Diary of Gideon Welles: Monday, May 16, 1864

I yesterday took a steamer with a small company, consisting among others of Postmaster-General Blair, Senators Doolittle and Grimes, Messrs. Rice and Griswold of the Naval Committee, Count Rosen of the Swedish Navy, Mr. Hale (the newly selected Consul-General to Egypt), G. W. Blunt and Assistant Secretary Fox, Commander Wise, Dr. Horwitz, and two or three others, and went down the Potomac to Belle Plain. The day was pleasant and the sail charming. We reached Belle Plain about two P.M. and left a little past five. Is a rough place with no dwelling, — an extemporized plank-way from the shore some twenty or thirty rods in the rear. Some forty or fifty steamers and barges, most of them crowded with persons, were there. Recruits going forward to reinforce Grant's army, or the wounded and maimed returning from battle. Rows of stretchers, on each of which was a maimed or wounded Union soldier, were wending towards the steamers which were to bear them to Washington, while from the newly arrived boats were emerging the fresh soldiers going forward to the field. Working our way along the new and rough-made road, through teams of mules and horses, we arrived at the base of a hill some two or three hundred feet in height, and went up a narrow broken footpath to the summit, on which were the headquarters of General Abercrombie and staff. The ascent was steep and laborious. We had expected to find the prisoners here, but were told they were beyond, about one and a half miles. The majority were disposed to proceed thither, and, though tired and reluctant, I acquiesced. The prisoners, said to be about 7000 in number, were encamped in a valley surrounded by steep hills, the circumference of the basin being some two or three miles. Returning, we passed through the centre of this valley or basin. The prisoners were rough, sturdy-looking men, good and effective soldiers, I should judge. Most of them were quiet and well-behaved, but some few of them were boisterous and inclined to be insolent.

One of the prisoners, a young man of some twenty-five, joined me and inquired if I resided in the neighborhood. I told him at a little distance. He wished to exchange some money, Rebel for greenbacks. When I told him that his was worthless, he claimed it was better than greenbacks though not current here. I asked him if they had not enough of fighting, opposing the Union and lawful authority. He said no, there was much more fighting yet to be done. Claimed that Lee would be in Fredericksburg before the Union army could get to Richmond. Would not believe that J. E. B. Stuart was killed, news of which I received just as I came on board the boat this morning. He was earnest, though uninformed, and said he was from western North Carolina. Returning, we reached Washington at 9 P.M.

To-day I have been busy in preparing two or three letters and matters for Congress.

Governor Morgan called on me relative to abuses in cotton speculations, and malconduct of Treasury agents and others. Some of the malpractices which are demoralizing the army and the officials and disgusting the whole people in the lower Mississippi are becoming known, and will, I trust, lead to legislative correction. As Morgan introduced the subject and thought proper to consult me, I freely gave him facts and my views, which conflict with Chase and the Treasury management. A bill which Morgan showed me is crudely drawn but introduces, or makes, an entire change. It is not, in some of its features, what I should have proposed, but it will improve on the present system.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 31-3

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: December 9, 1861

Camp Hicks, December 9, 1861, near Frederick, Maryland.

To sit in one's tent in the sunshine, and look out through the grove upon a lively and contented camp, is very little like war. Such is my afternoon's occupation, or want of occupation. I can hear, too, the music of the Star Spangled Banner, which is just now saluting the flag which has been raised at General Abercrombie's head-quarters near by.

I went into Frederick this morning, and, as I came over the hill which slopes down to the Monocacy Bridge and overlooks the city and valley of Frederick, I could not but enjoy the scene. There lay the city, with its spires and buildings clear in the sunlight; and the whole surrounding valley looked happy with its bright, white farm-houses, and thrifty with its generous barns.

Peace and plenty were in the landscape. Yet, six months ago, both were threatened by the terrorism of Secession, and the growing crops then feared a premature harvesting.

I called, this morning, on the Rev. Mr. –––, a pleasant man. He was cordial and friendly, and wished me to tell Dr. ––– that his present successor at Frederick was true to the flag, and loved his country. The experiences of the past summer have tested his patriotism severely. I also receive this evening by mail a note from Mrs. –––, who is in Baltimore. She writes to ask my intervention to protect her house, which has been occupied for military purposes. I shall do what I can for her, but the plea of necessity is one that knows no law and very little mercy. To-night also brings me what I rejoice in, two letters from you, one from D–––, and a most friendly and agreeable letter from Mr. –––. I could not resist an immediate answer to the latter, it gave me so much pleasure. . . . .

It has been as warm as summer here to-day, — indeed, most uncomfortably so. But, of course, the change must come soon, and winter will frown upon us again.

Tell ––– he is as right as a tract on the slavery question. Keep it back. Say nothing. Let the war continue to be for the grand purpose which first inspired it, and which has united and quickened a whole people. The inevitable consequence must be the death-wound of slavery; hut that is incidental, and must be natural, not forced.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 168-9

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: 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 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

Major Wilder Dwight: October 28, 1861

camp Near Seneca, October 28, 1861.

