Major Wilder Dwight to Captain Howard Dwight, a few days after June 6, 1862

Dear Captain, — How are you? I'm prisoner of war. It seems to run in the family.* I hope you won't have it. I wish that you may find a speedy end of your service in the West. I have had a very pleasant week at home, but am very impatient to be back to the regiment.

_______________

* Colonel William Dwight, Jr. was taken prisoner after the battle of Williamsburg.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 271

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: May 6, 1863

Lieutenant Dwight, the General's brother, was shot by a guerilla. He had been to the rear with dispatches and when returning, in passing a wood, he was shot from behind the trees. One of the fellows was caught, not the one that fired the shot, but they were together so he had to die for it. The army started at 5 a. m., marched about a mile and halted. A grave had been dug. The prisoner was brought out and kneeling beside the grave, facing the firing party, the warrant was read, and the command given to fire. He fell forward on his face. I thought I heard some pistol shots afterward, but I had seen all I wanted to, and the army was again in motion. At night we entered Alexandria, said to be thirty miles from the place where we started in the morning. The army marched through the town and camped in a ploughed field. In passing through the streets there was a house with a bright fire on the hearth. A girl was standing in the door, and I heard her say, “See the scabs.” I was too weary to reply, but I gathered from it that we were not very welcome. As soon as the companies broke ranks I gathered some sticks and weeds, made a cup of coffee, ate some hard tack and salt junk, took a good smoke, laid down between two hummocks, and I was soon in the arms of Morpheus.

SOURCE: Abstracted from George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 51-2

Major Wilder Dwight, April 24, 1862

Camp Between New Market And Sparta,

Thursday, April 24, 1862.

When I awoke on Easter morning in my dripping bivouac, and looked gloomily at my boots, which, with studied carelessness, I had so placed as to receive the stream from the flimsy shelter over me, and which were full of water, when, more than all, I poured the water out and put the boots on, I might have known, by intuitive conjecture, that our forces would the next day occupy Sparta. The storm did not abate until Tuesday, and it left us in hopeless mud and rain. Our advance is now in Harrisonburg, and Jackson's force has crossed the gap, and is on its way to Gordonsville. “The Valley” is cleared; and General Banks has been enjoying himself with a “general order” of congratulation, back-patting, and praise, worthy of little Jack Horner, and his thumb and his plum. Still, one fact is stubborn. Our column has penetrated Virginia one hundred miles, and is very near to important Rebel lines of communication, and has achieved important results with reasonable promptness and without disaster.

We hear to-day that the freshets of the Potomac and Shenandoah have combined to carry away the railroad bridge over the Potomac at Harper's Ferry. This will interfere with our supplies, and, I think, hasten our course over the Blue Ridge towards Gordonsville.

I have enjoyed for the past two days the slight alleviation of weather. Tuesday afternoon the Colonel and I rode through the gap opposite New Market, over the Massannattan Mountain, into the other valley which is bounded by the Blue Ridge. The road is a graded, gradual ascent, winding in and out. At its summit is one of the signal-stations, whence the view into both valleys is very fine, and, under the changing, clouded, and showery light, the scene had a great charm, heightened by the camps which were scattered over the green fields of the valley. We descended into the other valley to visit the Third Wisconsin, a regiment of Colonel Gordon's brigade, which is stationed there to protect two bridges over the South Fork of the Shenandoah and another stream.

Yesterday was a bright, breezy, sunshiny day, tempting one strongly to out-door life, — otherwise I should have written you a word on my birthday. Colonel Gordon and I drove down to Rood's Hill to examine the position which Jackson occupied there. We found it of great natural strength, with a river on either flank, and a broad, flat bottom, over which our approach would have been made.

