camp Near Darnestown, August 30, 1861.
It is broad, bright noon; the men are cooking their
breakfasts, the sun is drying out their clothes, the tents are ready to pitch,
the Brigade Quartermaster is sitting in our tent rehearsing his exploits on the
road, — how one teamster beat a horse's eye out; how, if another had hawed instead
of geeing, all would have been well; how the one-line Pennsylvania
saddle team-driving is better than our four-rein driving of our wagons; how
this and how that would have made the march easier, and a day march instead of
a night one. And such a march! But I must go back and bring myself from
Washington. I wrote a hurried scratch one evening while listening to General
Heintzelman's account of Bull Run. My next day was busy with the providing for
my companies, and getting a delivery of the wagons to government. I was
quartermaster, commissary, colonel, major, and all in one. At last, however, I
succeeded in arranging things to my mind, and went out of town to my camp at
Georgetown. Here I had collected the three companies which had come as escort
of three separate trains. Here, too, I had packed two of the trains.
On Wednesday morning we made a good start from camp, and
Captain Handy, of the Webster regiment, led the column briskly. We marched
nineteen miles, a strong day's work. It was a cloudy, drizzly day. The
companies came into camp at four o'clock. Tents were pitched, supper got
briskly. Captain Mudge, Lieutenants Shaw and Robeson were the officers of the company
from our regiment.
Mr. Desellum,* who lived near our camping-ground, invited us
to supper with him, and gave us what we all prized, — a good one. Appetite and
digestion wait on one another on a march. Mr. Desellum was a character. He had
lived on his place all his life, and never gone beyond the limits of the two
adjoining counties; his father and grandfather were rooted in the same soil. He
gave me a full account of the surrounding country, and also a capital map. Both
he and his maiden sister were ardent Union lovers, and bitter in their hatred
of Jeff Davis. He was very calm and intelligent, formal and precise, full of
talk of the war, of the battles of Napoleon, &c. He lives with his sister
in their faultlessly clean home, with twenty-five negroes. When asked if he
owned slaves, “No, the slaves own me,” which, I think, expresses his
conscientious performance of his duties. I gave orders to have reveillé at four o'clock in the
morning and to have a brisk start. I took pleasure in attempting to realize
some of my theories about the march, and had great satisfaction in
accomplishing a good breakfast and an early start; and before eight o'clock in
the morning my men had marched from their camp on Muddy Creek to Nealsville,
eight miles. There we met the report that the regiment had left Hyattstown, and
was on the march with the whole column. I halted my detachment, and galloping
on, met General Banks at the head of his division. I reported to him, and got
his order to direct my companies to join their regiments when they came up.
Then I went on myself, back to see our regiment; I found them halted in a wood
in the driving rain. After a greeting with the Colonel, whom I found acting as
brigadier of our brigade in the absence of Colonel Abercrombie, I went back
again to wait with my companies the slow progress of the column. It rained
hard. The wagons made slow work. At about one o'clock our regiment, the first
of the Second Brigade, reached us at Nealsville. There we turned off down towards
Darnestown, — a charming name!
At last we were pointed to a camping-ground at a place
called Pleasant Mountain, — a valley or hill, I can't say which. But where were
our wagons? Far back on the heavy, wet, and swampy road. Just at dusk the
regiment fell down, tired, into the wet stubble, and the fog settled chill upon
it. The evening star looked mildly down, but it gave no cheer. Colonel Andrews
was sick, Colonel Gordon in charge of the brigade. I did what I could, — got
the guard posted, good fires built of the neighboring rail-fences, in the
absence of other wood, and then, wet and tired, lay down myself. The march was
mismanaged by the higher powers. It was wretched to see our cold and hungry men
lying down dripping and supperless in the cold fog to sleep. The start was a
late one. The rain ruined the road, and the delays were so many that the large
column made a poor business of its day's work. This morning at five I hurried
off to get up the wagons. The sun rose clear. By dint of activity, getting a
party to mend road, &c., the wagons came in about ten o'clock, and hope
revived. I also got a cup of tea and a breakfast, and I revived. Such is our
life. I have certainly been active for a week, and now, to-day, comes shoe
distributions and muster-rolls, &c. I quite envy those regiments that are
quiet and in position near Washington, with every facility for order,
discipline, drill, food, &c.; but, as Birdofredum Sawin says, “I’m safe
enlisted for the war,” and
come what will, I will be content. Though last evening, in the fog and dark and
cold, I felt, as I lay down with wet feet and wet clothes, a little like
grumbling at the stupidity of our Adjutant-General, who planned and executed
our uncomfortable march, which hit me just as I wanted a little rest. I was
happy to wake up this morning with only a little sensation of stiffness, which
wore off in my early ride of six miles. During my ride I snatched a breakfast
at a farm-house, and enjoyed the sensation of health and sunshine. Though I
began this letter at noon, I am finishing it by candle-light. It has been
interrupted variously; at this moment the Colonel comes to my tent, and says, “That
is a beautiful sight,” pointing to the camp-fires and lights on the hills about
us. The Webster regiment is just opposite us, and their band is now playing. We
are within six miles of the Potomac. Everything here looks every day more like
business; but we have not the presence of McClellan, and one who has just come
from that present influence misses it as he would the quick pulse of health.
The coming man is not a mere phrase. There is no cant, either, in the phrase.
How we have waited for him! And has he come? I hope. Discredit all rumor. That
is my advice. . . . .
I do not seem to myself to have given anything like a
picture of the active life of the past week, but Colonel Andrews wants my help
about rations, the Chaplain wants my letter for the mail, I want time for
various things, and so good night.
_______________
* See Appendix VII.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 86-9