I wish you could have looked in on our camp this morning. The stockings came last night. They were spread out under an oak-tree, and the companies were well supplied. The men were radiant over them. The memory of our cold, wet week's marching and countermarching was still fresh. The chill of the October morning had not yet yielded to the glowing brightness of the sun. The sight of the stockings made us feel warm again. The young officers paid particular attention to the bundle from Professor Agassiz's school

I had no idea that the stockings were so much needed, but the fact is, they are so much better than the ones given by government, that the men are eager for them. The captains all say that there could not be a better gift. We shall await the coming of the shirts and drawers with pleasure Collect and keep stockings, if you are willing to do so, against another time of need. Convey, in some form, to the donors, our high appreciation of their kindness. It is the thing. And it makes men feel a tingle of grateful pleasure out here, to think they are remembered and cared for at home. Apart, even, from their usefulness, the stockings bring a warming and cheering sensation to the men. That is the moral aspect of the present.

We made a brisk little march yesterday morning, and at noon were in camp again, on a charming spot, sheltered by a fine wood, within the edge of which are the field and staff tents, while the regiment extends out into the open field. We are within a mile of the Potomac. The enemy's pickets ornament the opposite shore, while we adorn this. The point is near the mouth of the Seneca, and about opposite Drainsville.

After a week's work, we are again, on this Monday, apparently as far from any immediate active duty as we were a week ago. I do not know that I can bring myself now to be so impatient of delay as I have been. It was the itch for a poor kind of distinction that led to the massacre at Leesburg.

We find, on our return to our old division, that the regiment is reassigned to General Abercrombie's brigade; and to-morrow we are to move into our new position. The General places us first in his, the First Brigade. That gives us the post of honor, — the right of the whole of General Banks's Division.

I have not yet commenced my duties as Examiner of Officers. We have been so locomotory lately that there has been no time for anything. A pretty low standard of qualifications will have to be adopted, or we shall have to exclude a great many of the present officers.

William, I suppose, is down on his old ground again, opposite Aquia Creek, trying to reopen, or keep open, the Potomac. Well, I wish him luck; but the leaves of autumn are falling, and we seem to be just about in the same position that we were when I saw the buds first bursting last spring in Annapolis.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 131-2

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, December 8, 1861

Camp Hicks, Near Frederick, Md.,

December 8, 1861.

I take the opportunity of Captain Williams' going home to send a letter direct. Last Tuesday morning, about half-past twelve o'clock, I was fast asleep as usual, but was awakened by some one saying, “Mr. Morse.” I answered, “What?” and got the following order: “Send a circular around to the commanders of companies, saying that reveille will be beaten at half-past five, the men to be ready to march as soon afterward as possible, with three days' rations.” I asked if that came from the Colonel; the answer was, “I'm the Colonel.” I begged his pardon and got up, lighted a fire and wrote the circular and sent my orderly round to the captains. Everything was executed as per order, the usual lively scene of striking tents and packing wagons, and by half-past seven, we were ready to start.

It was a very cold, clear day; so cold that, though I had a horse, in my capacity as adjutant, I hardly mounted him all day; we all had to wear overcoats. We marched between seventeen and eighteen miles to the village of Barnsville, arriving there near four o'clock. We pitched tents in a thick wood, and the men were immediately employed getting their dinners and making arrangements for a comfortable night. I got a very nice dinner at General Abercrombie's headquarters, a house in the town. It was an awfully cold night; water froze nearly an inch thick.

Reveille was beaten Wednesday morning at half-past four, and we left our camping ground as soon as there was light enough to see our way through the woods, about half-past six. The weather was so cold that we marched ten miles without a halt, through a very rough, mountainous country. After a short rest, we went on five miles farther through a splendid farming country, a pleasant thing for us to see after the desolate region we had been living in. We camped a short distance from Frederick. The next morning, after a very nice breakfast at a miller's, the regiment marched to its present camp, situated in a wood about three miles from the city. It is a very pleasant place, with a warm southern slope, and is a neat looking camp. We are near enough to the city to get anything we want from it, which is very convenient. I haven't been in yet; several of the officers have, and find it a very pleasant and civilized city.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 32-3

1st Lieutenant Charles Fessenden Morse, July 23, 1861

Harper's Ferry, Va., July 23, 1861.

Since my letter from Martinsburg, I have hardly had time to take a pen in my hand, we have been so busy.

We left Martinsburg at the time when we were ordered, and took up our position in the column and commenced our march towards “Bunker Hill,” where about six thousand of the rebels were encamped six or seven miles from Martinsburg. It was a sight I never shall forget, to see this great army, covering the roads for miles in each direction, with colors flying and bands playing in nearly every regiment; then, after marching about two hours, to hear cannon firing at the head of the column, telling us plainly that we had come up with some part of the enemy. The firing soon stopped, however, and we learned, in a short time, that the rebels were flying in confusion, and that we had killed two and taken several men and horses prisoners.

