Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, September 30, 1862

Maryland Heights, September 30, 1862.

We have received, to-day, pretty conclusive evidence of the death of Major Savage; we have also heard that Quincy's chance for life is very slim. Hasn't the mortality among our old officers been dreadful? I cannot bear to think of it. If we lose Colonel Andrews, there will be very little left of the old Second.

To-morrow I go up on the mountain in charge of a large fatigue party to fell timber. I imagine there is going to be another fort built there.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 95

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, September 29, 1862

Maryland Heights, September 29, 1862.

I rode over to Harper's Ferry, yesterday afternoon, with Bob Shaw and Charley Whittier (the latter you remember of the Twentieth; he is now on General Sedgwick's staff). We went to Colonel Lee's headquarters and to the Twentieth regiment. I saw John Ropes's brother; he is now Acting Assistant Adjutant-General to Colonel Lee who is commanding Dana's brigade.

There is a rumor that Andrews is going to be made Brigadier-General; it would be hard for us, but he deserves it.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 94-5

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, September 21, 1862

Maryland Heights, September 21, 1862.

To go back a little; last Sunday, we marched through Frederick, almost the last corps of McClellan's army. We marched to the sound of the cannon to Middletown Heights, reaching the latter place about half-past one Monday morning, after the battle had been fought and won by our men. We lay down on the ground and slept till daylight.

Monday we marched to within about five miles of Sharpsburgh. Tuesday we united our corps to the main army. A battle was expected that day, but nothing took place beyond a little shelling. We were aroused that night at ten o'clock and marched to our position on line, reaching it between one and two A. M. We were just behind Hooker's division. There was continual picket firing throughout the night.

I awoke at daylight with the full conviction that we were going to fight a battle that day. The first thing to do, of course, was to eat a good breakfast, which I fortunately had with me. I had scarcely finished before the cannonading began, followed quickly by heavy musketry volleys. We got under arms at once and our corps marched forward. We halted just before reaching the field, while our gallant general, Mansfield, gave the orders for our disposition. He was a splendid old veteran; fine white hair and beard. He had commanded us for three days only, but we all felt his good influence. The poor man received his mortal wound before we had been under fire five minutes.

Our brigade moved up into an apple orchard; we had the right. The Third Wisconsin was engaged first, receiving a tremendous fire; we were quite well protected. Captain Mudge was slightly wounded, and about a half a dozen men. Our regiment was now called upon to support the Third Wisconsin. We formed a line almost at right angles with theirs, and poured a heavy cross-fire on the rebels, who were in a cornfield not a hundred yards off; this continued about ten minutes, when the rebel line broke, turned and ran. Our brigade now advanced with a tremendous cheer; the whole field before us was literally covered with dead and dying; we took a number of prisoners from the rebels and the battle flag of the Eleventh Mississippi. We advanced in line for several hundred yards, then halted; our part of the work had been done for the present.

It was sad, now, to look around and see the shattered battalions that were left in the places of the comparatively full regiments we had seen an hour before. The Third Wisconsin had lost more than half its numbers, and almost all its officers; it was very much the same with the Forty-sixth Pennsylvania. Our loss had been very small, though I think our fire was altogether the most effective of any regiment. Colonel Dwight caught up our rebel flag and rode by our line, waving it triumphantly; every cap went off and a cheer went up that you must almost have heard at Jamaica Plain. It was one of our poor Lieutenant-Colonel's last gallant acts, and I don't believe many who saw him will ever forget it.

All of a sudden, Sumner's whole corps came up behind us; we gave them a cheer as they passed by. They were in three lines and looked splendidly. They advanced into a wood and were met by an awful fire; they returned it gallantly, but were unequal to their task and were obliged to give way to the right a little, leaving the woods to the enemy. All this time we were lying down flat under a heavy fire of solid shot and shell, which tore the ground up around us, but as usual did no harm.

Now came our turn again; Gordon's brigade was ordered to attack the woods on the right. We crossed a high rail fence into a lane¹ and ensconced ourselves behind the fence on the other side within fifty yards of the woods; we had on our right and left two new regiments. We had hardly taken our position when the rebel line came out of the woods, so near you could distinguish the features of the men. We gave them a volley which sent them back in quick time under cover of a natural breastwork they had there; then, without any cause, the new regiments bolted, officers [Sept. 22, 1862, The first sheet was written on picket: I was suddenly relieved and am now in camp in Pleasant Valley] and men, and we were left alone. We stood it for about ten minutes, losing a third of our men and several officers, when the order was reluctantly given to fall back. This we did in good order (though it was hard work getting over that high fence in our rear, with much appearance of dignity), for about a hundred yards, when the regiment was halted; then ranks closed up and again made ready for attack or defence.

Now, too, it was sad to look at our thinned ranks; I found I had lost two men killed and five wounded; many of the companies had suffered more severely, but our greatest loss was Colonel Dwight. I saw his horse shot, and saw him dismount and try and hold his horse by the head, but the animal struggled so violently that he broke away; almost immediately afterward, Colonel Dwight received his death wound. He was within six feet of Colonel Andrews at the time, and as he was struck and sank to the ground, said, "That's done for me." As soon as our regiment halted, four men immediately volunteered to bring him in; this they succeeded in doing, though all the time under a heavy fire. He was carried to a farmer's house, but lived only about thirty-six hours. Lieutenant Mills, acting Adjutant, was badly shot through both legs; Crowninshield received a flesh wound in the leg. Captain Francis was shot through the hand and lost two fingers. Colonel Andrews' horse was shot through the shoulder. Captain Shaw was struck by a spent ball in the neck; Robeson was grazed in two places; I was struck by a spent ball in the temple, which laid me on my back for a moment and raised a pretty black and blue spot; I thought at first it was all up with me, but I soon got the better of that idea. We carried into action less than two hundred and forty men and lost about eighty killed and wounded.² During the rest of the battle, we were on different parts of the field supporting batteries. We lay down that night about ten o'clock, glad enough to get a little rest. The dead and dying were all around us and in our very midst.

At the first streak of daylight, I awoke; the first sight I saw was a squad of wounded rebels coming into our lines: you can't imagine such miserable looking objects as they were; their wounds undressed, and bleeding, and their clothes torn in tatters. I found that Bob Shaw and I had slept within fifty feet of a pile of fourteen dead rebels, and in every direction about us they were lying thick.

One of the most brilliant actions of the day was a charge of Smith's division; they passed our left and swept the rebels from their front like chaff. Our artillery was splendidly served and did great execution. Everywhere the rebels fought with desperation. Rebel prisoners stated that their army numbered over one hundred thousand, and that they expected to win the day and annihilate our army and have an open road to the North. Friday morning, we had been reinforced by at least thirty thousand men, and McClellan moved his whole army forward, but the rebels had gone, leaving dead and wounded on the field uncared for; the sight everywhere was dreadful, and one that I hope you may never see the like of; it cannot be imagined or described.

Our corps marched until two o'clock Saturday morning, over the roughest of roads and through the darkest of nights, reaching the summit of Maryland Heights ridge about ten miles from Sandy Hook; here we lay down till daylight, then marched along the ridge over rocks and stumps to Maryland Heights. Our old crowd had a nice dinner at Mrs. Buckles'; it was very pleasant. I was sent out upon our old camping ground with my company to do picket duty. Here I stayed until Sunday evening, when I was relieved and marched my company down a breakneck road to the regiment which was bivouacking in Pleasant Valley. 1 arrived about nine P. M., and lay down and slept under a blanket for the first time for a week. It was luxury enough, though there was nothing overhead but blue sky.

To-day we pitched camp and began our work with company books and papers, thinking at last we were going to rest; but to-night our hopes are dashed by an order saying, “Reveille at four o'clock; march at daylight.” I am now sitting up to finish this letter, because if we move as we have been moving, it is actually impossible to write.

