleeps o’ nights, does he dream of power?

But I've given you too many questions. In the midst of all this jubilant interrogatory, when will our time come? Just as soon as the mud dries, without a doubt.

Our life jogs on here without variety. For the most part, we spend our time in reading military books and talking military talk.

I am just now a good deal disturbed by the prospect of disbanding the bands. A greater mistake could not be made. The man with so little music in his soul as to vote for it is fit for — a Secessionist. Marshal Saxe, in introducing the cadenced step in the French infantry, says, “Music exerts a great and secret power over us. It disposes ‘nos organes aux exercises du corps, les soulagent dans ces exercises. On danse toute une nuit au son des instruments mais personne ne resterait à danser pendant un quart d’heure, seulement, sans musique.’” I have seen many a practical verification of this in the gathering freshness and quickness with which jaded men went on their march when the music called and cheered them.

Besides, we want the Star Spangled Banner, and its melody, as allies against the Rebel seductions.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 194-6

Major Wilder Dwight: December 11, 1861

Camp Hicks, December 11, 1861, near Frederick.

I am building a house this morning. It is well for a young man to get settled in life; and to build house and keep house may, in general, be stated as the sum of his whole temporal endeavor. My own achievement in this direction will be rapid and decisive. Four trees, as scantling, a board floor on them, and a surrounding pen four feet high, are now in progress. Over this pen my tent will be pitched, and I can defy the storm. It is a structure thought in the morning and acted before night. It is not firmly fixed on earth, and so illustrates the frail tenure of our hold on this sunny camp, again analogizing life itself. It is also just the size for one. In this, perhaps, it is seriously defective, though, in a great part of the earnest endeavor of life, it is not bad for man to be alone. At all events, no military authority indicates a wife as a part of camp equipage. I have called my immediate business housekeeping. Let it not be thought that a regiment is without its domestic cares. They are manifold. To make the cook and the steward harmonize is more difficult than to form the battalion in line of battle. I should like much to greet you in my new house, and have a family party at the house-warming.

We are moving, too, the question of a stable for one hundred wagon-horses. It is a question that will settle itself shortly. We procrastinate it naturally through this warm weather; but the cold will soon snap us up again, and then we shall go to work at it. But this uncertainty of the future, which every rumor aggravates, does not favor preparation. Political economists, you know, tell us that a secure confidence in the quiet enjoyment of the fruits of industry is a condition of all industrial development, and without it there is no wealth. We are illustrating that maxim. “No winter quarters,” says McClellan. “Onward!” howl the politicians. “You must not draw lumber or boards,” echoes the quartermaster. Such is our dilemma. I am attempting both horns by my extempore device of half house, half tent.

I did not finish my house yesterday, but this (Thursday) evening I am writing at my new table in my new house. It is perfectly jolly. I take great pride in my several ingenious devices for bed, washstand, front door (a sliding door), &c., &c. I had four carpenters detailed from the regiment. They gradually got interested in the work, and wrought upon it with love. The dimensions are nine feet square, and the tent just stretches down square over it.

My little stove is humming on the hearth as blithely as possible. I received last night your pleasant letter of Monday, the first which has come direct to Frederick. This gives cheerful assurance of a prompt mail. . . . .

So will be settled before Christmas. He is to be congratulated. He has opened for himself a large sphere of duty and usefulness. This is enough to kindle the endeavor and invigorate the confidence, and so he is fortunate.. . . . .

We have had the development, since our arrival here, of one of those little tragedies that thrill a man with pain. A young man, who came out as a new recruit with Captain Abbott to our unlucky camp at Seneca, was down, low down, with typhoid fever when we were ready to march. Our surgeon decided it unsafe to move him, and so he was left in the temporary hospital at Darnestown, in charge of the surgeon there. After we left, the brigade surgeon of the brigade decided to move the hospital at once; packed the poor boy, mercilessly, into a canal-boat with the rest; took him up to Point of Rocks, and thence by rail to Frederick; spent nearly thirty-six hours on the way, distance thirty miles. When the boy arrived here he was almost gone. Neglect, exposure, disease, had worked their perfect work.

