2nd.—I have just written a long letter to my wife, and as this has been a day without incidents, I insert a copy of the letter as my “journal of to-day”:
Camp In The Woods, Near Stafford C. H., Va.
December 2, 1862.
Here we still lie in the woods, four miles from Stafford Court House, about ten from the mouth of Acquia Creek, and fifteen from Fredericksburg, and here we have lain for the last ten days, and for all we can now see, like old Massachusetts, here we shall lie forever. But why we lie here, the Lord and the General only know, and as neither think it good policy to be communicative on military matters, we poor subordinates must be content with the knowledge that “great is the mystery of ” Generalship. This much, however, we do know:—that we are on a hill “Among the Pines,” surrounded by mud and amidst a net-work of roads, almost impassable, since the late heavy rains,—that we are drawing our rations from Acquia Creek, when there is a good railroad, with cars running to within about one third of the distance from us; that we every night send out a heavy picket guard to our rear, perhaps, on the principle of a certain railroad company in our State, which attaches its cow-catcher to the rear of its train, “for reasons perfectly satisfactory to themselves.”
When our new Commander started off, the wind whistled about our ears, under the great impetus which he gave his army, and so rapid was our progress that many expressed the hope that he would not prove only a quarter horse, instead of a thorough bred turfster, with wind and bottom. The first heat was certainly run with great speed, but the length of rest between heats is out of all proportion to the length of the race. The army, however, has great faith in the mettle of “Old Burney,” and express no fears that, when the tap of the drum calls him again to the stand, he will be found either to have “let down,” or be broken-winded.
Amidst all the gloom which our partial want of success has cast around us, amidst the trying and discouraging circumstances in which our lot is cast, a bright star shines forth from the darkness and gives warrant of redemption from the errors of the past. The evil spirit of party, which like the wily snake had inserted itself amongst the flowers and fruits of true loyalty—which was mingling its slimy poisons in every dish of the patriot, has been detected and cast from the garden. The army feels that it was being seduced by the charms of the serpent, and now rises above the temptations. When McClellan was removed, much feeling of bitterness and disapproval was manifested, but since we have had time for reflection, and asked ourselves, why did not McClellan surround and destroy the rebel army at Manassas last winter, as he weekly promised us? Why did he not destroy him when he found him weak and divided at Yorktown? Why he staid ten miles behind the army and was not in time to support the gallant Hooker at Williamsburg? Why he waited on the Chickahominy till he buried in the ditches more faithful men than there were in Richmond, to oppose his entry at the time of his arrival there? Why in his statements of the results of battles he either ignorantly or perversely mis-stated the facts? Why, when the rebel army at the battle of Malvern Hills, was utterly routed and demoralized, when one-third of our army had not fired a gun, but had been at rest all day, was our Commander, instead of following that routed army into Richmond, like Pompey, dallying away his time on one of his galleys, if not with a Cleopatra, with a charmer not less seductive? Why on our march from Alexandria to Manassas to succor Pope, did he compel us to lie by the road side for hours, in sight of the battle’s smoke, where we knew that our brave fellow men were struggling and sinking by thousands before a superior enemy; aye, struggling against every hope of success, except the coming of McClellan?Why did his parasites, refuse even the aid of his Surgeons to the wounded and dying of that noble army, when they sent imploring messages for aid?Why did he lie still and permit a retreating enemy, penned in betwixt the river and the mountains at Antietam, to move quietly off, when he himself says officially, that over that enemy he had just gained a great victory? Why, under those circumstances, and with all these faults, we loved him still? We discover that the poisons of party had so perverted our vision, that we could not see things in their true light, and almost every man when he looks back on what he has been made to suffer by McClellan for McClellan, restrains his curses, simply because of his sense of inability “to do the subject justice.” We have gloriously exchanged the army of partisans, for that of patriots, and a bright star beckons us “onward!”
