Camp Near The Little Seneca, Saturday Night,
9 o'clock, P. M.
He who predicts the morrow in this life has his labor for
his pains. The morrow takes care of itself. Here we are, and tattoo is just
beating again, and we are twelve miles from our last night's camp. I will go on
with my story. When I got to the river, I began to carry out my instructions
from General Hamilton. They were, to visit Harrison's Island, which was
abandoned by our troops on Tuesday night, and bring off some government stores.
I found that, owing to the stupidity of the officer whom I had left in charge
at the point of crossing opposite the island, one of the ropes had been cut,
and there was only one rope left stretching across the river on which I could
ferry my men over. I got my men ready, took the two leaky flatboats and moored
them well, and waited for darkness. The night was very cold. In its cover we
started with one boat, leaving directions for the other to follow after we got
across and got things secure. We pulled across silently on the rope which came
up out of the water, and sagged a good deal with the stream. Just as we got
within the shadows of the opposite bank, the Sergeant whispered, “Hold on, the
rope has broken.” The men held on by the end, and, sure enough, it had parted,
and we were swinging off down stream away from the island. There was something
laughable in the mischance. We had nothing for it but to return, which we did,
coiling the rope in our boat as we went back. So ended all visits, for the
present, by our troops to Harrison's Island. I was kept on the alert all night
by firing up the river, and got no sleep of any consequence, — sending and
receiving despatches from General Hamilton. At light, — a bright, golden,
October morning, ice an inch thick, — I visited all the outlooks, and then went
back to camp to report to General Hamilton. After breakfast, on Friday morning,
the Colonel suggested that we should ride to the Fifteenth and Twentieth.
I went to see Lieutenant-Colonel Ward. He has lost his leg,
below the knee. Said he, “Major, I am not as I was in Washington.” “No,” said
I, “you should have accepted my invitation, and ridden up with me on Monday.”
We were together last Saturday night at Willard's, and I begged him to wait
till Monday and go up with me. He said, “No, I shall be needed in camp.”
We then went to the Twentieth. I wish all the friends of the
young wounded officers could see them; it was a pleasant picture. In the first
tent I visited I found Captain John Putnam. He was bright and in good spirits.
I shook his left hand. His right arm is gone at the shoulder. Turning to the
other bed, I met the pleasant smile of Lieutenant Holmes. He greeted me as
cordially as if we had met at home, talked gayly of soon getting well again.
His wound is through the body sideways, just missing the lungs, and following the
ribs. Young Lieutenant Lowell, too, in the next tent, was making light of only
a flesh wound in the thigh. Caspar Crowninshield, whom I found helping
Colonel Palfrey, and acting as Major, was as calm as possible. He gave a very
good account of the fight; he evidently did gloriously. Only once, when he
spoke of the terrible scene in the river after they got in swimming, did he
seem to think of the horrors of the scene. Young Harry Sturgis was also bright.
He said that Lieutenant Putnam, who was wounded in the bowels, wished to be
left, as he said, to die on the field. “That is the fit place to die,” he said.
But Harry took him in his arms and brought him to the river. Young Abbott
looked well. Lieutenant Perry is a prisoner, but I think safe, without doubt.
So of Major Revere and Colonel Lee. When we got back to camp I got a report
from the river that the enemy were quite numerous on the opposite bluff, and
that they were putting a field-piece in position there. Though I did not credit
it, down I went, and spent the afternoon. We found they had occupied, or rather
visited, the island. My glass let me see them plainly in many places, and in
others they were within familiar conversational distance. I found they were
re-establishing their pickets strongly. I left Captain Curtis in charge, and
returned to camp. I found that I was detailed as one of the Examining Board for
our division. The Board consists of General Hamilton, Colonel Halleck, and
myself. We are to examine the officers as to their qualifications, &c. I
cannot approve of my appointment, but as it emanates from the Head-quarters of
the Army of the Potomac, I suppose it is all right.
