We
marched by the moonlight into the space between the belligerent
regiments; but Lytle had already got his own men under control, and
the less mercurial Thirteenth were not disposed to be aggressive, so
that we were soon dismissed with a compliment for our promptness. I
ordered the colonels to march the regiments back to the camps
separately, and with my staff rode through that of the Thirteenth,
to see how matters were there. All was quiet, the men being in their
quarters; so, turning, I passed along near the railway, in rear of
the quartermaster's sheds. In the shadow of the buildings I had
nearly ridden over some one on foot, when he addressed me, and I
recognized an officer of high rank in that brigade. He was in great
agitation, and exclaimed, "Oh, General, what a horrible thing that
brothers should be killing each other!" I assured him the danger of
that was all over, and rode on, wondering a little at his presence
in that place under the circumstances.
The six weeks of our stay in Camp Dennison seem like months in the
retrospect, so full were they crowded with new experiences. The
change came in an unexpected way. The initiative taken by the
Confederates in West Virginia had to be met by prompt action, and
McClellan was forced to drop his own plans to meet the emergency.
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