_______________

¹ The Hagerstown turnpike, which is quite narrow at this place.

² Actual loss 18 killed and mortally wounded, 54 wounded. Total loss, 72.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 86-90

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, August 29, 1862

Resting Near Bull Run,

August 29, 1862.

I resume my narrative again like a shipwrecked mariner, hoping at some distant day I may be able to send it to you. Since the twenty-first, we have been marching and countermarching, manœuvering and skirmishing, almost constantly, in all that time not having quarter rations or more than one or two whole nights' sleep. We have really suffered hardships, now, for the first time; we have known what it is to be grateful for a drink of the muddiest of water and for a half of a hard cracker and an ear of corn or a green apple for dinner, and to be able to lie down and get two hours' quiet sleep. Last night, I took off my shoes, washed myself and got a whole night's sleep for the first time in ten days; this morning, I had a beefsteak, a cup of coffee and a piece of hard bread for breakfast; I feel now like starting again, and shall probably be gratified before long.

For six or seven days, we skirmished along the Rappahannock, moving constantly from one point to another of the river, generally marching in the early part of the night, stacking arms at eleven or twelve o'clock, and lying down on the ground until daylight to catch a little sleep, half the time not being able to take our blankets from our horses for fear of a sudden move. At daylight, cannonading generally began, either by our batteries or others along the river. One morning, we had a pretty lively time; our battery (Cathran's First New York), became engaged with two rebel batteries and, for an hour, we saw and heard the smartest artillery fighting we have heard yet. At the end of that time, the two rebel batteries were silenced and withdrawn; four of our Parrotts were burned out and rendered unserviceable, and a number of horses and mules, and one man, killed. The solid shot and shell came tearing through the woods where we were supporting the guns, in great style, making the branches fly; one tree was cut down close to where Colonel Andrews was. Fortunately, none of us were hit, though the noise of the shot and shell was terrific.

Day before yesterday, our army was withdrawn from the river on account of a movement of the enemy to our rear. We reached this place last night, after two days' toiling along after Sigel's wagon train, over the dustiest of roads, under the hottest of hot suns. Two days ago, a battle was fought near here, in which we were victorious; the graves of some thirty of each side are in the field; this is all we know of the fight.

Last night a fight* began which is still going on, four or five miles north of us, where the enemy seems to be in force. Everything seems to be upside down and wrong end to. I have not heard a man yet wild enough to suggest how it is all going to end. The enemy are certainly using the most desperate measures to capture Washington and invade Maryland; they may be successful, but I trust not. The whole of McClellan's and Pope's army is near by somewhere, and there are large reinforcements around Washington. We don't feel very anxious now, except about our next meal. Somehow or other, officers and men seem to keep up their spirits wonderfully through all these hard times, and I hope will continue to, as there is nothing I can see now to change the times. Hogan and the mare are safe and perfectly invaluable in this emergency. Rumors come to us now that Jackson is at Centreville with his whole army.

_________________

* 2nd Battle of Bull Run.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 82-4

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 Elizabeth White Dwight, October 9, 1861

pleasant Hill, Camp Near Darnestown,

October 9, 1861.

Dear Mother, — I wish I could give you a vivid picture of our excursion the other day on the board of survey. Lieutenant-Colonel Batchelder, of the Thirteenth Massachusetts, and myself went off to Hyattstown to estimate damages done by the army there. The Quartermaster Department gave us a light wagon. We put off our care as we crossed the lines, and left the sentinels behind. We drove to Hyattstown through a pleasant country. The heavy rain had swelled the runs or brooks which cross the road, and in our passage over the last one we broke down. So we left our wagon and took another. On our way back we met the —— regiment, Colonel ——. The Colonel is a lawyer and member of Congress, not a soldier. We saw the beauties of moralsuasive discipline. His men on the march during the storm of the night previous had broken their lines. The roadside taverns had sold them whiskey. The whole regiment was drunk. A perfect Pandemonium was the scene they presented. We did what we could to help him, but when one soldier, in quarrelsome or pleasant vein, shot another through the body, and a third broke the head of a fourth with the butt of his musket, we thought discretion the better part of valor, and did not wait to see what the fifth would do. General Banks has ordered the regiment back, I believe, and is going to send off another with more discipline and less whiskey. The regiment had been detailed to go to Williamsport on special duty.

We drove on, and coming near the plantation of Mr. Desellum, whom you recollect I have spoken of, we stopped to dinner. His sister, she who sent me the big bouquet, was at home. She welcomed us cordially, and we were surrounded speedily by a dozen little darkies all of a size. The maiden lady showed us her flower-garden, and her family of negroes, and her spinning-room, in which three spinning-wheels were busily twisting the yarn which she was to weave into clothes for her negroes. She showed us also her old family linen, woven by her mother; and, in fact, introduced us to all the details of farm life. Then she took us into the best room, whose oak floor shone with scrubbing, and whose bright wood-fire felt good. There we had a dinner, and she talked patriotism; the Colonel and myself listening, and concluding, as we drove away, that we had had an adventure, and found material loyalty in Maryland.

A drive through the wood, across a swollen stream whose bridge had gone, and whose depth made the crossing an experiment of very doubtful success, brought us to camp just as the new moon and evening star had come brightly out of the glow of twilight. There we found Colonel Andrews returned from Washington, having declined the appointment of Adjutant-General, to the great joy of all the regiment.

We are rigging up very clever fireplaces in our tents, and preparing for winter; — learning how to be comfortable, which is, after all, the great problem with which my mind engages itself in this military campaigning. It is half the battle. I hope we shall have the other half soon.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 113-4

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, August 13, 1862

On Picket Near Culpepper,

August 13, 1862.

At last I believe I have a chance to write you an account of our doings during the last few days, and to relieve all your anxiety about myself. Last week Wednesday, our army corps marched from Washington, making about fourteen miles under a terribly hot sun; the next day, we went on five miles further to Hazel River. Friday night we made a moonlight march to Culpepper. Saturday morning, we started away again at ten o'clock towards the Rapidan River, leaving everything behind us, knapsacks and all, taking only two days' rations and plenty of ammunition.

We were ordered to the front to support General Crawford's brigade; following our brigade was General Augur's division, consisting of two small brigades, the whole making up Banks' army corps; we formed line of battle about six miles from Culpepper in a very strong position, our brigade on the right and Augur's division on the left. Nothing occurred until about half-past three in the afternoon, when a cannonading gradually began, increasing every minute until our entire left became engaged. From our position, we could see all that was taking place, and it was a sight that I shall never forget, to see two lines of infantry gradually approach each other across an almost level plain, both under a heavy artillery fire. As they drew near enough, we could see them exchange volley after volley of musketry; then everything became enveloped in smoke and we could see only whether our line advanced or retreated by watching the colors. It was easy to see that the men were falling fast by the constant lines of ambulances that we saw going and returning from the field.

About five o'clock, Crawford's brigade moved up in front of us and became engaged. The firing of musketry now became tremendous. We could see nothing of it in front on account of an intervening bill. At about six o'clock, our brigade (Second Massachusetts, Third Wisconsin, and Twenty-seventh Indiana), was ordered up on the double quick to relieve Crawford, his brigade having been literally cut to pieces by the terrible fire of the rebels. After going about a mile over the hardest kind of swampy and wooded ground, we reached the edge of the woods and came under fire. We marched steadily along, our whole flank being exposed, and took a position behind a low rail fence, the men being ordered to lie down. I will give you an idea of how things stood at the time. General Augur's division had been obliged to fall back to their original position and was now disengaged. Of General Crawford's brigade which went into the fight two thousand strong, twelve hundred had been killed, wounded or taken prisoners; the small remainder was rallying at some distance from the field, so there was nothing left to fight the rebels with but our three small regiments. Crawford met with his great loss in charging across the open field lying between the woods. General Gordon was ordered by Banks to do the same thing with our brigade; Gordon protested against it as an impossibility without supports, and finally gained his point.

