Major Wilder Dwight: January 7, 1862

cantonment Hicks, near Frederick, January 7, 1862.

It is this Tuesday evening my stove is humming in my new house. Talk of luxury! — what is comparable to a log-house, with windows and doors, with shelves and tables, and a large, grand porch for an entrance, and in the Colonel's half of the house an open, old-fashioned, generous, glowing fireplace! You should see the architectural proportions of our new home. You would hardly believe it a week's work of our wood-choppers and masons and carpenters. Yet so it is. I shall hope to send you home a photograph of it. We were within a narrow chance of leaving it the other day, but now we have subsided again into tranquil housekeeping and camp life. I have Colonel Andrews living with me, and, indeed, took the house rather with reference to him than myself. I wanted a roof to put him under on his first taste of exposure. My man John, who is quite a character, takes great delight in the house. He thinks my half better than the Colonel's, though his is somewhat larger. “It is more comformblor nor the Colonel's, sir, and not so desolate like,” is his description of my cosiness. The Third Brigade went off on that alarm toward Hancock; and, as I surmised, the errand proved fruitless. We are, however, gathering hope of progress in the army. This condition of faith in things not seen, and hope without substance, is not inspiriting. The undertone of rumor in Washington was very strong in the direction of activity. I am coming to regard an early advance of our army as a political and moral necessity, whether it is physically possible or not. The achievement of the impossible is the duty and privilege of greatness; and now is certainly McClellan's opportunity.

Mrs. Ticknor did me the honor to send me a pair of stockings. I wrote yesterday to acknowledge their receipt. The weather, which has been bitter cold, is now moderating, and the tents do not shiver as they did.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 185-6

Major Charles Fessenden Morse: July 13, 1863

Near Williamsport, July 13, 1863.

We are now in line of battle fortifying our position. The enemy is in front; I don't think Meade is at all anxious to make the attack, for we don't believe as the papers do, that we have a demoralized army to fight, but one nearly as strong as we are, in a good position for defence; still I think there will be a fight before they get over the river.

The first chance I have, I will write you an account of our part of the battle of Gettysburg. It was a fierce fight; we made one charge which was the bravest thing I ever saw. It was in this that Colonel Mudge and most of the officers and men were hit. There are only four of the old officers left in the field and line of this regiment now, Coggswell, myself, Francis and Brown; of twelve officers who have been killed, eleven came out with the regiment.

I received a very handsome letter from General Andrews yesterday in which he offered me the colonelcy of a colored regiment. He is to have the organization and command of a Corps d'Afrique consisting of twenty regiments of infantry, one regiment of cavalry and four batteries. Under the circumstances I shall refuse, but I consider it a great honor, coming from him.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 142-3

Colonel William F. Bartlett to Harriett Plummer Bartlett, March 24, 1863

Headquarters Forty-Ninth Regiment M. V. M.

Camp Banks, March 24, 1863.

My Dear Mother : — This is the first time I have had, when I could get at any paper, to write you since our return from Port Hudson. I will copy from my journal which I took with me. I wrote you last on the 12th.

That day were reviewed Grover's and Emory's Divisions. It took till one o'clock from eight. I saw General Andrews a few minutes. He has been made Chief of Staff to General Banks. A very good thing. He is just the man Banks needs. Spoke to General Banks a few minutes. After the review, I rode over to the camp of the Rhode Island Cavalry, and “drew,” by simply receipting for it, a fine McClellan saddle and bridle. By the way, I wish, father, you would go to Baker's and tell him that the saddle and bridle he sold me at such a big price is a swindle. The brass parts are iron merely covered over with a flimsy plating of brass foil, which peels off, in pieces, making it look worse than nothing; besides, in the case of the bits, scratching and cutting the horse's face. The leather, too, is very poor, many of the straps breaking at the least strain. Baker will have to look out for his reputation and custom. If I were he I would not want my name stamped on such a sham affair. This one that I have drawn is just as good leather; the buckles and bits of blued steel. Now all I want is my second horse, and my “establishment” is complete. I have not used the new saddle myself; it is for my groom Vantassel. I have been looking for a good horse ever since I got out here; have not found him yet. I don't expect, or care, to get as fine a one as my black beauty, only a strong, steady horse for the groom, to go with me when I ride. I would ride the second one into action, too, so as not to get mine shot. The mess pail reached me last week, much to my delight. I did not expect it so soon. It is perfectly splendid. Just what I wanted. I never saw a better one. The tea, too, is so much better than what we have had to drink, I wish you had sent more of it. We live in great style now. This morning for instance, I don't want a better breakfast. Nice dip-toast, coffee, fried hasty pudding, “crispy,” better than you can make it at home! The other night I made a corn-cake, merely poured boiling water on the meal, a little salt, and stood it up in front of the fire to bake. It was very nice indeed, and with butter, and honey “drawn” from some neighboring bee-hive, was about as good feed as they make in these quarters. We don't always live like this. Sometimes it is nothing but dry bread and molasses for days.

In regard to my saddle, and riding, I have got it well arranged. You know the upper edge of my wooden leg, coming against the hard saddle, used to cut through my pants every time I rode. I had patches of cloth put on, and afterwards patches of leather, but it even cut through these, by riding two or three hours. I then got a leather padded covering which fits on the seat of the saddle, making the saddle look more dressy and finished, and at the same time covering the wood, so that with a leather patch on my pants now, it does not wear through at all. Fletcher Abbott gave me the leather saddle-cover. To go back to my journal.

