November 28 I thought that our wedding day would be
celebrated by a great battle, but so it was not fated. Let us see, a year ago,
we were in Paris; and this year, behold me no longer ornamenting the
Boulevards but booted and spurred, and covered with an india-rubber coat,
standing in the mud, midst a soft, driving rain, among the dreary hills of Old
Virginny. It was early in the morning, and we were on the crest, near
Robertson's Tavern. On either side, the infantry, in line of battle, was
advancing, and a close chain of skirmishers was just going into the woods;
while close in the rear followed the batteries, laboriously moving over the
soft ground. The enemy had fallen back during the night, and we were following.
When the troops had got well under way, the General took shelter in the old
tavern, to wait for the development. He had not to wait long, before a brisk
skirmish fire, followed by the light batteries, announced that we had come on
them. Immediately we mounted and rode rapidly towards the front, slop, slop,
slop, through the red mud, and amid ambulances and artillery and columns, all
struggling forward. We had come on them sure enough, and on their line of works
into the bargain, whereof we had notice beforehand, by spies. A halt was
therefore ordered and the different corps ordered into position. This was a
tremendous job, in the narrow wood-roads, deep with mud; and occupied fully the
whole day. If you consider that the men must often move by fours, then a
division of 4000 men, closed up, would occupy in marching some 1000 yards, and,
by adding the space for pack horses, and the usual gaps and intervals, it would
be nearer a mile; so you see how an army would string out, even with no
artillery. You must remember also that these long columns cannot move over two
miles in an hour; often not so much. . . .
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 54-5
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