We saw one scene in the course of our ride which illustrates the vile tyranny, oppression, and outrage which has been practised by the Rebels here. A neatly-dressed woman, with five little children, — one in her arms, — was crossing the field. We stopped and spoke to her. “Indeed it is,” said she, “hard times for poor folks. Jackson took my husband off with him. They gave him his choice to go or death. I expect him back, though, now that you've got here. He promised to run away the first chance.” Comment on such a “volunteer’ system is unnecessary. I told you that we were living near the house of Mr. Williamson, and took our meals there. I am now writing in the parlor, which is brigade head-quarters. The husband and father of the family is off with the army, but his uncle, the owner of the farm, an old man of eighty years, is here. He is an intelligent man. He heard John Randolph's maiden speech in Congress at Philadelphia. He sat in Richmond in the Convention to amend Virginia's constitution with Madison and Monroe. His farm here contains sixteen hundred acres, and as he sees his rail-fences disappearing before our camps he recalls how it looked in New Jersey years after Washington's army had wintered there; not a fence for miles. This helps his philosophy a little, but he is a bitter Secessionist, though his hope flickers under the blast of Northern invasion. One of the most amusing things connected with our movement into this country is the constant and odd exhibition of its effect on the negro. Day before yesterday our pickets brought in six contrabands. They had fled from above Harrisonburg, to avoid being drawn off with Jackson's army. One of them was almost white; another was of quite mature years, and very much disposed to philosophize and consider and pause over this emancipation question, and act “for the best.” I must try to give you a snatch from the dialogue between Colonel Gordon and the negroes; but I must leave out the brogue and laugh and aspect of the men which made up the incomparable effect. After asking them where they came from, &c., the Colonel, “Well, why didn't you go off with your master?” Ans. I didn't want to go South. Q. The South are your friends, ain't they? A. No, dey isn't no friends to colored people. Q. Well, what made you think we should be? Didn't your master tell you we wanted to steal you and sell you to Cuba? A. Yes, but we don't believe no such nonsense as dat. De Norf is our friends. I've heard all about de Norf, and I never see black men chained together and driven off to de Norf, but I have seen ’em, hundreds of ’em driven off Souf. I'd ruffer trust to de Norf, and I'd like to try it. Q. Well, but you can't work and take care of yourself, can you? Your master always took care of you, didn't he? A. Bress you, if de nigger don't work, who does? De white folks don't do no work. I've hired myself out for five years, made de bargain myself, and my master got de money. Yah! yah! yah! And they all laughed. Q. Well, you want to go Norf, do you? A. Yes. Then the philosopher, who was named George, reasoned a little more about it. At last the Colonel said: “Well, you are free; you can go where you please. You ain't slaves any longer, unless you choose to go back. Now, what are you going to do? Ain't you going to do something? ain't you going to turn somersets?” The negroes laughed and were exuberant. “Turn over, George, turn over,” said the darkies; and down the old fellow dumped, and went heels over head on the floor amid a general conviviality.

That's what I call the practical effect of invasion. Where the army goes, slavery topples and falls. For my part, I enjoy it hugely.

As I write this letter, two men are brought in. They are just out of Jackson's army. They live over on the Blue Ridge. A fortnight ago they were hunted into the woods by cavalry, shot at, and caught and put into the army. They say that the woods are full of men hiding in the same way, and that the cavalry are hunting them out. “The South is fighting for independence,” says Lord John Russell; “the North, for empire.” “No man's liberty of speech or person is interrupted,” says Jefferson Davis.

I believe I am fighting in God's cause against the most diabolical conspirators, rebels, and tyrants in the world.

The bright sun of yesterday dried the ground so much that we had battalion drill, and I had the pleasure of drilling the battalion. This morning, however, this treacherous climate again betrayed us, and it is snowing! for all day, I fear.

I rejoice to receive your letter of April 14, just brought in. It brings me news of Howard and William and home, in which I delight. I hope William's forebodings are not well founded, but McClellan must gather fruit soon or go to the wall. Still, silence to all clamor against him, and let us await the issue. I agree with Howard, that this military life gets wearisome.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 237-40

Major Wilder Dwight to Elizabeth White Dwight, April 13, 1862

camp Near Edinburg, Virginia, April 13, 1862.

