Major Wilder Dwight: March 4, 1862

Charlestown, March 4, 1862.

The extent to which our regiment has followed the path of John Brown is somewhat curious. The last coincidence of occupation occurred on Sunday, when the men were assembled in the court-room of the court-house, and listened to our chaplain, who preached from the judges' bench! This morning Colonel Gordon and I went in to see the cell of Brown in the jail, and also went out in the open field, where, upon a knoll, can be seen the holes in which the gallows was set up. “This is a fine country,” said Brown, as he came out into the field which commands a view of this grand country. “I have not had an opportunity of observing it before.” . . . .

This country has been the paradise of debtors, and creditors have seen their mortgages and notes melt away into Confederate bonds, payable “six months after the ratification of a treaty of peace between the Confederate States and the United States.” Money has been the one thing in excess, and delusion or terror have made this currency pass readily in payment of debts. An element which will have some weight when you talk of conciliation is this same currency question.

Before our arrival, every one had money. The night before we came to town the bank migrated suddenly to Stanton, and to-day the people are refusing their own money.

“Pretty conciliation you bring us,” says one man; “why, you won't even take our money.” This consequence of the “invasion” cannot fail to supply an argument to the Rebels, which they will adroitly use.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 202

Major Wilder Dwight: February 28, 1862

Charlestown, VirgiNia, February 28, 1862.

A story to tell, and no time to tell it in. That is my record. After tedious waiting in Frederick, with constant threatenings of movement, at last, in the pouring rain of Wednesday night, came the order to be at the depot in Frederick at daylight, to take the cars for Harper's Ferry. So, in the dark, damp fog of Thursday morning, the line was formed, and on we splashed and paddled to the turnpike. Just at sunrise we entered Frederick. The band played, “The girl I left behind me,” and tearful maidens looked a sad farewell. When we got to the depot, we found no cars. At twelve, M., we got off.

Only six hours' delay, caused by the crowding of troops on the road coming from Poolesville. The day broke clear and cold. Our Frederick friends saw the last of us, and we were off. At four o'clock we reached Sandy Hook, and were soon crossing the bridge to Harper's Ferry. As we entered the town the music swelled out, the men closed up, and on we went, by the Shenandoah road, to the upper part of the town. We crowded into a few buildings. An old negro woman gave the Colonel and myself shelter, and we spent the night. This old woman gave us her political sentiments briefly, thus: “De Union is broderly love. Dat's what de Union is. Dese yere secesshnists ain't got no sich principle. In de Union dey do good to one another; but dese yere secesshnists dey don't do no good to you. Dey won't help yer out when yer's in trouble. Lord bress yer! dey can't help derselves out, let alone other folks. I's for de Union and love; dat's what I's for.”

At three in the morning we were roused up by an order for the regiment to move, “soon after sunrise,” in a reconnoissance to Charlestown. In the sharp, windy morning we took up the march. At Bolivar Heights the force assembled. It consisted of four squadrons of cavalry, two sections of artillery, our regiment, and the Third Wisconsin.

Colonel Gordon, as the ranking colonel, was in command. Colonel Andrews had been detailed as Provost Marshal of Harper's Ferry. This left me in immediate command of the regiment. We moved on, over the road by which we had eight months before advanced (!) to Harper's Ferry.

When we got near Charlestown, Colonel Gordon hurried on with his cavalry, and all four squadrons whirled down the main street rattlingly. Half a dozen cavalry scampered out at the other end of the town, on the road to Winchester, and the place was in our grasp.

The artillery was posted, commanding the two roads toward Winchester, and our regiment was drawn up in support; the Third Wisconsin in rear. We had been there half an hour. The cavalry had divided itself, and gone out over the various roads. We then heard that McClellan was coming. So I drew up the regiment, and he rode the length of it with his staff. I then joined them, for a moment, to answer General Banks's inquiries, and those of General McClellan. Colonel Gordon soon came back. After a consultation, it was determined to remain in the town and hold it. Our reconnoissance changed to an advance. I put the bulk of the regiment in the courthouse,— John Brown's court-house. I was immediately appointed Acting Provost Marshal, and had my hands full all day, attending to the quartering of troops, feeding them (for we were without rations), preventing marauding, posting pickets, &c., &c. It was an awful blustering day. At evening General Hamilton came in and took command. I was in the saddle the first part of the night, on duty, but had comfortable quarters for sleeping.

At two in the morning, however, there was an alarm. I had to go and get the regiment under arms, also to organize a party for the purpose of obstructing the railway.

And now, this bright morning (March 1; I wrote only a few lines last night), we are busy with a thousand and one affairs. How soon we shall advance I do not know. We are in large force, and shall take no steps backwards.

McClellan has gone back to Washington, we hear. We know little of our future. The force at Harper's Ferry is increasing. A permanent bridge is going up.

It takes a little time to organize supplies, but, as the men are fond of singing, “we are marching on.” The regiment is in fine condition.

To-day the rest of our brigade, from which we have been detached since the reconnoissance, has marched up.

We have been mustering the regiment; and used, for that purpose, the court-room. It was an odd capsize of events that brought about the muster of a Yankee regiment in Charlestown court-house.

The newspapers, I see, are silent about our movements, or nearly so. I suppose this is under the order of the President checking the telegraph and mail. This order is a sound and healthy one.

I have had several amusing experiences in this hot secession town in my provost-marshalship. One good lady told me this morning, “Well! I hope you'll be beaten in your next battle; but you can have the rooms, and I’ll have a fire built directly, as they are rather damp for you.” I thought this charming feminine consistency.

I think we under-estimate the strength of the secession sentiment and overestimate the Union feeling. Still, I may speak from the fresh impressions of my recent experience. At any rate, there is a long battle to come after the bayonet has done its work. Troops have been coming in all day.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 199-202

Major Wilder Dwight: December 15, 1861

camp Hicks, Near Frederick, December 15, 1861.

Another bright, sunny Sunday; the regiment growing in grace, favor, and winter quarters. The band has got its new instruments, and has been piping melodiously in the moonlight this evening. The instruments are very fine indeed. . . . .

To-morrow morning our brigade is to be reviewed by General –––. Napoleon, as the newspapers are fond of saying, used to precede his great battles and important movements by grand reviews. General ––– is not Napoleon. Voilà tout.

