Harper's Ferry, July 24, 1861.
The news from Manassas has filled us with gloom and
bitterness. We can only rejoice that we were not misled into such a rout and
panic. I cannot tell whose fault it is, or how the explanation may alleviate
the disgrace, but it seems to me that the disaster is a most terrible one. . . . O that we had force and energy to strike
again immediately! But we cannot judge here. Yesterday a lot of negro fugitives
came in. We are obliged to stop them, though it went against my grain to throw
any obstacles in their way. One of them, a fine-looking fellow called Bob, we
took as a waiter. He was the slave of Colonel Baylor of the secession army, and
I think Colonel Gordon will retain his services until Colonel Baylor returns to
his allegiance. A moment ago a man was brought up under guard, and Colonel
Gordon ordered him into the office. “Where do you come from?” asked he. “From
Charlestown,” said the man, a rather dark-complexioned fellow, with curly hair.
“I ran away,” said he, “last night.” “Ran away! from whom?” “From my mistress.”
“Are you a slave?” “Yes.' Nothing could have been more unexpected than this reply.
The fellow says he has brothers and sisters as white as himself, and all
slaves. His father a white man, his mother a yellow woman. The man's features
and accent were European. O, this is a beautiful system, in its practical
details, — a firm basis for a Christian commonwealth! It is an order of things
worth fighting for! Bah!
By our maintenance of good order and discipline, by our
protection of the inhabitants of the town against the undisciplined of our own
army and against lawless oppression from the Rebels, and by the fact of our
being the first regiment to bring back the flag to this town, we have so far
won the affection of the townspeople that they propose, this evening, to
present us with a flag. We shall accept it, and add it to our bundle of banners.
Yesterday afternoon (Tuesday) we had quite a flurry. Orders came to be ready to
march at a moment's notice. We packed up speedily, and were just ready to move
when an order came that a telegram was received from General Scott telling us
to stay where we are. Such is camp life. We do not know what a day will bring
forth, literally. I see no immediate prospect of our getting into active
military duty; but one cannot tell how the aspect will change before night.
One thing is clear, our column would have met the fate of
McDowell's, had it made an attack upon Johnston in position at Winchester. But,
on the other hand, had McDowell made his attack when we threatened Johnston at
Bunker Hill, perhaps the result would have been different.
One thing is certain, there has been no concert, no union in
the movement of the two columns. But what good is there in speculating upon
what might have been! I do hope that the government will wake up and put out
its power. These rebels mean fight. We must have an army, an armament, — generals
and soldiers, if we mean to whip them. . . . Here's hoping the good time is coming.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 55-6