Before long, we came up to their camps, and it was a singular sight to see them all deserted while the fires were burning and everything in readiness for dinner. We marched on till near night, when our regiment camped in a beautiful grove on the so-called “Bunker Hill.” We lay down on the ground that night, as our wagons hadn't come up. However, we were undisturbed and got a good night's rest. The next day, the whole army was allowed to rest, which was needed very much; the only thing that troubled us officers was, that we could get nothing to speak of to eat; we fairly envied the soldiers as they ate their rations. The only way we got along was by begging some coffee and hard bread of the men. At night came the order to have everything ready to start at a moment's notice, and to see that every man was supplied with forty rounds of cartridges and caps. Soon after, Colonel Gordon sent for us to say that, in all probability, we were to move on and attack General Johnston and his army of about twenty-six thousand men, in a very few hours.

The men slept with their rifles In their hands, and we with our swords buckled on, but we were not roused until three o'clock, when “reveille” was sounded in the various camps and, in a short time, we were marching again; but, to our surprise and, I must say, disappointment, we found that we were making what is called a flank movement instead of an advance. Towards afternoon, our line was threatened by cavalry; our company was ordered out by Brigadier-General Abercrombie to act as skirmishers. The enemy, however, kept out of the way, and we soon returned to our position in column. About dark, we halted by the side of a wheat field, and the men were allowed to stack arms and rest, which they needed very much. Captain Curtis and I had just got fast asleep for the night on a pile of wheat, when I was aroused by the Sergeant-Major to be told that I must get ready to go on guard immediately; very disagreeable, of course, but no help for it, so I got up and reported myself for duty. The Colonel came around before long to caution me about being especially vigilant, as there was a strong chance of an attack. I don't know how I should have got through the night if Major Dwight had not, with his own hands, brought me out some hard-boiled eggs and bread and butter. I devoured them as if I had never eaten anything before. I managed, afterwards, to get some coffee, so I was all right.

The news of our defeat at Bull Run has evidently shaken our General. We are ordered to get ready to move at a moment's notice.

SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 7-9

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, April 20, 1862

Sunday, April 20, 1862.

You will already see by what I have written yesterday, that the prospect of our having work before us is quite good, in fact that two portions of our force — Abercrombie's brigade and Bayard's cavalry — have had a brush with the enemy, and from all I can learn, they are determined to dispute our passage of the Rappahannock and advance there from on Richmond.

I have my headquarters in a house in which a poor man with eight children is living. Some of these little ones are pretty and intelligent, and bring to mind my own dear little ones, from whom I am separated. I have ridden all about the country in this neighborhood, posting pickets and outguards. The country is very beautiful, but it makes one's heart sad to see the desolation and destruction produced by the war. Handsome farms abandoned by their owners, left to a few negroes, the houses gutted, furniture broken and scattered all over, fences burned up, and destruction everywhere. Sometimes I fancy the great object in sending McDowell this way, is that the country may be laid waste, and the negroes all freed. Such certainly is the practical result of the movement, whether designed or not, and as there is no other apparent object, it is reasonable to infer this is the one designed. McDowell has not yet returned from his trip to Acquia Creek and Fredericksburg, and we shall have to await his return before our movements will be decided on.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 261-2

Brigadier General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, April 19, 1862

CAMP AT CATLETT'S STATION, April 19, 1862.

My last letter was written from Manassas Junction. Yesterday we broke up that camp and marched to this point, which is twelve miles farther on the railroad from Alexandria to Gordonsville. I do 'not know the object of our being moved here, except that we are nearer the Rappahannock and Fredericksburg. The railroad we are on crosses the Rappahannock about fifteen miles from here. At this point the enemy have destroyed the bridge, and it is said have a force of some ten thousand behind earthworks, on the other side, determined to prevent our rebuilding the bridge. Yesterday a brigade under Abercrombie advanced to that point and exchanged artillery shots with the enemy, without injury to either side. Abercrombie is still there, and the railroad to that point is being repaired. When this is done, I suppose we will be pushed forward and the enemy dislodged from the other side, unless in the meantime it is determined to go from here to Fredericksburg, which is only twenty-eight miles from here. McDowell went yesterday to Washington, intending to go down to Acquia Creek, and sent from hence under Augur a brigade of infantry and two regiments of cavalry to Fredericksburg. At Falmouth, a place on the Rappahannock, some five miles from Fredericksburg, and where there was a bridge, our advance of cavalry was fired upon from an ambuscade and some twenty-two saddles emptied, Bayard (the colonel in command) having his horse shot under him, but he was not touched. Our men charged and drove the enemy (a Mississippi regiment) before them and over the bridge, which they set fire to in their retreat; but our people were in time to extinguish the fire and save a great portion of the structure. I have always believed they would resist our advance on Richmond, and have no doubt by the time we get across the Rappahannock, whether we cross at Fredericksburg or at the railroad crossing near here, that they will have assembled a force sufficiently large to give us all the glory we want in overcoming it.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 1, p. 260-1