October 14, 1864
How shall I vote? I
don't know that I shall be given the chance; but, if I am, I shall vote for the
blue-blooded Abraham. It was with a feeling of depression that I heard the
first rumors that the Dems had carried Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana; and
when the truth came out, I felt glad. This proves to me that I look on the Mac
party with misgiving. The soldiers' vote is an unexpected one; they are said to
show five to one for the Administration, which tells me that they identify it
with the support of the war; for the troops in their private thoughts make the thrashing
of the Rebs a matter of pride, as well as of patriotism.
I venture to say
that at no time during the war have the Rebel papers talked so desperately;
they speak of the next month settling the question, and of arming the negroes.
If they do this latter, the slavery candle will burn at both ends. I have no
idea that the next month will settle it, though, of course, there is a chance
for important movements during the autumn, as at other seasons of good weather.
We must keep at them — that is the only way; no let up, no armistice. They
perfectly hate what we are doing now, going a couple of miles and fortifying,
then going two more and fortifying again; then making a sudden rush, taking a
position and a lot of cannon, and again fortifying that. All these moves
being a part of what we may call a throttling plan. Their struggles, though
often apparently successful, do them thus far no good. They flank us on the
Weldon railroad and brush off 2000 prisoners: no use! we hold the road. They
flank us again at the Pegram house, and capture 1000 more: no use; we hold the
Pegram position and add it to former acquisitions. Then they flank Butler and
get eight of his guns; but they have to go back, and Benjamin remains in what
General Halleck terms a “threatening attitude.” . . . Yesterday, Loring, whom I saw over at
General Parke's Headquarters, was speaking of the quaint ways of talking among
soldiers. Their lines are at peace out there, and the soldiers don't fire;
notwithstanding, some sharpshooters, with telescopic rifles, are posted here
and there. As he rode along, he met two of these gentry coming with faces as of
men who had labored in a good cause, without profit. “Hullo!” said L., “did you
get good places out in front?” “Yes, fust-rate places: but no shooting, no
shooting!” General Meade rode to Parke's on account of a statement from a
deserter, that the enemy would attack our left. “If they do” quoth
the General, proud of his engineering skill, “if they do, they’ll get into a
nice hornet's nest.” It is funny to see two engineers, like Meade and Parke,
ride along works and pleasantly discuss them. In their enthusiasm, they always
personify redoubts as far as to give them eyes, and speak of their “looking” in
sundry directions, meaning thereby that they can fire there. “Here is a nice
swallow-tail lunette,” says Parke as if introducing a pâté de foie gras; “these two faces, you see, look down the two
roads of approach, and here is a face that looks into that ravine: nothing could
live in that ravine, nothing!” This last he emphasizes, as if the presence of
life in the ravine aforesaid was a thing in the highest degree sinful, and this
redoubt was virtuously bent on preserving the public morality. “Yes,” replies
Father Meade, “that seems all right; now you want to slash out, about 300 yards
further, and get a good field of fire so that the enemy's sharpshooters can't
annoy your gunners.” The use of the word “annoy” is another military
eccentricity. When half the men are killed or wounded by the enemy's riflemen,
an officer will ride pleasantly in to the chief of artillery, and state that
the battery is a good deal “annoyed” by sharpshooters, giving to the novice the
impression that the sharpshooters complained of have been using provoking and
impertinent language to the battery. To-day I was the sole companion of the
General on his exercise ride, on which occasions, instead of riding behind him,
I ride beside him, but keep as it were a little back of his horse's head. When
we approach any body of troops, I fall entirely to the rear — strong on
etiquette we are! For two or three days he has been in the best of
humors and sits in the evening by the camp-fire before my tent, talking
familiarly with all the aides; a rare thing with him. . . .
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters,
1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox,
p. 244-5
No comments:
Post a Comment