My Dear Mother, — We have been stirred by the news from Grant's and Buell's armies since I wrote, and even more, perhaps, by the attitude of McClellan's forces near Yorktown. This letter can hardly have a rapid flight enough to reach you as soon as decisive news from the Army of the Potomac. I hope large results; yet, in doing so, I must shut my eyes to everything around me, torpid as it is with the paralysis of — incapacity, shall I say? or mischance? To-day we obey the order of the War Department, and give thanks for our victories. The regiment will shortly be formed for that purpose. The time is a fitting one. It is the anniversary of that sombre Sunday of the dishonored flag which brought us the news of the fall of Sumter. It is also a fit time for McClellan's coup de grace. I received yesterday your copy of Howard's letter from Pea Ridge. Its clear description of what he saw and heard and did there is very interesting. After all, I was wiser for him than for myself, and urged him to go to the field where victory has come to be almost monotonous.

Our life here since I wrote is full of emptiness. Picket duty and occasional shelling. Now and then I go down and let the enemy's pickets fire at me, just by way of keeping up the illusion of war. One of our pickets the other day got hit, but the miss is the rule. Out of this nettle safety we will pluck the flower danger one of these days, but not yet. . . . .

Since I laid down my pen our service has taken place. I watched the faces of the men, and missed the light which gladdens them whenever they are called to action. Veterans in everything but conflict, it only quickens their impatience to hear of other achievements.

We shall stay here some days longer, I think. Subsistence, clothing, transportation, all limp and halt and stagger.

We are the most timid and scrupulous invaders in all history. It must be delicious to the finer feelings of some people to watch our velvet-footed advance. It keeps me in a state of chronic contempt.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 232-3

Major Wilder Dwight: March 31, 1862

Camp Near Strasboro, Virginia, March 31, 1862.

I was glad to hear, from your letter of the 23d, that you have been doing something, and leading others to do, for the wounded and suffering from Pea Ridge. You will never appreciate, except feebly and by conjecture, the relief and soothing of which you may be the happy cause. If, on Monday evening last, you had gone with me into the courthouse at Winchester, and seen the wounded and dying lying upon the bare floor, “heads and points,” as the surgeon expressed it, the victims at once of hunger and cold and wounds, you would know what could be done with the heart to do and the things to do with.

Of those people who make a luxury of good works, and are, so to speak, epicures in benevolence, I know not how they could get so much for their money as by coming upon one of these recent battle-fields.

I rejoice in Howard's safety more than I can bring myself to do in my own. While you are thinking of the bodily security of your sons, there is one of them who is jaded and depressed by the inglorious military drudgery to which “the best regiment in the service” is hopelessly condemned.

I have just returned from twenty-four hours’ picket duty in a cold rain-storm. The enemy's line of pickets is about a mile from our own. Ashby brought up his cannon, and threw a few shells at our outposts. They whistled through the air and fell near us, but were only bravado and insolence. When we go on he will run faster than we can follow. Meantime, the large movements and the decisive actions of the Potomac campaign are probably taking place, and we are stupidly trailing after an evanescent and puny, but resolute, foe. Bah! One of our companies is in Centreville, I suppose; one at Snicker's Ferry; the rest here, drying themselves in the sun after twenty-four hours' hard, wet, useless work, unrecognized and unknown. Whenever the division wants a commissary, or an acting assistant-adjutant, or what not, he is detailed from us. We have not a single full brigadier in the whole corps d’armée. Five brigades all commanded by colonels, — unorganized and undisciplined, except a few regiments.

Do you wonder that I get down in the mouth? It will soon be a year that we have been in service, with nothing to show for it but the effects of the hardest possible work.

You see I am in no mood for letter-writing. I write because there is a mail going. I shall not write again till I feel better. You need not feel concerned at not hearing from me. I almost feel as if I would not take up a pen again till I could speak of something else than the inglorious details of our present life. Love to all at home.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 223-4

Major Wilder Dwight: March 21, 1862

camp Near Winchester, Virginia, March 21, 1862.