[Editor’s Note: I will include links to the journal entries once I have posted them.]

March 13, 1863

March 14, 1863

March 15, 1863

March 16, 1863

March 17, 1863

March 18, 1863

March 19, 1863

March 20, 1863

March 21, 1863

March 22, 1863

March 23, 1863

March 24, 1863

March 25, 1863

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 71-3

Major Wilder Dwight: December 16, 1861, Evening

There is something gay, inspiriting, exciting, in a fine review. The brigade burnishes its equipments and perfects its uniform. It also puts on its pride and its peacock feathers. All is elation and glorification. Now, though humility is at once a grace and a virtue, its modest worth has no place here. Humility never “prepares for review,” or “parades for inspection.” But a regiment does both. So we put on our gayest plumage of pride, with our hats and feathers and epaulettes: the band shone with its new instruments; the sun vied with their splendor, perhaps aided it. The drum-major's silver globe rivalled the orb that it multiplied. Officers and men were ambitious, confident, elate. We were the first brigade to be reviewed, after the others who disported themselves last week, — of course to surpass them. I need not describe the ceremony. Everything went well, except that my horse gave a plunge opposite the General, and slightly disconcerted my salute; but, as I say, pride was at the helm, and on we went. The Second did itself proud. I never saw it march with more steadiness, or keep its line better. After the review a drill was ordered; and here our regiment proceeded to distinguish and emphasize itself. We had a brisk, rattling, double-quick drill, and were the observed of all observers, and the praised of all praisers; so that when we came home to read our newspapers, and found that England was going to demand satisfaction and compel the surrender of the ambassadors, we felt all ready for war with England. Still, I cannot believe in all this bluster.

The right of search and seizure is, on the weight of authority, in our favor. But it is just one of those nice and delicate questions that will affect the mind of the seizor differently from the seizee; and, on the whole, seems to me a right that ought not to be exercised except in a very tempting case like this one. We must stand to our guns, and England will back down. I hope Charleston has been burnt by its own negroes. That would be a felicity of Divine wrath that could not be surpassed.

I have received notice from General Hamilton to begin work on the Examining Board to-morrow (Tuesday), the 17th. This will keep me busy for the present; but I expect quite an amusing time, though perhaps a little monotonously so. I found your letters on my return from review; one from you, and one from Colonel Andrews We want him back; and the officers and men constantly ask for him, and when he is coming.

I have only time, this Tuesday morning, before going into Frederick, to bid you good by. Love to all at home. I wish I could hear from Howard.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 175-6

Major Wilder Dwight: December 16, 1861

I have resumed this letter since last night, and must now get ready for the review this bright Monday morning. Have you read Colonel Harvey Brown's clear, manly, sensible despatch from Fort Pickens? — his statement of results, — fruits of experience ripe and real. There is a modesty, directness, absence of cant about it that stamp the man a soldier fit for command. It is refreshing to read such a statement, after General –––’s vaunting return from Hatteras; after such a telegram as that which chronicled Colonel –––’s braggadocio ride on a cannon from a smart little skirmish near Harper's Ferry, which is called a “great victory”; after the many magnificent records of routine exploits, which surprise our volunteers into the foolish belief that they are sudden heroes; after the constant record of the movements of my friend –––, who is a first-rate fellow, and doing a good work with too much noise about it. These men seem to be all attempting a “hasty plate of glory,” as Colonel Andrews calls it. The simple discharge of duty, and then an intelligent attempt to learn a lesson, and do better next time. Let us hope for imitation of this Colonel Brown of the regulars. But the Colonel puts his head into my tent and says, “Major, the line will be formed at twelve o'clock,” and so I must “prepare for review.”

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 174-5

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 Wilder Dwight: Monday Night, December 2, 1861

camp Near Seneca, December 2, 1861,

Monday Night.

There is no reason why I should write, except that Colonel Andrews is going, and can take the letter. It is a harsh, cloudy, wind-driven night; and we have detained the canal-boat till morning. We are waiting our orders to march to Frederick. It looks like snow, and altogether there is a cheerful prospect of a march before us! I expect to awake in a snow-storm.

I am awaiting, with some interest, the President's Message. I shall like to see how he will pronounce a policy. One thing seems to me to be clear. He must leave all political questions to a military solution and settlement. Congress must do the same.

There is a method in events which must result, I think, in a wise and practical solution of the negro question.

You recollect the cloister life of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, — the abrupt transition of the proud king from a vast and absolute sway to the solitude and asceticism and self-mortification of the cloister. I want to read the cloister life of King Cotton, — his exile, poverty, and penance. There will be a story of most instructive contrast. It is a story soon to be written. I wonder, too, how Congress will bear our “inactivity” this winter. Clear it is that we must be inactive. The mere movement of a division, with its artillery and supply-train and baggage, is a distinct teaching that active field operations are impossible before spring, on this line. So you may continue to think of me as perfectly safe, and as hoping for liveliness with the buds of spring. We shall have tried almost every phase of army experience before we get home, I fancy I shall be an early riser to-morrow morning, and so must bid you good night.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 163-4

Major Wilder Dwight: November 30, 1861

camp Near Seneca, November 30, 1861.