It is said, and I see no reason to doubt the statement, that his feet were frozen when he was taken from the cars! He died soon after his arrival. You may have seen that the newspapers have got hold of that disgraceful blundering in transporting the sick to Washington. I must have spoken of it in a former letter.

I consider the Medical Director guilty of the death of our young soldier just as much as if he had deliberately left him alone to starve.

It is such incidents as this that expose the inefficiency of our whole hospital organization. Alas! almost every department is equally listless and incapable. But the sufferings of the sick soldier appeal more directly to the heart than other shortcomings.

Since we have been in camp here we have had a court-martial vigorously at work punishing all the peccadilloes of the march, and the indiscretions consequent upon a sudden exposure to the temptations of civilization and enlightenment, — to wit, whiskey.

In my tour of duty yesterday, as field-officer of the day, I found that one of the guard posted in the village of Newmarket had stopped a pedler's cart, and seized a quantity of whiskey intended to sell to soldiers. The pedler was quite ingenious. He packed first a layer of pies, then a layer of whiskey-bottles, and so on. His barrel looked as innocent as a sucking dove on top, but was full of the sucking serpent within. I ordered him to be taken out in the middle of the main street, to have his hat taken off, his offence proclaimed to the people, and the whiskey destroyed. It was quite an effective, and, I hope, terror-striking penalty. . . . .

It is now Friday morning, — bright, but cool. This fine weather is happiness in itself.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 169-72

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Thursday, June 1, 1865

The weather is quite sultry. There is nothing of importance. Our camp duty is very light here. The ground is rough, and it would be impossible to find a place for a drill ground or even a parade ground.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 280

Major Wilder Dwight: Sunday Evening, November 3, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, Sunday Evening,

November 3, 1861.

If you had waked night before last in our camp, you would have thought yourself in a storm at sea, with a very heavy northeaster blowing. By the rattle, and creak, and strain, and whistle of the canvas and gale, you would have believed that the good ship was scudding before the blast. If you had shivered outside to attempt to secure your fluttering tent, you might, by a slight effort of the imagination, have thought yourself overboard. When the morning broke, after a sleepless and dreamy night, expectant of disaster, you would have seen, here and there, a tent prostrate, and the wind and rain, for you could see them both, wildly making merry over the storm-driven camp. As the Colonel stepped out of his tent at reveillé, a big branch from an overhanging tree came crashing down upon it, and broke the pole, and drove into the tent he had just stepped from. “There's luck,” said I, putting out my own head at the instant. We went out, and found half a dozen of the limping officers' tents flat upon the ground in shapeless masses. Captain Cary said, with an attempt at mirth, “I woke up about three o'clock with a confused idea that something was wrong, and found my face covered with wet canvas, and my tent-pole across my breast. I crawled out into the rain, and ran for shelter.' By the chill and exposure of the night, I found myself a little under the weather, and I found the weather a good deal over me. I was indisposed for breakfast, and the Doctor said, with a meaning chuckle, “Sea-sick, I guess.” I got my tent secured with ropes and strong pins, and, after considering the best way to be least uncomfortable, determined to go to bed and “feel better by and by.” What a day it was! The storm howled and roared, and seemed to tear the tent away from its moorings. I had every alternation of fear and hope, but, to my surprise, weathered the gale. The Sergeant-Major, who is an old soldier and a professional croaker, and whose rueful phiz always appears shining with grim pleasure amid disaster, who says, with a military salute, “Can't get nothing done, sir, not as it ought to be, sir,”  — the Sergeant-Major appeared at my tent with his gloom all on. “Tent is blown down, sir; pins don't seem to do no good, sir; my things is all wet, sir. Never see no storm, sir, equal to this in Mexico, sir.” “Well, Sergeant, it 'll be pleasanter to-morrow,” is all the satisfaction he gets. The day blew itself away, and, as we had hoped, the sun and wind went down together. This morning a clear sky and bright sunshine brought their gladness with them, and our Sunday morning inspection was a proof that “each tomorrow finds us better than to-day.” The men came out bright and shining and clean, except an occasional unfottunato whose clothes were drying. “Got wet yesterday, sir,” was a valid excuse, though not a frequent one. The day was a proof, however, that winter-quarters in this latitude will have to be our resource before many weeks. Tell Mr. that I put my feet in a pair of his stockings, and thought of him with the warmest affection. Sich is life, and, more particularly, camp life. To-day we receive the news of Scott's retirement, which has been rumored of late. I did not think that the day would come when the country would welcome his loss. But I think every one is relieved by his retirement. Now McClellan assumes an undivided responsibility, and if he has courage to defy the politicians, he may yet win the laurel which is growing for the successful general of this righteous but blunder-blasted war. What a fame is in store for that coming man. Talk of hero-worship. The past cannot furnish a parallel for the idolatry which will bow down before the man who restores the prestige and rekindles the associations of our dear old flag. You ask in your last letter if my heart does not sink. Sink? It swims like a duck when I think of the future which some of our eyes shall see; and will not they swim, too, with intense delight, when the sight dawns upon them? For myself, even now, I cannot look upon the flag which we brought away from Boston without a glow and heart-bump, which I take to be only faint symptoms of the emotion that is to come. I augur well from McClellan's new power, and I feel sure that things will go better for it. One will, one plan, one execution. As to the immediate results, I have no opinion. Upon this line of operations I do not look for anything decisive this winter. Yet it is not impossible that the season may favor us sufficiently to allow activity here this month.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 135-7