If you had looked upon our camp at sunrise reveillé, this morning, you would have seen a dreary, wintry picture. The mules gathered closely about their wagons in the scourging snow-storm with sullen endurance, their tails drawn tightly down, and standing in a vicious attitude of expectant kicking. The horses crossly laying back their ears with half-closed eyes and hanging necks. The soldiers standing up to their roll-call in the attitude of the traveller in the spelling-book, against whom the wind is striving to gain the victory of the fable. The ground whiter than the morning's early light, but only serving to darken the tents into a cheerless and gloomy hue. The air itself thick with snow and sleet. The camp-fires just beginning to smoke, and men hopelessly endeavoring to allure a blaze from black coals and dripping wood. The camp-kettles and mess-pans crusted with ice, suggestive of anything else than a warm breakfast. Would you not expect every mind of the thousand men, remembering also their two thousand wet feet, to be in harmony with the scene? Yet, I know not how it is, from some inherent perverseness perhaps, I was in excellent spirits.

The order has now come to march. Our destination is Centreville, en route, perchance, for the enemy. At any rate, I have grown philosophical again.

I buried hope yesterday, had a glorious wake, and resolved to sink every other wish in the absorbing one of the progress of the war without or with the Massachusetts Second, as it may happen.

We cross the Shenandoah at Snicker's Gap. The march is one of about sixty miles, and will occupy at least four days.

General Banks, who has just returned from Washington, seems in good spirits. He gives, however, a depressing account of the Congressional and political folly which continues to assail McClellan. If McClellan were all they charge him to be, their lips should be sealed.

Every good man will now seek to strengthen the hand and animate the purpose of the General under whose guidance the decisive campaign begins

The weather is breaking away, and promises no very severe penance for our march, though it is not fun that is before us next week. No news yet of Howard, I suppose. It is clear that he has been in one of the hottest battles of the war. You will not hear from me again till Centreville probably.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 214-5

Major Wilder Dwight: March 20, 1862

camp Near Winchester, Virginia, March 20, 1862.

I have no sympathy with the strains of peace which come to me in your last letters. Indeed, I am so much dispirited by our inaction, that I have hardly energy for letter writing or elasticity for effort of any kind. McClellan's order, which should be a clarion, is simply an irritant. Here we are, and it is a week since we pitched our tents near Winchester. Daily duty comes with every day. We have had our seed-time and our harvest season, but no fruit. . . . .  I presume I love life and home and friends as much as any one, but I would sooner give them all up to-day than have our regiment go home empty. . . . .

As for Howard, if he closed his eyes honorably on Pea Ridge he has only my envy.

I hope we may get orders of some kind soon. Even long marches and picket duty, of which we have done too much already, are better than this hopeless idleness in the rear of the vaunted Army of the Potomac.

If you have any prayers to give, give them all to the supplication that the Second Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers may find a field whereon to write a record of itself. Do not spend your days in weakly fearing or regretting this or that life, — lives whose whole sweetness and value depend upon their opportunities, not on their length.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 213-4

Major Wilder Dwight: March 13, 1862

Camp Near Winchester, March 13, 1862.

At last! My prophecy of yesterday found its fulfilment rapidly enough. Half an hour after my letter went on its way, Colonel Andrews brought the news that Hamilton's and Williams's brigades were in Winchester, as quietly and easily as if no hostile force had ever held it. Jackson left the night before, having held Hamilton and us in check all the previous day by slight demonstrations of cavalry. It is as I have always supposed, though this general exodus from Manassas and the whole line is more sudden than I believed possible. It gives us a stern chase, perhaps a long chase. After lunch the Colonel and I determined to gallop down from Berryville to Winchester to call on Hamilton and see the place, — a pleasant ride of ten miles. We approached the town from the east. The only symptom of fortification was a long rifle-pit, with a few platforms for guns, and one broken gun “truck,” or ship carriage. We found General Hamilton in command, and in tranquil possession. Jackson cleverly slipped away, carrying with him everything, — guns, stores, men. He had been moving for a fortnight, and has gone to the railway at Strasburg. I think we have lost time uselessly in our over-caution. Our own twenty-four hours' delay at Berryville is inexplicable to me. The effort, I think, should have been made by a movement to Millwood, and so across to the Strasburg pike, to cut off Jackson. A bold game would, perhaps, have bagged him. Still, while the position at Manassas was held, a bold game was too full of hazard. After the broad hint furnished us by the evacuation of Leesburg, however, I think we might have pushed on our intercepting column fearlessly. At any rate, the movement is without brilliancy or effectiveness or fruit, and only postpones and unsettles the time of our success. We got into the saddle again at half past five to return.