The Colonel, since we got into this new camp, has been doing a good deal of “rampaging,” and with excellent effect. I think I never saw the regiment in better condition. The relaxed discipline consequent on sickness and the march has recovered its tone completely. We have had a court-martial sitting for several days, and the men have been very generally and impartially punished in their pay. This is good economy for the government, and a sharp lesson for the men. Each of the divisional departments — the commissary, the quartermaster, the medical — are lame and impotent.

What do you say to the fact that, but for the activity and outside zeal of our quartermaster, we should be in rags?

The division takes no care of us; we go to head-quarters at Washington, and take care of ourselves. We go to Washington; but the theory and duty is, that everything comes to us through the division department here.

This has never been true, and, as I said, but for our irregular and enterprising expeditions to Washington, there is little we could get for ourselves. Again, what do you say to the fact that to-day, but for the activity of officers outside of the medical department, and but for their spending money saved from other sources, our hospital tent would be floorless, storeless, and flung to the breeze? Now, however, it has a nice floor, good bunks, and a warm, cheerful stove; and, yesterday morning, at inspection, looked as neat and comfortable as your parlor. No thanks, however, to the medical men. The division medical director don't know to-day that our typhoid-fever patients are not basking in precarious sunshine on the bosom — the cold, chaste bosom — of unnatural Mother Earth, after a sleepless night in the pale shadows of the moon!! To be sure, he guesses that the Second Massachusetts Regiment will take care of itself; but while they are issuing stoves, &c., at Washington, we are buying them for ourselves here.

Again, a brisk little stove is humming in almost every tent of the companies; many of the tents are floored: all this, however, with our own money, — individual, regimental enterprise, not divisional or departmental care. Such is the picture we present. Add to this that all this outlay and endeavor is adventured by us in the face of a blank uncertainty of the future, an utter darkness, an outer darkness, as to whether we are here for a day or for all time, and you have a position that would arouse complaint, if we allowed ourselves to grumble. We have no hint from head-quarters to guide us. We have been here nearly two weeks: perhaps we shall get advice when we have finished our action. Advice to act on is what we want. Head, control, direction, will, organization, is what we miss. I speak only of the sphere in which we move, of this department. It is a part of McClellan's army, however, and, as such, is entitled to better guidance. I do not put the fault on General Banks, but on the crippled condition in which his staff and departments are kept. Of this, however, I am not in a position to be an observer or a judge. I can speak only of the results which I see. There is no reason why I should harp on this theme, however. We get on finely, only I like to make it understood that we do so over obstacles. This is natural, I suppose.

When I hear, too, all this talk about a “grand army,” “the splendid spectacle our country presents,” &c., &c. “what a terror we should be to England,” “how ready we are for war,” I know that it is the nonsense of ignorance that men are talking. “Clear your mind of cant,” says Dr. Johnson.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 172-4

Major Wilder Dwight: December 7, 1861

Camp Hicks, Near Frederick, December 7, 1861.

When I scribbled a hasty note to send by Colonel Andrews, I was looking grimly forward to a snow-storm. That foreboding was premature. In its place, I might have indulged midnight orders to march, and a winter's morning to start in. On Monday night, at eleven, our quiet camp near Seneca was invaded by a mounted orderly, who brought orders for an early start. The night was given to preparation. Colonel Andrews was to go off in a canal-boat at six in the morning. I had planned to escort him. Instead of this, I was obliged to content myself with a hasty good-by at the house, and a careful packing of him and his wife in the hospital wagon, and starting them for the canal. How cold it was! At last we started in good order. The morning was so cold that horseback was penance. I marched on foot, leading my horse. We went, by a new road, toward Frederick. The cold that nipped our ears stiffened the mud, and our path was made easy. A brisk march of seventeen miles brought us to Barnesville, just under the Sugar-Loaf Mountain. The latter part of the way hung heavy on the legs of the men, and they straggled badly. So at evening in the village, whither we went supper-hunting, we found some officers of the –– Massachusetts boasting of the fine marching condition of their men, and alluding to our stragglers. This piqued us. We were assigned the advance, the next day, unless, as General Abercrombie said, some other regiment gets started first!

I should like to describe our camp at Barnesville. It was on a wooded ridge. The night was intensely cold. Colonel Gordon and I shared a tent, and we put up his stove. The men had good fires. The scene was wintry, and the experience was harsh. The order was issued, “Reveillé at half past four”!! The men got to bed early. At half past four came the rattle of get up. Our candle was relighted, our stove glowed again, a big fire crackled before the tent, our hastily built straw-bed aided the flames, but the weather kept the keen edge on. We breakfasted on some coffee borrowed from one of the company kitchens, and some bread and cold chicken, — frozen chickens. Soon after half past six the men were all breakfasted, the wagons ready, the line formed. At quarter to seven we were out on the road started. The sun was just showing an intention to rise. The Colonel and I walked. He led off at a smacking pace. Our rear-guard was made up of picked men under Lieutenant Sawyer, an energetic officer. There could be no stragglers. On we went over a mountain road, on, on, on! The sun came up. It even began to melt the ice a little: still we marched on, till we had made between ten and eleven miles without a halt! A short rest was all the impatience of the Colonel would allow. Onward again. General Abercrombie here overtook us. “Great marching,” said he. “I thought you had missed the road.” He had no idea we could so get the start of him. On along the bank of the Monocacy, — on across the river and the railroad.

The cars were just coming in. “Hallo,” says one soldier to another; “what's that?”

“I don't know, it's so long since I've seen it, — believe it's a steam-engine.” The steam-whistle screeched.

We halt just outside Frederick at about eleven o'clock. Fourteen miles with knapsacks in four hours and a quarter! Beat that if you can, over a mountain road.

The Colonel formed the line in a grove, and the men rested. We awaited orders. But we were so early that the orders were not ready. Two or three hours after, the –– Regiment came along with thin ranks. The Colonel had told our regiment, before starting, that the –– boasted they marched better than the Second. It was that emulation which made us march so well. Now the men enjoyed their victory, and chaffed the late regiment. “Tell your colonel,” says one, “that we 'll lend him some of our wagons to help him along,” &c., &c . I marched the whole distance and felt finely. So you may know I am well. We went into camp, after recrossing the Monocacy. Another cold night.

The next morning, just as the regiment was ready to start on its march to its present permanent camping-ground, we were sitting about the fire on a hillside overlooking our camp, when up came R––. I was delighted to see him, and to hear from home. He made only a short call on us, and left for Frederick just as we started for our new camp. It was Thursday morning. We marched round to the southwesterly part of the city, and struck the Baltimore turnpike. Our camp site was on a wooded slope facing the south and the sunshine. The latter is pouring into my tent as I write, this fine Sunday morning. We were soon busy getting into camp. I have been up to Frederick twice. The first time I went to General Banks's head-quarters, and happened to be invited in at General Shriver's, the Union man of Frederick. I found myself in a parlor, talking to a young lady! What a transition!