At first, we sustained a fire from the rebels only in the woods, which was not very severe, but soon the enemy made their appearance in an oblique line and commenced a cross fire which was perfectly fearful. The Twenty-seventh Indiana gave way almost at once; the Third Wisconsin stood it nobly and did not fall back until the enemy was almost in their rear. In our regiment, not a shot was fired until Colonel Andrews gave the order “Commence firing!” which was not until the rebels were within two or three hundred yards of us. The effect was tremendous; we actually tore great gaps through their ranks, and their whole right was wavering; if we could have had any support at that time, we might have charged and driven their line like sheep, but that wasn't in Banks' programme. Meanwhile, the roar of musketry was perfectly deafening; the noise of the bullets through the air was like a gale of wind; our poor men were dropping on every side, yet not one of them flinched but kept steadily at his work.

Sergeant Willis of my company (I forgot to say I was in command of Company I), who was acting first sergeant, stood directly in front of me; he received a ball in his head and fell back into my arms saying, “Lieutenant, I'm killed!” and almost instantly died; he was a very handsome young fellow, and as he expired his face had a beautifully calm expression. I laid him down gently on the ground beside me and had hardly done so, when one of my corporals named Pierson, who was touching me on the left, was shot almost in the same place, but not killed. It is impossible to relate all the incidents that took place; it seemed as if only a miracle could save any one. I received two bullets through my trousers, but wasn't scratched. Colonel Andrews was splendid! He kept riding from one end of the line to the other, giving his orders coolly, as if on drill; his horse was wounded twice.

I never was more surprised in my life than when I heard the order to retreat. I did not know what had taken place on our right, and could not understand what it was for. With Lieutenant Abbott's assistance, I managed to help Lieutenant Oakey off the field to the hospital; he was quite severely wounded. Our regiment formed behind the hospital, about a quarter of a mile from the field, the rest of the brigade joining us. It was not until I saw the regiment in line that I began to appreciate our loss. Major Savage had been left severely wounded on the field; Captain Abbott, dead; Captains Carey, Goodwin, Williams and Quincy, Lieutenants Perkins and Miller, wounded and left behind; Lieutenants Robeson, Grafton, Oakey, Browning and Surgeon Leland, wounded and brought off, and Captain Russell missing, and our regimental line was not more than half its usual length. The only officers left were Andrews, Adjutant Shelton, Captain Bangs, Lieutenants Pattison, Choate, Fox, Abbott and myself. Our colors, those which the Boston ladies gave us, had five bullet holes through them; the eagle was shot off and the staff was shot through by a minié ball, splintering it into two pieces; our color-bearer, Sergeant George, brought off the whole of it. This is the second flag we have had honorably used up in battle.

Soon after forming our second line, I was detailed by the Colonel to go to the hospital to take charge of sending off the wounded. A house with quite a large yard had been taken for hospital use; the scene in and about it was very painful. Soldiers lying in all directions, with every variety of wounds. I took hold and worked hard, loading the ambulances, for about an hour, when our regiment moved and I was ordered to join it.

Our brigade now took up a position on the left of the line of battle, to do picket duty, Ricketts' division being on the right. Our sentinels were close to the rebels and we had continual skirmishes throughout the night. We had one man killed, and took several of the rebel cavalry prisoners. Once the enemy crept down on us, as they did that night at Newtown, and poured a volley over us, which, luckily, was too high and did no harm. Morning came at last, after, to tell the truth, a pretty nervous, disagreeable night. Daylight showed us that large reinforcements had arrived and that we were now in a condition to fight, but the day wore on, still no attack was made by the enemy. Banks' division was in reserve.

The battle I do not consider a victory to either side; we held our original position and they theirs, the ground between being neutral. Our brigade was withdrawn from the field about noon and bivouacked in a wood near by. I was sent into Culpepper on official business for Colonel Andrews. The town seemed to be one great hospital, every hotel and private house, almost, being used for that purpose. I saw Robeson, Grafton, Oakey and Browning; they were all suffering considerably from want of attention; the first is wounded in the wrist, the second in the forehead, the third in the hip, and last in the thigh, a very severe, dangerous wound. I got back to camp early in the evening. Soon after, Lieutenant Abbott, Mr. Quint and a burial party, left for the battle field to perform the last duties for our poor men. Abbott returned early in the morning and brought the shocking and sad intelligence that Captains Abbott, Carey, Goodwin and Williams and Lieutenant Perkins, were lying dead on the field, and that a number of our wounded were still there. I was sent right off with all our ambulances to the field. The scene there was too awful to attempt to describe; very few of the dead had been buried, and they were lying thick in every direction. Captain Carey had lived nearly twenty-four hours and looked as natural as if alive.

I had the bodies of all the officers put into the ambulances and sent them back to the regiment; the wounded also were all cared for. I then went over to the rebel lines with Bob Shaw, under a flag of truce, to see what could be heard of Harry Russell, the Major, Captain Quincy and Lieutenant Miller. We met some very pleasant rebel officers who were very gentlemanly and kind, and found out from them and some other sources, that Russell was unhurt and a prisoner, Quincy and Miller wounded and prisoners; we managed to get some money to Savage and Russell.

Our loss, as it stood yesterday morning, was as follows:—

5 Commissioned officers killed,	8 wounded,	1 prisoner.
25 Enlisted men killed,	97 wounded,	33 missing.
30 killed,	106 Wounded,	34 missing,	Total 169.*

We carried into action twenty-two commissioned officers and four hundred and seventy-four enlisted men, a little more than one out of three meeting with some casualty. In Company I, there are, one sergeant killed, one sergeant wounded, one corporal wounded, nine privates wounded and one missing. Yesterday afternoon, Banks' army corps moved back to Colpepper to reorganize. I was sent out on picket immediately after arriving last night, and am taking the opportunity to write this long letter. I have not had my clothes off since last Thursday night, so you can imagine I am not very pretty to look at. I am a full-fledged Captain now, and have got my commission. I shall be assigned to Company B, if possible.

Poor Captain Williams! I saw him standing perfectly erect only a few minutes before he was shot, and ran over and spoke to him. His was the next company to mine. He will be a great loss to us all.

_______________

* The actual loss was 58 killed and mortally wounded, 101 wounded, 15 prisoners not wounded. Total loss 174.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 75-81

Major Wilder Dwight: October 7, 1861

Pleasant Hill, October 7, 1861,

Camp near Darnestown.

“Turn out the Guard, Officer of the Day!” Such has been the salutation with which again I am greeted this Monday, on my rounds through the brigade. Our field-officers are off on leave of absence, and every third day brings this duty with it. Colonel Andrews has gone off to Washington to see about his appointment. We all hope most strongly that he will not accept it. Indeed, the fear that it was coming has quite depressed me of late. The Colonel is so decidedly the backbone of our enterprise, that I cannot bear to think of losing him. Though I suppose there are some who would have the charity to suppose that I would welcome promotion. But I think that no one ever received an appointment with less of gratified ambition, or will take a promotion, if come it must, with less exultation. The fact is, I foresaw trial and responsibility, and did not crave it. I also deprecated unwon laurels and insignificant titles. Something to work up to is not just the thing. Though, after all, if one could succeed in really growing to the position, he might well be proud.