If anything were needed to assure my decision regarding a visit home, it could be found in the experience of the past two days. Yesterday — a rainy day, by the way — I was fully occupied with questions relating to the sick, and, in the afternoon, by a session of the Board of Claims. To-day, field-officer of the day. It has been a bright, windy, drying day, for which we are thankful. A tardy wisdom has at length decided to remove the division of General Banks from its present grotesque position to the neighborhood of Frederick City. Within easy distance, by rail, of Harper's Ferry, of Baltimore, and Washington, the division will there be promptly available for any purpose. It will be placed in a more healthy position. It will be within reach of supplies. It will be so far permanent that it can make itself comfortable for a season. How it will get there is quite another question. The rains of the past week have made the roads almost impassable; and to move a whole division, with its immense trains, a distance of thirty miles, over swollen watercourses and worn-out roads, seems a hopeless undertaking. We probably commence the attempt Tuesday morning. It is certainly a move in the right direction, and seems, to my narrow horizon, made a month too late.

To-day a part of our sick have been sent off to the General Hospital at Baltimore. Preparations were made yesterday by the Medical Director to send the worst cases from the whole division.

The order to move the sick down to the canal to take the boat came early this morning. At ten o'clock they were moving; and at five o'clock this afternoon the boat was ready for them. The whole day they waited — two hundred sick men, in wagons and in discomfort — on the banks of the canal. The sight was most irritating this afternoon when I rode down there.

Just at nightfall they were huddled in, one hundred and fifty men to one canal-boat, the rest sent back for want of room, and the boat moved off. Wretched mismanagement, and I fear great suffering as its fruit.

In fact, the whole hospital system is a blunder, if not a crime. It wants entire reorganization. There should be no regimental hospitals. What can a regiment do, dragging sick men after it? How can a regiment, with its hospital tent, take proper care of them?

The proper system would be to have hospitals attached to divisions, all the sick, except trivial cases, sent there, and treated by surgeons who have only that to do. Then the regiment would be free from its greatest embarrassment in the field. Then the sick would not die, as I have seen them do, for mere want of warmth, rest, and nursing. As a matter of organization and unity, as an administrative question, it seems as clear as sunlight; but we work along in a system that did well enough for an army of fifteen thousand men scattered in barracks and garrisons in time of peace, but is utterly inapplicable to a vast army in the field. To-day's blundering movement was, however, bad management, even according to this false system. It stirs one up to see it. But I won't preach on this text any more.

I hope the war will last long enough to give us an army organized according to all the wisdom and experience of other nations, and carefully adapted to our own wants. What a splendid creation such an army would be! In fact, how plain it is, to any one who watches the progress of things out here, that a soldier is an artificial mechanism, that an army is still more so, that for a nation to neglect the art which produces its army is the same thing as for a man to reject the exercises and discipline which promote his vigor. Well, perhaps we shall grow wiser as we grow older; perhaps we shall blunder in some other direction.

I am in hopes to get Colonel Andrews off to-day or tomorrow, in canal-boat, to Washington. This last sentence is written Sunday morning, the rest being Saturday-night reflections. The day is a dark and threatening one. We shall have a fine march to Frederick!

I am very well indeed, and there is no news with us. Love to all.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 161-3

Major Wilder Dwight: Friday Evening, November 29, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, November 29, 1861,

Friday Evening.

’T is a misty, moisty morning, and cloudy is the weather, — a hunting morning, with no game, however. Mr. Motley and Frank and Mr. Robeson will tempt Providence and trust the rebel highway soon on their way to Washington. I must send you a line by them. As I hoped, and wrote, Wednesday afternoon brought the Colonel and his party. I was sorry that our bright, clear weather lowered just before their arrival; and cheerlessness overspread the camp at nightfall, when they arrived. It was pleasant to see them. Their visit has been an agreeable one to us, though probably not full of exciting pleasure to them. I have got both your letters, — the one brought by Mr. Motley and the one sent by you on Saturday. Your Thanksgiving was as I had fancied it, and I am glad to get your bright and faithful picture of it. You will have received, ere this, my account of the steady improvement of the regiment. You will know, too, that I am now in perfect health myself, and I beg that you will put aside all anxiety on my account. As for coming home, it is now out of the question. I cannot pretend to have felt anything of “that stern joy which warriors feel in foemen worthy of their steel,” — but I have a calm content in the presence of hardship and discomfort, and in resistance to those influences which assail the efficiency of “the best regiment in the service.” Again, I feel a satisfaction in knowing that I am, and have always been,” reported, according to military phrase, “for duty” on the morning regimental report! Just at the moment when the duty ceases to be pleasant, I do not wish to have that report changed. I am aware that these are selfish reasons, and I know also that it is quite likely things will go well enough without me. But here I am, and here I stay, for the present. Colonel Andrews will go on Monday, I hope. Besides, our Examining Board has been waiting for me to be relieved from command of the regiment to commence its sittings, and so I could not get leave to go. Voilà des difficultes. Mr. Motley can assure you of my perfect health. Indeed, I do not think it would improve it to run home. It would certainly change my settled feeling into an unsettled one, and so, again, the consequence follows. I think that, to go to a Thanksgiving party at Mrs. ——'s, and have a chat with Mrs. ——, or to dine with and his wife, or to see another pretty Miss ——, or to bid C—— good by as he starts out, a gay cavalier, to escort his cousin to the dance, or to sit in the parlor of an evening at home, would be fragrant flowers of delight; but then, how soon they would fade, and what a withered nosegay should I bring back to camp with me!