Frederick is a fine old town. Our band-leader already talks of giving concerts there. Our thoughts are all turning on peace and quietness.

The principal duty will be keeping the men in order, and preventing drunkenness. Yesterday, as field-officer of the day, I was very busy at it. But had you seen our Sunday morning inspection, you would have seen order, neatness, and system transplanted with no check of growth. Opinions may vary of Colonel Gordon, but his administrative success is testimony enough in his favor. I wish you could see our camp. Perhaps you will one of these days. We have had glorious weather since the cold abated. It is Indian summer. At last I have actually caught that evanescent and supposititious season. We have had the President's Message and all the reports

I hope there will be no hasty and ill-considered legislation about the army. The volunteer force, as it stands, ought not to be put on the same footing as regulars. A hasty, extempore, uneducated army made permanent, — what folly!

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 165-8

Major-General John A. Dix to Major General Henry Halleck, Received July 18, 1863

HDQRS. DEPT. OF VIRGINIA, SEVENTH ARMY CORPS,

Fort Monroe, Va., July –, 1863.

(Received July 18.)

GENERAL: On the 14th of June, I received from you the following dispatch by telegraph:

Lee's army is in motion toward the Shenandoah Valley. All your available force should be concentrated to threaten Richmond by seizing and destroying their railroad bridges over the South and North Anna Rivers, and do them all the damage possible. If you cannot accomplish this, you can at least occupy a large force of the enemy. There can be no serious danger of an attack on Norfolk now.

I had at the time this dispatch was received a force of about 5,000 men moving up the Peninsula. The advance was near the left bank of the Chickahominy, above Diascund Bridge. I had also a considerable force on the Blackwater. These movements had been made to prevent the enemy from sending re-enforcements to General Lee from this department:

At the same time all the transports in the department had been ordered to Aquia Creek, to remove the sick and convalescent of the Army of the Potomac and the public property to Washington. On the 15th, I had not a single transport left. I went on the evening of the 14th to Suffolk, and ordered General Peck to have his command in readiness to move.

On the 17th, transports returned, and were sent to Norfolk to receive Wistar's brigade, which had been ordered there from Suffolk. I advised you on the 18th that part of this brigade went up the York River that morning. The transports came in very slowly, and when they were all here, they were only sufficient to move Colonel Spears regiment of cavalry from Norfolk to the White House.

From my inability to move a larger force at once, General Getty's division, Terry's and Wistar's brigades, were landed at Yorktown.

It was not until the 24th that I could send Colonel Spear with the Eleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry and about 200 men, mounted, of different regiments, under Lieutenant-Colonel Davis, of the Twelfth Illinois Cavalry, to destroy the Virginia Central Railroad bridge over the South Anna. He landed at the White House on the 25th, after constructing a wharf, for which I had ordered up materials from Fort Monroe. The same evening, on the return of the transports to Yorktown, I sent General Wistar with a part of his brigade and a battery of artillery to West Point. He pulled down two small buildings, built a wharf, and landed during the night.

On the 26th, in the evening, I reached the White House, General Getty having arrived immediately before me, and being then engaged in landing his division. Major-General Keyes, with Gordon's division and Terry's brigade, and some other troops, amounting to about 9,000 men, arrived at Cumberland on the same evening, and at the White House on the 27th.

Brigadier-General Foster's brigade arrived on the 28th, making an aggregate force at the White House for duty of 18,730.

Brigadier-General Spinola arrived two days afterward from North Carolina with 1,718 drafted Pennsylvania militia, whose term of service was about to expire, with directions that they be sent to Washington, if they would consent to serve until the insurgent forces were driven out of Pennsylvania and Maryland. They gave the requisite consent, and were embarked for Washington on the 7th July.

On the 27th June, in the morning, Colonel Spear returned from the South Anna, having destroyed the bridge of the Virginia Central Railroad over that river and the quartermaster's depot at Hanover Court-House, secured and brought away 700 animals, 35 army wagons, $15,000 in Confederate bonds, and other property, and captured Brig. Gen. W. H. F. Lee, a son Of the general-in-chief of the insurgent army. A detailed report of the movement was forwarded from the White House.

To facilitate anticipated movements at the White House, I ordered a light locomotive and half a dozen platform cars to be sent from Norfolk. They arrived on the 28th, and were landed on the 29th, and put in operation on the railroad. The railroad bridge over the Pamunkey at the White House was left uninjured, but the rails from that point to West Point had been taken up, probably to be laid down on other roads in the seceded States, where there was urgent need for them.

On Colonel Spear's return, I organized an expedition, under General Getty, to seize and destroy the bridge of the Fredericksburg and Richmond Railroad over the South Anna. It consisted of his division, excepting a regiment retained for provost duty at the White House, General Foster's brigade, a provisional brigade (part of Wistar's), under Colonel Wardrop, of the Ninety-ninth New York Volunteers, and the cavalry under Colonel Spear; in all, about 10,000 men. His artillery and wagons were passed over the river on platform cars, the time occupied for the passage of the entire column being fifteen hours – from 5 p.m. on the 30th June to 8 a.m. on the 1st of July.

A copy of my instructions to General Getty is annexed.* I advised you of the movement on the 29th June and 1st July.

On the day General Getty commenced his march (the 1st July), I received a dispatch from you, directing me, as soon as my forces returned from their present expedition, to report before sending out any more; and, on the 3d, another, with the following directions:

As soon as the expedition now out terminates, you will draw in all your forces to Yorktown, Fort Monroe, and the defenses of Norfolk, and send to this place (Washington) all the troops not absolutely required for the defense of those places.

To cover General Getty's movement and insure its success, I ordered Major-General Keyes, with Terry's and West's brigades and one of the brigades of Gordon's division, to advance on the Richmond road, and attack the enemy, who was understood to be in considerable force on the right bank of the Chickahominy, a short distance from Bottoms Bridge. General Keyes was to post his artillery in position so as to command the bridge, and open fire on the enemy. He was also directed to hold his position for two or three days, until there was reason to believe that General Getty had accomplished his object. Major-General Keyes was chosen to command the troops by which this demonstration was to be made on account of his rank, and more especially on account of his supposed familiar acquaintance with the country, gained with the Army of the Potomac during the campaign on the Chickahominy.