It is eleven o'clock, — a damp, rainy, cheerless night. I shall soon go forth on my rounds. The season and surroundings are favorable to maudlin reflections, and I fear I am falling into them. The next letter I write I will write in glad sunshine and broad day; not in the flickering twilight of a wind-troubled candle; but to-night you must take me after sundown. Still, I have cheerful topics. The enemy must soon move or we must, and so the briskness of enterprise is near. Bull Run has given McClellan the liberty to wait as long as he pleases without interference, but he cannot mean to lose October. As for Fremont, I wish him well for Howard's sake; but the man lacks the one thing we want now, — success. Good reasons for failure are not popular, though they may be undeniable

As to stockings for the regiment, we are not barefoot, but stockings do wear out easily, and a regiment uses a great many, and the government supplies slowly. Do not, however, give yourself up to shirts or stockings.

Here it comes, raw and gusty, and pouring torrents. Well, let it rain. I think I must give up my grand rounds though, and, as it is damp and cold, I will bid you a cheerful good night, and hope for a bright morning.

It is not so bright a morning after all, but I must be off to Hyattstown, to act on a board of survey; and so good by.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 111-2

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, July 12, 1862

Camp Near Warrenton,

July 12, 1862.

Last Sunday our division broke camp, and after a tedious day's march, accomplished only about five miles, the whole day being used up getting the wagon train across the Shenandoah. The weather was fearfully hot, equal to the famous eighth, last July. When we formed line before going into camp, many men fell fainting in the ranks.

Monday, we made an early start, and crossed the Blue Ridge through Chester Gap. The scenery was beautiful, but the weather was fearful; we camped for the night in a fine wood near the village of Flint Hill. Next morning we went on, five miles farther, to near Amesville. We stayed there until yesterday, when we marched to this camp, two miles west of Warrenton. All along our route, the men have almost subsisted on cherries and blackberries, both growing in the greatest profusion here; the men would fill their quart dippers in less than ten minutes.

We have got into a new country in appearance; the mountains have entirely disappeared and given place to splendid, great rolling hills and valleys, with beautiful woods scattered over them. The views that you get in this State are certainly wonderful in their extent. From the top of a comparatively slight elevation you can see for a distance of twenty miles all about you. I think that there is to be a large army concentrated here, and that, then, we are to move “On to Richmond,” by the present indications; there is already considerable force here and it is increasing.

I rode into Warrenton yesterday with Bob Shaw and Dr. Stone; we found the place a great improvement on most southern towns. There are some very pretty houses and well kept lawns and gardens in the vicinity. We took tea at the “Warren Green Hotel,” regaling ourselves on iced milk and corn-bread, finishing the evening by smoking our cigars on the piazza. Just as we were coming away, Charley Horton arrived with his General; it was a great mutual surprise to us and a very pleasant one. We have received orders to-day to turn in all tents except a limited number for the officers, to send away all trunks, each officer to keep only a small valise and roll of blankets. Regiments, etc., are also to keep constantly on hand ten days' rations, so you see we are all ready for a long march; don't care how soon it comes if it carries us towards Richmond! I am acting Adjutant for the present, but shall not be appointed, as Colonel Andrews says the time will be too short before I get my promotion, to make it worth while.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 70-2

Major Wilder Dwight: Friday, September 27, 1861

PLEASANT HILL, CAMP NEAR Darnestown,

September 27, 1861.

A dark, dull, rainy day without, a calm, quiet, cosey tent within. At peace with ourselves, and apparently with all mankind. Such is this Friday morning.

Yesterday * was a grand day for our army. The orders were issued for its observance by a grand division parade and service, and at eleven o'clock the brigades moved to Darnestown, and formed in a large field for the service. Our friend Mr. Quint gave the address on the occasion. I did not go myself, being detained by the combined influence of a headache and a court-martial. The headache and court-martial have both adjourned to-day, and I think they will not be called together again.

It is said that the division looked very well indeed, and that the Massachusetts Second appeared bright beside the other regiments. This is probably exactly true. We have never been drawn up to face anything else except the Reverend Chaplain, but it is said that the column stood his fire like heroes!

The impression seems to be gathering force that our term of inaction is drawing to a close. I only hope that when we go across the Potomac, it will be by a grand concerted movement, which will sweep everything before it clean. “Nulla vestigia retrorsum.” Not a single about face in the whole movement. I think we have reason to be glad that our regiment is getting through the chills-and-fever season so well. The place where we are seems quite healthy, and we suffer much less than our neighbors. By a new division of brigades, Colonel Gordon becomes the Senior Colonel of the Third Brigade, which makes him the Acting Brigadier. This puts Colonel Andrews in command of the regiment.

I hope soon to hear of Howard's movements, and also of Charley's coming on to join William.

_______________

* The President's Fast Day.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 106-7

Major Wilder Dwight: Sunday, September 15, 1861

Pleasant Hill, Camp Near Darnestown,

September 15, 1861, Sunday.

At regular intervals I am prompted to my pen, rather by the desire to think of you at home, than by the consciousness of any story to tell. It is called a hot day today. I found Colonel ––– and Lieutenant-Colonel ––– at Poolesville this morning in a state of intense glow, and crying out at the heat. I find it comfortable, and consider anything short of boiling water my natural element. The force of habit is so strong that my summer on the Potomac has fitted me for tropical life. . . . .

Colonel ––– told us that he had been down the river this morning, and taken a look at the enemy's picket on the other side. And a short conversation took place between our picket and theirs as to the relative forces and skill, &c. This disgusted Colonel Andrews, who tersely expressed the opinion, “When you see an enemy, shoot him.” The shooting of pickets seems to have been voted by respectable authorities to be barbarous. Why, I cannot see. It amounts to this: If you don't shoot, they can post their men securely where they please, and thus attain, without risk, the advantages of outlook and guard which they desire. If you do shoot, they can't choose their position, nor readily secure their advantages. This seems to me conclusive. But humanity is a very vague term when applied to war. And we handle these questions very differently from the way in which we shall if the war lasts We are looking for a visit and review from McClellan. That will be an incident, and well worth while. The fact is, General Banks has been gradually stripped of his column. General Stone, a regular officer, has been given a separate division at Poolesville, and many of the best officers have been withdrawn from us. General Banks is left without a staff. Has lost much of his artillery and cavalry. . . . . If it were not that I believe that whatever is is right, and that docile submission is the best wisdom, I should regret belonging to this division, as it seems just outside of the work. But I am perfectly content with things as they are. When the time comes I hope it will find us ready.

McClellan doesn't believe in fresh-sprouted major-generals. That's clear.

I guess we shall see him in a day or two, and then perhaps he will open the path to glory to us. He keeps the gates. . . . .

Coffee-roaster has arrived, and is merrily at work. This is a comfort. Tell father he is the regiment's friend, and I bless him. Colonel Andrews says that I love the Second Regiment first, and my country next. Perhaps it is true. At all events, I care only for its success at present. The call is beating for parade, and the sun is setting. Good by.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 102-3

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, May 29, 1862

May 29, 1862.

I am going to start to give you a detailed account of what has transpired during the last week; whether I shall be interrupted or not, I cannot tell. Last Friday, after dress parade, I went out for my usual ride with Jim Savage. We met an artillery man, who cautioned us about riding outside of the camps, as they had just had a man shot by guerillas within a short distance of camp, and several others had been fired at. This shortened our ride. No sooner were we back at camp than we heard of an attack at Front Royal. The Third Wisconsin of our brigade was immediately ordered over there. At half-past two that same night, we were roused and ordered to strike tents and pack wagons at once. From that time till daylight, we sat around waiting further orders; none came till Saturday at ten A. M., when the whole division started down towards Winchester. After marching five or six miles, one of Banks' aides came galloping back from the front to order up a battery, saying that the enemy were right ahead of us attacking the wagon train. We halted for a short time, but the alarm proved to be false; only one wagoner had been shot by a guerilla, but this was sufficient for Banks to make up his mind that the wagons were safer behind than in front.