But I also feel that it would be a galling irritant to go home. The Colonel says you are not awake to the war in Boston. Tameness, irresolution, pity for “political prisoners,” — that is, traitors and felons, — talk of restoration by concession, pratings of a speedy advance on the Potomac, unmilitary plans for military movements, etc., etc. I have got anything but a pleasant picture of the tone of things at home. Upon my word, I think it would have a bad effect upon the equanimity which I cultivate and desire, to go about much at home. When events, whose progress and logic are unanswerable and persistent, have unravelled the tangled web of your mystification, and taught the good Boston people all about war, then, perhaps, it will be safe for one intent on its prosecution and longing for its results to breathe the enervating airs of your placid paradise. Till then, my voice is still for war. Everything here seems to be going pretty well. Camp life has no changes and few incidents to amuse you.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 159-61

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: Thursday, November 21, 1861, 2:30 p.m.

Thursday, half past two o'clock.

Letter-writing after Thanksgiving dinner! What an absurdity! Yet here goes. I must rise on the wings of imagination, invoking also the exhilaration of champagne, to give you a glance at our day. The morning rose red and glorious. The camp was gay, and the men all jovial and willing. Last evening I published an order reciting the Governor's Thanksgiving order, and General Banks's order, and telling the Second Massachusetts that' Thanksgiving day would be observed and kept by the officers and men of this regiment. There will be religious services at ten o'clock, to be followed by the usual Thanksgiving dinner. It is hoped that the officers and men of the regiment will unite in reviving all the memories and associations which belong to the time-honored home festival of New England, and in public thanksgiving and praise for all the blessings which have followed them since they left the homes which this festival recalls.'

Such was my programme. At ten o'clock the sun was bright, and the morning like summer. We had a service. The reading of the Proclamation, the singing of praise by a full, deep-toned choir, a jubilant, patriotic awakening, exhortation from our chaplain, then a gay march by the band, which followed the benediction, hastened the steps of the companies as they returned to their quarters. I then immediately got into the saddle and rode off to see the Adjutant and Captains Savage and Mudge, whom I sent yesterday to the hospitable shelter of houses up at Darnestown. Found them all well and happy, and recovering. Came back, visited the kitchens. Turkeys and plum-pudding smoked and fragranced from them. Tables were built by some of the companies. A New England turkey-shooting was going on. Companies B and C bore off the crown of victory and the turkeys. I then went over to Colonel Andrews. Then I came back to half an hour's business, and so to dinner. A brisk, appetizing morning. But before I speak of our own dinner, let me give you the statistics, the startling statistics of our regimental dinner. Hear it: —

	Turkeys.	Geese.	Chickens.	Plum-Puddings.
	95 10½ lbs.	76 8½ lbs.	73	95
Weight	997½ lbs.	646 lbs.	164¾ lbs.	1179 lbs.

In other words, about half a ton of turkey, nearly as much goose and chicken, and more than half a ton of plum-pudding. There's richness, as Mr. Squeers would say. The statement shows at once, presumed digestion, appetite, and courage. It is hopeful, — or will it prove the rashness of despair? But then our own dinner, included in this general statement, was as follows: —

A twenty-pound turkey, etc., and a vast plum-pudding, and no end of apple-pies, etc. I ought to add, that many of the companies had their nuts and raisins and apples. What luxury! We sat down, a small party, — the Chaplain, the Doctor, the Chaplain of the Twelfth, and myself. Tony, or Antonio Olivadoes, our ambitious and clever cook, was radiant over the fire. He had spent most of the night in culinary constancy to his puddings and pies. He invoked attention to his turkey. 'Well now, Major, considerin' the want o' conveniences and fixins, I think it'll taste kind o' good'; and so it did. I opened a bottle of champagne, a present, and gave my toast, “Luck and absent friends.” So we drank it, and it cheered our somewhat narrow circle. The men are now playing ball, and it will not be long before dress-parade and company duty will replace our Thanksgiving sensations. Never mind, we've had a good time, and a good time under a few difficulties, which, I think, only sweetened our pleasure. Such is our Thanksgiving chronicle. I like to sit and fancy your home dinner, and to preside, in imagination, over the boiled turkey at the foot of the table. I hope our next Thanksgiving we may be all together; but if not, at least we can hope to be all as thankful as now. Tony, the cook, just puts his head into my tent, with conscious achievement in his eye: “Well, Major how you like de dinner? I was up all night, — five minutes chopping wood, five minutes cooking, — I did hope it would be nice.” I have just tickled his vanity, and he goes.

I think I may have a letter from you to-night, but this goes by the mail now. God bless you all at home, and good by.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 153-5

Major Wilder Dwight: November 19, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, November 19, 1861.

By every rule of gratitude, after receiving father's long and cheerful letter this morning, this letter should be written to him. But, as the countryman said of his wife, that what was her'n was his'n, and what was his'n was his own, so I fancy I shall talk as freely to both, though I write to only one. Did I not get a letter off on Sunday? I think so. That was a day of bright-blue cold. I gave up church because I had not the heart to keep the men even in a devout shiver for an hour. Yesterday I got a little pull back again. I had fully made up my mind to be perfectly well, so it shook my confidence a trifle. I had to keep busy in order to regain it. The day looked rather gloomy. The Adjutant was taken sick, and the Sergeant-Major. So I had to detail raw hands. Three captains were on their backs. The infernal malaria seemed to have wilted every one. Drills were dull, and the hospital over busy. There was a general cheerlessness overhanging every one.

