June 5, 1864
This afternoon I carried a flag of truce — quite an episode
in my military experiences. At three in the afternoon General Meade sent for me
and said, as if asking for a piece of bread and butter: “Lyman, I want you to
take this letter from General Grant and take it by a flag of truce, to the
enemy's lines. General Hancock will tell you where you can carry it out.” I
recollect he was lying on his cot at the time, with his riding boots cocked up
on the footboard. My ideas on flags of truce were chiefly mediaeval and were
associated with a herald wearing a tabard. However, I received the order as if
my employment had been that from early youth, and proceeded at once to array
myself in “store” clothes, sash, white gloves and all other possible finery.
After searching in vain for a bugler who could blow a “parley,” I set forth with
only a personable and well-dressed cavalry sergeant, and found the gallant
Hancock reposing on his cot. “Well, Colonel,” says H., “now you can't
carry it out on my front, it's too hot there. Your best way is to go to the
left, where there are only pickets, and the officers there will get it out.” So
the ever-laborious Major Mitchell was summoned and told to provide some whiskey
for the Rebs and a flag. The last was a great point: there seemed nothing white
about, except the General's shirt, but at last he found a pillowcase which was
ripped up and put on a staff, and you would have admired it when it was
completed! Then we made our way towards the left and found General Birney's men
moving that way, who furnished us information about the road, and a guide,
Colonel Hapgood of the 5th New Hampshire, corps officer of the day. He was a
live Yankee, a thorough New Hampshire man — tall, sinewy, with a keen black
eye, and a driving way about him. He was ornamented with a bullet-hole through
his hat, another through the trousers, and a third on his sword scabbard. We
rode forward till we struck the breastwork at Miles's Headquarters. It was a
curious sight! Something like an Indian family camped half underground. Here
was the breastwork, behind which were dug a number of little cellars, about two
feet deep, and, over these, were pitched some small tents. And there you could
see the officers sitting, with only their heads above ground, writing or
perhaps reading; for it was a quiet time and there were no bullets or shells.
We followed the line to its end, near by, and then rode through the pine woods
a little way. Here Colonel Hamyl remarked in a ghostly voice: “Do you know
where you are going? There have been two field officers killed just here.” To
whom Colonel Hapgood (with injured pride): “Yes sir! I do know
where I am going. There's some bullets comes through here; but none to hurt.” Without definitely settling
what precise minimum of balls was “none to hurt,” we continued on. Presently
the cautious Hapgood pulled up and peered round; and I could see an open field
through the trees and another taller wood behind. “Now,” said the New Hampshire
patriot, “those tallest trees are full of their sharpshooters; if we strike
into the field fifty yards above here, they will fire; but, just below, they
can't see.” So we followed on, and, as soon as we were in the open ground,
started at a gallop and got into another wood, close to where I have put my
flag on the map. There was here a road, leading past a mill-pond, which however
was some quarter of a mile away. Our pickets held this road for some hundred or
two yards from us, and then came the enemy's pickets. The Colonel said he knew
a good place to approach, and went forward to call to some of them. After a
great deal of delay, the lieutenant on our side got one of them to send for an
officer, and then word was sent down each line to cease firing in that command,
as a flag of truce was going in. Then we left our horses and went forward, the
sergeant carrying the flag. As we turned a corner, close by, we came almost
upon their party, standing some paces off. It looked exactly like a scene in an
opera; there was never anything that so resembled something got up for stage
effect. The sun was near setting, and, in the heavy oak woods, the light
already began to fade. On the road stood a couple of Rebel officers, each in
his grey overcoat, and, just behind, were grouped some twenty soldiers — the
most gipsy-looking fellows imaginable; in their blue-grey jackets and slouched
hats; each with his rusty musket and well-filled cartridge-box. I walked up in
all stateliness (fully aware, however, that white cotton gloves injured the
ensemble), and was introduced to Major Wooten of the 14th North Carolina
sharpshooters, belonging to A. P. Hill's Corps. He was a well-looking man,,
with quiet and pleasing manners; and, to see us all together, you would suppose
we had met to go out shooting, or something of that kind. I am free to confess
that the bearing of the few Rebel officers I have met is superior to the
average of our own. They have a slight reserve and an absence of all flippancy,
on the whole an earnestness of manner, which is very becoming to them. They get
this I think partly from the great hardships they suffer, or, still more, the
hardships of those at home, and from a sense of their ruin if their cause
fails. We attack, and our people live in plenty, with no one to make them
afraid; it makes a great difference. . . .
Major Wooten said he would enquire if the despatch could be
received, and soon got notice that it could, if in a proper form. So it was
sent in, an answer promised in a couple of hours, and we all sat down on the
grass to wait — or rather on the leaves, for this sandy soil produces no grass
to speak of. As I had time to look about and, still more to sniff about, I
became aware that the spot was not so charming as it looked. There had been a
heavy cavalry skirmish in the woods and they were full of dead horses, which,
as the evening closed, became, as Agassiz would say, “highly offensive.” It was
positively frightful! and there I waited till eleven at night! Not even the
novelty of the position was enough to distract one's attention. As to the
pickets, they were determined to have also a truce, for, when a Reb
officer went down the line to give some order, he returned quite aghast, and
said the two lines were together, amiably conversing. He ordered both to
their posts, but I doubt if they staid. At half-past eight we had quite a
disagreeable experience. There suddenly was heard a shot or two towards our
left centre, then quite a volley, and then, whir-r-r-r, the musketry
came running down right towards us, as one regiment after another took it up!
The next thing I expected was that both sides just near us would take a panic
and begin blazing away. The officers sprung to their feet and ran down the
lines, to again caution the men; so nobody fired; and there we sat and listened
to the volleys and the cannonading, that opened very heavily. . . .
As it got to be after ten, Major Wooten said he would go
back and see what was the delay. There came back a lieutenant soon, that is
about eleven, with a note from a superior officer, saying that “General Grant's
aide-decamp need not be delayed further,” but that an answer would be sent in
at the same point, which could be received by the picket officer. So we shook
hands with the Rebs and retreated from the unsavory position. . . . We stopped at Barlow's Headquarters, and
then I kept on to camp, where the General greeted me with: “Hullo, Lyman, I
thought perhaps the Rebs had gobbled you during that attack.” . . .
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from
the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 149-53
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