We kept on in this way till the town of Newtown was passed. Soon after, we halted, and a section of Cathran's and a section of Best's batteries were sent to the rear. In less than fifteen minutes a brisk cannonading commenced, and our regiment and the Twenty-seventh Indiana were ordered double quick towards the sound of it. We found the wagon train in a perfect heap in and on each side of the road, some wagons tipped over, and a great many deserted by their drivers. The men were allowed here to take off their knapsacks and overcoats which were left piled up in the field under a guard. The rebel cavalry ran as soon as we deployed, leaving a good many killed and wounded by our shells. The enemy were drawn up (how many we do not know) just beyond Newtown, with cavalry stretching out on each flank; they commenced the skirmish by shelling us; the second shell wounded two men of Company A. We took up a good position on each side of them, with the artillery on each flank. We fought here with our artillery for nearly two hours until our wagon train was fairly started and most of it in Winchester. Then, just as it began to get dark, the artillery and the Twenty-seventh Indiana filed away and left us alone to cover the retreat to Winchester. Companies A, B, C and D were thrown out as skirmishers; hardly were we out of town than the enemy's cavalry and artillery dashed in, with a tremendous yell of triumph. They attacked us at once. We fell back without any hurry, firing all the time, till we got to a little bridge the other side of Cairnstown, where half the regiment made a stand while the other half got their knapsacks. The rebels here closed right around us; they were so near we heard every order, and were able to make our dispositions accordingly. There was not a word spoken in our regiment, by officer or man, above a whisper, and it was so dark that nothing could be seen except by the flashes of our muskets. Finally, we heard the order given to the rebel cavalry to “Charge!” A square was instantly formed in the road, and the skirmishers rallied on each side. The rebels came thundering down the road, literally making the ground shake. Not a shot was fired until they were within fifty yards of us, when Major Dwight gave the order, “Rear rank, aim! fire! load! Front rank, aim! fire! Charge bayonets!” But the bayonets were not needed. Men and horses were rolled over together, breaking the charge and sending them back in confusion.

This was the last attack of their cavalry that night; they fell back and their infantry took their place. The firing here was very heavy, but we finally drove them back again after losing about twenty of our men killed and wounded. The men had now all got their knapsacks, and we again started back. All of the wounded that could walk were sent on ahead towards Winchester, but nine had to be carried into a house to wait for ambulances. Colonel Andrews wouldn't abandon these, so we halted again, throwing out a strong guard in every direction. It was now eleven o'clock, the men were tired out, having been up for twenty-four hours. They sank right down in the road and a great many went to sleep, I among the rest. I don't know how long it was, but we were awakened by a tremendous volley being poured into us from almost every side, and for about a minute I could hardly collect myself, but I gave the orders for my platoon, which was then in the rear, to “dress, face about and fire!” I lost two men by their volley, both badly wounded. We were obliged to abandon our dead and wounded here and Doctor Leland was taken prisoner.

At one A. M., Sunday morning, we reached the bivouac of our brigade, stacked arms, lay down tired enough, to get a short sleep. Our total loss that night was somewhere about twenty or thirty. Company I suffered the most severely, losing about twelve.

I have been as minute as possible in describing this fight because I believe that we saved the entire train from destruction and kept the whole rebel force in check. Great credit is due to Colonel Gordon, Colonel Andrews and Major Dwight; the latter especially displayed the most perfect bravery and coolness. The men never obeyed better on drill or parade than they did under the hottest fire; they behaved splendidly throughout the whole.

At daylight on Sunday, our cavalry picket was driven in and soon afterwards the infantry; still no orders arrived as to the disposition of our brigade. Finally, after the rebel infantry began to deploy, Colonel Gordon would wait no longer and ordered us into line. On the right, the Second Massachusetts succeeded by the Wisconsin Third, Pennsylvania Twenty-ninth, Indiana Twenty-seventh, then came Colonel Donnelly's brigade consisting of the Fifth Connecticut, Forty-sixth Pennsylvania, and Twenty-eighth New York. In all, seven regiments not averaging six hundred men apiece. We had three first-rate batteries, and one or two regiments of cavalry that might just as well have been at home for all we saw of them. We had no sooner taken arms and faced to the right, than the infantry commenced firing. Not many of our men were hit, and we moved steadily on till we reached our appointed place. Meanwhile, the batteries on each side were keeping up an incessant roar. We attacked the two regiments opposite our position and drove them away. Two companies, G and D, were then deployed as skirmishers to attack the battery in front of us; their fire was so well directed that the guns were abandoned by the gunners, but the rebel infantry pressed them (Companies D and G) so closely that they were withdrawn by Colonel Andrews' order just as the Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania and the Twenty-seventh Indiana came up to their support. These latter fired a few volleys; then, as two rebel regiments came out of the woods, prepared to charge them, but before they had fairly started, seven more regiments emerged from the woods stretching almost down to Winchester. The firing was then tremendous, and, I am sorry to say, the Twenty-seventh Indiana broke and ran, every man for himself. The Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania filed off in good order at the double quick. Colonel Andrews gave the order: “Attention! battalion! About face! By company right wheel!” We marched away from the enemy in ordinary time, company front, in the most perfect order. The rebels instantly took our former position and commenced a pelting fire; they were within short range, yet almost all their shots went over our heads, otherwise our regiment would have been destroyed. It was cruel to see our poor fellows shot through the back and pitch forward on to their faces, as we marched down the hill. As soon as we reached the town, we took the first street on our right hand, and there formed line. Then it seemed to be first discovered how completely we were outflanked and the strong probability that, in a few minutes, their artillery would be posted in our rear, cutting off all avenues of retreat.

We were then again faced to the left and started on the double quick through the town. Meanwhile, the enemy had gained the Martinsburgh pike parallel to the street we were on, and were pouring a heavy fire on us through the side streets, and numbers of men fell dead here that can only be accounted for as missing.

After getting out of town, they again began with their artillery, throwing grape and canister. Here the retreat was better organized: the whole division formed into five parallel columns, two or three hundred yards apart, all going on the double quick. We continued this for a considerable distance when, having passed all their flanking batteries, the lines were closed in more to the centre, the artillery and cavalry formed in the rear, and we went on in ordinary time. This was the last I saw of any fighting, although there was a constant firing in the rear of us. We marched twenty-three miles to Martinsburgh without a halt. There we rested for about ten minutes, then marched on to the Potomac, thirteen miles further. We brought up here between seven and eight o'clock P. M., after twelve hours' incessant marching. From twelve o'clock Saturday noon till seven o'clock Sunday night, we had marched sixty miles,* been in two severe fights, had only three hours' rest, and had scarcely a particle of food.

Our loss in the regiment, as well as it can be ascertained to-day (Friday), is nineteen killed, forty-seven wounded, eighty-three missing. None are considered killed unless they were seen dead by some one. We were the last regiment that left the field from the right flank, and the very last in Winchester. I forgot to say that the United States storehouses were in flames as we passed by them, and the heat was perfectly terrible. The loss in our company was eleven.

Monday morning at three o'clock, I was roused by the Adjutant and ordered to report with Company B, together with Companies A, K, and E, and two companies of the Third Wisconsin, to Lieutenant Colonel Pinckney of the Third Wisconsin, to act as rear guard and support to a section of Cathran's battery and some cavalry, while the wagon train and troops crossed the river. We were in this responsible place till Wednesday night, when we were relieved. It was a most anxious time, as the enemy, in what force we did not know, were within a mile of us and we were receiving constant alarms from our cavalry. The first night, we kept our men under arms all the time, tired as they were. However, we got safely across Wednesday night, and I had the pleasure of taking my shoes and clothes off and getting a little quiet sleep for the first time since last Friday night.