GENERAL GETTY'S EXPEDITION.

General Getty moved from the left bank of the Pamunkey, opposite the White House, at 8 a.m. on the 1st July. The weather was intensely hot, and, on his arrival at Littlepage's Bridge, near the junction of the South Anna with the Pamunkey, on the 4th of July, a large number of his men were found unfit for active duty. The road from Taylor's Ferry is very narrow, and difficult for artillery and heavy wagons. It passes over high hills, and is very unfavorable to the movements of troops.

Colonel Spear, agreeably to my orders, had destroyed all the bridges and ferry-boats below Littlepage's Bridge.

The column was crossed on the evening of the 4th, and the advance was immediately made to the bridge of the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railroad across the South Anna. It was found to be held by a very large force, covered by earthworks. From the best information, this force was believed to be about 8,000 men, with fourteen pieces of artillery. Three regiments had been brought down from Fredericksburg. From the evening of the 1st to the evening of the 4th, cars were coming from Richmond with troops inside and outside. Three trains passed up on the morning of the 4th with troops and with eight pieces of artillery. Believing that his own force would not justify an attack on the bridge, that he would sustain very heavy loss, and that success would be doubtful, he decided to destroy as much of the track as possible, and render the railroad unserviceable. General Foster was, therefore, directed to remove the rails, bend them, and burn the ties. This was accomplished from a point near the bridge to a road some 3 miles below.

Major Stratton was sent with a detachment of cavalry to Ashland Station, on the same railroad, about 11 miles from Richmond, where he destroyed the railroad depot, brought off the telegraph instrument, and tore up the track above and below the place, burning the ties and bending the rails. He also destroyed a trestle bridge a mile below Ashland, and a number of cars loaded with materials for the reconstruction of the railroad bridge over the South Anna destroyed by Colonel Spear. He also tore up the track and disabled the rails.

It is the opinion of Major Stratton, who is a very judicious man, and who was a railroad engineer before the rebellion, that the injury he did could not be repaired in less than a week, and it is the opinion of General Getty that, considering all the injuries done to the road, a fortnight will be necessary to put it in running order.

The position of General Getty on the right bank of the Pamunkey, with Richmond in his front, a large force on his right, and a narrow bridge to recross the river, was a critical one, and if he had been attacked by a superior force he would have been in great danger.

Having substantially accomplished the object of breaking up the direct railroad connection between Richmond and General Lee's army in Pennsylvania, he recrossed the Pamunkey, destroyed Littlepage's Bridge, and returned to the White House, bringing with him 21 prisoners, one a commissioned officer, and having lost 2 killed and 7 wounded. The information in regard to the strength of the enemy at the bridge is fully confirmed by the prisoners.

GENERAL KEYES' DEMONSTRATION.

General Keyes, agreeably to his orders to attack Bottom's Bridge, advanced on the 1st of July to Baltimore, or Crump's, Cross-Roads, where he halted for the night, sending his advance, under Colonel West, 3 or 4 miles farther on. Bottom's Bridge is but 13 miles from the White House, and it was expected that General Keyes would take, on the evening of the 1st, a position which should command it, and prevent the enemy from crossing. The correspondence forwarded to you on the 12th instant shows that he proposed to me the same night to fall back to the White House; that I directed him to hold his position, unless the enemy showed himself in such force as to make it necessary to fall back, and that at daybreak on the 2d he fell back to Baltimore Store, or Talley's, though no enemy had appeared, with the exception of some skirmishers on the 1st. His letter, No. 5,­** advising me of his intention, did not reach me till after daylight, when it was too late to arrest the movement.

On the afternoon of the 2d, the enemy advanced, with eight pieces of artillery and an infantry force, on Baltimore Cross-Roads, and Colonel West, who had been left there with the advance, fell back, to avoid being outflanked. The enemy's field pieces were brought within a mile of Baltimore Store, to which General Keyes had retired, and fired from 100 to 150 shots during the night, without doing any injury whatever. From information derived from Colonel West, who is an experienced officer and a man of cool judgment, the enemy's whole force could not at any time have exceeded 3,000 men. General Keyes had 6,000, and fourteen pieces of artillery.

After the night firing, which was manifestly intended for intimidation, the enemy withdrew nearly his whole force before daybreak, and there is little doubt that it was hurried back to Richmond, and sent up to the South Anna by railroad, to oppose General Getty.

From the morning of the 3d to the 7th, when General Getty returned, I am now satisfied that there was at no time more than a regiment of infantry and some small parties of cavalry between the Chickahominy and the White House.

On the correspondence between General Keyes and myself, I make no comment, but leave it to speak for itself. I desire, however, to say, that after the letter, No. 24,^† showing a concurrence of opinion and feeling on the part of General Keyes and his brigade commanders, I deemed it most prudent to suspend the movement, and leave his command where it was in no danger of molestation.

It is my opinion that if a prompt and vigorous attack had been made on the 1st July on Bottom's Bridge, it would have been regarded as a real movement and not a mere demonstration; that the enemy's troops would have been retained in Richmond, and that General Getty would have succeeded in destroying the railroad bridge over the South Anna. But when General Keyes fell back on the morning of the 2d without being attacked, and it became manifest that the movement was a mere feint, a large portion of the force in Richmond was sent against General Getty.

THE ENEMY'S FORCE IN RICHMOND.

On the 28th of June, the day the last of my force arrived at the White House, Jeff. Davis wrote to General Lee that there were three brigades in Richmond, and part of Hill's division, besides Wise's brigade, on the east side of the city. These different corps could not well have numbered less than 12,000 men. There were, in addition, a body of trained artillerists in the intrenchments, which are very strong; the Home Guard, embracing all males capable of bearing arms, a convalescent brigade, and the Home Guard called in from Petersburg. My information, corroborated from a variety of sources, is, that there were in Richmond on the 1st July not less than 20,000 persons under arms, a majority of whom were regularly organized and trained troops.

On the 2d July, Mr. Ould declared 1,800 paroled prisoners of war at Richmond exchanged, and they were no doubt immediately put in service there. My information that there were about 8,000 men at the South Anna, prepared for General Getty's attack, is, therefore, perfectly consistent with the letter of Jefferson Davis and corroborating intelligence from other sources.

In review, I beg leave to say that the objects in contemplation of your order of the 14th June were substantially accomplished; that the railroad connection between General Lee and Richmond was effectually broken; that a large force of the enemy was occupied, and that very severe injury was inflicted on him.