Just at dusk we came near Berryville. Whom should we meet but General Abercrombie. “The whole brigade is moving,” said he. “I have a telegraphic despatch from General Banks, that Hamilton is engaged with the enemy at Winchester. Shields has been taken prisoner, and the loss, on our part, is very heavy. We are ordered to march at once to his support.” “But it's all a mistake,” said we. “We just left General Hamilton safe and happy at Winchester, and no enemy within twenty miles.” “Never mind,” said the General; “I have my orders.” It was no use; he would not let us turn the regiment back, as we desired. There was nothing for it but to yield. We stopped and got some supper, and then followed the regiment, overtaking it at about eight o'clock, as it was crossing a stream. At about ten o'clock, wet and cold, we turned into a field near Winchester to bivouac for the night. A cold time we had of it. To-day we have got into camp near the town. I rode out this afternoon to see their vaunted fort on the road toward Bunker Hill; a poor affair enough. Everything tells me that if Patterson had had courage instead of caution, an army instead of a mob, we should have walked into Winchester last July as we have to-day. But we needed the lessons of that campaign to prepare for this.

I must not omit to mention the arrival of the boxes of clothing, from Mrs. Ticknor, on Saturday last at Charlestown. They came, like their predecessors, most opportunely. It was the morning after our night march over rough and muddy roads. Our camp was scourged by a blustering and piercing March wind. The boxes opened their warmth upon men who longed for it. Give our cordial thanks to all the ladies whose kindness has done so much for us.

Great news from Arkansas! Howard is in luck.

My last night's bivouac, after so many previous sleepless nights, has made me rather sleepy. Our regiment turned into a thick pine wood. Colonel Hackleman's Indiana regiment was just in our rear. They brought along with them the hens and chickens of the neighboring farms, and the feathers flew briskly about their beds. Old Hackleman calls them his “boys,” and they, in turn, call him “pap”; and he has a happy, noisy family about him. As they lay by our side last night, I was led to the remark, that Hackleman's babes were in the wood, and Robbin Henroosts had covered them with softer covering than leaves. Our regiment is in perfect condition, and the men have really become practised and expert soldiers. Our train came up this morning, and at about one o'clock we went into camp. Before sunset ovens were built, and we had a perfectly organized camp. We may not stay here a day, but everything takes shape at once. The men march easily and rapidly, and I am more than ever pleased and contented with the Second Regiment.

Have we not a Monitor afloat? Was not her providential arrival at Norfolk an effective admonition to the Rebels? Check to their king. Private enterprise has done what our Navy Department could not. What a glorious trial trip!

Just beyond the field in which we are encamped are the remains of the camp of the Second Virginia. An omen, perhaps; but this peaceable succession to vacant camps has in it little of the element that feeds martial ardor or rewards the ecstasy of strife! But how silently and surely we are dealing with slavery. The post at which I placed my grand guard yesterday was near a fine old farm-house. Its Rebel owner left with haste, as threw his shells with brilliant courage at four men and a threshing-machine which his distempered fancy had imagined and exaggerated into some new engine of destruction. All the negro servants were left in charge of the other property. This leaving one kind of property in possession of another kind of property hath in it a certain logical and natural inconsistency, which doth not fail to show itself in the practical result. “Massa's gone to Winchester. He in a big hurry. Yer's welcome to the hams and the other fixins. Massa very hospitable man.” So the negro makes free with his fellow-property with every right of succession and enjoyment that belongs to a next of kin. Why will he not also learn to make free with himself?

If he fails to do so, it will not be for the want of a good deal of rough but sage counsel from the “boys” of the Sixteenth Indiana Regiment, who were posted there. The Hoosiers have very vague notions of property and Rebel ownership at the best. They have not the capacity to rise to the height of contemplating human ownership. A long row of beehives were humming their peaceful labors in the front-yard. I hear that they soon fell into disorder, and that the Hoosiers had a ration of honey! Sic vos non vobis mellificatis apes! My Latin may be lame, but the sense is clear.