Just at this moment what does the perverse generalship of our inapposite brigadier but send me an order: “There will be a review and inspection of this brigade in the large field hitherto known as a division review-ground near Darnestown.” There was hopelessness. Colonel and Lieutenant-Colonel both away; Adjutant and half the captains off duty; myself just between wind and water; every one dumpish. It never rains without pouring. The band leader and the drum-major reported themselves sick at parade. Whew-w-w-w-w! I think it all had a tonic and astringent effect on me. ––– sympathized with me in my efforts to repair disasters in season for a grand review. I told her that, though things didn't look very bright, yet I had always noticed one thing, a dark morning kept growing better, and I was going to get up with that faith. I made my arrangements busily last evening.

This morning was jolly cold. I was busy about all the little formalities and precisions which belong to such occasions, settling them with the various officers to whom the duties belonged. The Acting Adjutant had a little delay which bothered me, but at about ten o'clock the line was formed, — the men all in overcoats, — with full equipment. The morning had mellowed into Indian-summer. After all, the Massachusetts Second did look finely. We marched off briskly to Darnestown, about a mile and a half. The regiment arrived at the large field a few moments late, — the fault of a green adjutant. No great matter, but an annoyance. The rest of the brigade was in line, — my place was on the right. I formed the regiment a little in rear of the line, then rode up to General Abercrombie, who said he wished the whole brigade line changed. This gave me a chance to move our regiment right out in line of battle. I advanced them, and they moved with excellent precision, keeping their line exactly. It was a refreshing turn. The regiment saluted, and then marched round in review, passing round the whole field, and saluting the General, who was at the centre, opposite the front of our line. The regiment marched well, — the distances all well kept, — and wheeled into line again finely. So far, well. Then an inspection, which is a tedious process. The General noticed, what is certainly true, that the men looked peaked, dwindled, pined. But their soldierly appearance was undeniable. As if to cap the climax of our day's work, the General turns to me and says, “Put the battalion through a short drill, and then you can take them home.” I might have mentioned that I rose this morning pretty well except a raging headache, and, on the whole, felt brisk. I did not much feel like shouting through a battalion-drill, however. Still, I did it. We did it pretty well, too, on the whole. Shall I tell you what we did? You will understand it exactly. The battalion, as formed for inspection, was in open column of companies, right in front. I first threw them forward into line, which went well, then double-columned on the centre, countermarched and deployed, then repeated that movement at a double-quick, then broke the line to the left, and wheeled again to the right into line, then broke to the right by companies, closed in mass and formed divisions, then column forward and round by two wheels, closed in mass to their old front, then halted and deployed column on the first division at a double-quick, bringing them on their original line. Then, after a rest, broke by right of companies to the rear, and so marched home, having weathered the day. Now, isn't that a lucid story? Don't you like it? It's just what I did, anyway, and isn't a bad drill for the inexperience of a headachy major. I got home soon after two, having had a hard day for a regiment so much pulled down as ours. I put in several good words for us with the Brigadier, and I am in hopes to whiskey and quinine, or, better still, to transport our regiment into its old health and vigor. But certain it is, that hard work, exposure, and Potomac damp have wrought their perfect work, and we “need a change,” as the saying is. Besides, there is this constant picket duty on the river, watching through damp nights for enemies that haven't a purpose of coming. It is the hardest kind of duty, and the most useless, or rather the least obviously useful, and the least exhilarating. I was reading, this morning, an order from head-quarters about “amputations.” “Pshaw !” I exclaimed, to the edification of our surgeon. “If they want to be practically useful, let them pronounce about diarrhoea and chills: there are no amputations in civil war.” With such dismal pleasantries we relieve the depression of our sinking spirits. But I have the pleasure to know, or to feel sure, that we are only harvesting now the crop of an early sowing, and that things grow better. I am very well again this evening. Colonel Andrews now grows obviously better. The Adjutant will go to a house to-morrow for two or three days' rest, and I am inclined to hope that things have just got to their worst with us.

Perhaps I am giving you an over-dark view. Don't let your imagination run away with it. We are only debilitated, that's all. Nothing dangerous, but annoying. I am only thankful that I am so well, and only troubled that there is so little I can do for the regiment.

Send us your warm clothes as fast as they are ready in respectable quantities

Tell father I join in his hurrahs, except that I caution him to wait for exploit and achievement before he congratulates his boys, or canonizes their mother on their account. It is very humdrum duty they are doing now. It asks only willingness and endeavor, — a good, earnest disposition. If it shall turn out that they can have strength for better things by and by, sha'n't I be glad! To-day I am only tranquil and hopeful. Our Thanksgiving day will be a great success. I fancy nearly a hundred turkeys: a great many geese and chickens will smoke on our mess-pans! Then the plum-puddings! Already the cooks are rehearsing that delicacy in many forms, in anticipation of the grand and decisive movement on Thursday. I think that thankfulness of heart and generosity of good cheer will so exalt and inspirit the regiment that we shall know no more depression or invalidism. At all events, the preparation has a wholesome cheerfulness in it. General Abercrombie to-day said, “No winter-quarters.” This was direct from McClellan. He also intimated that we may go South. That rumor seems to gather and not fade, as most do. It has life in it still, and perhaps it may bring itself to pass pretty soon.

