Following his parole to Annapolis, Fiske was exchanged, allowing him to return to duty as a brigade staff officer in the Second Corps. He wrote his dispatch as the Army of the Potomac continued to march northward.
Uniontown, Md.
June 30
Dear Republican: There is a deal of romance about this business of war. We lay us down at night under heaven’s glorious canopy, not knowing if at any moment the call to arms may not disturb our slumbers. We wake at reveille, cook and eat our scanty breakfast, thankful if we have any to dispose of in that way. At the bugle-call we strike tents, put on our harness and packs, and start off, not knowing our direction, the object of our march, or its extent; taking everything on trust, and enjoying as much as possible the varied experience of each passing hour; and ready for a picnic or a fray, a bivouac, a skirmish, a picket, a reconnaissance, or a movement in retreat. There is no life in which there is more room for the exercise of faith than in this same soldierly life of ours—faith in our own good right arms, and in the joint strength and confidence of military discipline; faith in the experience and watchfulness of our tried commanders (happy if they be not tried and found wanting); faith in the ultimate success of our country’s good and holy cause; faith in the overruling care and protection of Almighty Jehovah, who holdeth the movements of armies and nations, as also the smallest concerns of private individuals, in His hand.
Our marches for the last few days have been through the most lovely country, across the state of Maryland to the east of Frederick City. There is not a finer cultivated scenery in the whole world, it seems to me; and it was almost like going to Paradise from—another place; the getting-out of abominable, barren, ravaged Old Virginia into fertile, smiling Maryland. It is a cruel thing to roll the terrible wave of war over such a scene of peace, plenty, and fruitfulness; but it may be that here on our own soil, and in these last sacrifices and efforts, the great struggle for the salvation of our country and our Union may successfully terminate. Poor Old Virginia is so bare and desolate as to be only fit for a battle-ground; but it seems that we must take our turn too, in the Northern states, of invasion, and learn something of the practical meaning of war in our own peaceful communities. I sincerely hope that the scare up in Pennsylvania isn’t going to drive all the people’s wits away, and prevent them from making a brave defense of homes, altars, and hearths. When I read in a paper to-day of the “chief burgess” of York pushing out eight or ten miles into the country to find somebody to surrender the city to, I own to have entertained some doubts as to the worthiness and valor of that representative of the dignity of the city. It would be well for the citizens of Pennsylvania to remember that Lee’s soldiers are only men, after all, and that their number is not absolutely limitless, and that they have not really the power of being in a great many places at the same time.
Also, that, if they wish to enable the proper military authorities to defend them understandingly, it will be just as well to see to the accuracy of the information they carry, and not magnify a half-dozen cavalrymen into a huge invading army. It is the very best time in the world now for everybody to keep cool, and use a little common sense. When there isn’t any danger near, it doesn’t matter much about that. The simple truth is, that the enemy cannot by any possibility, leaving many of his men behind to keep his long line of communications open, carry into Pennsylvania anything like the number of forces we can bring to meet him; and it is only the circumstance of our being frightened to death at the audacity of his movement that can save him from repenting most ruefully the audacity of his crossing the Potomac northward. We of the unfortunate “grand army,” to be sure, haven’t much reason to make large promises; but we are going to put ourselves again in the way of the butternuts, and have great hopes of retrieving, on our own ground, our ill fortune in the last two engagements, and, by another and still more successful Antietam conflict, deserve well of our country.
Our troops are making tremendous marches some of these days just past; and, if the enemy is anywhere, we shall be likely to find him and feel of him pretty soon. For sixteen days we have been on the move, and endure the fatigues of the march well. There is much less straggling, and much less pillaging, than in any march of the troops that I have yet accompanied. Our men are now veterans, and acquainted with the ways and resources of campaigning. There are very few sick among us. The efficient strength, in proportion to our numbers, is vastly greater than when we were green volunteers. So the Potomac Army, reduced greatly in numbers as it has been by the expiration of the term of service of so many regiments, is still a very numerous and formidable army. An innocent “Dunker” (if you know that religious denomination), at whose house we staid last night, thought that he had seen pretty much all the people of the world when a corps or two of our forces had passed his house.
We passed, in our march up the Potomac, the field of the two Bull Run battles; and I was much shocked to find such great numbers of the bodies of Union soldiers lying still unburied. Their skeletons, with the tattered and decaying uniforms still hanging upon them, lie in many parts of last year’s battle field, in long ranks, just as they fell; and in one place, under a tree, was a whole circle of the remains of wounded soldiers, who had been evidently left to die under the shade of which they had crawled, some of them with bandages round their skeleton limbs, one with a battered canteen clasped in his skeleton hand, and some with evidence, as our boys fancied, of having starved to death. On one old broken cart lies what is left of eight Union soldiers, left to decay as they were laid to be borne off the field, and the vehicle struck, probably, by a cannon ball. In many instances the bodies which were partially or hastily buried are now much uncovered; and a grinning skull meets our gaze as you pass, or a fleshless arm stretches out its ghastly welcome.
Still it is wonderful to notice how quickly and how kindly Nature covers up the traces of murderous conflict on her face. The scars are mostly healed, verdure reigns, and beauty smiles over the bloody field; and save in a lonely chimney here and there, and the ghastly sights I have above referred to, which result from human neglect and barbarity, and are not to be charged at all to Nature, you would not suspect your feet were pressing the sod that one year and two years ago was reddened in human gore.
Enough of moralizing for the present, and “a little more sleep and a little more slumber” for the heavy eyelids of one who was in the saddle fifteen hours out of the last twenty-four, and expects to be as many more in the next twenty-four. No news except that which can be gathered from the date of this epistle. Yours truly,
DUNN BROWNE
June 30, 1863