My position at the White House was one from which the enemy could have been greatly annoyed had the public necessities elsewhere allowed me to retain it. The time required to pass General Getty's column across the river led me to plank over the railroad for the passage of supply trains and artillery, and by means of this facility the whole country could have been controlled from the Pamunkey to the Rappahannock, either by holding the bridge and operating from the White House, or by crossing my whole force, destroying the bridge, making West Point the base of my movement, and avoiding the long and circuitous navigation of the Pamunkey below the White House. With the aid of a pontoon bridge, the Pamunkey can be crossed at New Castle Ferry or Hanovertown, each about 15 or 16 miles from Richmond, 8 or 9 miles nearer than the White House.

I inclose herewith the reports of Major-General Keyes and Brigadier-General Getty, giving a detailed account of their movements.

The loss of General Keyes was 25 killed, wounded, and missing, and of General Getty, 2 killed and 7 wounded.

I desire to acknowledge the zeal and promptitude of the officers and men under my command in the performance of all their duties.

I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

 JOHN A. DIX,

Major-General.

 General H. W. HALLECK, General-in-Chief.

_______________

* See Addenda to Getty’s report, p. 840.

** See p. 826.

^† See p. 832.

SOURCES: Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John Adams Dix, Volume 2, p. 57; The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 27, Part 2 (Serial No. 44), p. 820-4

Major Wilder Dwight: November 26, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 26, 1861.

If you are to have another letter from a major commanding, I suppose it had better be written to-night. Tomorrow, I feel sure, will bring back Colonel Gordon, and I shall very gladly shift that burden to his shoulders. There are some objections to holding the reins, very long, of power that you are not to continue in the exercise of; and, though I must say the Colonel has got a very easily managed regiment, and I have had no difficulty in my path, yet the temptation to mould things to your own will is a strong one, not to be indulged in temporary command. On the whole, this is probably better for the regiment, — it is certainly safer for me. The month of November, though we have spent it quietly in camp, has been the most trying one to the regiment in its whole history. I am glad to be able to persuade myself that we stand firmer than we did three weeks since. I hope we shall steadily improve. There is a hopeless desperation chilling one when engaged in a contest with disease. The unseen malaria has such an advantage in the fight. I had rather meet anything for the regiment than the enemy who surprised us in our former camping-ground, and who seems hardly yet to have given up beat. Two weeks ago I had something as much like depression as I ever allow myself the indulgence of. Now I feel quite glad again. This afternoon, for example, a blue, overcast November sky, but a keen, bracing air, we bad a lively battalion drill, which went quite well. The regiment turned out full companies, and, altogether, looked its old self — There, I was just in the midst of this last exultant sentence, when what should happen but a knock at my tent. Enter Captain . “Major, two men of my company are very sick in quarters, and ought to be in hospital, but there is not room.” “Well, sir, I can't make room.” Then the same complaint from another captain. I send for the Doctor. He is abed, having been sick for the past three days. I send for the Assistant Surgeon. He says, “Yes, it is so; but the Brigade Surgeon promises a tent soon. The measles cases have increased within two days.”

I require from him a report of every case in quarters, and a statement of how many sick men ought to be in hospital. This is the nature of the work to be done. To make bricks without straw. Our sick officers have not yet returned to duty. The Adjutant is still away. I have to look after everything myself. Still, I do insist that we are getting better. A week on a high piece of ground three miles from the river would put us all on our feet again. But as long as the morning sun rises only to quicken the fatal exhalations from this pestilent Potomac, and the evening dews fall only to rise again with fever in their breath, the contest is unequal and the victory uncertain. Well, we can only hope for better things, and be thankful for what we have. You will see, however, that the constant maintenance of military efficiency under all these circumstances exacts constant effort. I rejoice in continued health and increasing strength, and am thankful and happy. I think, too, that our experience will be a sort of seasoning. One thing is certain, — we cannot have the measles again!

I have just come in from my nightly round through the camp; and, as taps have sounded, all is quiet. I sit alone in my tent a-thinkin' o' nothin' at all, — and writing about it, too. Yes, I can tell you about our domestic arrangements, — I mean our mess.

We have intruded upon an elderly lady who lives near our lines. She has given us her parlor and the use of her cooking-stove. Tony is in great feather. He rejoices in all kinds of culinary eccentricities.

The old lady, meantime, is repaid by our protection. She confides to me her griefs for the losses of fence-rails and cabbages, of pigs and poultry. This happened when a former regiment was here. Now she is safe. Tony and she observe an armed neutrality over the common cooking-stove. This evening she told us the history of Jack Cross, the husband of the lady who owns the house where Colonel Andrews is sick. Jack is in prison — at Fort Warren perhaps — as a traitor. The good lady described his capture. Said she: “The officers came to me, and says they, ‘Do you know of Jack Cross's hanging or shooting any one?’ “As for shooting,” says I, “I've known him from a boy, and a more peaceable man I never knew; and as for hanging,” says I, “I never knew him to hang anything except a big black dog.” Which was true, indeed, and I recollect how the dog looked, and he most frightened me to death. But they took him. He was an unfortunate man, but he was a good neighbor; and a good neighbor can't be a bad man. But this business has got him into trouble; but I can't seem to understand it no how. I'm for the Union and peace before I die.” I think she would have talked till now, had we not left the table, her ideas running in a beaten track of puzzlement and dread. She evidently does not either understand or enjoy civil war.

I said our camp was still. I ought to admit that the night is full of echoes with the barking cough that prevails, — an unwholesome sound. Good night, and God bless you all at home.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 157-9

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: Sunday Evening, November 10, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 10, 1861,

Sunday Evening.

I have had a quiet Sunday. Colonel Gordon's sudden resolution to snatch a visit home has left me alone with the regiment. On the whole, I don't mind the care, though my shoulders are young to it. A little knapsack-drill keeps a soldier in marching order, you know, and so of an officer. There are a good many things to call for care and thought just now in the regiment. The care of our sick; the selection of a good camping-ground in place of our present over-damp site; the problem of keeping warm when air and ground seem heavy with chilliness; the maintenance of drills and discipline when so many of our officers are absent or sick, — not more than half being now present for duty, — these are a few of the considerations that vibrate the pendulum of my thoughts. I have just been out to tattoo, and so, as my “little family” is put quietly to bed, I am free to write, read, or sleep, as I choose. Another rainy day yesterday, and the pleasant sun of to-day looked as if he were breeding clouds for to-morrow. So is November on the Potomac. If the news is half true from the fleet, why may not a turn of fortune embark us for some Southern shore, and give us a short cut to the tropics?

