May 28, 1864
A little before eight we left the neighborhood of the
squeaky Mr. Thompson and, turning presently to the right, pushed along towards
the Pamunkey. We now had struck a classic ground where the old McClellan men
began to have “reminiscences,” worse than you and Anna Curtis, when you get
together. “Ah,” says Cadwalader, “that is the house, the very house, where I
came up with my regiment — Rush's Lancers. We drove the Rebs across that field,
and then we burned the bridge, and picketed the river,” etc. The bridge
destroyed by the valiant Cadwalader had never been replaced, and now our
engineers had thrown a pontoon, over which the artillery of the 6th Corps was
rapidly passing, while the flat was full of batteries, and of waggons waiting
their turn. These canvas pontoons are funny looking; they consist of a
boatshaped frame, which is wrapped in a great sheet of canvas and put in the
water, this making a boat, on which part of the bridge-floor may rest. It looks
as if the Commander-in-Chief had undertaken the washing business on a large
scale, and was “soaking” his soiled clothing. At about half-past ten I crossed
(having been told to go back and inform General Grant of General Meade's
whereabouts) and tried to find my General on the south side; but I got among a
lot of German artillery men, who could not tell whether they were on their
heads or heels, much less whether they had seen the Staff go that way. Really
it is surprising how poorly the Germans show, out of their own country, where
they are an honest and clever, though rather slow people. But here they
seem almost idiotic, and, what is worse, they will plunder and they won't
fight. Really, as soldiers, they are miserable. Actually, a Yankee regiment
would drive a brigade of them. They have no grit as a rule. The Paddies, on the
contrary, will go in finely, and if well officered, stand to it through
everything.
Having ascertained the Headquarters, I rode over to Mrs.
Newton's, where I found a romantic lot of officers reposing, very flat on the
grass. . . . Poor Mrs. Newton! — she was
the one whose husband fell in my Raccoon Ford fight. . . . Presently arrived an aunt, a Mrs.
Brockenbrough, a conceited, curious, sallow, middle-aged woman, itching to “tackle”
a Northerner. She said the Cavalry Provost-Marshal had been very kind to her.
She then began to catechize Grant, with an eager relish, who replied with
entire calmness and candor, whereat she was plainly taken aback, as she looked
for a volley of gasconade! Their negro houses were full of wounded cavalry men,
some of them Rebels. As we sat there the cavalry cannon began again, in the
direction of Haw's store, and there followed, in the afternoon, a very
desperate engagement in which we lost from 400 to 500 men, including the
extraordinary proportion of nearly fifty officers killed and wounded. We drove
them at all points, after a desperate resistance. Our cavalry is full of
confidence and does wonders. The whole army had crossed by evening. . . .
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 130-1
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