Near Vining's Station, Ga.,
July 15, 1864.
We are now enjoying a short respite from our exertions,
which is very welcome after the campaign's hard work. By a series of movements
and operations we have pushed the enemy south of the Chattahoochie, they now
picketing their side of the river and we ours. It is difficult to tell anything
about the result of this campaign, since, from appearances, the rebels are
preparing to evacuate Atlanta with no more of a struggle than they made at
Marietta, so that the fall of the former place is already calculated on as the
result of the next move forward. The trouble is that we cannot get at Johnston
and his army; he is too weak to meet us in a fair fight; his game, therefore,
is to have a succession of lines of works prepared for him in his rear by
citizens and negroes, which cannot be taken by direct assaults, but out of
which, with our superior numbers, we can finally turn him. Whether we can
follow an enemy of this kind farther than Atlanta, is a question in my mind,
for we have already had to guard a railroad for over two hundred and fifty
miles through a country swarming with guerrillas and roving cavalry. Johnston
will undoubtedly retreat towards Macon, which will virtually abandon to us the
whole of Alabama and Western Georgia, and cause the fall of Mobile.
There is an amount of cunning in this continual retreating
of Johnston which is not generally allowed him. To be sure, he gives up a great
deal of valuable territory, but he keeps his army intact and finally removes it
out of our reach, leaving us an immense distance from our base, subject to
raids on our line of communication and consequent stoppage of supplies; and
supposing him at Macon, he is nearer to Lee, and can sooner transmit and
receive reinforcements. This is the unfavorable side; but, on the other hand,
the constant retreats of Johnston have, to a certain extent, demoralized the
troops belonging in Kentucky, Tennessee, Northern Georgia and Alabama, so that
on each occasion of their falling back, hundreds of deserters are brought into
our lines; they all say that half the army would do the same if it dared, but
they are told fearful stories of our treatment of prisoners and are also
closely watched, and, when caught, shot without mercy. The case has occurred,
repeatedly, of deserters lying all day in ditches and behind stumps, between
our picket lines, afraid to stir from fear of being shot by their own men; as
soon as night would come, they would come in. Without a single exception, 1
have seen these men always kindly and hospitably received by our soldiers; it
is always, “How are you, Johnny? we're glad to see you; sit down and have some
coffee, and tell us the news.”
The amicable feeling existing between the men of the two
armies when not actually fighting is very curious, and between the best troops
on each side the understanding seems the most perfect. It is a proverbial
expression, now, with the rebels, that Hooker's men are the toughest to fight,
but the best to picket against. We have one rule now in our division, which
entirely prevents all picket firing except in case of an advance of the enemy.
Last Sunday I was Field Officer of the day and had charge of the brigade
picket; one portion of my line relieved a part of the Fourteenth Corps. When I
first posted my men, it was necessary to crawl from one post to another and
keep entirely out of sight, for before we came there had been a continual
popping. In a short time it was discovered who had arrived, and all firing upon
us ceased. The next morning, in broad daylight, I pushed my line down to the
bank of the river without receiving a single shot, and afterwards rode along
where the day before it would have been sure death or a disabling wound. We
never yet have been the victims of any treachery, but, on the contrary, have
received warnings in time to look out for ourselves. They will call out, “Look
out, Yanks, we've been ordered to fire,” and plenty of time will be given to
get behind our works. When we fight, we fight to crush the rebellion and break
the power of the rebel armies, not against these men as individuals; there is
no enmity felt, yet no one can complain of a want of earnestness or desire on
our part for victory.
No news which has come to us for a long time has been
received with such pleasure as that of the sinking of the Alabama by the Kearsarge.
It is a great naval triumph for us, not over rebels merely, but over a Johnny
Bull ship manned by English sailors, armed by English guns, fired by English
gunners. It was an affair with England all through, and only needed, at the
wind-up, to have that fair-minded, non-interfering Englishman carry off Captain
Semmes, who had already surrendered, under a recognized British flag. Perhaps
we cannot do anything now to help ourselves, but the time will come when we
will make that mean, bullying English nation repent of her action towards us in
this war; I hope I may live to see the day and help to wipe off these old
scores. How long could she hold a foot square of territory on this continent
against the immense armies we could raise, and what harm could she do us? We
may not have as good a navy to-day, but we would have, and our coast would
swarm with privateers.
War is a terrible thing, but a man should feel as jealous of
the honor of his country and flag as he would of his own, and should resent an
insult to the one as readily as he would to the other.
SOURCE: Charles Fessenden Morse, Letters Written
During the Civil War, 1861-1865, p. 175-8
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