I am making a long story of my short experiences; but it is pleasant to write, and, but for a little consideration left for you, I might write on for an hour. As it is, I will write an affectionate good-night, and go to bed. Before I go, don't let me forget to admonish you to tell Mr. ––– that those drawers are as warm as the love of woman, and as constant as the love of man. Tell him they are my hope and faith in this great November tribulation. I will recollect him Thanksgiving day.

We have a bright Wednesday morning. I find a chance to send this by Lieutenant Choate, who goes home on a short “sick-leave,” so I must' close up promptly. What a joke the capture of Mason and Slidell is! There is fun in it. Whether there is, also, international law, or not, I don't know. The luck seems really to have turned lately, and to be going against rebels and traitors. I was very much pleased to read Howard's letter. It looks as if he were where he would have a good chance to make a soldier, and to be an active one too. What an oddity this whole life seems to me every now and then, when I think of it. Changes and chances are very rapid. Verily, to be an American is to be everything by turns, and nothing long.

Speaking of “nothing long,” what do you think of this letter? The camp looks white and frosty from my tent, as I look out this morning. I think I will go to breakfast and warm up a little. As to my health, it seems firm again to-day, and I have every reason for content. Love to all at home.

P. S. — I have reason to believe that the General was quite well pleased with the review. That is a comfort, under the circumstances.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 148-52

Major Wilder Dwight: November 14, 1861

camp Near Seneca, Maryland, November 14, 1861.

Though I wrote you a letter this morning, I may as well begin another to-night. The patter of the rain reminds me that my new camping-ground is to be put to its test. I have just finished reading, in the Baltimore Clipper, the news of the fleet. Glad tidings! Such thrusts as these between the ribs of Rebeldom will make it wince. Success, too, gladdens me, independently of its results. I have got tired of delay and failure. Except Sherman's proclamation, the account all reads well. That is altogether too mealy-mouthed. For one, I should like to go there announcing that I come as an enemy to waste with fire and sword. That's what we mean to do, and I should like the satisfaction of saying so.

But if calling things by the wrong names pleases the President, and does not alter the things themselves, why, we must put up with it. An army is a stern fact, and its presence will indicate itself roughly enough.

The sudden movement of the slaves shows that fire among tinder has one effect. The slight indication afforded by the account of the servile movement is instructive. I am afraid it upsets my friend 's theories. Indeed, theorizing in these times is very hazardous. I had rather fight.

The incidents of my day are not very interesting. Colonel Andrews grows better, but his recovery must be slow. The attempt to make things go right is an arduous and irritating one always. In a regiment it is particularly so, because where one thousand men are concerned a thousand little matters will go wrong inevitably. The net result, when you come to look at it, is often very good, while every ingredient seems to be the wrong one. But I have no reason to complain of the results, and so I will e'en be philosophical and calm in my observation of the processes. I am glad to be getting quite well and strong again. Many of my recent sensations have not been those appropriate to a major commanding. But now I am getting firm again in my saddle, and can even use the spurs, if desirable. I expect my servant to-morrow. I shall feel very much like killing a fatted calf for him. Our rainy night leaves us in very good condition, and satisfies me that my camp is a good one. I have just finished a chilly breakfast; have directed some punishments; have seen to it that the company for picket duty at the river starts in season; have refused the applications for leave of absence; have wept copious but unsympathizing tears over my fire, which will smoke; have received the reports of the officer of the day; have examined the Surgeon's report and the company reports, and reduced the sick-list thirty-two men; have queried and questioned variously, and expect to do so for an hour longer. I feel exceedingly well and lively, and will close this letter in season for the mail.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 142-4

Major Wilder Dwight: Monday Morning, November 11, 1861

It is the next morning since I began this letter. I have been having a long talk with General Banks at his headquarters. The General does not seem to know exactly when we move from here, but it is clear that our division will not remain hero for the winter. It is astonishing how this army life philosophizes a man. I think a few years of it would make one “impervious to the storms of outrageous fortune.” Colonel Andrews is in a very pleasant house, and is rapidly getting well. You would be amused to see me drill my battalion. It only shows we never can tell what we can do. When I voted for Abraham Lincoln a year ago, I did not suppose I was electing myself into a damp wheat-field with a regiment on my hands; but that is, apparently, what I voted for. I only wish all the wheat-fields in the neighborhood bore the same harvest.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 141

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

Major Wilder Dwight: Sunday Evening, November 3, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, Sunday Evening,

November 3, 1861.

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

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

Major Wilder Dwight: Monday Evening, November 4, 1861

Monday Evening.

I did not finish my letter last night, as there was no mail out. This will go to-morrow. It takes no news, except that Colonel Andrews seems quite to have settled into a fever. The fever is by no means severe, but it may drag slowly along. There is nothing dangerous in his condition, only to be abed is not pleasant, and to be weak is miserable. I have got him very pleasantly fixed, and he has the best care that we can give him.  . . . . We have had drills today, and the usual incidents of camp life. Our family is having a little measles, but is otherwise well. We have fine, clear weather again, and a bright, hopeful new moon.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 137-8

Major Wilder Dwight: November 1, 1861

muddy Branch Camp, Camp Near Seneca,

November 1, 1861.