Our greatest loss is the poor Major, but he may turn up yet. The men think everything of him and speak constantly of the “bully little Major.” Captain Mudge is at Frederick, shot through the leg. Lieutenant Crowninshield is at Williamsport, shot in the leg.

_______________

* The actual distance from Strasburg to the Potomac is 54 miles, but including countermarching and movements on the field, the total distance marched was not much less than 60 miles.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 57-64

Major Wilder Dwight: Thursday Morning, September 12, 1861

pleasant Hill, September 12, 1861,

Thursday Morning.

Yes! There they go again! Home, sweet home! And then the maddening suggestion of pleasures and palaces! If our band were malicious and impish, could they insist upon a more discontenting theme? Yet, as sure as there comes a chill, cloudy, morose morning, the band come out to guard-mounting, and fill the air with sighings after home, &c. Now they change; it is Hail Columbia, happy land! Is there not a bitterness of satire in that, even, which alloys the patriotic associations of the melody? Columbia seems anything but a happy land just now, in the midst of rebellion and treason. But the music kindles one, after all. It is the morning that is out of tune, or myself, perhaps. A raw and bitter night, — rainy and chill. The tents blowing down, the rain blowing in, dripping visitors in india-rubber garments sitting down on your bed, a spluttering candle flickering out, and leaving you hopelessly in the dark, a new pool surprising your slipper, a sudden freshet carrying away your dressing-case, the quick, sharp rattle and tattoo of the raindrops, and the tent fluttering with every gusty squall, sleep precarious and uncertain. At last reveillé, and a hoarse, damp “Good morning” from the Doctor, who speculates grimly, in the next tent, upon the folly of getting up. Yet we do get up, and after breakfast I sit down to write to the tune of home. “Sich,” as the Doctor is fond of saying, “is life; and, more particularly, camp life.” I happen to have a delicious bit of romance for you to-day; and as the sun is getting warmer, and the rain is drying up, I may get cheerful by telling it. The Chaplain appeared yesterday with the confidential narrative that he had been performing an uncommon ceremony. In a word, he had married a couple! “Who was the bridegroom?” asks Colonel Andrews, who is still in command. “Sergeant .” It then appeared that the bride came out from Massachusetts to be married, and it had all been “fixed,” as they phrase it, in a house near the camp that morning, a few hours after her arrival. The Sergeant was to remain true to his duty, and the new wife was to return by the next day's stage. But the romance goes further. The true love had met other ripples in its flow. Malice traduced the Sergeant last spring to his enslaver. She gave him up, and “he went, and in despair enlisted for a soldier.” The truth came at last to the maiden's mind, and her meditations were no longer “fancy free.” She loved her lost Sergeant more than ever, and so out she came, and said so plump and fairly, once for all, to the parson, and they were a happy pair again. The Colonel expressed some doubt to the Chaplain, whether it was precisely according to military discipline to get married in camp, but did not take a rigid view of it. Soon after, the Sergeant appeared at the Colonel's tent. “I should like a leave of absence for three hours, sir.” “What for, Sergeant?” “To see a friend, sir.” “Can't your friend come here?” “No, sir, not very well.” “Do you want to be away as long as that?” (severely). “Yes, sir, I should like two or three hours” (timidly). “Sergeant,” said the Colonel, with a twinkle — a benevolent twinkle —in his eye, “I think I know who your friend is. Wouldn't you like to be gone till to-morrow morning?” “Yes, sir, I should, sir.” “Well, you've been a faithful man, and you may.” Sich, again, is life, but not often camp life.

I am busy on court-martial, having been appointed President of the General Court-Martial of this division, — that is, having been designated as senior officer. We sit in the morning, and I am amused to see how kindly I take to the forms of law again. I am getting quite well again of my bruise, but it is good easy work for a lame man. We do not know when we may move, but I am getting to think that orders must come pretty soon now.

We had a visit from General Banks yesterday before the rain began. The General visited our kitchens, and tasted, with apparent approval, my doughnuts. I say mine, because I regard as, perhaps, the most successful endeavor of my military life, the general introduction of doughnuts into the regiment. It you could have seen the helplessness in which the flour ration left us, and the stupidity of the men in its use, you would hail, as the dawn, the busy frying of doughnuts which goes on here now. Two barrels is a small allowance for a company. They are good to carry in the haversack, and 'stick by a feller on the march.' And when the men have not time to build an oven, as often they have not, the idea is invaluable. Pots of beans baked in holes in the ground, with a pan of brown bread on top, is also a recent achievement, worthy of Sunday morning at an old Exeter boarding-house. The band produced that agreeable concord yesterday, and contributed from their success to my breakfast. Our triumphs, just now, are chiefly culinary; but an achievement of that kind is not to be despised. “A soldier's courage lies in his stomach,” said Frederick the Great. And I mean that the commissary of our division and the commissary of our regiment, and the captains and the cooks, shall accept the doctrine and apply its lessons, if I can make them. . . . .

By the way, do you know that I have grown the most alarming beard of modern times? I am inclined to think it must be so. It has the true glare of Mars, and is, I flatter myself, warlike, though not becoming. I have forborne allusion to it in the tenderness of its youth and the uncertainty of its hue, but now that it has taken on full proportions and color, I announce it to you as a decided feature.

Dr. ––– may be a good reasoner, but he can't reason the Secession army into winter-quarters in Philadelphia. There is no real cause for depression. Subduing rebellion, conquering traitors, in short, war, is the work of soldiers. Soldiers are a product of time, and so it comes that our mad impatience of delay is chastised by disaster. In the fulness of time, we shall wipe out this Southern army, as surely as the time passes. But we have got to work for it instead of talking about it. That is all. Between the beginning of this letter and the end is a course of the sun. It has been scratched at intervals, and now I look out of my tent on a glorious sunset, and the music is just beginning for parade.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 99-102

Major Wilder Dwight: September 10, 1861

pleasant Hill, September 10, 1861,

Camp near Darnestown.

I have had a day or two of horizontal contemplation, enforced by my leg, but now I am well again, and about resuming “active operations in the field.” You cannot expect that I should give you any stirring news, and had I been on my legs it would only have been for purposes of drill and discipline. After three days of scare, we subside. We keep two days’ rations cooked, ready for a march, and there comes to us every day fresh evidence that the enemy are active. Their plan, of course, we do not know, and I have wasted so many good hours in trying to guess that I now give it up. I have had, for three or four days, a chance to read and study quietly, — a thing which has not before occurred to me since I began this enterprise, in April last. I have enjoyed and improved it, and mean to get time always for some of it. Yet it is not easy, in the midst of all the active, practical duties of a life, to secure chances for study and thought, and I have been glad of this. . . . .

Colonel Andrews, who is in command, is full of life and energy. The want of progress and growth in everything military is a sore trial to him. He works hard for the regiment, and wishes every stroke to tell. I think we do grow better, but when you understand fully what a regiment ought to be, and ought to be capable of doing, you see that we are a long way off from our goal. “Peas upon the trencher,” breakfast-call, has just beaten, and here comes Colonel Andrews to go to breakfast.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 98-9

Major Wilder Dwight to Elizabeth White Dwight, September 7, 1861

pleasant Hill, Camp Near Darnestown,

Saturday, September 7, 1861.

Dear Mother, — Twice within three days we have been abruptly summoned to get into marching array. Twice has the order been countermanded. This morning at three o'clock I was waked to open my eyes upon the misty starlight by an orderly from head-quarters.