This morning I was sitting at breakfast, when up rode
General Hamilton's aide. “Major,” said he, “General Hamilton says you will move
your detachment at once.” “What detachment?” said I. “The advanced guard and
pioneers,” said he. “I have no orders,” said I, “and no guard.” “There is some
mistake,” said he. Then up came a lieutenant from an Indiana regiment. “I am
ordered to report to you,” said he. “Very well,” said I. I went over to General
Hamilton, and found the whole brigade was under marching orders. By
inadvertence we had not received ours. All the rest of the brigade were ready
to start, and our tents were all standing. I went off at once, with my
pioneers, and put the road in condition. Here we are in camp. Our regiment was,
of course, the last to start. All the others were in motion before our tents
were struck. But our regiment passed all the others on the way, and was first
in camp to-night. We can march. Our night march to the Ferry was
perfect. Life is brisk with us, you see.
I have father's letter about the stockings. After our
wretched wet marching, the stockings will be a mercy, I think. Please to tell
Mrs. Ticknor that towels, one apiece, will be good for us. I did not think of
mentioning them, as, in the seriousness of actual business, the luxuries are
lost sight of. The regiment will move to-morrow to the neighborhood of the
mouth of the Muddy Branch, near the Potomac. There we are to go into camp for
the present. So ends our week's work. Hard and busy, but not without its use.
This morning, as our company on picket-duty came along the canal to rejoin the
regiment, the Rebels from the island fired on them several times. They were
also busy diving and fishing for the guns which the men threw away in their
flight.
The rascals are very saucy over their victory. I think they
have the advantage of our men in the chaffing which goes on across the river,
though one of our corporals told the sentry opposite him, who was washing his
feet, to take his feet out of his (the corporal's) river, or he would shoot
him.
“Reveillé”
will sound at five o'clock to-morrow morning, and at seven we shall be off and
away. We are within three miles of our old camp. To-morrow we go somewhat
nearer Washington.
No paper that I have yet seen gives any idea of the fight,
as I glean it from various sources. No generalship seems to have been used in
the matter. Not a military glance seems to have swept the field, not a military
suggestion seems to have planned the enterprise. The men crossed at the worst
point of the river; they had only two small scows to cross with; retreat was impossible.
If you could see how completely this rocky, wooded bluff (of
which I have attempted a sketch on the opposite page) overhangs the island and
the opposite shore, you would realize what a mad place it was to cross at. If
you could see the scows, you would see what means they had to cross.
Again, the disposition of the troops was wretched. The
formation close upon the bluff, and with their rear right upon the river, gave
no chance to repair mischance. Also, the thick wood which surrounded them gave
the enemy every opportunity to outflank them. If they had meant to fight, they
should have rested one of their flanks on the river, and have protected the
other by artillery. This would have made their line perpendicular to the river.
Their retreat might have been up or down stream. But they could, probably, have
prolonged the fight till night, and then run for luck in crossing. Such a
position would have been stronger, and retreat would have been less fatal. But
they thought apparently the two scows their line of retreat, while, in fact,
they were as bad as nothing. There does not seem to be a single redeeming
feature in the whole business. They went on a fool's errand, — went without
means, and then persisted in their folly after it became clear
It is useless to talk of what might have been; but if
you had walked, as I have done, for the past three days on that canal tow-path
opposite the bluff on whose crest our brave men formed for a desperate
struggle, you could not help discoursing upon the military grotesqueness of the
whole action. I have said there is no redeeming feature in the whole case. I am
wrong. The determined courage of Massachusetts officers and soldiers is a
cheering gleam through the gloom. But Heaven save us from any more such tests
of valor. “The officer who brought you here ought to be hung,” said a Rebel
officer to the burial party who went over with a flag of truce on Tuesday to
bury our dead. I am afraid that is too true.
The Rebels, on the other hand, managed finely. They seem to
have waited till they had caught a goodly number, and then to have sprung their
trap ruthlessly. McClellan's first question was, “How did our men fight?” The
answer is plain, — like heroes. If the men were properly officered, they would
be the best troops in the world
The blunder and its consequences are of the past. The
future must be freighted with better hopes. As far as our military position is
concerned, except for the loss of life, and perhaps of time, all is as well
to-day as a week ago.
We cannot be thankful enough for the mercy which spared our
regiment from having any other share in the movement than to aid in repairing
its disasters. I shall not soon forget that night's march, and that gloomy
morning. God bless you all at home! We can trust, and must trust, in that Power
which will overrule everything for good. Good night. I must get some sleep for
to-morrow's march.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 125-30