Tell father that he happened to send me just the book I wanted, — Halleck's. I fancy it is a clear statement of some things it would be well for a major to bear in mind. Our day has been regular and quiet. Of course, my only purpose is to keep the machine in the same running order as it now is. . . . .

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 140-1

Major Wilder Dwight: November 8, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, November 8, 1861.

Your letter and C–––’s and D–––'s all came last evening. I was right glad to see them. They warmed and cheered me on the coldest night of our camping experience. . . . , Colonel Gordon goes off to-day, on a leave of absence, for a short visit home Colonel Andrews is getting better, but is still shut up, and must be for some time; so I am left in command. Of course there will nothing happen but the quiet recurrence of reveillé, drill, and tattoo, but it is a different feeling to have the ropes in your own hands. I am afraid my last letter was a little dull. It was written, towards its close, to the depressing sound of a band rehearsal of the Dead March for a coming funeral. Such clouds will overhang one's paper, and leave their shadow. But they are mere shadows. Our hope and faith are as firm as ever, and the world wags on. . . . .

Tell Mrs. Ticknor that I have no statement of our wants or wishes to add to those already made, unless it be for woollen mittens, which would, of course, be gladsome to the men if they are to stay here, of which we can know nothing. Mind, I do not ask for any of these things, but state the case merely. Love to all. Tell he is the dearest fellow in the world.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 139-40

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, November 30, 1862

November 30, 1862.

I have nothing very new or interesting to write to-day, except about an expedition we made into Virginia last week, which you may like to hear about.

Last Monday night, about nine o'clock, Captain Cogswell took seventy-five men of the regiment and marched quietly up the river about two miles. Captain Robeson and Lieutenant Grafton went with him; hardly any one else knew anything about the expedition. Captain C. had a guide who was thoroughly familiar with the country on the other side of the river. They crossed in three boats, having to make several trips, and proceeded at once to Shepherdstown and posted guards at the principal entrances to the town. Then with the main body, they surrounded two houses pointed out to them by the guide as the headquarters of the rebel scouts. At the door of one of these houses were five cavalry horses ready saddled and bridled; these were immediately taken; a party under Lieutenant Grafton then burst in the door and rushed into the lower rooms; four men were immediately secured; the fifth seized his arms and rushed out a side door. Captain Cogswell, on the outside, saw him and called out for him to surrender; this order was repeated several times, but no attention was paid to it. Captain C. then called to the men to fire on him; two shots were fired; the second hit him and he fell; almost before any one reached him, he was dead. He proved to be Captain Burke, a captain of scouts. He belonged to Stuart's command, and was on that General's staff; he was quite a famous character in this neighborhood, almost as much thought of by the people here as Ashby was by the inhabitants of Warrenton and the Shenandoah Valley.

After taking one more prisoner and a few arms, the party returned safely to this side of the river, arriving in camp between three and four o'clock, A. M. Tuesday noon, an order came for a similar party to go again to Shepherdstown for the purpose of paroling some rebel officers and men supposed to be secreted in the houses there, and to make a further search for papers and arms. This time, I had the good fortune to be detailed for the service, and had command of the infantry, the whole party consisting of seventy-five infantry and about twenty cavalry, Captain Cogswell commanding the whole expedition. We forded the Potomac just below our camp. The water was terribly cold, and between two and three feet deep; the bottom was rough and the stream fast. The river here is about three hundred yards wide; you may be sure there was very little fun fording it. We kept quietly along the Virginia side of the river for a mile, then made a quick turn up the bank and came suddenly on Shepherdstown; the cavalry dashed into the town first and gave chase to a few scouts that were there; but the latter escaped.

When we came up, the people, men, women and children, were all on the streets; they seemed to be in a state of great alarm. We made a rapid search through the principal houses and public buildings, finding quite a number of papers and taking and paroling three commissioned officers and twenty privates. Among the arms that were taken was one very good English double-barrelled gun, which I have kept and shall try to have some sport with, as quail are very numerous in this vicinity and I have made friends with the owner of a very nice setter.

We recrossed the river safely and the men were allowed a good strong whiskey ration to make up for their wetting. They enjoy these expeditions as much as anybody.

The people over there are in a great rage at the death of Burke and swear to be revenged on our regiment. The man who killed him belongs to my company; he is a new recruit, but a very smart one.

Thanksgiving passed off with us very pleasantly. My wine came all right and was very nice. We had a union dinner of all the officers of the regiment. The dinner was very good indeed, plenty of nice poultry, plum pudding, champagne, etc. We couldn't help remembering last year's dinner and the great change in officers since then, but there was very little sadness manifested and we had a very pleasant time. Charley Horton came up from Harper's Ferry and all General Gordon's staff were also with us. My company had a fine dinner I bought for them out of company fund; ten turkeys, six geese and twenty-four chickens and a barrel of cider; they had, besides, as much plum pudding as they could eat.

The chances for furlough have sunk to the lowest point; I don't think now there is hardly a chance for one. Captain Bangs is going to try the experiment of sending an application on to Burnside, but I don't believe it will be noticed. I am, of course, allowed the first chance, but I prefer to wait for about two weeks. General Gordon, you know, has been sent home quite sick; this hurts my chance considerably.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 108-11

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: 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

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, September 26, 1862

Maryland Heights, September 26, 1862.

In my last letter, I wrote that we had orders to march the next morning. Our whole corps was routed out before daylight; our division, under command of General Gordon, marched to Maryland Heights, our brigade occupying our old last year's camping ground. Green's division crossed the Potomac and now occupies London Heights, the other side of the Shenandoah. Sumner's corps is encamped on Bolivar Heights. I think at last we are going to have a little rest; I can't tell. Everything seems about as it did last year up here; we have as splendid views and fine sunsets as ever. We have been very busy making up our pay rolls for the last two days. They are now a month behind time; there is any quantity of other papers which have been accumulating for the last six weeks, which will keep us hard at work for a week at least.

One of the men of my company killed at Sharpsburgh, the other day, lived in Brookline, and had been out here only about six weeks; his name was Thomas Dillon, and he was a good, faithful fellow. He was buried by two men in my company who volunteered to do it. A letter came for him two days after his death, which I think, under the circumstances, was one of the most affecting things I ever read, and yet it is only one instance among thousands. I do not know of anything that has brought the horrors of the war more plainly before me than this letter. I have written to the father of Dillon, telling him of his son's death.