I send you a Richmond Enquirer, from the Winchester mail, seized yesterday; I send you also a paper published by the Twelfth Indiana on their advent to town. It is dull enough, but an odd institution, — a sort of turning of the Rebel batteries against themselves

The origin of General Banks's error about a battle at Winchester, which gave us our night stampede, is supposed to have been in the signal corps. Some one blundered a signal or forged one, we have not yet learned which; an investigation is going on.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 206-10

Major Wilder Dwight: March 12, 1862

camp Near Berryville, March 12, 1862.

Ten miles from Winchester.

A rapid, muddy march brought us to Berryville on Monday afternoon. As brigade officer of the day, I was busy about the outposts of our new position. The only evidence of the enemy was a few cavalry.

The regiment lay down to bivouac, with the aid of straw and fence-rails. Yesterday I was also busy as field officer, and at one o'clock this morning was glad to leave the saddle for my tent and bed, which had come up at evening. The weather is lovely. Our cavalry reconnoissance went within three miles of Winchester, driving the enemy's cavalry, and taking a few prisoners.

The best joke of our entry to Berryville I send you in the shape of two newspapers.

The editor of the Berryville Conservator had the outside of his paper struck off, when our coming led him to strike himself off. Some printers of the Minnesota regiment took up his paper and types and completed the news of the day. The result I send you. It was issued the morning after our arrival. The outside contains the report of Johnson's operations in this valley and at Manassas last summer. The inside records another campaign.

The date of my next letter, I think, will be in Winchester.

I hope Howard has had a share in the successes in Arkansas.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 206

Major Wilder Dwight: February 19, 1862

Cantonment Hicks,

Raining like the recent Federal victories,

and dark and cloudy as the Rebel prospects,

February 19, 1862.

Hurrah for Donelson! Are not the bricks beginning to tumble beautifully?

Glorious Holt has tears of joy filling his eyes. Johnson and Maynard have homes and families again. The “ungenerous” advantage has been taken!

Price, too, as we hear to-night, has at last fallen into the trap, and that fox has lost his tail at last. I am thinking that it will be fashionable soon, in rebeldom, for the foxes to go without their tails. In the midst of all this, where are we? There is not even echo enough to answer the question.

Tell D––– to keep the money raised by the theatricals for sick and wounded soldiers, and intrust it only to such spending as shall wisely guide it in such channels. . . . .

Howard, perchance, has seen service in this Price pursuit and capture. Heaven send him honorable employment. He has the other things needful.

I have, in my time, heard a great deal said of vital faith and trust in God. I have observed very little of its practical working in life. I must say, I should like to have it myself. The last month has been the hardest one since I entered the service. Action, action, action, is what we want.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 198-9

Major Wilder Dwight: Sunday, December 23, 1861

Camp Hicks, December 23, 1861.

Dear D——, — I do assure you that your Christmas remembrance has warmed and cheered and brightened this sombre morning in camp. Our wooded camp had been hail-rattled and rain-rattled all night. The half-broke morning was dull with falling snows. The ice-crowned trees bowed their heads and bent their branches, winter-laden. A moaning wind chimed to the ear the sad tones whose corresponding hues darkened the eye. But just as your gift arrived the sun broke, also the clouds. Sun-lightened was the air, and sun-lightened, also, was my spirit. I rejoiced in home memories and associations. And now, the day really is a good day. I expect many empty hours in camp this winter, and hope to fill some of the pleasantest of them with Napier. Unless something more serious than the present threatenings indicate should occur at Falling Waters, we shall probably pass a quiet winter in our present favorable camp. The division is placed here because of the abundant forage of this county and the direct rail communication. I am quite a convert to the wisdom and necessity of taking good care of our army, and saving it up for spring. Events are favoring us rapidly now of their own accord.

The English question does not yet take shape enough to enable one to judge of it. I have no fear of a war with England. The cause is inadequate. The right of search and seizure is one that I hope we shall exercise sparingly. The game is not worth the candle. Still, I enjoy the joke of the seizure of Slidell and Mason, and am curious to see the ground of England's vigorous protest. England is base and mean in her treatment of us; and if we were only stronger, I should enjoy a war with her. As it is, I suppose we must wait, like Dr. Winship, till we have trained a couple of years, and then, perhaps, we shall be up to a fight with her.