He brought the order: “The enemy have broken up their camp at Manassas, and are moving. Get everything in readiness to start. If a signal-light is exhibited at headquarters, let the long roll be beaten and the regiment get under arms at once.” Colonel Gordon is in Washington. Colonel Andrews gave quietly the necessary orders, and then both he and I composed ourselves to sleep. We have learnt that excitement is useless and unprofitable. Besides, composure is so graceful, and withal comfortable, at that hour. But, seriously, these successive alarms have become the habit of our lives. One of these days perchance the wolf will come. But this morning there are no new orders, and no immediate prospect of a start. Movement must come, however, shortly, and I confess I am impatient for its coming. Just now, perhaps, I can be content to wait. My horse did me the ill turn to fall with me the other day. I was urging him hastily down hill, and he stumbled and went down. He chafed my leg a little, and so I am lying still to-day to get well. To-morrow both he and I will be firmly on our legs again, and it may well happen that we shall both need them. I was sorry to hear of your cold. It is such a bad companion for August. You should come and live in a tent, and then you would cease to have any of the ills that follow close rooms, warm beds, coal fires, and the other accidents of civilized life in times of peace. . . . . It is a sultry morning, and the air moves listlessly through my tent. I am reclining orientally, and the Doctor has just been making an application to my bruise. He has also been chatting pleasantly for half an hour, and so has broken what little thread belonged to my story. It is well that it is so, for the life of the past few days does not need a chronicler. We all expect something coming, but do not know what or when. I confess I enjoy a few days for the study of tactics and attention to military matters. The theory slips out of sight in the tread-mill of daily duty.

I glanced at an article in the Atlantic Monthly this morning on “The Advantages of Defeat.” I cannot agree to its positions. American soldiers, — let the fact be plainly stated,— American soldiers will only become efficient in proportion as they abandon their national theories and give themselves up obediently to the military laws which have always governed the successful prosecution of war. “The incurable habit of insubordination of the citizen,” as the Saturday Review has it, in a capital article, “cannot be transferred to the soldier.” To-day our army is crippled by the ideas of equality and independence which have colored the whole life of our people. Men elect their officers, and then expect them to behave themselves! Obedience is permissive, not compelled, and the radical basis is wrong. We have to struggle against the evil tendencies of this contagion. When this defect is cured, and men recognize authority and obey without knowing why, — obey from habit and instinct, not from any process of reasoning or presumed consent, — we shall begin to get an army. It is only necessary to appreciate the fact that, in war, one will must act through all the others, to see that American soldiers, with all their presumed intelligence and skill, have the one lesson yet to learn. So for my preachment. Here appears Colonel Gordon, returned suddenly from Washington. The enemy are moving somewhither, and of course he rejoins his regiment The obvious weaknesses of delay may drive the Rebels to offensive action. If so, Heaven send them across the river between us and Washington, so that we may have a part in the great battle that crushes them. And yet I cannot believe that any such chance will come to us. Speculation, however, is worthless, on a matter which will have decided itself long before the speculation can reach you.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 96-8

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, April 21, 1862

Camp “Misery,” Two Miles South

Of Newmarket, April 21, 1862.

The name of our camp did not originate at headquarters, but it is the most appropriate one I can think of for it. The regiment has been here for three days without tents, on a bare field, with no other shelter than what the men could rig up out of rails and straw. The rain has been pouring down in torrents most of the time, making the whole surface of the ground a perfect mire. We are lying around, like pigs, in straw, with wet blankets, wet feet, wet everything, and a fair prospect of nothing for dinner. We have had some pretty tough times lately, but this knocks everything else higher than a kite! I think even Mark Tapley would get credit for being jolly here.

Last Tuesday our company went on picket. I was stationed just at night at a barn on the extreme outpost on the edge of Stony Creek. The following morning I went out, taking Hogan with me, to make a little reconnoissance of the enemy's pickets. It was foggy, and I couldn't see more than a hundred yards. All of a sudden the sun came out and the mist disappeared. I had hardly brought my field glass to my eyes, when pst — pst — pst — three bullets came past me. One cut a sprig off a pine tree over my head; another struck a rail of the fence I was sitting on; the other went into the ground. You may have seen the Ravels execute some pretty lively movements, but the one that Hogan and I made to get behind the fence beat them all.

As soon as we were under cover we looked for our enemies. None could be seen, but Hogan shifted his position, exposing himself a little and drawing their fire again. This time I saw the smoke come from behind a fence about two hundred and fifty yards off. 1 saw at once that we could not touch them. The nearest cover from where we were was about one hundred feet away; that place had got to be reached in order to get back to my post: I waited some time before I could make up my mind to exposing my valuable life, but I got across safely in this way: I put my cap on the point of my sword and raised it over the fence; their bullets struck in the rails all around it. Hogan fired a shot where the smoke came from, and then we ran for it! I tell you, I never felt more comfortable than when I got two thicknesses of a barn between me and the other side of the river. In the barn there was a little window; one of the men was taking aim to fire, when a ball struck his hand, inflicting a slight wound and tearing up his sleeve for six inches. Four other bullets struck the barn, going in one side and out the other. After that, I kept the men entirely out of sight, and no more harm was done. To give you an idea of how well they can fire, one of our sergeants put a board in sight, which they took for a man's head, and they put three bullets through it.

We returned to camp towards night. Reveillé sounded the next morning at two-thirty. At four A. M., we started, and marched all day over the most confounded roads, constantly fording the streams, the bridges being burnt. Our movement was off on the flank; Shields's division moved straight down the pike. At one time we were within two hours of Jackson's army, but they got away. After twenty-two miles of the hardest marching we've ever had, over mud roads, we got into bivouac about nine P. M. I had nothing but my overcoat, but I never slept sounder than I did that night on the leaves. I don't know whether I ever told you that I had been appointed ordnance officer of this regiment; such is the fact. Early Friday morning I started out to look up my three ammunition wagons. I found my armorer, who told me they were stuck fast about seven miles back on the road. Colonel Andrews, on hearing this, ordered me to take a guard and go back to them. This was pleasant, but no help for it. It took us till Saturday night to get those wagons up to this present camp, which is between Newmarket and Sparta.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 52-5

Major Wilder Dwight: August 30, 1861

camp Near Darnestown, August 30, 1861.

It is broad, bright noon; the men are cooking their breakfasts, the sun is drying out their clothes, the tents are ready to pitch, the Brigade Quartermaster is sitting in our tent rehearsing his exploits on the road, — how one teamster beat a horse's eye out; how, if another had hawed instead of geeing, all would have been well; how the one-line Pennsylvania saddle team-driving is better than our four-rein driving of our wagons; how this and how that would have made the march easier, and a day march instead of a night one. And such a march! But I must go back and bring myself from Washington. I wrote a hurried scratch one evening while listening to General Heintzelman's account of Bull Run. My next day was busy with the providing for my companies, and getting a delivery of the wagons to government. I was quartermaster, commissary, colonel, major, and all in one. At last, however, I succeeded in arranging things to my mind, and went out of town to my camp at Georgetown. Here I had collected the three companies which had come as escort of three separate trains. Here, too, I had packed two of the trains.

On Wednesday morning we made a good start from camp, and Captain Handy, of the Webster regiment, led the column briskly. We marched nineteen miles, a strong day's work. It was a cloudy, drizzly day. The companies came into camp at four o'clock. Tents were pitched, supper got briskly. Captain Mudge, Lieutenants Shaw and Robeson were the officers of the company from our regiment.