You have your choice of dates, for I think our camp lies between the two, and General Banks uses the former designation for the division, while General Abercrombie uses the latter for his brigade. I hope that we shall cease to have occasion to use either date before the traditional Thanksgiving day overtakes us. Unless we do, it will find us in the wilderness, and in fasting and humiliation. I look to see ripeness in these late autumn days, and I hope that, without shaking the tree of Providence, some full-grown events may gravitate rapidly to their ripe result, even in this ill-omened month of November. Your letter of Monday takes too dark a view of events. I can well understand that, at your distance, our hardships and trials look harder than they seem to us. I do not, in the least, despair of happy results, and the more I think of the Edward's Ferry, or loon-roads, or Conrad's Ferry mishap (or, to describe it alliteratively, the blunder of Ball's Bluff), the more clearly it seems to me to be an insignificant blunder on the out skirts of the main enterprise, which, except for the unhappy loss of life, and except as a test of military capacity, is now a part of the past, without any grave consequences to follow. I was well aware that, in writing my first letter, I should give you the vivid, and possibly the exaggerated impressions of the sudden and immediate presence of the disaster. The wreck of a small yacht is quite as serious to the crew as the foundering of the Great Eastern. But the underwriters class the events very differently. And in our national account of loss, Ball's Bluff will take a modest rank.

Should the naval expedition prove a success, and should the Army of the Potomac strike its blow at the opportune moment, we can forget our mishap. You see I am chasing again the butterflies of hope. Without them life wouldn't be worth the living.

Tell father I have read the pleasant sketch of Soldiers and their Science, which he sent me. I wish he would get me the book itself, through Little and Brown, and also “Crawford's Standing Orders,” and send them on by express. This coming winter has got to be used in some way, and I expect to dedicate a great part of it to catching up with some of these West Point officers in the commonplaces of military science.

We are quietly in camp again, and are arranging our camping-ground with as much neatness and care as if it were to be permanent. The ovens have been built, the ground cleared, the stumps uprooted, and now the air is full of the noise of a large party of men who are clearing off the rubbish out of the woods about our tents. By Sunday morning our camp will look as clean and regular and military as if we had been here a month. Yesterday was the grand inspection and muster for payment. I wish you could have seen the regiment drawn up with its full equipment, — knapsacks, haversacks, and all. It was a fine sight. By the way, why does not father snatch a day or two, and come out to see us? We are only a pleasant morning's drive from Washington, and I think he would enjoy seeing us as we are in our present case. D––– would enjoy the trip, too, and they might also pay a visit to William down at Port Tobacco, or wherever he may now be. I throw out this suggestion.

To-day I am brigade officer of the day, and I have been in the saddle this morning three or four hours visiting the camps and the pickets on the river. It has been a beautiful morning of the Indian summer, and I have enjoyed it greatly. Colonel Andrews took cold and got over-fatigued during our last week's work, and he is quite down with a feverish attack. Yesterday I found a nice bed for him in a neighboring house, and this morning he is quite comfortable. We miss him very much in camp, and I hope he'll be up in a day or two

“Happy that nation whose annals are tiresome,” writes some one. “Lucky that major whose letters are dull,” think you, I suppose. That good fortune, if it be one, I now enjoy.

I have an opportunity to send this letter, and so off it goes, with much love to all at home, in the hope that you will keep your spirits up.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 133-5

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, November 11, 1862

Camp Near Sharpsburgh, Md.,

November 11, 1862.

We had an interesting little reunion and supper at my tent last evening. Yesterday morning, Bob Shaw and I rode into Hagerstown where the First Massachusetts Cavalry are stationed, about fourteen miles from here. We found our friends there getting ready for a move, having a preliminary inspection of men, horses, etc., they having received orders to join Pleasanton. By dint of a little persuasion, we got Curtis and Higginson to ride back with us. We had already arranged a supper to which the five captains in the regiment had been invited; Cogswell, Bangs, Robeson, Shaw, and myself. We sat down immediately after “tattoo” and had a jolly time; there were seven of us, all original “Seconds.” Of course, there were innumerable recollections recalled, many of them sad, but a great many very pleasant; old times were talked over and the many changes that had befallen us since our first Camp Andrew experience. The supper was very good; a capital soup, followed by roast quail and “fixings,” claret, coffee, cigars, etc., all done up in pretty good shape for camp. An occasion like this makes up for many vexations, and we all appreciate it.

Last night we received the news that Andrews had been appointed Brigadier-General and assigned to Banks; so we have lost our second Colonel, as honest and faithful a man as ever lived. He is one of the officers in the army who has worked his way up himself, and has been promoted purely on account of his own merit without political influence or wire-pulling. By this promotion and the death of Lieutenant-Colonel Savage, Quincy becomes Colonel, Cogswell, Lieutenant-Colonel, and Mudge, Major. I shall be third Captain and have the colors, Savage's original place. Sawyer will be tenth Captain; at Camp Andrew he was tenth Second Lieutenant, twenty grades he has gone through.

That was a very good article you sent me, taken from the “Advertiser,” about Colonel Savage. It was evidently written by some one who knew him well. It was perfectly true and did not exaggerate his good qualities an atom. He was nearer to being a perfect man than any one I ever knew.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 104-5

Captain Charles Fessenden Morse, October 6, 1862

Maryland Heights, October 6, 1862.