It really seems, this evening, as if winter, Northern winter, had come. If he visits Manassas as he does Frederick, how the Rebels must be shivering in their shoes, if, indeed, they have any shoes to shiver in.

Howard's position I rejoice in. I quite believe that he will rise in his regiment and see service. I repeat my thanks, and wish you Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 179-80

Major Wilder Dwight: December 20, 1861

camp Hicks, near Frederick, December 20, 1861.

It was only the immediate pressure of another topic that crowded out the mention of the arrival of the box of shirts and drawers, &c., from Mrs. Ticknor. They were equally distributed among the men needing them most. They were most gladly welcomed. In size, shape, and substance, they are all we could desire. The gay-colored handkerchiefs warmed the fancy of the men, and were eagerly snatched at. The mittens, too, notwithstanding the finger deformity, were grasped by eager hands. I think it would reward the effort of our friends if they could have seen the opening of the box, and the scattering of the clothing to the companies. The eyes of the men chosen for the gifts glistened, and the eyes of the others fell, as those of children. Indeed, in many respects, soldiers are like children; and the idea that there is a box from home with a present in it is, you know, the crowning joy of childhood. There is a certain flavor to these arrivals, of warmth and comfort, that seems to dwell with peculiar relish on the mind. They make a day glad and cheerful. But I must protest against this form of “soldier’s mitten.” Make a good, honest mitten, in which there shall be no aristocracy or seclusion among the fingers, but where they may dwell together in unity. When the man is to use his gun he won't wear a mitten. At other times he wants the old, warm mitten, not this eccentric innovation. By this criticism I do not wish to discourage the sending of mittens of this or any other shape. We want those of any shape. I speak only in the interests of science and truth.

I wish you could have seen the regiment this evening at parade. We got fresh white gloves for the men to-day; and the steady line, with its regular and precise movement, the shining brass of the equipments, and general neatness, was a fine sight. Our old uniforms, after all their service, look better than most new ones. General Banks was present, and afterwards came up and admired my tent-house.

My friend Colonel Geary has gone back to Point of Rocks. General Hamilton is off to Williamsport, and the Board will meet again “some day next week.”

I enjoyed Colonel Geary's talk very much. He has seen a good deal of rough life; was a colonel during the Mexican War, then a Californian, and the last alcalde of San Francisco, then a governor of Kansas. He speaks of events of which he was himself no small part.

Colonel ——, of the Sixteenth Indiana, is a character, — a tall, gaunt Western lawyer turned colonel. He has just returned from a visit to Washington and his home. Speaking of the crowds of officers and soldiers who throng Pennsylvania Avenue, he said, “I told my friends if we could only get the Confederates into Pennsylvania Avenue, we could give them an awful thrashing. I never saw so many officers in my life. We could thrash ’em to death, sir.”

I was glad to receive news from Howard. Glad, too, to find him in service and promoted. His success is certain, if he holds on. I shall write to him not to be discouraged, and not to regret being in Missouri. Halleck will reorganize, correct, discipline the force; and he will belong to a grand army, and perhaps share in glorious achievement. . . . .

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 176-8

Diary of Colonel William F. Bartlett: Friday, March 13, 1863

Howard Dwight called to see me this afternoon. Grover's Division has started. We shall start to-morrow.

SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William Francis Bartlett, p. 73

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: November 6, 1861

Camp Near Seneca, November 6, 1861.

“The war cannot be long. It may be desperate.” This is not prophecy from the closet. It is inspiration from the master of the position. I claim for our General the rare virtue of sincerity, — the fibre of all genuine character. I repose on his statements. Recollect that he wields the causes. Shall he not predict the consequence? “I ask in the future forbearance, patience, and confidence.” But not for long. If he can compel our people to yield him those, he has already gained a victory like the conquest of a city. “I trust and feel that the day is not far distant when I shall return to the place dearest of all others to me.”