Mr. Desellum,* who lived near our camping-ground, invited us to supper with him, and gave us what we all prized, — a good one. Appetite and digestion wait on one another on a march. Mr. Desellum was a character. He had lived on his place all his life, and never gone beyond the limits of the two adjoining counties; his father and grandfather were rooted in the same soil. He gave me a full account of the surrounding country, and also a capital map. Both he and his maiden sister were ardent Union lovers, and bitter in their hatred of Jeff Davis. He was very calm and intelligent, formal and precise, full of talk of the war, of the battles of Napoleon, &c. He lives with his sister in their faultlessly clean home, with twenty-five negroes. When asked if he owned slaves, “No, the slaves own me,” which, I think, expresses his conscientious performance of his duties. I gave orders to have reveillé at four o'clock in the morning and to have a brisk start. I took pleasure in attempting to realize some of my theories about the march, and had great satisfaction in accomplishing a good breakfast and an early start; and before eight o'clock in the morning my men had marched from their camp on Muddy Creek to Nealsville, eight miles. There we met the report that the regiment had left Hyattstown, and was on the march with the whole column. I halted my detachment, and galloping on, met General Banks at the head of his division. I reported to him, and got his order to direct my companies to join their regiments when they came up. Then I went on myself, back to see our regiment; I found them halted in a wood in the driving rain. After a greeting with the Colonel, whom I found acting as brigadier of our brigade in the absence of Colonel Abercrombie, I went back again to wait with my companies the slow progress of the column. It rained hard. The wagons made slow work. At about one o'clock our regiment, the first of the Second Brigade, reached us at Nealsville. There we turned off down towards Darnestown, — a charming name!

At last we were pointed to a camping-ground at a place called Pleasant Mountain, — a valley or hill, I can't say which. But where were our wagons? Far back on the heavy, wet, and swampy road. Just at dusk the regiment fell down, tired, into the wet stubble, and the fog settled chill upon it. The evening star looked mildly down, but it gave no cheer. Colonel Andrews was sick, Colonel Gordon in charge of the brigade. I did what I could, — got the guard posted, good fires built of the neighboring rail-fences, in the absence of other wood, and then, wet and tired, lay down myself. The march was mismanaged by the higher powers. It was wretched to see our cold and hungry men lying down dripping and supperless in the cold fog to sleep. The start was a late one. The rain ruined the road, and the delays were so many that the large column made a poor business of its day's work. This morning at five I hurried off to get up the wagons. The sun rose clear. By dint of activity, getting a party to mend road, &c., the wagons came in about ten o'clock, and hope revived. I also got a cup of tea and a breakfast, and I revived. Such is our life. I have certainly been active for a week, and now, to-day, comes shoe distributions and muster-rolls, &c. I quite envy those regiments that are quiet and in position near Washington, with every facility for order, discipline, drill, food, &c.; but, as Birdofredum Sawin says, “I’m safe enlisted for the war,” and come what will, I will be content. Though last evening, in the fog and dark and cold, I felt, as I lay down with wet feet and wet clothes, a little like grumbling at the stupidity of our Adjutant-General, who planned and executed our uncomfortable march, which hit me just as I wanted a little rest. I was happy to wake up this morning with only a little sensation of stiffness, which wore off in my early ride of six miles. During my ride I snatched a breakfast at a farm-house, and enjoyed the sensation of health and sunshine. Though I began this letter at noon, I am finishing it by candle-light. It has been interrupted variously; at this moment the Colonel comes to my tent, and says, “That is a beautiful sight,” pointing to the camp-fires and lights on the hills about us. The Webster regiment is just opposite us, and their band is now playing. We are within six miles of the Potomac. Everything here looks every day more like business; but we have not the presence of McClellan, and one who has just come from that present influence misses it as he would the quick pulse of health. The coming man is not a mere phrase. There is no cant, either, in the phrase. How we have waited for him! And has he come? I hope. Discredit all rumor. That is my advice. . . . .

I do not seem to myself to have given anything like a picture of the active life of the past week, but Colonel Andrews wants my help about rations, the Chaplain wants my letter for the mail, I want time for various things, and so good night.

_______________

* See Appendix VII.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 86-9

Captain William F. Bartlett to Lieutenant-Colonel Francis W. Palfrey, December 31, 1862

Headquarters Remainder Banks' Expedition,

No. 194 Broadway, New York, December 31, 1862.

. . . . As regards myself, I ride with ease, hardly with comfort. My horse is wild, fractious, and stubborn. He is a valuable beast, of great strength, endurance, and mettle. But I am not exactly in condition now to break a wild brute. He rears with me, jumps, etc. My friends beg me not to ride him, and I have not mounted him for a week. My man, a splendid horseman, rides him hard every day, and is breaking him. I am looking for another one, more gentle, and may keep both. It is a delightful sensation to me, to move about on a horse after hobbling around on crutches so long.

You will wonder at the heading of this letter. General Andrews sent for me and desired me to take command during his absence of a week or so, notwithstanding my telling him that my commission must be one of the youngest of the eight still here. So that my command is just now about eight thousand, — rather ridiculous, isn't it?  . . . . My regiment I am getting into excellent order. I drill the non-coms, in the manual, an hour every morning, standing on one leg. In the afternoon, I drill the whole line in the manual an hour and a half. I visit the guard every night after twelve, to see that the officer of the guard and day are doing their duty, etc., etc. The officers and men are all interested in their work and everything goes well

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 54-5

Major Wilder Dwight: Friday, August 23, 1861

Buckeyestown, August 23, 1861, Friday, in Camp.

I began a letter before breakfast this morning, but my pen dragged so that I tore it up. Now I have a short time, and perhaps not a long story, but certainly a good breakfast to tell it on. And this same matter of a good breakfast is not a small one. The foraging on a march is not easy. Chickens and eggs and bread and butter and milk, &c, all have to be extemporized by our darkies, as we go along. Sometimes we do well; sometimes, badly. This morning, being bent on eggs, I sent my little English groom off on horseback. He went to a farm-house, into a hen-yard, and waited for cackling. Presently he returned, and said : “I've an egg for ye, sir. I waited till the hen laid it, and then brought the hen and the egg.” That is close work, I think.

I sent you a letter Wednesday morning. Immediately after came marching orders. I hurried off on horseback to call in our scattered forces. First, I went to Harper's Ferry, and found Colonel Andrews destroying our friend Herr's mill. Herr was very sombre. His little boy, with whom I have a friendship, rushed up to me, and said chokingly: “It is too bad to destroy the mill; but it's the secessionists that's the cause of it, isn't it, Major?” I told him, Yes. Andrews was breaking the buckets of the turbine wheel, and smashing the gearing of the mill. He had Company A, from Lowell, who are the mechanics of our regiment. He was sorry to be interrupted, but there was no remedy, and so off he came.

Then I went back and off on to Battery Hill to get the artillery off; then again to recall an outlying picket on top of the mountain; then galloped back to camp to see about rations; then, at last, the regiment got in marching array. The day was bright and cool, — the regiment moved off at twelve o'clock. Hard bread in haversacks, and hoping for something better. Money in pocket, and, 1 am sorry to say, an occasional excess of whiskey in a guilty canteen. Pay-day has its evils, as I thought when directing two drunken men to be tied and put in a wagon.

We made a brisk march of twelve miles to Jefferson. There we spent the night. The next morning, after a tedious delay in a depressing rain to get our wagons mended, we again moved on up, up, up a long hill in a close, muggy dog-day. The men's knapsacks pulled on them, and when we came on to our present camping-ground, at four o'clock, there was a long trail of lame ducks behind. They soon came in, and now are looking forward to another tramp.

The panic-stricken women and children pursued us, as we came away from Harper's Ferry, not daring to remain without our protection. The Rebels are foraging all through the country there; but nothing more than that appears to be done anywhere, though rumor is trumpet-tongued with reports of armies large enough to conquer the hemisphere. Mark my prophecy. Beauregard lacks transportation. He cannot move one hundred thousand men across the Potomac. This has prevented and will prevent his active operations. But it is not improbable that there will be skirmishes along the river.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 81-2