Everything continues quiet with us. We have a nice camp and are beginning to make ourselves comfortable. I have a floor in my tent and a patent bedstead of Hogan's invention. Our mess gets on finely; we have plenty to eat and very good too. I know you will be pleased to feel that I am no longer in danger of starvation. You'd hardly believe we had suffered any hardships lately, to see us after dinner or supper, sitting or lying around my tent, enjoying our pipes and cigars, reading the papers or having a quiet discussion on some subject.

Last week, we had a visit from President Lincoln, accompanied by Generals Sumner and Howard and a large staff of other officers. He reviewed our regiment briefly, we receiving him with the customary honors. General Sumner paid our regiment the handsomest compliment that I have heard come from any officer of high rank. He said, in our hearing, to the President, “This is the Second Massachusetts Regiment, the first regiment that volunteered for the war. I have it on good authority, General Sedgwick, that it is the best regiment in the service.”

Such praise as this, coming from the source it does, is very pleasing. After the review, I was detailed (I suppose from my knowledge of the mountain paths and the fact that I had a horse), to guide the party to the summit of the Maryland Heights. I showed the way until we got to a path where it was right straight up, when Abraham backed out. I think it must have reminded him of a little story about a very steep place; at any rate, around they turned and went down the mountain. I gave “Uncle Abe” a few parting words of advice with regard to the general management of things, bade them farewell, and went back to camp.

I am afraid we have lost Colonel Andrews; he was detailed day before yesterday, to take command of a brigade of four new regiments; this is probably but an intermediate step before being commissioned Brigadier. Captain Cogswell is now in command; if neither Major Savage nor Captain Quincy ever come back, he will be Colonel, making Mudge Lieutenant-Colonel, and Russell, Major, and me second Captain, Curtis' old place on the left of the line.

Has the death of Major Sedgwick been spoken of in any of the Boston papers? You remember he was formerly a first Lieutenant in our regiment; he left us last autumn to go to his cousin's, General Sedgwick's, staff, where he was made Assistant Adjutant General and promoted to be Major. We have seen a good deal of him since we left Washington. He was one of the most interesting men in conversation I ever knew, full of stories and experiences of the Peninsular campaign, in which he took an active part, having been present at most of the principal battles. The night before Antietam, he was around at our bivouac. We were discussing the probabilities as to when Richmond would be taken; I made him a bet of a basket of champagne that it wouldn't be taken the 1st of January, 1863. This wager he accepted and registered in my pocket book and signed his name to it. The next day was the battle. General Sedgwick went into it with his division in Sumner's corps; Major Sedgwick received his wound in that terrible wood where our right wing suffered its heaviest loss. The bullet went through his body, grazing his backbone, instantly paralyzing the whole lower parts. He remained on the field two or three hours perfectly conscious, though suffering the worst pain. During this time he wrote several pages in his book, requests, etc. He was removed to Frederick, Maryland, where he died two or three days ago. He was only one among many, but he was one of the original “Second,” and a man I always liked very much.

I believe I have not told you about our old flag. Sergeant Lundy is color-bearer now (the old Crimean soldier of whom I sent the daguerreotype); he's a splendid fellow and plucky as can be; all through the action, he kept the flag up at full height, waving it to and fro. Well, on examination of it after the fight was over, we found twenty new bullet holes through the colors and three through the staff. The socket in which the butt rested was shot away close to the Sergeant's belt. Our old staff was shot in two at Cedar Mountain, and is now at home being mended. While I think of it, I must tell you of one most singular incident that happened the day of the battle. As we were advancing over one part of the field, which was pretty thickly covered by our dead and wounded, a man of Company F, Captain Mudge's company, suddenly came upon the dead body of his father, who was in the Twelfth Massachusetts Regiment and had been killed early in the day. It was a terrible meeting for father and son; they had not seen each other for over a year. The next day the son got permission to bury his father in a decent manner and put a head-board at his grave.

Have you made up your mind about the Emancipation Proclamation? At first, I was disposed to think that no change would be produced by it, but now, I believe its effect will be good. It is going to set us straight with foreign nations. It gives us a decided policy, and though the President carefully calls it nothing but a war measure, yet it is the beginning of a great reform and the first blow struck at the real, original cause of the war. No foreign nation can now support the South without openly countenancing slavery. The London Times, no doubt, will try to make out slavery a Divine Institution, but its influence does not extend everywhere. I think the course of that paper, since this war began, has been more outrageous than anything I ever knew of; you wouldn't think any paper could be so base as to say, as it has just said, that the President's Proclamation was published to produce a servile insurrection. It may have the effect to cause disturbances among the troops from the extreme Southern States, who will think, perhaps, that their presence is needed more at home than up in Virginia. There is no mistake about it, if the fact becomes generally known among the slaves of the South that they are free as soon as within our lines, there will be a much more general movement among them than there has been before. It is evident that Jeff Davis is frightened by it, to judge by the fearful threats of retaliation he is making.

Yesterday, Bob Shaw and I took a fine horseback ride of about twenty miles, visiting the vicinity of Antietam. Most of McClellan's army is encamped near there. We expected to find the First Massachusetts Cavalry, but they had moved up the river to Williamsport. My horse is in fine condition, now; she seemed to enjoy the exercise yesterday as much as I did.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 95-9