Now that's cheerful. Of course he won't go home and leave us on the wrong bank of the Potomac, — of course he won't go home and leave his lambs to come back wagging their tales, or tails, behind them and him. No! let us accept, let us hail the omen. “Youth is at the prow.” “Pleasure,” God's own pleasure, “has the helm.” For one, I am ready for the voyage. I take McClellan's speech to the Philadelphia deputation for my chart.

I am afraid this is in the nature of rhapsody; but then it is November, and one must live in the imagination, and look over into the land of promise, or he may wither and fall like the leaves about him.

I wrote thus far yesterday, but the gloomy sky and chilling blasts were so unpropitious, that I thought I would not attempt to resist their influence. It was a regular heavy, clouded, wet day. We had as yet no news of the fleet, and nothing to lift ourselves above the influence of the weather. Last evening we got a rumor of the safe arrival of the fleet off Bull's Bay, near Charleston, after the blow.

Upon this vague elation we went to sleep I am very glad to receive your copy of Howard's letter, and rejoice that he is in the midst of serious work. I recognize in his account the inevitable hardships and vicissitudes of his new life. As part of the Western army, he will undoubtedly see active service this winter, and will perhaps hardly get breathing time, unless he pauses awhile in Memphis to take a look at his old cotton-press. I am very glad that he is there, and prefer his position in the line to one on the staff, if he is equally well pleased with it. You say you like to receive my letters, and so, of course, I am most happy to write, but there is really just nothing to say. Yesterday, for example, all our fires smoked. My little stove was very vigorous in that direction. Proverbs are said to be the condensed wisdom of ages. I recalled that, “Where there is so much smoke there must be some fire,” and cheerfully hung on to the maxim through the day; but I felt very little fire. Then the question of moving the hospital was raised, considered, and settled; then the increase of measles was croaked and investigated; then the news came that the patient sick with typhus would die, and at evening he was dead; and now, this morning, we are preparing his funeral

To-day we have no news but the prevailing and increasing rumor that we shall move, in a day or two, into winter-quarters, or, at least, out of these quarters. I have a sort of hope that the fates may select our regiment for some Southern service, if we succeed in getting a good foothold on the coast.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 138-9

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

PLEAsanT HiLL, MARYLanD, October 9, 1861.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Major Wilder Dwight: Friday, Sunday Evening, September 29, 1861

pleasant Hill, Sunday Evening, September 29, 1861,

Camp near Darnestown.

An opportunity presents itself, this morning, to send a letter, and so I write, though I have only to tell you of continued quiet and content.

And, indeed, it is no easy matter to preserve that happy mental and moral poise in the midst of our present dulness. I think, however, that the regiment was never in a state of more admirable efficiency than it is to-day, and this cheers and satisfies me when I keep it in mind. It is idle, however, to disguise the fact that it is a heaviness to the natural and unregenerate heart to see no prospect of achievement, no opportunity of action.

I do not hesitate to say, that the winter must not set in without deeds that give a lustre to our flag. Volunteering, is it, that is wanted? Show the volunteer that he enters on the path of victory, and the crowd will be immense.

We heard last night that the report was current that our division had cut the enemy to pieces, or was itself cut to pieces, or something of that sort. If so, and the report ran home by telegraph, you have had a very needless alarm. Never was repose so undisturbed as ours. If you hear such news of us, reflect only, “It is too good to be true.”

Your letter of the 23d is just received. I do hope Howard will find success in the Department of the West. There is certainly room for him there, and he has capacity for the place. I have just come in from Sunday-morning inspection. We need for the regiment flannel drawers and flannel shirts. Can you not get up a good package of them, and send them on by Captain Abbott? I see you speak of shirts for the soldiers.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 107-8

Major Wilder Dwight: September 26, 1861

September 26.

Cold weather seems to have set in upon us. I hope our Rebel brothers the other side of the Potomac are suffering the same cold nights that we have. Such weather will do more to drive them from Manassas than much artillery.

There is a lull now. O for a tempest! I am glad Howard seems likely to accomplish his best object. Had he not better use a day in a visit to me on his way West?

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

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