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, November 14, 1862

Camp Near Sharpsburgh, November 14, 1862.

I wonder if you are having as charming a day at home as we are having here. It is genuine Indian summer, with that soft, hazy atmosphere so peculiar to the season. The sun is almost hot, and only the chill in the air occasionally tells one how near winter it is. The leaves have nearly all fallen from the trees around us, and the river is almost in view from my tent door. Our camp must now be in plain sight from the other side, but I trust the rebs won't be so ill-mannered as to throw any shells into it.

Everything about our camp has the appearance of winter quarters; the men have, most of them, built themselves very comfortable houses of logs, boards, etc., with fire-places of various kinds in them, all far more comfortable than anything we had last winter. We officers are all fixed up in some shape or other, very pleasantly. I am living alone now and have my tent nicely floored; at the end of it, I have had the seam ripped up and have had built a good, open brick fire-place, so that now these cold evenings, and, in fact, nearly all the time, I have a fine blazing wood fire. You have no idea how cheerful this is; it seems almost like sitting down at home.

We heard, yesterday, the joyful news that Harry Russell had been exchanged. He won't allow much time to elapse before he joins the regiment. I know we shall all be glad enough to see him. He is one of our very best officers and a first-rate fellow; I hope he will never have to go through another such experience as he has had this summer.

You don't know what an interesting thing it is to ride over the hard fought ground of Antietam. Yesterday, Bob Shaw and I visited all the places where we were engaged, saw where our men were killed, etc.

We could follow our first line along by the graves; next to ours came the Third Wisconsin's, which lost terribly in this place; next to that was a battery which was splendidly fought. Where it stood, in one place there are the remains of fifteen dead horses lying so close that they touch each other. Farther on, towards our left, we found numerous graves of the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania men; they were in a wood. Every tree in the vicinity is scarred by bullets, and the branches torn by shell and shot. No language could describe more forcibly the severity of the fight. It is hard to realize, in riding through these now peaceful and beautiful woods, that they could have been filled so lately with all the sights and sounds of a great battle.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 105-6

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

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Saturday, January 2, 1864

Another day of the new year has passed but a very busy one for me. It has been very cold all day. This afternoon I have been papering my hut so our quarters are quite comfortable now. The band has been out this evening and played some very pretty pieces, and I am thankful for it relieves the monotony of dull camp life. This evening Lieut. D. G. Hill and Captain Goodrich, the brigade Quartermaster, called; they were in fine spirits. It is bitter cold, but no wind as last night; have received no letters which of course is provoking.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 2

Major Wilder Dwight: August 3, 1861

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