You remember, don't you, of my speaking of a young boy named Stephens, who was killed at Winchester; his brother was wounded at Cedar Mountain, and has since died; they were their poor father's and mother's only sons; it is one of the hardest cases I have known.

I have talked with a number of the rebel prisoners. You have no idea what innocent, inoffensive men most of them seem to be; a great many are mere boys; there are some old men, too, with humped backs. Scarcely any of them seem to have any idea of what they are fighting for, and they were almost all forced into the army. I talked with one -poor little fellow from Georgia who had received a severe wound; he could not have been more than sixteen years old. He said that all he wanted was to get into one of the hospitals at the North; that he had been abused and knocked around ever since he had been in the army, and that the first kind treatment he had received and the first kind words he had heard were from our men. He expected to be bayoneted as soon as we came up. The more I see of battle fields convinces me that instances of cruelty to the wounded are extremely rare, and that they are treated, almost universally, with kindness by the men of both sides. When we crossed the field, we drove the rebels from where their wounded were lying everywhere; but our men took the greatest pains not to touch them or hurt them in any way, although sometimes it was almost impossible to avoid it. And when we halted, the men gave almost every drop from their canteens to the poor rebels. The idea that a soldier could ever bring himself to bayoneting a wounded man, strikes me now as almost absurd; it may have been done during this war, but I don't believe it.

Our wounded at Cedar Mountain were treated with the greatest kindness by the rebels; they gave them plenty of water and built shelters to protect them from the sun in many cases. This making out the Southerners to be a lot of cut throats is perfect nonsense; their leaders give a great many harsh orders, but the soldiers are not responsible for them.

I wonder if R. knows that his class-mate and friend, Breck Parkman, was killed at the battle of Sharpsburgh, the other day. He was on some general's staff and was probably killed by the fire of our brigade. Charley Horton saw a rebel surgeon who told him of it.

I believe that we are in quite a permanent camp now. It must be so, I think, for the whole army has endured a hard campaign of six months and must have rest; neither men nor horses can hold out forever. Then we have our recruits to make soldiers of, and the new regiments need any amount of drill. But there is another thing also true, that we have only got two months more in which any work can be done before we go into winter quarters.

The best news that we have heard lately is that Harry Russell is at liberty and exchanged; we hope soon to have him back here with us. There is no one I feel more pity for than Major Savage; we heard that he had lost a leg and would probably lose one arm; I don't believe he can live through it. He is one of the finest men I ever knew; nothing coarse or rough about him. He had a very delicate constitution, but was so plucky that he would do his work when a great many in his situation would have been on the sick list. He was one of my intimate friends, and had been particularly so during the last few months before Cedar Mountain.

Captain Quincy is at last heard from, it seems, badly wounded and a prisoner at Staunton. I doubt whether he or Major Savage ever will rejoin the regiment again to do duty with it; if that is the case, Captain Cogswell will become Lieutenant-Colonel, and Mudge will be Major. I shall be third Captain and shall have the colors. No one in our regiment can complain that he has not had promotion enough to satisfy him during the last few months. You will be pleased, I think, to know that a few of us have now got a first-rate “mess” in working order. It consists of Bob Shaw, Lieutenants Oakey, John Fox, Tom Fox, Abbott and myself. We have a really good cook, who can make good coffee, cook eggs in any way very nicely, and also make pies and puddings; to roast and broil or stew is child's play to him, and although our cooking materials are of the most limited description, we have not, since we have been this side of the Potomac, had a poor meal.

We found it, in our last campaign, to be an unmistakable fact, that a horse couldn't stand as much marching as a man; it got to be a common remark among the men on our march from Culpepper here, as we passed the dead or dying animals which had been abandoned, “There, we've killed one more horse; bring on some fresh ones, we're good for a few more yet.”

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 90

Major Wilder Dwight: October 16, 1861

pleasant Hill, October 16, 1861.

I always have an impulse to write when I get a letter, and as yours of last Friday gladdened me this evening, I am pen in hand again, though without a story. No! I have one, now I think of it. My maiden lady friend of the spinning-wheel and flower-garden came to see me to-day. She and her brother in their best. I gave them my hospitalities, showed them the camp, &c., and made them very content. They are full of patriotic ardor. Its form of expression is various. The good lady brought me to-day as a present, first, two quarts of milk; second, a pair of roast chickens; third, two loaves of bread; fourth, some preserved cherries; fifth, two apple-pies; sixth, an immense bouquet of roses and dahlias; seventh, a bottle of balsam for cuts and bruises, and “other wounds,” — whether of the heart or not the stanch maiden did not explain; eighth, some butter. I am persuaded that she brought me everything that occurred to her mind as possible.

The Colonel had quite a joke over my trophies; but I noticed he ate the pies, and liked the cherries. It is refreshing to see two honest country folk loving their flag with such naïve simplicity.

They wish “they could only do something,” and just now I seem to be the object of their baffled patriotism. There is no evading the constancy of their attachment; their love of country will express itself on me. The bouquet, which is half as tall as I am, fills my tent with its fragrance while I write, and it is of an obtrusive and ardent gayety, which seems almost out of season among the falling leaves of October.

Though I date this letter to-day, it was begun last night, and will progress slowly, I am afraid, amid the interruptions of this morning. One does not see exactly what has been accomplished by living a day in this camp; but he finds, as the hours pass, that something claims attention pretty much all the time.

I am just now going out to skirmish-drill with the bugle. It is a part of the military duty which I fully understand, and, accordingly, I like to perform it. I hope it won't be long before I can say the same of all parts. . . . .

Tell Lillie and Charlie P. that I am glad they are knitting for their country, and I should like to come over and take tea some evening.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 117-8

Major Wilder Dwight to William Dwight Sr., October 11, 1861

pleasant Hill, Maryland, October 11, 1861.

Dear Father, — I receive, this evening, your pleasant letter of Tuesday. Also a very kind one from D—. Your compliment from the general commanding is certainly pleasing. But do not suppose that it indicates any success of mine. Remember that the path is a new one, and be content that I shall learn its windings by and by.

Again, D—'s letter indicates the idea that I am likely to be in command here. You will have learned that Colonels Gordon and Andrews are both still with the regiment. This is as it should be, and as I most strongly desire; and I confidently trust it is as it will be for time to come (I have no wish to emulate the inexperience of colonels whom I see about me). And the team as it now is is not too strong for the load. I cannot help feeling proud of the regiment. It never appeared so well as now. But I have no personal ambition about it, only an intense longing for its success as a whole. I tell you, good regiments are great creations, and I wish we had three hundred of them, as we might have had if everybody had put in briskly at once, as some of us did; but I am overworking my text, as I am apt to do when I get on the regiment.

You have succeeded in the stockings, I see. Well! they will be a great thing for us, only you must let my patriotism feel vexed that private aid should be necessary at this point of time. . . .

We are building an elaborate stable, thatched with straw, for our horses, and the officers are fitting up tents with cellars and fireplaces, as if we were established for the winter. I think, however, that we shall hardly get “to rights,” as they say, when the order to move will come. Dr. —, General McClellan's Medical Director, said to me last week, “I can't tell where you 're to be. What General McClellan knows, no one else knows.” It speaks well for the tonic effect of Bull Run, that the press and people lie down quietly under the thumb of McClellan, and bide his time.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 114-5

Major Wilder Dwight to William Dwight Sr., October 9, 1861

PLEAsanT HiLL, MARYLanD, October 9, 1861.

my Dear Father, — Your prompt and energetic kindness is truly splendid. I think one thousand pairs of stockings are enough for the present. What we may need, or the government may be able to supply before spring, we cannot now say. Mrs. George Ticknor writes to Colonel Gordon that a number of ladies in Boston desire to form an association to supply the Second Regiment with whatever they need. She will aid you in the stocking direction. The truth is, the government ought to supply every real want of the soldier. I hope it will soon do so. If it fail to do so, we must appeal to benevolence now and then. The principle is a bad one, however, and I do not wish to extend it an inch beyond the immediate necessity.

One bad effect of appealing to benevolence is, that men will not be as careful of things given to them as things paid for by them.

Some frost-nipping compulsion is important to keep them economical and careful.

I am quite anxious to hear about Howard. I do not so much care whether Fremont is a good or bad general; if Howard gets a footing there he will do well, and will hang on.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 112

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, August 2, 1862

Camp Near Little Washington, Va.,

August 2, 1862.

While you were quietly enjoying this Sunday morning among the mountains, our corps d’armée was out in a large field being reviewed by our new commander, General John Pope. The review passed off as most reviews generally do, terribly tiresome and tedious to the officers and men engaged, but rather a fine sight to outsiders. I was not much impressed by the appearance of our new general, but shall keep my mouth closed about him until he does something.

We have lately become acquainted with a new horror of war. The other night, we were all awakened, about one o'clock, by the most awful screams and groans, proceeding from directly behind our tent. We all rushed out and found Tom, Captain Williams' servant, apparently trying to tie himself up in a knot, all the time holding on to his ear for dear life, exclaiming, between his groans, “Oh! take him out! take him out of my ear! I shall go crazy!” and such like ejaculations. We found out at last that some kind of a beast had crawled into his ear while he was asleep, and was now working around near his tympanum, making him suffer the most horrible pain, if we could judge by the noise he made. The doctor came at last and took him to the hospital, and by pouring oil into his ear, killed the bug; he then gave Tom some morphine to make him sleep. In the morning, after a vigorous syringing into the afflicted ear, the animal hove in sight and was removed by a pair of pincers. It proved to be a hard, round pointed black beetle about three-quarters of an inch long. We all now stop our ears with cotton wool every night, not caring about having explorations made so near our brains.

We had, this last week, besides other drills, two corps d’armée drills and one brigade drill. Banks manœuvered the corps and did pretty well, except that he gave some rather original orders. It was rather a fine sight to see the whole corps formed in squares with the artillery in position, and to add to the interest, a squadron of cavalry charged some of the squares to try their steadiness; they thundered down on our regiment at full speed, not stopping until they fairly touched the points of the bayonets, but they didn't stir one of our men. The sight is really quite frightful, and it is easy to see that if the charge is not broken by a good fire, that the infantry would have to go under, but we know by experience, that the effect produced among the horses by the shots is very great. General Gordon is fast making his brigade a fine one; it is now altogether the best in the corps.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 74-5

Major Wilder Dwight: October 4, 1861

pleasant Hill, October 4, 1861,

Camp near Darnestown.

I am sitting up to-night, as field-officer of the day, awaiting the hour of twelve, when I make my grand rounds. You may, perhaps, take a half-hour of my tediousness. I wrote a note from Washington. I found William had chosen me a horse, which, though peculiar to look at, was clever to go. In the cheerful phrase of the woman of Kannesch, “II ne sait pas êtra joli mais il est bon.” William told me he had written for Charley to come on to his regiment. I hope Charley has already started. He will learn more in a week in camp than in a month at home. Give him my love, and advice to push on for camp with a few good warm clothes and a copy of Tactics.

Noboby seems even to guess at McClellan's plans. It is against my principle to believe in anything except human fallibility. Taking it for granted that McClellan belongs to the human family, and that he has got an awful work before him, and not seeing evidence of his doing anything in particular, I must say, my impatience gets the better of my hope now and then. For instance, when I see Meigs advertising for gifts of blankets! Why, are the whole government asleep? If not, why have they not prepared for a winter campaign? The roll of the seasons is a phenomenon of peace. That, surely, has not taken them by surprise.

Again, the redundancy of brigadiers disgusts me. What room have they left for distinction to those who win glory in the fight. These antecedent laurels cheapen the very warmest incentive to a soldier's sacrifices.

But enough of croaking. Though, before I leave it entirely, is not Fremont's fizzle in Missouri enough to make a saint's amiability feather, at least, if not absolutely sour? When is the luck to turn? I am writing in the stillness of an almost summer evening, and have got my head full, as you see, of thoughts that are fruitless.

I rode back to camp yesterday, and found no end of work awaiting me. Among other things, I am detailed on a board of survey to estimate the damage done to private property in our army's progress from Harper's Ferry to this place. As I am one of those who do not believe in paying anything, I am, I suppose, a good officer for the post. The burdens of war ought, for the most part, to rest where they fall. At any rate, these lukewarm, disloyal citizens deserve nothing but the strictest justice.

Colonel Gordon is now in command of a brigade, and he is acting the reformer and reviver with great spirit and effect. Indeed, it is cheerful to see the progress our regiments are making in discipline and drill. The Second Massachusetts is the example and standard for the others. General Banks, standing on the hill near his head-quarters, said to a gentleman in my hearing yesterday, “That,” pointing to our camp, “is the best and neatest camp on the continent.” Words, I believe, of truth and soberness. My visit to Washington tended to satisfy me with our regiment. Good night. I must go out upon a tour of sentinel inspection, which will last till three o'clock in the morning. A soldier's life is always gay.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 109-11